|
|
Thursday, June 15th, 2006
|
|
|
the response has become rehearsed and routine and undeniably deceitful and im cheating (only myself?)
....reassurance versus recognition.
|
(8 shooters | tequila)
|
|
i am convinced everyone can see it and diagnose it and I’ve never been this see-through and obvious and it’s unnerving and i’m uncomfortable.
forever the apologist; i’m sorry; i’m new at this, if you didn’t know/already guess/i hadn’t told you at a 3 am state of dishevelment.
its fluctuating and im poison filled and i can’t seem to keep it up/down.
i’m inconsistent.
|
(4 shooters | tequila)
|
Tuesday, October 25th, 2005
|
|
|
and i woke up with that song in my head.
i guess it really is your goodbye song.
|
(17 shooters | tequila)
|
Monday, October 17th, 2005
|
|
|
and the shots of jack daniels and the last lines of blow i did last night in the empty living room of my basement apartment didn’t make me feel any more ‘alive’ or connected or comforted or consoled and i’m not naive enough to have believed they would, but i was desperate enough to hope they may.
hollow recordings of memories and ink and verse and adoration.
and reminisces of rebellion and resolution and catastrophe and condolences.
i’ve gotten lost in half hearted dependence and deprecation and im dissolving...
|
(5 shooters | tequila)
|
Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005
|
| Time: | 8:28 am. |
| Mood: |  exhausted. | | Music: | "mouth full of cavities" blind melon. |
|
...
and he wouldn't believe me....
self esteemed glory, forever.
the fast car.
the bedroom door...
give it all up. refused.
and the selfishness could never appreciate.
and the liner notes never change.
bleeding in 2 spots.
living room filled with cigarettes and gin and aspiration..
and his fingers are bleeding too..
and he would never believe me. mangled.
never wanted more....
...it wasn't there before the highway.
|
(7 shooters | tequila)
|
|
still haven't slept.
still wearing the same clothes i wore at the bar 6 hours ago in the city where we can breathe.
doing it all again; round three.
i always feel strange at the end of a roadtrip; what words can signify the chaotic, tumultuous, brilliant moments, toasts and photo-op's.
the peel, the pitchers, the bar brawls, the boys in the band and the love song for her, the brass, suspended licenses, the beach, dior hypnotic, disclaimers and forever embarrassment, the fish, not being arrested, honest words in bathroom stalls, sign language, sharing shoes, jilted goodbyes, past the mission, effective eye contact, broken necklace, strangers with country roots, sublime, french boys and swimming pools, our version of naps, the same song over and over again, wildberry and weed in the rain.
"we won't have to drive too far, just 'cross the border and into the city
you and I can both get jobs
and finally see what it means to be living"
|
(2 shooters | tequila)
|
|
i'll project and write songs about you, your lack of presence, your pseudo ego, the way you'll end up with her, without me.
i come home to traces of cocaine and half drank martinis on the stained coffee table.
the ashtray is cracked and i'm sure we're gonna burn.
the pages of the book, acid free zephyr antique-laid.
the only reason i read it.
the only reason i'll read it aloud to you and make you pretend to care. pretend to believe.
accelerated aging. long lingering youth.
disjointed and spurious notes on bedroom walls, rip off's of geniuses and fakers, of liars and thieves and gods and friends and their enemies.
the cliche. the ink that signifies the end.
|
(2 shooters | tequila)
| Time: | 7:25 pm. |
| Mood: |  complacent. | | Music: | "if we make it through december" merle haggard. |
|
lifted. cut and pasted. ripped off myself.
i don't want you to hate me for this, but i don't want you to end up a statistic either.
yer fuckin' better than that. but there's nothing else i can say to convince you of that.
and you know how i hate being so muthafuckin' cliche.
she made me cry last night and i don't know why.
i was too honest in a drunken conversation and now feel sick to my stomach when i think about what i said. even though its all in my broken head and in reality its nothing/nothing/nothing.
im such a fuckin' colloquilism that it makes me wanna vomit everything i shouldn't have consumed today.
