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something urban is now something quite rural.

welcome to livejournal #3.

not so top secret anymore, but please disregard the outdated melodramatic prose i know you will be so tempted to read.

i'm getting my wisdom teeth removed tomorrow and ohdeargod i'm terrified. they are going to drug me up, and put metal things in my mouth, and cut me open, and saw my bones, and make me bleed, and try to sew me up again but i know i'll bleed endlessly because i always do. and i will throw up and i will shove gauze in my mouth (how i dread that ( Read more... )

spontanious road trip to the city. jojo and i first driving through umass blasting bobdylan and plucking our eyebrows. then three hours of fast driving in a dirty car without a speedometer. but good people. joanna and rebecca and mark and myself. the fireworks in central park were supposed to be amazing. we ran into the park as the fireworks began ( Read more... )

you know, it was beautiful. it was a bed by the sea. a bed by a huge old window, rounded at the top. paint chipping. the glass so old the solid begins to give up hope and melt. it's the lighthouse and the silence. they shivered with the loneliness of age. (this window held away that mainstreet, that lighthouse, that sunset for infinite moments). ( Read more... )

She walks into the room with a sway in her hips that makes her gray woolen skirt flip slightly from side to side. The peeling institutional wallpaper of her room is decorated with black and white photographs. One wall is dedicated to her collection of antique pictures which she explains she purchased in various vintage shops and flea markets. She’s ( Read more... )

curled up in the back seat of the old Volvo and pulled the fleece blanket over her body so that she would stop shivering in the bitter January cold. The warmth of the sun had reached the tops of the pine trees and suburban rooftops but had not yet found its way to the car. She, Rebecca, and Joanna were driving from the city of Boston to the tip of ( Read more... )

i am throwing up. and my tummy really hurts a lot. shit.

when i flicked my cigarette on the floor of B4 the ash drifting to the floor looked like snow falling. but with orange flames falling alongside the charred paper. i think that snow should fall like that. white and grey with brillant orange specks of warmth. i live snow these days.

i want to live in a dorothy arzner movie. pearls, tweed, jazz music. large format cameras and brandy from crystal glasses. classy men who wear smoking jackets and want me. girls with long cigarette holders who glance at me suggestively from the corner of their eye.