I am in, I am in, I am out

Pulsing throughout my body, there is a strange, strange sensation. I ignore it of course, and go on with my daily happe-n-ings. The Wise Wound indeed. There's not very much time left, there never is. I have never been this disorganized in my life. Throwing this everywhere, forgetting to dust...nothing seems to need to have a place, perhaps because I feel like I am soon to be misplaced myself. Will money make up for it? Will it be worth it? I can only hope.

During the course of a dreary, boring English lecture, like they all almost are (I blame the curriculum, and the environment), I overheard people's chats, and realized yet again that I am quite sane. Large amounts of liquor make people do quite peculiar, if not idiotic, things. I have heard of a girl who defaced her entire mid-section by getting a large tattoo across it. Always a smart idea, to get a non-representational tattoo during prom weekend. I need to put that on my "to do" list. I also heard of people having intercourse in the oddest places. I don't see the fascination with genitalia rubbing, like I previously mentioned. It appears to be vile and disgusting and primitive, but I suppose when one gets the nature's "call" they must act upon it, no matter how grotesque the act itself may seem. So I will wait...

Isadora, Isadora. I want a portrait like that.

P.G.Wodehouse and Tea

I went to the library, made a poor Korean intern go down to what they call "stacks", basically a dust covered graveyard for books that none of the local hicks are interested in reading (of course, anything that isn't about towing, manure and homemade abortions is incredibly irrelevant to them) and told her to bring me all the Wodehouse books that they have. In a couple of long minutes, I was standing in front of what looked like heaven. They have a really nice collection of what I believe are old originals! My Man Jeeves, A Damsel in Distress, The Inimitable Jeeves.....etc etc...I took a different pick this time...always rotating my choices, as well as a Jean Luc Godard film with Jane Fonda and Yves Montand (I picked it mostly because of the latter!) Tout Va Bien.

Today in the car, riding in the backseat going home while my father was voicing out all the injustices faced by the engeneers of the auto industry, I dreamt a very shallow dream. I thought, for a change, why not dream inferior dreams...so I dreamt of having in my posession a big Dr Pepper Slushee machine. What an orally driven dream! I could see myself, just like in those 1950s television ads, walking up to the machine, staring at myself as though I am a viewer, and pouring myself a big...bigg...biiiiiiiigggg cup of the good stuff from the inside. Then just as I was about to have a drink, I could think no more. I can't remember the time (last month) when I thought Dr Pepper is absolutely repugnant...those times have passed and well...look at me now, mom!

Due to my pertinacious cold, I have not been able to smell anything. I have been overapplying perfume (personally, I don't believe there is such thing as overapplying, if it's the right type of perfume...), getting toothpaste on me and not noticing, entering a classroom after a hot, sweaty group of grade 9ers had just left (a lethal stink on a regular day)...and well, generally, it's not good.

That is all for today, and probably for tomorrow. We shall see.

Truly

Wilhelm Reich

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Feeling like one big long day

The weather outside is incredibly dull and uneventful. I spent my weekend sneezing, coughing and shaking from fever...amongst other extremely attractive things. It feels as though time flies by in an insanely unrealistic fashion, but I suppose that comes with age. When I was younger, an hour would feel like an eternity. But youth itself wasn't much of a reward.

My cat has been following me around everywhere, currently lounging infront of my computer, occasionally obstructing my view. At times I feel like he is the only person who can understand me, in a profound way that no one else dares to. Maybe it is the reluctance on his part to engage in conversations, that passive stare, that gives me the thumbs up to extract all of these feelings. He understands nothing, and that's fine.

August 28th seems ridiculously far away, but as we all know, if all goes well, it will surely come.

I should organize my room...but I feel too broken to do anything. Viruses are not fun at all. Jesus.

That's all for today. I know, nothing much to say.

Well, I knew that you would like me...

..if only you could see me..

I'd like to be able to say that it was unreal...but it wasn't..it was very real and I am actually glad to be able to say so. I expected it and I predicted it and I was just hoping it would happen some day, it just happened to be his birthday, and I just happened to look brilliant.

I find it difficult to write about what happened. I am sure that if he ever happened to read this he would have no idea of the magnitude of his actions, and how touched I was.

However, once I am back in this hole, in a different time zone, with a different set of expectations and no chance of crossing paths with him unless I get up and follow and know...

It is really stupid. Or not it, but I am. I feel silly. I feel like I've opened that department inside of me that is waiting to receive some kind of...what's that thing called...love?...but as we all know I've really badly deceived myself to open it for such a brief encounter...and it's not a surprise that it hurt now, and it is not a surprise that I keep my eye open for him around the corner, and it is no surprise I am like a soap opera character without a plot....

I will probably end up spending more than enough money on therapy again. I don't know how suitable psychoanalysis is for me...it is just like talking to myself, only I have to pay. And I don't know how honest I've been about my problems, which makes the whole cause even less effective.

