i am not don juan-quixote
��������� �����i've grown to hate the feeling of laying down in bed and sleeping, knowing that the inevitable wake-up will come -could sleep, if i wanted to. not an insomniac, kind of a poseur-insomniac... deathly pale today, and passing out randomly in each different class. radiohead on the speakers. ironically, "nice dream."
i dyed my hair red tonight with kool-aid powder and conditioner. casey did it for me, mostly, with the aid of a plastic bag.
i feel as though i'm writing a bizarre new-style novel.
o
dark room. darker walls.
o
fahrenheit is treacherous today. it slipped and slid down the tracks to a base number - rain turned to snow turned to sleet turned the greening grass to frail white.
i want to / i want to be someone else / or i'll explode i need some coherency in these entries. but it describes my internal state accurately - continually jumping from blank lilypad to blanker lilypads.
a very attractive girl in "machinal" tonight, which went well. i still hate the script, but it was performed and directed seamlessly. very good job on all fronts. a few attractive girls lately. the shape, the comely contours of their body - a girl randomly in the hallway, bent over so i could only see the arch of her back and stomach, where her shirt slid up cautiously, like a cat inching over the floor to spring upon a mouse -
i'm ready ... the arch of her back, finely detailed with the interruptions of her spine - each vertebra, until vanishing into the smooth plain of white-pink flesh, into the top of her jeans. she stands up, arranges herself.
exhaustion runs through me, even causing small rivulets of stress to seep out of my scalp and run (kool-aid cherry red) down my face, marking a long stain where it passes, like an invisible watercolour artist making me into a cry-bloody martyr. a jesus.
the words eloi eloi lama sabbacthani ran through my head all day. i considered making it into a song. then i realised what i was saying and quit.
craving some sort of control, some sort of constancy. cleaning the snow off of my car in the furthest parkinglot. suddenly astonished by the distance between two people, taken aback by the warmth of an imagined embrace, of a flooding nostalgia - which is then gone in the new guise of solace ... i am comforting each and every one of the glittering, frosty-eyed stars, as if trying to woo women -
everything i see comes in metaphor from the sky. i wrote "mene mene tekel upharsin. -God" on the door today, on our white board.
you have been weighed. and found wanting.