i don't wanna give it all up. i just want to stop pretending.
i am the cocaine cinderella. i am easy. i am scared. i am paranoid. i am irrational. i am everything i have ever and never wanted to be.
thats who the fuck i think i am.
|
(7 shooters | tequila)
|
|
i'm feeling particularly agressive/confrontational/argumentative today, finding myself defending musicians that i myself have no respect for, throwing lip glosses across the room because they were in the way, upset with the prospect of working an extra hour today, even though its only 60 extra minutes on a 14 hour day. and all the angry cuntrock music in the world couldn't save me from this.
and i'm dissapointed in myself for being so easily dissapointed in other people.
no show jones better not be playin' possum come october or i'll be a sad tomato.
|
(5 shooters | tequila)
|
Saturday, March 19th, 2005
|
| Time: | 1:41 pm. |
| Mood: | grateful. |
|
its days like this that i wish domminax lived in our living room. i adore the sentiment of trying to be quiet in the mornings for fear of waking up couch-sleeping guests. i like the early morning conversations that are a result of my clumsiness. i like having someone to call and confirm that the coroner's have not begun to carry out the bodies of the tenents of our old apartment as i haved dreamt so vividly the past three nights.
its also days like this that i wish i could take a photograph of me against the world.
of the feeling of the wind matting my dirty sexy hair.
of the market being set up for summer business, to sell overpriced fruits and vegetables that come off the same truck that will soon deliver to the average grocer, but make us feel better about ourselves, make us feel as if we are picking them right off the vine/digging them from the ground/shaking them off the tree.
of my nail varnish that changes colours in the sun.
i need new records.
i am sickened by the jealousy i feel for her.
|
(2 shooters | tequila)
|
Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005
|
| Time: | 10:41 am. |
| Mood: |  annoyed. | | Music: | "crucial" k-os. |
|
im terribly irresponsible and have lost my favourite earring.
and im convinced that i cut my hair only so i can let it grow out again.
and maybe to have something new to bitch about.
i spend X number of dollars on something that im just gonna have to get redone in two weeks time.
case in point; i got my hair cut back last week.
previous to this cut it was a brown mop that i could put up in my trusted dollar store hair clip.
two weeks later its a mop that's too short to put up in said clip, but instead just sits atop of my head.
and that requires daily blowing out.
with ugly bangs at that.
random hair salon for random hair stylist, here i come.
please fix me.
make me over.
|
(14 shooters | tequila)
|
Monday, February 7th, 2005
|
|
|
inexplicably, i feel like a culmination melanie griffith from "working girl" and christina applegate from "don't tell mom the babysitter's dead", except without the whore-iffic boss plot twist.
..although its 1920 and i still have to wear my dress pants and high heels, as there's a late meeting just getting underway, and my boss feels it innapropriate to wear my jeans, kicks and peircings while these corporate kids wander in. speaking of which, who the fuck was that blonde boy?
and while i know i say it with every new book i read, this one really has changed my life.
and to say that i need to keep my emotions out of my arguments is an ideal, particularly in this context, particularly on this subject.
friday was chaotic, and i spent more in cabs than i did in alcohol, which is fairly significant as i came home undeniably licked. its been a long time since i passed out cold on the couch and awoke to my head smushed between the cushions and the itchy/scratchy wool blanket in a heap next to me. but saturday was wholesome to the max, what with the roomate and i walking down the canal (cos who the fuck skates, ya know?) sippin' on hot chocolate and munchin' on beavertails. are we not the fuckin' picture of respectable?
and it would be easier to save money via packing a lunch if the aforementioned roomate would let me cook in the evenings. but once again, he's *cleaned* so there's no cookin' until he wants something, and then it's his mess. fucker.
i miss going out. i miss staying up all night. i miss puking my guts out every ten minutes but having a helluva story to tell intermittently. i miss the way my hair looks after a night out and having avoided water or a brush. i miss too much.
i'm starting to feel too old to pull these 14 hours days. and that makes me sad.