I am Virginia Oldoini...Comtesse de Castiglione...what a horrible way to die; toothless, obese and bald. What a shock...what a shock

Excitement could kill my dull flesh

I should not be exposed to more than small amounts of excitement each time.

Every person in this world has some sort of an advantage, a trick they can use to get privileges that other people normally don't. Some people are good at getting free "stuff", others can avoid getting punished for criminally inclined acts- I fall into neither of these categories. However, I do fall into the "get the best out of a concert for the least amount of money" category. Whether it is getting in for free, moving to front row despite having paid for the nosebleeds, meeting the band, getting an autograph...I can do it all. But I can safely say that I have outdone myself now. Or at least, the preparations for my success at the upcoming Morrissey concert have extended beyond belief. I don't think I have ever prepared this much for a concert. It shall be grand.

That's all for now.
Let's see what I write in about 3 days time.


Life, so unpredictable.

My new collage...

Earl Grey

I am extremely nervous, to a point that I really have very little to say. Unfortunately, my writer's block has yet to leave me. It lingers, it lingers. I am not good with these drastic changes, all that I knew will be gone, and I tend to write about what I know...and I know nothing right now.

Perhaps I'll make myself into something...maybe one tenth of Luisa Casati. But in these bland clothes, with a clean face and conscience, I won't get too far.

Sometimes it is good to rejoice, unfortunately, others always find it as bragging. The older I get (I'll be 18 in a couple of months...) the more I start believing in karma. One cannot get anrgy because another person is doing better (especially when that person is me). Just remember, you were the queen of subculture, the social butterfly invited to all gatherings for four years in a row. And now, your glory is over, I move on, you stay in this filth, you chose it. Everybody gets what they want. I, unlike you, don't need instant gratification...and from what I have been told...good things happen to those who wait.

Or not.

Time to retire, perhaps?

My recent hobby is a rather vile one, and I will be the first to openly admit it- I have been reading gossip columns/blogs/whatever those things are called. It is like a sick addiction, and I don't know how to stop. Ever since I visited Los Angeles, it seems as though I am hungry, starving to even catch a glimpse of people in the surrounding of the city that evoked rather curious feelings inside of me. I don't think I really care much for those people, their lives, their pathetic attempts at being famous for a week, I just love the setting of these photos. I look at the sun and the trees and it is almost like the feeling that I had while I was in Los Angeles is reborn inside of me. Of course, it was a rather short trip, and I am sure that I would go absolutely crazy and most certainly dislike everything and everybody in Los Angeles, finding myself like a prisoner...because being in captivity, even a "perfect" one, as you may guess, is not....fun.

What happened to my writing? It seems as though everything has gone downhill in my creativity department. I use simple, predictable words...and if this computer was not blessed with a little function called "spell check" I would seem almost illiterate, I assume. Maybe just for the time being, perhaps it shall all get...better.

During art class, I went through a pile of old magazines...some were rather boring (American Science, and as deep and up-to-challenge as I may pretend to be, I will be honest and come right out and say- no I am not intrigued by these gadgets and scientific ideas...I like shiny, purposeless things, and emotional weight...) but then I came across a 1969 Seventeen magazine. Since I was looking to get into feminist collages (heavily influenced by Linder Sterling as always) this magazine fit perfectly. It gave me lots of material, while it also shocked me at how the society has not changed one single bit. My uneducated assumptions that 40 years ago, a person like myself might have had more room to breathe were completely wrong. The only thing a girl was geared towards was a finishing school, to either become a secretary, a nurse, and of course, a mother.

Maybe I will post my collages. Some people said that they looked rather disturbing- just the way I intended them to be.

And there goes another piece of my writing that really...does not sound great or good....but who reads this thing anyway...of course, my greatest client,-me.

Yours truly
Tennessee Williams

The Lee Millers

I have been thinking about a good name for my future band, and The Lee Millers sounds pretentious enough for me. I was going for something with "Cocteau" in it but then I realized that, well, I remembered, Cocteau Twins, and I don't think that Liz Fraser would be too happy about that. And I wouldn't be either.

I am nursing a nice headache right now. It is a drag. I wish I had more to say. Maybe if you scroll down, there's more to read. Yeah. There. Wowsa.

Not exciting enough?

What do you have against walls?

A great future is ahead of me, unfathomable by most. I got accepted to Ryerson University, Film Directing/Screenwriting. They say it is pretty special/difficult to get into the program, I don't know why they'd want me. Anyway, I hope this is not the only achievement I make in life, and knowing that next year I will be studying in downtown Toronto, having an intership with a good production company (I heard rumours about Columbia and Universal...but I am not getting my hopes up too hight)..eventually going off to Paris or London to study (probably Paris...London is too much like here...I am tired of Anglosaxons anyway)...it's all a comforting feeling, with a pinch of bitter realization that I am not a child anymore. And I feel like one, very much, still.

