2001-03-15 - 04.00am

i feel like an old person cuz 11.30 feel's late on a work night. i never thought i'd live to the yr 25. my feet smell but i kinda like it. in my family it is a thing of pride to be able to reach your feet with your mouth. my grandma at 80 still gloats that she is able to.

i was with a bunch of people tonight listening to a speaker and these ridiculous girls were talking the whole time through a very serious talk and i felt an anger fume something fierce. to the point of wanting to start a fight. now this isn't me. and i don't want to be seen as some immature person still starting fights at 25. but i wanted to push this disrespectful brat up against the wall and say, shut the fuck up or leave the room. i did tell them to be quiet as i know they bothered more than just me. it really made me want to fight. what is this absolute fiestiness that boils inside of me now. can i really atttribute it to this time of the year? and write it off as such? i get like this, this time of year. my friend says it's cuz i'm unhappy w/ things so i'm more judging and angry. god damn fucking straight. i think i usually a happy person. outgoing, all would have great things to say of me. i'mhiding the anger well. real well. except it is spilling out and i know m;y friends are noticing it and are wondering. i start gossiping more and saying spiteful judgemental things about others. like the fax that kendal lied at dinner and that she flirts w/ everyones boy's. and she's disrespectful and not truthful. and that kelby is a flaker,obsessive, not normal person. that jessi needs to get her hair done again and she looks like a scrappy hooker in her long faux fur coat and scrappy sewn on hair that is all but gone, but she is too fuckin drunk to notice (i haven't told anyone that, just thought it). or that i know she is about to be fired and she couldn't be more out the fuck of it. or that liz is only interested in what gu;y she is currently obsessed w/, like an ice=cream flavor. to the point where she only listens to her own heart beat the name of the boy again and again again again again. BORRING. absolutely borring. and what i hateworst is my attitude towards it all. i hate that i still don't know what i'm doing w/ work when this project 'ends' in april. the fact that my art opening is on passover and none of my damn jewish friends can go! the fax that i hate easter and i hate B. and i hate not knowing what he is doing and i would HATE to know what he's doing w/out me. and how much healthier, well adjusted he is thenme. and how interminably fucking borring he is. i should of know. actually i did. haha. i did know. the first date how fucking borring ;he was. but he was the first man to take me out and be a gentleman. and be sexy and confident and so many things i had not known. but all he talked about was food and the things he liked. like the world just lay here for him to pick andchoose what his silver spooned hands liked. i like bubbli water. i love veal. i loved thailand. i've done this i've done that. i love this. fuck u. you pussy. he said he loved the thrill and challenge. but he backed DOWN. when it counted. when the real risk for love and intimacy came to the frontline, he decidedhe couldn't. or that i wasn't worth it. ouch. very ouch. and here i am resentful to the brim. and hot damn i do grateful lists everymorning. i work hard on my persception. and i know i can't spell.nothing is 'wrong' w/my life. it is very abundant. very. colorful.busy. posh. full. sometimes i just think of the things i don't have. compared to others who have it. my cousin was in a magazine cuz he's semi-famous. my other cousins are rich as fuck, married. and i? can i be okay with just being content? one among? am i courageous enough to just be okay w/ what i have? i bought a fast car like a bullet to drive awaythe thoughts and to impress people so i could work less at doing so. people are quite impressed actually. i get almost a comment a day. but am i my car? why do i need a car to make me feel better about myself. did my parents neglect and my moms slap, words calling me a bitch, ignoring my words of vunerable, raw fucking beautiful art, ignoring my sobbing and sobbing for hours while i thought to myself, see i'm not loved god damn it cuz if i was they would come to me as i am crying and soften this hurt. and let me know i amloved. instead my mom watched tv ignoring it completely while i would hear her belt out fits of laughter at some make believe bullshit on tv. aaaa and i am in what industry? tv. catchi isn't it?mmmm

how could she ignore my crying? how does one human do it do her very own? my dad was never there. and when he was, he was demandingthings, punishing us, or fucking my mom in their wierd loft 60's style bed w/ rolling doorsthat shut in finality. and then i couldn't have a friend over, what to hear the moans that burned into my skin. burned in the feeling of embarrassment and worse, shame.

is this the normal american experience. i'm in some fucked writing club via email and all of the women are narli lawyers and stuff and i think to myself. aaa forget it. i'm not good enough. they are of the elite who didn't have this fucked up life. i only relate to those who share their war wounds and are honest. HONEST. HONEST. i didn't get my x Bwho only spoke of water and five star food. he grew up in the picket fenced affluency of midamerica white. family, no divorce. no strife. none! i only have to believe that my past has brought me umpha, character. spice. i sense this in the way others reflect myself back to me. that i do have depth and am wise and very sensitive and special. someone said that to me today. he said god i hope you find that person that is as special as you are who see's it and i knew what he was talking about and i teared up a bit. i hate net zero. piece of shit.

it's painful to see myself reflected back. it's great to go blindly not knowing of myself at all. all this time i've seen a neg reflection via the "happy family" as my dad, rum and coke in hand would say. now when i see others saying nice things, it's like a baby being born. it makes me sad too.

i wonder when i'll be done with this phase of seething anger? i wonder when i'll be done being uncomfortable w/ this life. i had just started to feel a great vibe. then he broke my heart and i got layed off and i've had to start allover. pay the bills. fix the car. fix myself.

i have a lunch mtg w/ a big wiggeruni who has done some stuff in the industry. really old fella tho. doubt he'll get my youth or humor. but i'm going to practice pitchingmy idea's to him anyway. this i knowwill never happen. getting one of my idea's made. but then again i also didn't think my poems would get published and they are. i didn't think i would ever have my own art opening and i do. in april! those things seemed so far off and inaccessable to me. but they happen. so now there issome place in me that thinks, well this might happen to.

i did a naughty thing in a chat room theother day. hehehe. sometmes i really like to be naughty. i like to play and get twisted. i will tell u but shhh. i want to do a photo series of my lovers all in the same theme. it may be a great series. but i have to ask some old lovers to do it which should be interesting. especially interesting when i ask this woman who i dated to do it. i can't wait. i'm going to start this saturday w/ the dude from london that seems helplessly in love w/ me. but i think he is just lonely. then i'lldo itw/ stinky. he is also helpless, wants me to commit to him. be with him forever. mmmmmmm. ilike that his family is jewish tho. not that i am, but i like jewish families. i like warm, large fun families. that is ending up to be important to me.

five sense's. deangelo fills my room onlow cuz of the other apartments. cars roll down the hill next to me. sometimes i can hear the crash of the ocean waves making their energy and power known to us all. sometimes i can hear the wheels of a homeless persons cart struggle on by beneath me. i feel dry air on my lips and stillness of the night. there is no motion to the air now. i smell nothing, maybe only rememberances of my feet that i mentioned earlier. i taste stale heavy breath on my tongue reminding me of the taste of coins that wierd metal on spit taste. i see my lap top from my step 'dad' my messe kitchen, dishes that i always vow to do. my orchid begging me to put it out of its misery. my long surf board waiting for me. papers scattered filled with idea's self doubt and hope.

what makes a person good? am i a good person?

love, me