"i don't want to change the world, i only wanna stop pretending.."
|
(2 shooters | tequila)
|
Saturday, January 29th, 2005
|
| Time: | 10:17 am. |
| Mood: |  bored. | | Music: | "don't take your guns to town" johnny cash. |
|
i hate to admit it, but im so ridiculous that i can't listen to anything hip hop-ish today as i know it will only encourage me to spend retarded amounts of money and persuade kevin to come out dancing tonight. its all psychosomatic and i realize that just hearing beats shouldn't make me lose my shit like this, but just to be safe i'm sticking to lame rock radio i've got goin' on.
even though im dirty as fuck and the stamp still hasn't washed off my hand from helsinki on wednesday night (see the roommates journal fer that story in which i got no honourable mentions), i smell marvellous and the mascara that is smuged around my dry eyes looks fuckin' mint.
god. im such a shallow bitch.
and i know im being paid to be here today, and i would complain if it were any busier, but im just so bored this morning. im just waiting for something to happen. someone call me? cell or otherwise. you can even call the 1-800 number just so i can hear it ring that terrible ring and i can put on my hot phone sex voice.
i think i gotta do it rockstar styles and cut my own hair tonight
...that article i read last night was right. journal entries are lame and uninteresting when they are not filled with angst/anger er otherwise "unhappy" sentiment. see above post for evidence.
|
(9 shooters | tequila)
|
Wednesday, January 26th, 2005
|
|
|
|
of no interest to anyone else, but they read part of the email i had sent them 5 hours earlier on the CBC's "the hour".
|
(5 shooters | tequila)
|
Monday, January 24th, 2005
|
| Time: | 6:49 pm. |
| Mood: | complacent. | | Music: | "people who died" the jim carroll band. |
|
there's just something i adore about the pawn shop on the corner.
maybe its the aged dog that sleeps all day.
or the super friendly boys that sit and smoke cigarettes and compliment/laugh at my cd selection.
or maybe its the guitars that hang from the ceiling begging me to bring them home to safety.
maybe....
i give up. i can't try anymore. i don't have the energy or the empathy and i can't put forth the effort to fake it anymore.
its just not worth it to me.
and for that and that alone i am sorry.
i managed to sort through all the old scraps of paper, photos of people who's names i've forgotten, band t-shirts, notes and concert tickets and have thrown most of it away and for that i'm feeling rejuvinated.
i realize i need a hobby. something that is legal and something that is all mine.
...and i think i've found it in honky tonk.
maybe i am just an ole jukebox junkie, feedin' this habit with hardcore country.
" so you're a fool to attack me for an image that you've built yourself "
|
(15 shooters | tequila)
|
Tuesday, January 18th, 2005
|
|
|
as mr. douglas coupland said so wonderfully last night, this weather makes me feel as if i'm "inhaling thumb tacks".
consequently i took a cab this morning as there was no way i was standing in that mess for even four minutes.
ugly/warm green army coat or not.
and this is why i'm broke-ass.
...
last night was brillant.
it was nice to do something that i really truly *enjoyed*, as opposed to just something to span time.
and he read my favourite line from his new book.
...
i'm thinking about paying my library fines from x number of years ago for "coping with satanism" and just gettin' a goddamn card.
i'll be good this time. ignore the warnings. im a good girl now.
...
i swear he would've benefited more from last nights one hour, five dollar Q&A than his one hour, one hundred dollar therapy session.
..
all of the cds that i listen to most often are gone.
vanished.
so either someone jacked them from my desk at work (jesus, i'll pay a reward for an anonymous return er some such) or i'm just ridiculous and they are lost some where in yellow room of ill.
....
i got a new flip phone, finalment. but i can't get my telephone number transferred to it.
so call me back, bell bitch. this is bloody obnoxious.
...
meet you at heathrow?
im saving my pennies starting now.
