11.30.2001

i picked him up on east sixth street after weeks without. i guess no matter where we are, we're happy b/c not too many people would appreciate taco bell as "our restaurant". fine dining my friend, fine dining. he saw my mother tipsy which was fucking hilarious b/c he's the only one outside of the family that has, i think... later his hand grasped not mine but nine stories and catcher in the rye with four fingers and one thumb as i held onto franny and zooey. the used book store was raided last night for salinger writing. bible-less trey bought a one dollar good times bible, and after our stop to relieve a dr pepper fix, he read to me using one overhead car light flicked on. he continued as we arrived on his couch after walking the distance between cold outdoors and heated inside home. he wanted to find stories that made us feel good...the story of noah and some guy with a talking donkey. me, girl with no religion, listening to bible stories. but most referred to damnation so we opted to switch to salinger and took turns with the search for a bananafish with see more glass. after his roommate entered and the star wars funk, psychedelic rock, jesus song record had spun their many circumferences, he picked up his brown guitar. blackbird by acoustic and voice.
he's everything that boyfriend should be but he is not boyfriend. our smiles play off each other. but in the end, we're friends. if it weren't for fucking five years, he'd want me overnight. if not for five years, i'd be there every night. but i'm happy where we are. he's another reason for me to smile.
currently spinning: beta band: squares

11.29.2001

i just want to love you
and hold you all through the night.
-branvan 3000

11.28.2001

i'm in love with the student teacher. if someone could give me the chills as well as he turns me on explaining shakespeare, i'd be in this haze of bliss. smart boys. damn.
i'll get shit for this tomorrow, but it's all good.
the new york winter chic today, reflecting in the window. everything is cold to the touch and people suprise the back of my neck with freezing hands. the indoors temperature is twice that of outdoors. snuggled in a blanket touching legs, sides, and toes, faces resting on shoulders and warm kiss breath on neck would be nice. but it's a dream, i guess.
currently spinning: mars volta: bunel home
maybe we fantasize to much, ben and i...
"is anyone sitting here?"
(insert stunned reaction)
"yes?"
"no!!!"
and i would jump on them. b/c it's part of the dream. but now i sit in at the table looking around without catching eyes.
for me, escaping the party to talk and kiss under the streetlights.
"i've wanted to kiss you all my life."

11.27.2001

cristina and i have big plans for the weekend. after securing a pair of surgical gloves for our four hands, we will explore the pockets of thrift store clothing and dine on the profit. perhaps we'll see something scary going into the world of the dangerous unknown. but money is worth it b/c we will eat our good efforts. not that we'd eat poisonous shite from pockets, more along the lines of a piece of pie.
speaking of cool (me and stinky), mike wore the shit today. how cool is a kid that's wears a bright green thrift shirt with lines pre-cal equations in white? very, my friend, very.
currently spinning: dr octagon: i'm destructive
there are glossy sexed pages of magazine news laying in front of our eyes on a wooden table with maroon formica. not necessarily the place to be after dinner on the campus. the chill turned pale cheeks pink while the wind never flowed into navy indie coat. texas sleet expected tomorrow. and i will be in light blue thick knit turtleneck sweater that goes well with black peacoat and hot chocolate fighting to stay warm in forty degrees.
chuck goes out in the morning to drive. i asked him to describe the best part.
"getting to see the city wake up. seeing the nice houses i want to live in and watching kids run acroos the street with their book bags on. seeing bright graphiti against the gray sky. thinking about how everyone is sleeping, it makes it seem like it is private. like im watching people sleep."
the lights are out by ten o clock. clouds curled with cold, waves and arches.
currently spinning: mercury rev: the dark is rising
pretty red van shoes. and he's faking interest inthe mouth flapping in frontof the classroom. and chipotle is fine dining for me and my pawn shop boyfriend. dirty fingernails spinning ball point pens, and plaid boxer exposed by rolled up shirt and sagging khakis. popsicle days are over and at the same time we both like to napon someone else's pillow all curled up.

