*i appreciate my own insecurity. 2001-05-04 3:45 a.m.*

they are spanking each other next door. that amuses me. what does that mean? that i'm a prude or a pervert?

i ask myself these questions though it doesn't really matter. i am listening to ani and utah, it's all good.

except the gas. and the lack of email. but the former is natural and the latter is usual, so it's all good.

it really is all good. i complain too much for how happy i actually am. oh what a happy day like the harp said in mickey and the beanstalk. the point is... it's all happy days whether you're happy or not. someone somewhere is having a happy day (i will not think about the opposite. i will not think about the opposite.)

i'm a rock star. you're a rock star. we are all rock stars. we are solid, solid as a rock. we are balls of incandescent gas. we are both. at the same time. we fly high from the ground we are rooted to because it's all beautiful really, and we're part of that. it's hard for me to recognize sacred space as anything other than anywhere else. it's hard for me to recognize anywhere else as anything other than sacred space. we are goddesses and gods, rock stars, folk stars, slam poets, ducks, faeries, whatever we want to be. i try to recognize this. sometimes i succeed. sometimes i sound like cheez. wiz.

and then i ease on down ease on down the road less travelled.

and my hands smell like dial. don't you wish everybody's did? don't you wish everyone had infected tragus and conch piercings that they need to clean with antibacterial dial soap, the kind with the pictures of the fish on the inside.

i have to write something for creative writing. this is creative. this is not fiction. i don't want my inner thoughts critiqued. or maybe i do. but not systematically by the entire class with the professor interjecting encouraging comments.

i should sleep. my neck is itchy. i have a headache this big, despite the excedrin rattling in my pocket. my feet smell. they have flip flop marks on them. i have acne that suddenly appeared last summer. my hair has not been washed in i forget the days. it's mint green and peach and people keep asking me what i'm going to do with it next. my back says crunch.

i am a brilliant and prolific artist.

i love pop culture. "it's so programmed. but it's fun. program away." forgive me for misquoting you. i have the gist right? i have the gist, right?

crunch crunch crunch says back.

dandruff dandruff dandruff says head. i will shake it to make snow. this is the school of ally sheedys from the breakfast club.

which brings me to our first conversation. i was so proud of me for getting brave. and i thought of the time i was in 5th grade and there was this girl in this play and i really liked it and i thought it was uncool to tell her because she was a 6th grader (this was when i lived in wisconsin and they have jr. and sr. highs there, so elementary school goes up to 6th grade. i type with 2 fingers), and so i didn't, and for a long time i thought it was uncool to tell people how cool they are. because certainly if they're that cool they know it. and they don't want to be reminded. and then there was erin wright and i'm using her real name. i thought she was the coolest thing since the very last cool thing that happened before her, and she was also really pretty, and she died in a car wreck which is the real reason i don't drive and the real reason i stretch my limits because i never ever talked to her (don't feel sorry for me, i'm afraid that's what it looks like what i'm asking for) and i regret that. and it's so hard to talk to people. but one day i realized in a weird way that we're all so insecure even (especially) even (especially) even the cool kids. and that's when i really did it. i wanted to stop the shy the day i found out she died (which was the day after she died, which would make it november 1st, because she died on halloween, and my mom's birthday and we went out to eat and i cried a lot and i cried a lot in school, too, and everyone thought it was horrible of me since i never knew her. but i hugged her best friend and i thought she would never stop crying and she carried her teddy bear around school and some kid laughed at her. and then jared committed suicide later and someone carried a stuffed animal that really belonged to someone else around and it was really weird, but i no longer lived there and i'm friends with both people), but it took me until very recently and it still is hard. especially when i'm stressed. but yes, so it was a test of my own limits when i first initiated that im conversation with you when scary spice gave me your im name and i wanted to know everything because people fascinate me and you were foreign (indie rock+boy) and i was so scared that you were too cool to talk to me in the halls, isn't that funny. and then i got to the point where i was going to make a zine and a movie all about you. but you could have been anyone. everyone deserves there own zine and movie, i say. i say, zine and movies for all. vote for me!

i may not be hip or pop or pimp or pomp or humping the air. i've seen 6 concerts or as you kids these day say "shows" but some aren't shows, and what would you call all those times i saw my dad playing with the instigators, the hurricanes, the tostada brothers, the other bands i don't know the names of. i saw newsboys, arlo guthrie, weird al, ooberman, ani, and weezer. and i went to that music festival that time jill sobule told me i was a rock star or at least a good audience member, good energy, just like beau sia said, and maybe that counts, and when brian funshine asked refreaka to burn with him and she asked what he meant and he said his roommate was learning to juggle fire, but we passed, 'cause i'm scared of fire.

oh stream of consciousness, oh. oh. oh oh oh. i want to be a phone sex operator. not to copy except in that way that something i never really thought of real people doing became real. a live option as they say. i don't mean to copy everything you or the minister in massachusetts does, even if i did do amnesty, shave my head, and now want to be a minister. it's all a coincidence (i think not.).

make it stop you say. make it stop.

okay. goodnight my little potatoes.

*listening to: *
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