l'eterna

.





and on the other hand, i found myself inextricably caught in your limbs, hair, and breath, as if in love, or perhaps in lust. either way, the air was cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth that stuck your skin to mine. you looked at me, eyes half closed and words muttered in a broken tongue whispered an apology. but to girls, sometimes, when the world is bright, saying sorry is like saying goodbye.





1 of mine:






.

allusion number

.





oh, the lives of men.












.

gina and the world

.




the sky seemed small today.
i smiled a lot, and spewed out delightfully profane insults.
all in good humor.

my hair is still wet, and my body feels enigmatic.







love, i've found, tends to slip clumsily and gracelessly through the cracks of one's mind and heart, regardless of its assumed strength and ferocity.
and for me, it tends to cause a tremendous virulence towards the self. chaos erupts and blackens; it proves impossible to keep away from regret and loss.
and yet love, with all of its hurtful air, envelopes most with a warmth that is at once beautiful and treacherous, uplifting and incriminating.
makes my head spin.




.

no disrespect but that's how i am

.





go !





_____________________________________________________________


babes,
it is approx. 4am. i have school in 3.5 hours.
shit& hell.

anyway. today will be fucking busy. after school, i think i'm going to dr. chang's, and in the evening i have a meeting for the academy.
boomtastic. not really. mo-fuck.

_____________________________________________________________


jen brill love dove take me away !

_____________________________________________________________



this week is pretty much set for fucking disaster-- i TOLD you it'd be the summer of mistake number five...

...

you can unlove and unsex, uncare and undo everything &me. you want to do to me what the sun does to the fruits during autumntime, but I'm so enraptured by winter, taken under and fallen through; I love the cold more than I love you.








.

no more?

.


















sometimes, i wonder if maybe the words i said to you, nearly half a year ago, maybe more, were the last words that will ever be uttered between us.
sometimes, i wonder if i've waited for the wrong thing, if i've waited too long, if i haven't waited long enough.
i can't believe what's happened, sometimes.
i'll see you from across the room, or something like that, and i'll feel the thought hitch, a memory caught in the gentle electricity of two synapses.
i'll suddenly remember the way your breath spread, like spilt paint, across the curve of my shoulders.
i'll recall that, before, i was able to look at you without being seeped in the thickness of nostalgia.
i'll break. sometimes.

other times, i let the memories take me back to the time that i had in my hands when you and i were still somewhat one.
back to when you held me like there was no pain in the action, and even further, to the unraveled state i was in before any of this transpired. the state to which i'm fast returning. i let the minutes that remain in my memory drift over my train thought, and i smell you again. i taste you again. i let myself feel you again.

but i'll be honest.
you're fading.
i can feel the wind blow in a slightly less forceful fashion. the light is filtering through the musty density of grey thought and i can see the foreground with a small bit of clarity.






.

it's not supposed to go that way, i think.

.




eyes closed mouth open

with a complete disregard
for the sky in my mouth, you kiss
and bite my bottom lip
with the sincerity of the hungry—

I can not feel the cold of your teeth:

the aching of transience has torn
that much asunder—the self
is too much; our skin too rough,

and the only pinpricks
of light I found
were of wet lips& rust,
distressed attraction&
the cyclical, frantic running
of time.








familiar

the scent
of him and chlorine,
gathered in the lines of my palms,
stains my skin;
and i cannot bear our smell of
old, wrong love,
the great fragility of the aroma,
like that of hurting gardens
and broken rooms--
the walls within which
you numbed my tongue
with your taste
and taught me of your hurt.













.

let the eaves drop on their own

.













__________________________________________________



my brain is tired.

__________________________________________________




my day:



in the second grade, i suffered third degree burns on my right arm and leg from a campfire that spontaneously exploded (most likely from faulty lighter fluid). it took me nearly a year to recover and i still have a ghastly scar that will never fully disappear. i think the incident has instilled a phobia of explosives in me. not fire in particular; i love playing with matches, plus i smoke like a chimney; but with things like dynamite and other pyrotechnics, i get mother fucking scared. shitless.

today, an m-80 went off less than ten feet away from me.
fucking hell.
shit.
scared the bloody fuck out of me.

i got up around nine, took a shower, studied french for an hour, went to chang's and studied fucking calculus for three hours, then mayur called and said to come to george's.
so i did.
then lin drove us to some random hill and we started trekking.
eventually we got to the middle of sycamore park and ended up scrambling along the pitiful riverbank there, fooled around until six or so. everyone took turns swinging across the little stream from a stick tied to a rope tied to a tree. i wandered off and abandoned my shoes, sighed at the feeling of cool, not perfectly clean water trickling around the soles of my feet.
it was fun.
and then mayur pulls out half (?) a dynamite stick.
bitch.
george was supposed to fucking throw it from across the stream into the bank below, but he threw too far and it landed right next to lin on the towel that he was sitting on.
went off with a BANG and left a burnt hole in the fabric...
almost swallowed my fucking cigarette..
and of course no one knew why i got so scared, but honestly... shit .

anyway.
that was a horrific experience.
regardless of the fact that the rest of the trip was grrreat.
good one, mayur.

so.
afterwards, we went to namita's house, swam for and hour (?) or so, then hung around before going to diamond palace.
then the majority of us watched while mayur attempted to convince his parents to let him stay over namita's.
joy.

boys are idiots sometimes.
but me too.
today, i mistook anesthesia for amnesia.
*head* *desk*.
that was a low point for me.


i did, however, have a rather interesting conversation about agnostics/spirituality/prejudice with namita's sister, with namita and mayur jabbing in their comments now and then.

and georgie was silent.
supposedly he doesn't like talking about religion.





__________________________________________________









this week.
tomorrow... LA with domonique, hopefully. if not then who knows.
friday... undecided, but evening... maybe gsc for teacher appreciation... don't know .
saturday... beach with either paul or gsc sophomores
sunday... physics tutor, church, chillo with my sisters and in the evening-- paul in pomona.


__________________________________________________



notes:

if anyone wants to go see jamie cullum with me on july 20th or 21st (most likely latter) then ring it. my mother's hesitant to let me go alone this time.

hey! don't forget the glasshouse swap meet this saturday 10-3 !!! (sponsored by kidrobot folks)

which reminds me-- domonique!!! wolfparade: september 15th @ glasshouse ! we should go go go... and, on september 7th, kings of leon @ the greek, although i don't really know how much you like them... so...





.

bring it back.

.




i can enter, now, age of paranoia. let it sweep under the lids of my eyes and let the brows furrow in concentration.












pardon the discoloration and the amorphous wail of shadows in this picture that i'm giving to you now.





looking at the way the sun lightens your lips and can't help but think they look better in the dark.




mistake number five.
this will be that summer.






.

tell me the story of old

.




and the heat of affection subsided, leaving in its place a depthless familiarity, cold touches of the hand and rough kisses with someone else in mind.
i couldn't apologize, waiting for him to say sorry first, be a better person.
but you don't fuck with the devil unless you want to get burned.

.