11.26.2001

nah kid, i'd make you curl up all near me.
-the boy who calls me huckuby

11.25.2001

well, i want to take pictures of the curves of you face and neck. sexiness in skin so creamy the tongue feels tempted. desire in simplicity and i want to sleep with you.
wooden cedar bench overlooking the lake shining two o'clock sparkles. the leaves glow greener with the late autumn sun and i long to dip my feet in the water before the wind grows arctic and jack frost plays on the windows before we rise in the morning.
chilled and pumpkin-y cheesecake. british comedies and freshly washed hair. comfort lullaby and bed is soft.
this weekend.
they kept me out too late with reubens and free baskin robbin pints. so maybe i didn't call all the new faces but i did get to know all the old ones better. and the music in our car is the soundtrack of life b/c when i turn fifty i'll remember how pervy and how philosophical we could be. ignore me dancing to bad nineties pop but i know you'll do it when i'm around later on.
when i get engaged, i'm registering for a trampoline.
we had one of those moments, mom and me, where we realize this is the last time i'll be living here and helping out. ever since our four hour father of the bride marathon, she's been getting a little misty eyed. my last time to hang christmas ornaments on the fake pine tree in my house but not the last time in my home.
geometric and soft watercolor of sweaters, blue jeans and profiles. golden haired boy and lips ready to kiss. and his dark cinnamon curly hair matches the curl in his smile. and urban record store with tons of vinyl and indie works behind the counter. the windows overlook asphalt and the college scene that (hopefully) i'll be a part of next year. not that i don't already listen to turntable music on the worn in couches or fan away the cigarette smoke while under the colored lights and while sitting on a medal rocking loveseat. gorgeous.

11.22.2001

it's a wonderful life sang its' song after giving thanks. and as the white cat pops her head in through the door, i don't have anything to say. i just don't feel like talking.
currently spinning: david singer: the cost of living

11.21.2001

the stars last night shined like the glow-in-the-dark ones up on the ceiling. holes in black canvas through which rays of solar light peek from outdoors.
currently spinning: godspeed you black emperor!: storm

11.20.2001

today dragged on as days before breaks do. but it's cool to pick up on the people you like because of who they are. mike talked and i listened, and it was that simple. he entertains the shit out of me and i hardly know him. and i like how going away for a break pushes the idea that you've got to be entertained by new faces. sketchy plans with people whose numbers i have yet to dial. but it's exciting.
natalie, intern extraodinaire, toured me around the austin museum of art. she's my bad ass bad seed buddy. turquoise and clay, carved designs and the promised gina pots. and we giggled about vinny and dumb things like band and wuthering heights as she gave me a behind the scene tour, riding an elevator with windows facing outdoors so the concrete fell visibly below and the buildings appeared to shrink.
it's been a long time since this has happened. first period, someone gassed up the place pretty fucking bad. danny, daniel and i all scooted our chairs back with the object of getting away from the wretched smell. an a-bomb that filled the entire room. i was laughing so hard i couldn't play, which honestly helped me escape the stench. silent but deadly...so true. god damn. and it lasted a good seven minutes.
currently spinning: the pharcyde: passing me by

11.19.2001

daddy and i braved the cold and wet as i ran and he ambled to his truck. drive down the drag to kerbey lane cafe because it's too late to go to many restaurants unless they are open twenty-four hours. i ordered a baked potato omelette. yummy in my tummy. (i think ben's excessive eating habit is getting to me.) with fruit on the side. pineapple and cantelope and grapes and apples, sweet and summery in the first chill. our waiter wasn't very perceptive to empty plates. so i asked, "how do we go without the check?" and dad replied, "very discreetly..." i love how my dad and i don't really need to talk and we have a good time. he's funny and can sometimes be mean. but i inherited my bull-headedness from him so fighting is good when you want to butt heads. but we didn't leave discreetly. instead we paid and drove down guadelupe. a boy in fleece and khaki shorts shivers waiting for the walk sign to glow white. and the boys still battling it out on dance dance revolution. and the girl overlooking the street from the window of metro. it's cold but still alive.

11.18.2001

my sister blends in with the grass today.
i want a little kid that i can take to outdoor jazz concerts and watch them dance. things will be perfect. certain things are a given. i feel like i've been busy as shite but probably not, really...right next to me there is a little pad of paper with the title "things to do". i can think of some people. summer weather is disappearing. the wind has a crispness to it that we haven't felt in a long time. and even though the leaves are still green and stand out in the drabness of the gray sky, soon they'll be brown and red and yellow and then they'll mold into the ground and soil. and winter gives me soemthing new to find beauty in. i feel like wearing my wooly hat and smiling with red cheeks. soon we'll be spinning under the christmas tree and filling our sopapillas up with honey. but right nowi look forward to pecan pie and the wishbone , so maybe my wish will come true. and i hope that all my applications will be filled out by next week so i can stop thinking about next year and just relax now. i'm so ready. the radio show rocked the casbah and we're starting to get nerdy as we brag about the awesome transitions between songs. i am the master. and you're a special boy b/c you ask me good questions and fill my head up with happy thoughts and answered questions. it'd be nice to see you everyday.

