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LiveJournal for life documents.
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| Wednesday, September 12th, 2007 |
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The following is not fiction, but memoir, as true as I can make it while at the same time attempting to make of Truth something approaching a narrative. I have changed names and have probably conflated one or two incidents into another. It's too soon to be sure, but as of this typing, I think I have done so successfully. Nevertheless, it's long, so I've placed it beneath an lj-cut. Feel free to pass it by if you're not interested in reading a report that includes swearing and some semi-graphic sexual activity. The quoted lyrics are, of course, from Simon and Garfunkle's beautiful song, "For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her", a piece of music that "Maggie Majeure" was instrumental in how I hear it now. ( Click here for more. ) Cross-posted from my journal and to love_sucks. |
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| Thursday, February 22nd, 2007 |
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and so look at me now finally time moved me so still time stood still so frequently
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| Wednesday, February 21st, 2007 |
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exercising calculating leaving
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| Wednesday, December 27th, 2006 |
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| ( allowed? ) | ||||
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| Monday, December 4th, 2006 |
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So this is my first post in this or any community...I'm new to LJ. I loved the idea of this community, I hope to learn a lot here :-) So many times I cried, "God help me." But I never truly Said a prayer. My life filled to the brim, With no sleep. I ended heart broken, A lost whim. Just the things I asked for, Much too much. Only the world I made, All fallen. I did call out each day, "God help me." But not even nightly, Did I pray. |
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| Thursday, August 31st, 2006 |
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When girls are in long distance relationships, and it's finally time for a visit; the preperation process could be an Olympic event. It takes all day. From packing, grooming and all the tiny details in between. We never tell them how much effort goes into making those first few moments of reunion, that first night back together, close to perfection. We never tell them how hard it is to be so fantastic for them, because it would ruin the illusion that we so carefully cultivate. I've been in several long distance relationships now, and I have the magic of those first few moments down to an art. And we do this, because when there isn't the constant reassurance of our prescence, we want to remind them why it's worth it, even though they KNOW it's worth it, or they wouldn't do it. But inspite of the fact, that they're looking forward to seeing us, as much as we're looking forward to seeing them... We want to appear as these beautiful, seamless creatures who are effortlessly everything they want us to be. But this art and preperation is often pointless and unnoticed. Because we're already effortlessly everything they want. But we still do it. We still spend hours attaining something that already exists. Collectively, I've been in one long distance relationship or another for 5 years. And even though I know all my preperation is for naught, I still go through these rituals in anticipation. Girls are strange and mystifying creatures. And I say this, being one. |
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| Saturday, August 26th, 2006 |
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I must admit that, until then I had found her indifferent yet somewhat mysterious But somehow We ended at a work function together Me, and my co-worker. During the night, She looked at me And said, “Let’s get plastered.” And I began to grin stupidly. Things were about to get interesting, And of course I never turn down a drink. So she took me to a Karaoke Bar And it suddenly hit me This woman was extremely attractive. She threw off her jacket revealing A tight, black slinky top She let down her hair: Long, thick, waving, shining, brown hair That cascaded down her shoulders almost engulfing her Contrasting beautifully with the darkness of her top. She was stunning Her eyes were soft and blue, fringed with long, silky lashes. Her eyes danced with mischief. And then she began to drink. And drink And drink And then she began to sing And dance, grinding to the music as it overtook her. She began to gyrate like Madonna on methamphetamines And every man in the bar turned To stare at her Jaws dropped open. She smiled And I smiled, knowing that she was with me. My co-worker is breath-takingly stunning, Sensual & pure. Looking at her knocked the wind clean out of me, turning my stomach in knots of anticipation. I thought to myself How had I not seen it? Had I been so blind? Or had she simply been a master of disguise? I saw that she was dangerous, complicated & intelligant, beautifully open to the world. And she made me remember Mexico When I was seven years old; And how I found A large, perfect conch shell In the surf. I picked it up I wanted to own it But then suddenly A long, glistening tentacle Snaked out of the shell In alarm, flailing in the air. I dropped it with a gasp Shocked and grateful Moved to tears Because I had discovered that The teeming world is rich with secret life None of which can be owned or known, or even categorized Because nothing is ever what it seems It is better. |
