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Wednesday, December 24th, 2008
10:17 pm - deep red bells
looking for one thing, finding another entirely.

i am not the first. not the third and not the tenth and not the one hundred hundred hundredth. it is entirely likely that i will not be last, perhaps simply most memorable.

those gasps and groans, clutching hands and heaving chests.

she has been others' and i cannot stop it cannot stop those looks and faces and knowing glances and appraisals of her + me + every moment past.

some days i go hours without having a proper thought.
focus on clothes and commissions and yarn and getting to work on time.

laundry, dinner, keeping clean.
growing things, touching things, smelling and walking and reading and writing and thinking - proper thinking.

i think christmas might be a thing of the past for me. days of wonder and light, nights of blankets and hopeful wishes and waking up to people and noise and food and shiny papers and bows.

now just things, things to store and handle, things to tempt me away from a holy sadness, distract from a meaningless end of days of work-on-time and another-hard-day.

and i love her. and it hurts daily.

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Monday, January 21st, 2008
1:16 pm - all i know
it's beautiful and raining, sleeping in and driving home.

and it's not perfect, but she's perfect for me. i ask myself "and so what if" and the answer is always the same. then so and then we go on. i kiss her and get closer to her warm, sleeping body. we keep going. over and over.

i'm looking at lamps and thinking about where to sell my books. how to eliminate the mess of my life and make it fit better in smaller places, warmer weather, new views and people.

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Monday, December 31st, 2007
11:53 am - verdun
well, the hard was right.

it's all her. all i can see.

the year started off with crying, sullenness, fights, silence. text messages. i remember that much.

valentine's day, i think i wore red.
rodger. yarn. missoni flats and a handknit shawl. breakfast beforehand. one of those perfect awful wet spring days. warning of the heat. mossy.
spring break and a lost new york weekend. speeding over bridges and feeling my throat close. half kisses on a new york sidewalk, confusion, stirrings.

april. school. may. end of school. meghan. meghan meghan, panic and no taos. june, working, california. fourth of july. fireworks, a dollar beer night i think.

august. a birthday and back to california. stirrings, stirrings, bad movies in pasadena. panics and calmings and emails emails. books. things being handed to me. a new car.

school starting. the last time. dollar beer nights. a late night meeting. a ride home from the airport. "are we going to do this or what?"

boy, did we.

passion and sickness and fear. late late nights, early mornings, hidden phone calls, lies about libraries. dollar beer nights, fights, sullenness. a visit from out west. music on the weekend. music in the morning. the truth. coming over to my house. the scene, a witness. the big fight, the next big fight, the next big lie. one hundred more.

tears and tears and tears. fights and silence and yelling. shrinking away, trembling beside her. panic and anger and so much worry. collect calls. airplanes. drives home in traffic and tears. giving in. again and again and again. over and over, last night once more. today once more.

people leaving, getting angry. shame and fear and frustration. and love. so much love. frantic, horrible, heart stopping, stomach twisting fluttering love.

her eyes and her hands. holding a camera, holding her arms. sleepy and dazed, clear and aggressive. the noises. the breathing and the whispers, the gentleness and the tender touch.
her laugh. over and over, all i want to make happen. something to live for.
her grin, her walk, her smell. her shiver and shake. her head against mine, my hand in hers.

it was electric for ten years. now it's small and quiet and slow. painful and terrifying, sometimes beautiful and good.

"i wish the world was flat like the old days"

(marry me. marry me and do this right. thirteen floors below us would drop unnoticed.)

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Friday, November 9th, 2007
8:10 pm - daily
and i'm doing what i can. doing what i know how to do, learning how to do more.

things today:
live and let live

i am going to do what i can, when i can do it. agenda free honesty, asking myself hard questions.

the best kind of hard.

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Tuesday, November 6th, 2007
3:40 pm - quiet/lovely
i am trying trying and it can be trying trying

but mainly beautiful. almost exclusively beautiful.

now it's showers and sleeping in, bedtimes and movie rentals and breakfast/lunch after class two days a week. a pile of clothes on the floor, warm and sleepy eyed lumps of a girl in bed.

and it will change. get better get worse. get jobs and final exams and surgeries, trips away and phone calls away and christmas. no drinks to sustain.

it is in part building a life, in part already having one.

she is beautiful. exclusively beautiful.

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Saturday, October 20th, 2007
6:54 pm - elliot
it is settled and it is lovely

less activity now, no lying, sharing a house and drives and dinners.
it is heads on shoulders and helping friends as a pair. planning for holidays and other days, months ahead, vacations together, trying not to be apart.

forcing her to clean and forgetting about the laundry, looking up clothes and movies and yarn colors, getting used to dogs and voices and someone else in the morning

(it is building a life and it is working)

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Sunday, October 7th, 2007
1:49 am - sick party
it is in my gut.
the remembering, the forgetting, the awfulness of parties and looks and not looks.
a hand on a shoulder, a gesture, a jerk of the head. come here, can we talk in the other room for a minute, come outside with me, can i talk to you, why are you doing this, i'm over it, it's cool, don't worry about it, it's fine what else is there to say

the danger and the hurt

and the hands, from across the room from through the window. hands and letters and wrists and watches.

and i love her even though it hurts.

i try and it is hard. it is hard but i try.

girls from france girls from italy and california. life on the riviera life in the desert.
and she's ruined things for me. music and shiner and the east side of dallas. everything and nothing. ten years and no time.

i don't really remember, but i know it must have hurt. must hurt. i know there were letters and unanswered phone calls and looks and not looks but i don't remember the acute physicality of it. just the shaking and the nerves, the school days and the guilt. but i catch glimpses. of other girls, other times, just days before and years ago. break downs and fights, blow offs and phone calls, the awful magnetism and the chill in the room after.
being abandoned being returned to. sitting and setting, shifting and smoking and disapproving and just just wanting to not really be here anymore.

che festa

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Tuesday, September 25th, 2007
11:36 am - walls of

(and no, i have no idea how it happened or what to make of it. six weeks ago i was panicking and sending off emails. buying fabric and dreading all those planes rides.)