11.17.2001

your name flashed up and i really gasped. and then you were gone. all i remember are your green eyes and words that helped me through being me. what would it mean if i tracked your number down? would you be more scared than happy? because i need you in me.
currently spinning: nelly furtado: i'm like a bird
i hug my knees and pretend it's you (my head resting on your shoulder or your chest). "man i'd love to make you mine." because it's true for both of us.
i wanted to pull him into a dark room and kiss him. and it'd be sexy b/c he'd never know it was me.

11.15.2001

the field's a fucking lake as sheets of water and hail plumet downwards. the windshield wiper's send three feet of cascade to each side and my wheels fight gallon puddles splashing and blinding others. i can't see past the fog of continuous downpour and one minute in the rain is the same as jumping into a pool. the winds, children of the tornado seen farther away play with the pools that have formed on the ground creating waves so different. the roof's pounding echoes outdoors, in the pool room. and the clouds send down angry quick flashes of hot white that illuminate all that is drenched. already, the sirens grow in the distance and then fade. do you remember winnie the pooh and the terrible blustery day? today we are the rainy flooding day.

11.14.2001

and it rains while the sun is still out and helicopters beat the air with a slicing rhythm. in formation four black bodies with rotating blades. the black birds perched in a line on the roof of a building do not flap or sound but instead watch silent and still. surreal.
waking life gave painted pictures of versus. waking life and dream life. so bombarded with beauty and question. existentialism time death life theory action...who what are we? answer ponders with miles of speeches, words overflowing through ear canals and neurotransmitters falling behind in synapsis. i learn much to question reality. the more i listen and the more i see, the more my brain pulsates with wonder. images create yet another world...seen before seen again? serious mind fuck as movie speaks brilliant and beyond information gathering. i appreciate being forced to think so hard.
we sat in the car under the streetlights relating to waking life. so many opinions and commonalities we share. thank you for your truths. cristina knows so much. we laughed about possums, worried about future, wonder about past, argue the american values and system and teach (subconciously) what we know.

11.13.2001

a conversation with a guy i'd like to know..
pretty close to actual dialogue:
"hey, did you have fun at death cab?"
"yeah, did you go?"
"yes, i saw you there, that's why i asked."
"oh, what'd you think?"
" i thought it was awesome. i took some pictures."
"where were you?"
"near the front pole. i'll show them to you if they're any good."
"ok"
this struck me as funny now that i look back on it. i bet i've had conversations like this a thousand times in life and i'll have many more in the future.

11.12.2001

i saw the rain today. as it dripped like melting from the damp skin of leaves. i floated in reflection of concrete water, the asphalt road reflecting copper and blinding from the slick wetness sliding with auburn sun.
the boy with shaggy brown hair and eyes lives in black and white photographs and two desks over. we like to watch.
lately, my head drifts off to people i've talked to before and have not seen since. and i wonder if they ever think of me.
currently spinning: death cab for cutie: pictures in an exhibition

11.11.2001

the eloquent words of miss cristina l vasquez:
"i hate people who classify themselves as indie or emo, its so pretencious, not to mention retarded."
so true so true...pure genius
you're my mall girlfriend c.l.v.! omg!
the music makes me think of faces and butterfly kisses and tiny hands growing into personality. i am a little chilly just after i've learned about santa. the sky grows dark and seems to be uninviting. but there are things that keep me warm.
we were hot last night. and busy. the benefit, quiet loud, dark light...everything in the right places. our money will send books to prison inmates. i drank my first beer. for those who know me, you just know. trey and topher brewed for charity captain oil tanker. as i put it last night, "if i can drink this, i can drink anything." we posed in colorful animal balloon hats, both sets of hands holding our shared bottle as the timer on the camera flashed down. the bottle is still upstairs. me and ben, what a soul twin connection.
i went for myself, i went for the charity. was i being selfish?
death cab for cutie. i'm too tall for my own good. close my eyes and the music is still there. sam sang along. when i saw him for the first time outside of his element...the reality of the black and white photobooth pictures seemed closer.
kerbey lane lovin'. i see it in the way he smiles and focuses on you like there is no other. what does it mean to you, ben? i ate my scrambled eggs and french toast like a good little girl as my eyes darted back and forth. too much going on too late in the night (too early in the morning). it makes me want to remember every face i encounter. when i think of someone, the same image of their face surfaces, and i remember the smile or the eyes and how it felt when they were near me.
spaghetti-o saturday afternoons. texans like me love chili.
currently spinning: lauryn hill: everything is everything

11.09.2001

it's too quiet to stay inside.
little c, i will always love you. i will never ditch you for the movies just as i will never give up our crazy times and leprechaun delusions.
i know so much and so little at the same time. and when i write this, i begin to feel emo. which will make cristina and i giggle at that epiphany. the rain outside tonight brought in the cold front. it has long since stopped and faded into the spinning of the dryer. the house is dark and quiet. and i am, too...floating in a sleepy fog and deep thought. always remember.