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| Sunday, August 6th, 2006 |
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Hi everyone, I just joined this community hoping to find some new people to help me out with my autobiography. This journal is public and open for anyone to add me so please feel free to do so. Looking foward to reading about all of you on here. -Venom lily |
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| Saturday, July 22nd, 2006 |
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* * * * * * In line at lunch, I’m buying gum & thigh high hoes & fish nets for my evening fun. The man behind me smiles. I smile. I’ve got the freshest breath in this place & the silkiest thighs any fingers could trace. According to the box, I’ll feel “elegant, bold, playful and sexy” in the sheer, soft-black, lace-top hosiery Hand wash only Drip dry. My gum is long lasting, It will not promote tooth decay. If I am not completely satisfied, all I have to do is return product to the address listed below for a full refund. In the car park with my bag the wind flows over me like 90% nylon with a scent of polyester. & as I return my credit card to its niche inside my wallet I think to myself: You can’t put a price on being young, being alive, being minty-fresh; with every avenue open to you all eyes appreciative as you make your way through this multi-plex, new-and-improved land on sure & stylish black-clad legs. |
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| Monday, July 17th, 2006 |
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Hi, I'm starting to document the true stories of myself and others throughout the summer. Check it out. It will be updated frequently until I catch up to the current date. Feel free to add to friends and keep up on the action. ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} reservationstFollow the residents of Reservation Street and their friends as they pursue higher degrees, random hook-ups, significant others, free booze, and good times. |
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| Wednesday, July 12th, 2006 |
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Hi there, I'm loving this `space`... I've just posted a philosophical poll on my live journal http://rubyslippers01.livejournal.com/ *Ruby* |
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| Saturday, July 8th, 2006 |
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Jigsaw puzzle enthusiasts sometimes buy a product called puzzle glue & when they have completed a particularly challenging endeavour they use it to secure all the pieces together & then they frame the thing & hang it on the wall & I am seduced briefly just as they are by the illusion of having something to show for your life a product not just a process an object of beauty rescued from the fragments an enigma to struggle over until slowly a picture can emerge but only for an instant and I rush to the store looking for life glue knowing that with every step the pieces jostle away from one another away from me |
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| Saturday, April 22nd, 2006 |
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you said many times that you only want your friend to be with A sweat person now she's dating me and you Hate it you said I was righteous several times before your friend got connected to my personality I gues you lie |
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| Tuesday, December 6th, 2005 |
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Hello, here is a story from my childhood. The story involves an animal death so I thought I would just provide a link instead of posting it directly in the community. ( Read more... ) Thanks for your time! |
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| Thursday, December 1st, 2005 |
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| Greetings! | ||||
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| Wednesday, November 9th, 2005 |
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“Life goes easy on me…most of the time.” It was way past midnight, and the voice of Damien Rice weaved soulfully across the calm of the swimming pool, singing a song of sorrow that would have made even the most macho guy weep. The sky was a sacred black, too, and coupled with such a lonely lullaby, I would have naturally grieved along to the faint soundtrack. But this was a party, a birthday bash, even an informal college reunion of sorts. On nights like this, all that will be asked of you is to celebrate. And drink. Sure enough, there was plenty of alcohol for everyone –beer, vodka, tequila, red wine, gin- to drown each of our own miseries and tragedies, and to celebrate as if it was the last night of the world. Outside this place of refuge they call “Boyd’s Oasis”, there were indeed plenty of things over which we were bound to sulk, but after a round of Jose Cuervo, we all came to a mighty realization: Who in bloody hell plays “The Blower’s Daughter” in a pool party? Will someone do all of us a favor and play anything bubblegum? We settled for a Gwen Stefani single, and eased into the liberating peace we might not have enjoyed if we remained in our own little cocoons. It would have been faux pas to wallow in the burden of our professions, or the strangle of our regrets, or the pain of our broken hearts. A cardinal sin it so became to talk about growing pains and unwanted adulteration. It was time to laugh, at each other and with each other. If the sight of a drunken one-legged man throwing shot glasses into the water wasn’t enough to amuse us all, at least there were other ways to find an ephemeral high. And so the unforgiven confessions became silly punchlines. The sadness of reality and the joy of poking fun at it stopped being mutually exclusive. The