"it is quiet like whispers...and pressing play on a tape recorder"

no, not at all. it is laughing and smirks, glass lenses and loud music. it is rolicking and generally boisterous, we are small and fit together perfectly. 

it is drinking and sleeping and waking up to go home. playful and pleasant, so much more than that.

i've caught up, i'm afraid.

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Friday, September 7th, 2007
7:52 pm
it is better.


there are paychecks (someday) and shows (soon and often) and stirrings (big surprise).

there is spending and sighing and singing and temptation everywhere.
my boss loves me, he gives me poetry and wants to hear all about everything.

(and i am restless or he is - one is settling and the other panicking)
(we could kiss and undress or if you want just talk)

alright, now work. then more. sleep and then dollar beer nights and dive bars and terrible, terrible inclinations - you know, leaning

and in the final scene

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Thursday, August 16th, 2007
12:03 am - here in these lights
i am home and it is restless.

five years ago i spent three days show-going and tea-drinking and being utterly urban / urbane, knowing this would and could be my life.

and it was for awhile. of course never as i intended, never as anyone wants. so i fled, after all sorts of tears and fights and anger and panic. but the moment i walked off the plane i knew where i wanted to be.
and now i know that i just can't be here anymore. with the quiet streets and the heat waves and a life like a travis song. time for something loud and busy and heavy in different ways. activities and plans that get carried out, friends and house guests and shows every other night. hybrid cars.

it is restless and i am trying to settle in and remember what i love about this place. but it is hard and getting harder.

(and he doesn't help, of course)

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Tuesday, October 31st, 2006
11:45 pm
it was the finest of hours, spent in and over beds.

i stayed up almost all of the night before, sitting on a second hand sofa and talking, i think. waiting for him to come home from the city, dancing. went to bed and woke up earlyish, spent hours hot gluing leaves and twigs. he woke up late and the day sort of disappeared. he spent the evening gluing leaves, no twigs.
we went somewhere, don't remember where. walked outside of east, i remember a party.

and then home, bed. she was gone somewhere and then leaves everywhere. i found them months later, sweeped under the very back of my bed, in the packing up and sending home of a life. thin, softened and creased green leaves, small and cruel reminders of a dark and sleepy, beautiful night.
it was new and i loved him. now my dress is older, the hat the same. i am in a new city, new bed, he the same. the leaves have not changed here. only the rest of it and us.

(happy halloween, dear memories and dearest ghosts)

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Sunday, October 1st, 2006
8:22 pm
it's hard to remember that this is the fun part. the stomach aches and the turning away, trying so hard not to have to look anyone in the eye, leaning in, finding reasons for touching.

and it's never what you want or you never get it, it's always realistic and a letdown after this.

what does anyone want?

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Saturday, September 16th, 2006
1:26 am
and i don't have the energy for it anymore. i'm not fifteen and loving my best friend or seventeen and trying to avoid her when she's in town. so it's okay for awhile, but i get so tired so quickly. don't have the heart to be so dedicated or delicate for very long.

maybe this is why two days turned in to two years. because of itunes shuffle and late nights with another lion (oh, saussure!) and the comforts of living becoming the day to day misery.

and because of absurd tears and no fear of being alone or lonely. just knowing it wasn't fun anymore, knowing it was never really what i meant it to be.
i am okay most days. and have sing a longs with myself now, in anticipation of moments of perfect connection in the relative near future (isn't that always how we work? anticipation and future tense?)

i think it unravelled rapidly and frightened everyone involved. i think this is the way i've always operated.

(i am my own wife)

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Thursday, September 14th, 2006
6:10 pm
what it comes down to is that i want to be madly, rediculously, painfully, tragically, stunningly loved.

the end.

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Thursday, August 17th, 2006
3:51 pm
after i get a migraine my jaw hurts and my scalp is too tender to touch.

signifier / signified
testament / covenent
chemistry / liberal arts

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Monday, August 14th, 2006
10:57 pm
i absolutely refuse to return to school without several maddening nights to photograph and document.

(i never ask what i really want to know. and i fabricate situations and fantasies that will simply never exist.)

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Monday, July 3rd, 2006
6:50 am
things that are popular in france:

early 90's american techno (still)
hammer pants (again)
incredibly styled mullets (still?)

things that are different in france:
all food
the need to buy

things that i miss about france:

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Saturday, February 4th, 2006
8:55 pm
sources create chaos and blushing

anything does not go

(unlike 'in olden days')

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Tuesday, January 17th, 2006
10:50 pm
juletan / les fables

hebrew versions / septuagint / latin vulgate (repetitive)

subject - predicate
ebay auctions
calendars hanging

(i am around)

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Saturday, December 10th, 2005
7:07 pm
ancrene riwle / chaucer - sidney/donne - bunyan/behn?
ancrene riwle / chaucer - sidney/donne - montague/swift/smart
battle of maldon/caedmon's hymn - sidney/milton - swift/pope/johnson/behn
chaucer/langland - sidney/shakespeare - johnson/behn/addison and steele

two hours lots of shifting one red haired boy and two gift give aways and i am done
(thou art not done, for i have more)

i am a genius, yes.

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