...er well, after i pay for a cab home.
|
(2 shooters | tequila)
|
Wednesday, January 12th, 2005
|
|
|
i'm selfish and spoiled and am easily dissapointed when i don't get exactly what i want, exactly when i want it.
and i wanted a new cell phone. i wanted a flip phone and i wanted it last night.
so off the roomate and i go (we're on the same corporate plan), and dude tells me that because my phone was only purchased in may, im not eligable for an upgrade until november.
fuck that noise.
so my marvellous boss (knowing that im prone to temper tantrums and fits of irritability)has offered to switch phones with me (s'long as we can keep our numbers) so im eligable fer a pretty black flip phone as well! sometimes being a brat has its benifits.
...
however, i was still cranky and feelin' venomous with my lack of stylish accessories so instead of mobile technologies i found a beautiful pair of open toed (gasp) pink and black heels. and of course, to accompany said heels, i needed a new pair of pants, so we travelled all over hells half acre to find these fantastic flat front straight legged black dress pants. which of course, lent itself to new silver hoop earrings. so today im totally feelin' the after of 'what not to wear' (mind you, i also feel as if im a million feet tall and call me stumblina as i wobble about in my first pair of high heels in forever as ive been wearin pointy toed kitten heels for too long).
....
i need to put a sign on my ground level bedroom window indicating that although my idiot landlord (who still hasn't asked for december's rent?!?) created some ghetto makeshit parking spot, its still less than a half foot from my window, which in turn is right over my bed/sleeping head. and just as i was falling asleep last night with visions of pink and black pumps dancing in my head, some car screeched into the gravel parking spot at the exact moment that the phone started ringing. i coulda swore we were under attack.
...
and bitch, don't suck yer teeth in at me. its been 5 years since you worked here. fill in the muthafuckin' application form.
|
(3 shooters | tequila)
|
Tuesday, January 4th, 2005
|
| Time: | 8:03 am. |
| Mood: | tired. | | Music: | "hit 'em up" tupac. |
|
so the girl who sat across from me on the bus was pretty, pretty, pretty with her black mid thigh pea coat and alferd sung perfume.
and it made me feel like a mess of salt stained jeans and mix of united colours of benniton and givenchy.
i feel sick.
so im going to the doctors.
make me better please?
being braindead this morning, i put sugar in my coffee and have ruined it, which makes me a sad tomato.
i want blonde hair.
|
(13 shooters | tequila)
|
Tuesday, December 28th, 2004
|
| Time: | 11:13 am. |
| Mood: |  working. | | Music: | "you wouldn't like me" tegan and sara. |
|
its amazing to see your family grow up around you.
my cousins kids are now old enough to have shaggy highlighted hair and impress me with their renditions of seven nation army and back in black on their new shiny red electric guitars.
(and its amazing that im mad cool to them cos i wear skate shoes, a spiked belt and have my labret peirced)
...and in a strange juxtaposition; their father offered me his joint and laughed when i said i used battersea as detox...
i spent lots of time four wheeling and contemplating disheartening words from douglas coupland. there's something about sitting atop the ridge of a snow filled hill with a beer and a belmont to make you wish you could live this forever.
i also spent a lot of time rummaging through old articles/artifacts from my great grandfathers/grandfathers/now my papa's house.
from old phonographs and their rolls to memoirs of good standing church ladies and the cheese factory meeting agendas.
there is something to be said for history you can touch and feel.
"i feel like i wouldn't like me if i met me"
|
(1 shooters | tequila)
|
Monday, December 20th, 2004
|
| Time: | 12:03 pm. |
| Mood: | calm. | | Music: | "spacegirl" drugstore. |
|
every night i lay in bed and agonize over the days events.
what i've done wrong. what i regret. what i could have done better and how not to fuck it all up again.
and every night i have the same epiphany, revolution, revalation
and every night i resolve to be a "better person", for whatever that means.
and that i will exude patience and empathy and sincerity and tolerance.
...and by 0900 all ideals are thrown out of my third story window and im venomous and agressive and uncaring and irritable.
and my bad moods are contagious. just as hers. and i am virus filled.
i'm also feelin' like that advertisment.
its all i can think about.
|
(1 shooters | tequila)
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
missmartini's journal