I should delete this.

But the past doesn't really exist if you pretend it isn't there in the first place. That's comforting.

And I'm a long way from where this last left off. It's so strange how we'll never catch up. And how we'll never feel the need to. It's pretty perfect actually.

i suppose it's difficult to understand me at times. I'm not easy, I know, even I have difficulty knowing what it is I want or what I'm going through. Especially these nervous attacks and phobic like periods of unrest. I can't standdddd things the way they are now. I can't stand the idea of laying back and waiting for things to happen to me, I feel ( Read more... )

Today in class that pretty beach girl read her autobiographical short story outloud and then the Prof had us all write anonymous reactions to it and she read each one outloud. I thought her writing was outrageously phenomenal and the professor thought my review was. His face melted in disbelief when he heard my description of her writing. So he ( Read more... )

In the last few days I read She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb and even if I cried through the last few chapters I didn't like it much. It was 600 pages of a fucking soap opera for me, just that it dealt with the ugliness nobody else wants to deal with, but for the most part too dramatic and not a thing learned. Maybe a little compassion, but I ( Read more... )

Nothing will ever be as great as the illusion of it. Sort of makes you not want to do anything at all, not if it will never be what you expected it to be ( Read more... )

Last summer we spent a day on this island off the pacific coast of Nicaragua. All these sisters that call themselves family and their daughters. The local fishermen had caught a sting ray and were cutting it up to sell to the restaurant a few yards off the shore. These are scans so they are ugly and I can't take pictures.


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The only prayer left worth making

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It is being alone.
Only not exactly,
but just enough to matter.

jane 512.

jane 0.

How'd you get so satisfied?

jane 311.

The Revolution Makers
jane 7.

A skirtful of Hell

jane 11.

Portrait of a Scam.
jane 212.

My heart is pounding furiously inside the cavern of my ribcage. And the guitars are doing that roaring maniacal sound I adore and the boy sings and sings his hurt away; flings it as far away from him as possible. And all of a sudden I'm in love. With what I don't even know, I have this tendency to fall in love on Sunday afternoons. When everything ( Read more... )

And as I'm standing there lost in a crowd, hiding behind the dark curtain of my bangs, I'm too scared to look you in the eye. Too scared to bridge that distance with a gaze. To let you know of the longing and how you've been built perfectly to satisfy it. So the music is louder and the rhythm of percussions are bone-jarring and inside behind my ( Read more... )