My head is throbbing and I feel very faint. I miss mother. She's been away since Sunday....and I can't wait for her to come home. It's much nicer when she's here. We talk about a lot of great things and I really like spending time with her. Dad I don't see too much because of his work, but when I do, it's nice to talk to him as well. Sometimes, I like my parents individually much better than when they team up...only for short periods of time. It's nice to have a family.

So cheers to yet another film directing hopeful. First we take on Cannes film festival, after that, the world.

Cause honestly honey, they just cost money...

Meghan and I have been planning the St Louis trip yesterday while stuffing our faces with chunks of English toffee and chocolate. It was a rather pleasurable evening. So far, we have some things figured out, and others are still being planned. Constantly reminded of our class, we are flying lowest fair possible (but if the plane crashes, everyone dies anyway..regardless of their class..although I am speculating one group goes to heaven, and other to hell) staying at the cheapest hotel possible...going to the grossest city possible. All for one man. We're insane, they all say. And we laugh in their face. So far, we have a nice sign planned out. "Unhappy Birthday in Misery". Hopefully he'll get it, and hopefully we won't get beaten up for being witty.

I am listening to the Beatles again, I don't understand why I was so fascinated with them 4 years ago. They are so plain to me now and evoke that long lost feeling called "hope", something I was taught to get rid of....

I know you, you know me....

Klaus Nomi, however, is pure revolution.

So is Kitty Kallen.

I am surprised I don't have more to say.

Pull the plug, for the love of a deity

These past few weeks have been dreadful ones- I truly hope it does not get any worse, but seeing how I work on Sunday, my gut tells me- perhaps, maybe, it will. Mother is off to her art school...father and I are left to fend for ourselves for the rest of the long week. I made vegetarian sushi which we diligently decided to eat all week...the house is starting to acquire a musty essence, and the cats appear to be rather malnourished. In short, I really miss mother, and I hope she will not leave us for a handsome art fag, just past the threshold of the 50s, with sophisticated grey streaks in his hair and a reminiscence of what the world looked like when he was considered to be a young chap. If that happens, both father and I are in deep, deep trouble.

I got rejected from one university the other day- it may come as a surprise, but I was not particularly depressed about it. York University representative told me the reason why I was not chosen was because for my interview, although I showed a lot of enthusiasm, was because I did not manage to show my filmmaking ability. To this remark I laughed out loud, asking what kind of a moronic numskull can expect of a highschool student to exhibit proficient filmmaking skills...especially when the program one is trying to get into is the "filmmaking basics". Was I supposed to show them my poorly recorded, digital camera films of me yelling at Alice Cooper "My God Alice, that's an ugly shirt!!!!" when he last visited this disgusting little town I live in, and not only disgraced himself by this appearance, but boldly decided to try to fit in by parading around in a purple plaid shirt.. it was disgusting. Shock rock ended for me that very day. I never really wanted to go to York- it is in the middle of nowhere, with a degree that prepares one for a life of non-lucrative pretentiousness.

Average, at best- apparently, that is what I am. Some people think that they have a God given right to fire judgments and random negative observations at me, but they are mistaken by my placid exterior..I fire back three times worse, and when I do, I hit bellow the belt. Yeah. How you like them apples? I was recently told that "people don't know who you really are", when I talked about my private personality. I was informed that people can't decode me, or know what I really think, act, and who I am behind closed doors. That made me really happy with myself, I landed a huge pat on my back and decided to keep up the good work. I think ones life comes to a screeching halt when people start figuring them out, and knowing who they really are.

I have yet to receive an e-mail from Linder Sterling. Quite disappointing. I wonder if she will ever write me, just a sentence, because if I could have her address, I would send her all of these wonderful things that make me one of her biggest admirers...and we'd make imaginary feminist babies, talk about life and our disgust for the society as a whole. Oh Linder, why won't you write me?

The yearbook class is making everybody write a message for our peers which will be published as a "goodbye" sort of thing. I had a couple of drafts. It is due tomorrow. I think I will settle for a "bye"..but these are some of the drafts I have been working on:

Unfortunately I have no last words of wisdom. Just pull the plug and get it over with. I'll spare you my honesty and instead say "I will miss all of you dearly". Seems like an appropriate ending. Ladida. Yours truly, Sir Quentin Crisp. P.S. Every time I said I was sorry....I didn't really mean it.

I also had something like this in mind, although they are screening these for content:

See you in hell. Yours truly.

And another witty one:

I did have a witty quote to write here, but seeing how this is the end, I
can now stop throwing my pearl before swine.

And just a mean one:

Best wishes to all of my friends and foes, and whenever you're down about
your future career, just remember that you don't have the most degrading job in
the universe- teaching.

As you can tell, I have nothing positive to say. So...I don't know if I will say anything at all. I think a nice "bye" would be well suited, have me remembered as a plain Jane....hopefully I will be remembered for more in a tactile, visible, non-fading way...other than a lame graduation yearbook entry.

Maybe not.