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Sunday, August 26th, 2001
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What's the furthest place from here?
It hasn't been my day for a couple years.
What's a couple more?
And if I go, don't forget the one good thing I almost did.
I learned your name without words.
I used my eyes, not my hands.
What's the closest you can come to an almost total wreck and still walk away,
All limbs intact?
And when I go, you'll be there crying out, begging me.
I won't hear.
I'll just go fast into this night on broken legs.
A near miss or a close call?
I keep a room at the hospital.
I scratch my accidents into the wall.
I couldn't wait to breathe your breath.
I cut in line,
I bled to death.
I got to you, there was nothing left.
What's the meanest you can be to the one you claim to love
And still smile to your new found friends?
In the same confusing breath,
You pull away and draw me in.
I wanted you. You wanted more.
I built this life and now it's mine.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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i don't want to write here any more. my motivations for doing so are now gone. maybe periodic spurts will happen. maybe. but for now this is a more serious hiatus.
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Comments: Read 5 or Add Your Own.
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"i believe," he said "that if i could suffer all the tourments of hell for the remainder of my existence, with diseased crows picking and my liver and whatnot, to make you smile for an instant, to make you forget all of your problems for a moment, to see that you were happy and be able to say that is my doing i would not have to think twice."
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to the stars (very rough solo demo)
the girl of my dreams isn't dreaming of me tonight.
the stars in the sky have brighter places to shine
people of my disposition will always find a why to whine
but i'll just drink my beer and watch my tv, dear.
you won't have to listen to me anymore.
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i slide my chair on the hardwood floor and i could slide through my life. flying just under your radar. never making a sound. in hopes that no one will notice when i'm gone.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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"How odd a figure i must seem to you now, a solitary crank who maroons himself with a TV set and dozens of stacks of dust-jacketed comic books. Don't think i wouldn't appreciate a dramatic visit between two and three in the morning," he told her, "from an intelligent woman in spike heels and a slit skirt, with high-impact accessories."
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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"i want to wish upon a star," he said.
"i want to wish upon a star," he said. "and have that star wish back"
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Saturday, July 14th, 2001
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all the romance languages are based on latin.
latin is a dead language.
therefore:
romance is dead.
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Comments: Read 5 or Add Your Own.
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oh, and by the way.
doughty rocked my fucking lame ass into the next county.
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bad fucking mood all day long.
like rampaging slaughter bad mood.
"no, i'm fine." i said.
honestly i'm fine.
no i don't have a fucking clue what's bugging me.
i don't have any immediate pursuits.
everything worthwhile feels just over the horizon, and is moving further everyday.
a month and change and you'll still be a million miles away.
"and this", he said, "is the way i knew it would go."
i'm bored with boredom.
i'm burned out on doing nothing.
you used to dream of me now all you do is watch tv, she said.
perhaps the story always ends with me.
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i want desperately to sew up the distance between was, will be, and is.
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i tried to sleep. the kitten licked my ear and pawed all over me.
now i get a feeling of how she felt.
at least i never tried to walk on her face.
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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got rearended in culver city today.
boo.
got a street kitten.
yay.
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Comments: Read 3 or Add Your Own.
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Thursday, July 12th, 2001
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today i bought a fish.
it's a red beta
and it doesn't have a name yet.
i will be fielding suggestions from the audience.
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Comments: Read 5 or Add Your Own.
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my name is mark and i am a writer. but it's been months since i've had the nerve to finish a story. i am twenty-years old and teetering between boy and man. like most of my ideas, this one is stolen, from jenna, chris, and some guy named adam.
i was born in palos hills, illinois. august 9, 1980. they said i came out looking like a monkey. i was named mark anthony because my grandmother liked shakespeare. when i was two, she died of lonliness. my mother's father died in 1970 as a result of multiple gunshot wounds. he was a delivery man in chicago. the wrong color at the wrong time. my mother still cries when she talks about him. my parents met at a bar on father's day. 1972. my mother had just gotten her sham marriage to a gay artist annulled. my father was unhappily married with two children. soon after, they were married and my father had a reverse-vascectomy performed. he was driving trucks and tending bar at the time. i've been told my parents threw the best parties, and judging from photos of the house i spent the first years of my life in, they were filthy fucking rich. i was born in 1980. my mother's only child. i was book-smart and opinionated at an early age. but that doesn't mean i had a lick of sense. shortly after my grandmother died i tried to follow up the performance with an experiement that got me run over by my father's ryder lawnmower. note that this was not an act of negligence on his part, i had no business in the grass while it was being cut, and those things don't offer a great deal of visibility for small objects on the ground. at my first yelp, he was off the lawnmower, which he managed to flip over, effectively saving my life. i got stitches and have a six inch scar on my right ass cheek. people always ask to see it. they generally don't get to. soon after, my dad was transfered to california and lost his job within a month. my parents were both unemployed, and we lived with my aunt and uncle in danville. my dad got a job with a start-up company called "costco" and my mother went to work for a company that made cellular phones that weighed ten pounds. they bought a house in san ramon and i started going to school. i didn't make friends easily, and when i did, my temper soon drove them away. when i got homework in school, that i didn't fancy, i would simply throw it away, no questions asked. in second grade, i corrected my teacher's grammar in class, and they called my parents in. i was subverting her authority. and they wanted to skip me to fourth grade. my parents new i had trouble making friends my own age, and i'd be a complete social leper to kids two years older than me. so i sweated it out in second and third grades. like jenna i read a lot of stephen king, and i knew it was crap. i said 'i could do this and sell books' and that was when i decided that i would be a writer when i grew up. grade school passed without much fanfare. i was stuck in the gifted program, and even there i was an outcast. these kids played musical instruments and had the deepest philosophical debates that you could expect from ten year olds, i sat in the corner, where i could dream. in seventh grade i went to a junior high in another town because the junior high in san ramon had a bad reputation. this was my first experience with danville kids. latch-key mansion kids. they smoked cigarettes and stole porno magazines from the seven-eleven. they said words like "fuck" and "cunt" there were a lot of immigrant kids at my school, and i made friends with two kids from hong kong: alex and alan chan (no relation) who could barely speak english. we used to play basketball together at lunch, and when the eighth graders kicked us off of the courts, we worked in the ballroom, and made the decisions of who got to check out balls. we were fierce as nazis.
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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i had this dream.
we drove up to the bay area.
there was a new freeway going through san ramon. i followed it eastward and it ended near a river. i parked awkwardly, we walked down to the river and there was a party of sorts going on. but more like a bunch of kids with a boombox sitting around drinking beer and dangling their feet into the water. someone said something and a beer bottle whizzed passed my head. next thing i know i'm dunking his head in the water repeatedly as blood trickles from my nose. next he was coughing up water. a british kid introduced himself as "silent daisy" (he was brittish, they're weird) and helped us find my car before the kid i had beat the shit out of got some friends together to retaliate. we finally found it parked under an incomplete freeway ramp to certain doom. i opened the trunk to fetch a piece of paper because i know the brits love the satellite show. i found someone's diary and tore out a page it said tell my father i'm a woman now beneath it, i wrote carefully "http://www.thesatelliteshow.com/" and handed it to the weird british kid.
i don't usually remember the details so well.
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kidklone's journal
ecstatic.