statement “Where are you---I’m in love” had everyone bursting into hysterical laughter as if it was ripped from the pages of a bad movie script, because if, for that night, one was going to be a hopeless romantic –nay, even just hopeless- then he might as well not have shown up, for we were all jolly good fellows with beer in one hand and a cigarette on the other. It was a truly refreshing experience, with the damp breeze on my cheeks, in the open air, and with the obnoxious laughs of some twenty somethings catching up on each other’s lives and drunkenness. It was somewhat of a pleasant surprise, too, given that a few hours before I arrived, I was a little pessimistic of how much fun I would have. Which brings me to “a few hours before I arrived”, where I was strolling along Gateway Mall, looking at tailored suits and shiny leather shoes I could never afford, all while waiting for a dear friend to pick me up. As I stepped out one of those pay lounges (ten bucks to have somewhere to urinate? Come on!), I saw a familiar face in an unfamiliar territory. At first sight, I wasn’t quite sure who it was, but after a few more seconds, I lowered my baseball cap because I recognized who exactly I was looking at. And I didn’t want him to look back. It was my shrink. I was a little taken aback, for the surprise was more “peculiar” than “pleasant”. I suddenly found myself stepping into a girlie shop in which I had no business snooping around, sniffing perfume samples and pretending to shop for a hot date. *** “Just like you said it should be, we’ll both forget the breeze…most of the time.” *** Even if it were not for the sight of my psychotherapist, I might as well would have been the one oozing with pessimism as I headed to Boyd’s Oasis. Also, my agenda might as well have been what Damien Rice was preaching all along: forget the breeze. Forget fun. Forget fortitude. Forget life. Let’s immerse ourselves in our endless litany of poignant miseries. This seemed reasonable, justified even, especially when you’re talking about someone who’s just over a month removed from the confines of a hospital after a deliberate Rivotril overdose, and whose childhood friend was shot recently to an early death. However, as I learned that night with each passing second and each burning cigarette, Rice has gotten it all wrong. Perhaps it is easier to brush aside those things which make our lives more miserable and more painful. It is a little much wiser to forget and celebrate, than remember and regret. Even if it turns out that this course of action will take much of us to master, I cannot deny that it is worth keeping in mind. I had an increasingly stronger conviction that if we are to meaningfully celebrate our very lives, a little alcohol helps more than absolute sobriety, a little humor more than much alcohol, a little hope more than much humor, and a little connection with those human beings we call our “friends” more than all. So go ahead. Celebrate, and make sure that a good time shall be had by all. |
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| Saturday, October 15th, 2005 |
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I was one of the children raised by a drunk and a drop-out and felt the collision of their worlds. I was the child watching her mom travel in and out of many drunken relationships. I was the teen taken advantage of and have memories that never die. I was the teen without any bounderies that didn't have family talks about the future. We were the young, falling in love, or was it obsession?, without a clue to where it was going. We were young parents that lacked communication, and social skills, that put us on a long, sometimes very hard road to adulthood. We are the parents that tried to show our children that their voice was important, and had it used against us at times. We are the parents that tried to stay strong while supporting our young adult's overwhelmingly hard decision that was made out of a frightened frame of mind? anxiety? selfishness? lack of confidence? unaccepted reality? Ours, hers, his, all? We are the parents that are told "It's the least you could do, as parents" and wonder if that pressure was something that all parents feel. We are the parents that have done our best, which includes the times when we fought, gave in, gave up, forgiven, forgot. I am the woman that knows I cannot change what has been done but am reminded every day that I should have done things differently. |
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| Wednesday, October 5th, 2005 |
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Almost Asleep Side by side, arms linked not so much in camaraderie but in understanding, an appreciation of time and night and blinding, soothing, melting darkness. Your head lolls and your forehead kneads my shoulder until I'm just the right amount of wax ready to shape but so afraid to move, to disturb the face finally free of cracks; fault lines of forever frowns; lips of marble remedied by softness known only by baby blankets. My arm, the left one you're sleeping on, has lost feeling from elbow to fingertip. Still, I content myself to memorizing the abrupt arches of your eyebrows, the warm wells of your neck where your pulse beats out a steady staccato rhythm, and the heady weight of our legs, still clothed, Tangled. |
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| Saturday, August 13th, 2005 |
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Hey, I just joined and thought Id post something that I wrote today. I'd love to know what everyone thinks :) ( I bleed and you watch. Only present to mask your own fear. And only fearful of your own presence... ) |
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LiveJournal for life documents.
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