last glass...dusty buckets...parched e-lips...sponge...drip...drop

2001-12-07 - 9:34 p.m.: margharita

So yeah. After I finished last night�s entry, I heard the tail end of a song that I�d been playing� by �Guster� ( a phenomenal band, by the way)� �Two points for honesty� it might make you sad to know that� nobody cares, at all.� And I kinda had to laugh at myself. Who really *does* care if you�re honest? Who cares if you�re not? Most people would probably rather you lie through a smile and wave than answer �How am I? Not so great, actually. I feel pretty shitty about the world, today, and wonder what I�m living for. How are you?�

�Oh� fine, thanks.�

So then� it becomes the ART that moves us. Plays can be depressing when people aren�t allowed to. Poems can make you want to die, people can say, �Oh� fine, thanks.� What the hell? Why can we accept things in one form and not another? Is it free will that�s screwing us up? Novels are �fated� to end a certain way�. There�s nothing we can do� But other people, well gee�. We�re assholes if we don�t do something to transform them from what they are into �happy and fulfilled� people! As if we�re in charge of other peoples� endings?

On the other hand� I don�t know what I�d prefer to happen. Should people become disinterested spectators toward each other? That sounds a little ugly.

Anyway� today was relatively dull. Went to work� babysat my cousin (he�s SO damn adorable� still figuring out how to use his fingers and limbs� he�s got these soulful brown eyes that are very unlike baby eyes� loves to stare at the window (not through it� he hasn�t figured out transparency, yet)�

How strange!! I just thought about what it must look like to a small child watching his or her parents leave� to see them walk through a hole in the wall, then close that hole, then become receding, two-dimensional figures on a cold, hard, shiny surface, who maybe turn and wave, and maybe don�t. No wonder we�re all screwed up!

�then came home and had soup. Maybe it�s my imagination, but it seems that every time I eat soup during the day, I have the most bizarre, vivid, surreal dreams at night. Can�t wait to go to bed!� :o)

2. (this one might be funny) I cry after every time I give or receive oral sex. (told you.. :o) Not... *right then and there*, of course. But later, always. I don't know why. I could probably explain it in terms of Freudian theory or Catholic guilt or... I don't know... whatever. But the essence of the matter is that it makes me feel fragmented and lonely... mostly lonely. One of the most intimate acts two people can share... and it drives me so far into myself that all I want to do is scratch my way out, screaming and clawing and fighting, all the way. Do I say this? No. I just pretend. Hold on tighter. Keep my hands busy. Whatever. It turns it into a *process*. How ugly. But the VERY worst part, and the thing that makes me a horrible person, is that every time I feel that way I'm secretly hoping that he feels that way, too... that the whole thing's a charade, only we're both too cowardly to say anything. I can't take the thought that he might be enjoying it.