11.08.2001

today, the psychologist called me "wise".
in other news, i have an avulsion fracture in my foot. the bone was almost completely broken into two pieces. ever since the old skool kickball game... it really was a glorious way to hurt myself, despite people advising me to create a better story. i was racing third and rolled on my foot. but next kick, i limped to home plate. i've been walking around with this sucker for almost two weeks. but now i have a lovely new two hundred dollar special clunky walking cast. and i make black marks on our kitchen floor. oh well.
something about brown paper bag lunches...picture of an apple, a sandwich with lettuce and meat, the token sweet and fruit juice or soda sitting out partially resting on a white and blue napkin. my mother used to write me little notes on my napkins...the snoopy ones for valentine's day. and then, i stopped bringing my lunch. i wish she hadn't been the one to always make my luches b/c now i'm not very good at doing it on my own. the last time i had to, i brought popcorn and kix in a ziploc bag, some applesauce and and peanut butter and honey sandwich. i swear, i'll starve in college. i can make spaghetti. well then again, my dad can only make chili and beans, and he gets along pretty well.
for some reason, i'm intrigued and at the same time scared. something genuine came out of your mind and into me. and now i can't shake it. it's cold outside, and i'm the girl with the orange marker. my marker moves with me in my front jean pocket, peeking out orange on blue.
pretty boy. it's the boys that never make eye contact when someone passes by and never smile when i do that make me sad.

11.07.2001

greenkiss: i hear the train
coaxed: i can't
coaxed: yet
coaxed: is it going south?
coaxed: i hear it!
coaxed: sweet
greenkiss: :) we're train twins
coaxed: hehe yep!
i'm uneasy. something is happening to me but i don't know what it is.

11.06.2001

dance dance too much booty in the pants. i am not a deprived sorority girl. i swear. i'm feeling fine with no action in front or behind. and two people (ahem van and stink) think that i've got the aspiring inner nympho screaming to emerge. i mean, "i have a feeling that once you get started, you'll have a lot of fun with it." fine van, here we go. anyone want to deflower this barely legal highschool senior? i've got a slammin body with curves my mother comments on ("you've grown up to be so beautiful. look at that nice figure..."). the only boy touching me is cute and of the gay persuasion. oh please...won't someone make my day triple x rated? pretty please, with my cherry on top?

11.05.2001

and whatever happens, he is always there. or at least i think so. i find it hard to imagine myself needing someone twenty-four seven now, but out of everyone, he's the one. maybe it's juevenile of me to want so much or maybe it's human.
cristina is a queen.
in which kelly sings karaoke...it is true. i heard a bunch of songs i'd never heard before sung by a bunch of old people in a vanilla smelling apartment. i lost my karaoke virginity to bingo, which may not seem like a big deal i guess. but it's the moment that counts. benny and i roared through "i want it that way". he gave me all the solos because he can't sing very high and recently he's been going through some sort of way post-pubescent voice cracking stage. but that is the glory that is ben aqua.

11.04.2001

benny and i took pictures of geometrics and water ripples in the center of the city. urban beauty morphing with the natural. i waited atop a bridge while below he captured the tagging. and then behind me, a voice of content like the southern appeal of whistling. we talked and he sang me old john denver songs in a beautiful voice. such friendly eyes peered out hinting at what was within.
currently spinning: incubus: stellar (acoustic)

11.02.2001

i went to the store to see your face.
we acquaint drum and keyboard singing remniscent of nursery rhymes.
curls on fire in perpetual motion and tight skinny emo pantsed boys convulse stage into chaos. the moaning meets eyes of bewilderment and bobbing heads. boy jumping into the ceiling as one other fingers guitar so quickly and so precisely. eyes shut in trance as he plays. blacks shirt sticking to thin back, glossy in the red and green, drips of sweat and sparkled guitar.so fucking gorgeous.
flashing letter a's and vanilla lip smackers. clear dark drums fill with orange glow as soft sex sings with pictures of city lights and sun golden silouette. "fuck y'all, i'm from texas."
marry me.
we met van and johnny at magnolia's. the post-club kids have not arrived so the smoking side remains without haze. pancakes, french toast, coffee and quesadillas for six faces shadowed from overhead. the windows dark, grins (sly and real) grow larger as we succumb to the lateness. the thingy in the back of your throat is a uvula, by the way. thank you for the omar hook up, he called me last night. and somewhere someone else sneezes too big or laughs too much. but i am here now...with the boy that smiles, the boy that dances with me, the boy that shakes his skinny emo ass and the boy that tells me to get laid.
rectangular camera box shows only what lives in front. and rectangular print lives what is in front.