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Friday, July 1st, 2005

Time:9:21 pm.
i had a (brief but brutal) struggle opening my eyes at 9 this morning. 2 hours after falling asleep. 8 hours after embarking upon an all-night dancing stint lasting no less than 5 hours, and being most out of character, as i always thought i hated nightclubs. but i realized last night that this dancing is much like sex, but without the feelings, and especially without the sex. more anonymous, less constraining, less emotional, less involved. fake. primal, platonic, no names, no talking, find a partner who only touches where i put his hands. it was a masquerade, and i masqueraded as everything that everyone wants me to be, but that i am not.

and so sleep ejected me, abruptly into the morning, 9:00am. i seized the rabbit by his cage and condemned him to the bathroom as punishment for the horrible, violent banging and clanging noises he is mysteriously apt to produce.
knowing that he probably just wanted to be let out, to be reunited with his beloved litter box, i felt bad for locking him up. but not that bad. sleep soon repossessed me, and he stayed in the bathroom for nearly four more hours. now he is sat seething in the litter box, glaring at me with contempt.

i caught my reflection in a small mirror and suddenly became mesmerized because i do not recognize myself. eyes look grey. my face reproduced across the iris. pupils dilate and shrink. looks like breathing.

been having strange days.
right now i feel nothing.

went by myself i guess it was on saturday, to a bar, drinking. met a man who fell ten years before from a 5-story building. he fought his doom, determined to walk again, and succeeded. in spite of this, he claims he's a pessimist, and decided at the age of 8 that he would soon die if the world did not improve. according to him, the world's time is up, and he'll be dead within the next five years.
his friend is etienne, and tells me about his two sons, one from his first marriage, and one from the woman for whom i assume he left his first wife. he jokes with me, and is obviously much more jovial and relaxed than his friend hervé, who he says is convinced that i am the woman of his life. i tell him this is absolutely impossible.

next day is sunday.
don't remember.

go out with two people, go home alone. sudden urge to cry, so i think i should jump over the fence to the closest park. sit there and smoke. disregarding my skirt, i leap over the thing and sit on a bench. do not find my lighter, but i do find a knife. my immediate thought is that i should kill myself. i cannot, for several obvious reasons, including that the knife is quite poorly made for the task. (i would've laughed if i had been capable, so much was the moment ridiculous.) feel sleepy, so i lie down and fall asleep. a few hours later, i am awakened by a homeless man who offers me some cardboard. asks me why i don't go home. i say i don't feel like it. "vous avez le cafard?"
it's true, i guess, i do.
i ask him for a light and leap back over the fence to trod home.

dinner and a lover's quarrel (not mine, of course) and i stick around afterhours to try my hand at being helpful. not very, but a fleeting feeling of reassurance washes over me and immediately disappears. amaze myself at bicycling all the way home.

next day the internet and tiny hard drive are both broken, and i am having panicked withdrawal, calling noos frantically. they displease me with incessant lies and cheap promises.
play silent hill.
get scared.
next day go out looking to steal wifi. partially succeed.
then out drinking again. cannot manage to eat. sit in a cafe with a dog named orson and owner (of the cafe and the dog.) he chides my adoration for jane birkin, who passes by regularly, and he keeps walking away while i'm talking. "you're all the same!" he shouts. then immediately after: "you're the one who's different, elizabeth, you're the one who's fucked up."
makes my phone ring so i can find it, then asks with a hint of counterfeit misogyny if he should keep the number to use it. he has a train to brussels in the morning, and pretends to leave three times, but never does. orson sulks under the banquette.
enter E, N, and we are now E, N, E, around a table drinking half-heartedly. E says to E (me) that i should check reality by smashing my wine glass over my head. i consider it for a moment and then say it might make me embarrassed. but i pick up the glass and try it anyway; it breaks with surprising ease at the second collision with my head. i'm a little startled by the noise that goes "crash!" but i feel nothing. a waiter mechanically comes over to collect the broken glass; he says nothing and i do not excuse myself. two men at a nearby table are looking at me, grinning wildly. i ask them what's funny, but can't hear the response. E, N, up to exit. i collect the remaining shards of glass from the banquette and put them in the ashtray. get up to leave as well but am distracted by orson, whose disinterest in me is infinite. i blah blah for a bit and finally meet E and N, who decline to come to the club. climb onto my bike and off i go.

i am getting very good at drunk bicycling.
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Sunday, October 3rd, 2004

Subject:october? when did this happen? i am insomniac. please arrose me with opiates.
Time:6:32 am.
(extreme bearded man at hôtel de ville has painted huge signs and a flag with a seven-pointed star and an adam's apple in the center.)
femmes de la terre! faites l'amour pour atténuer l'ardeur du mâle et du mal. afin d'empêcher la guerre... l'humanité vous en prie... faites votre devoir; faites l'amour!
(and don't forget the printing in the fine: sauvons le prépuce!)
c'est bien ce que j'ai toujours dit, monsieur le barbu! je suis bien d'accord avec votre panneau (au moins à propos du prépuce), et votre chariot, de grille et de vélo, est vraiment très impressionnant. i tell him about the bonobo apes and he exclaims: "oh yes! yes! les gonogos! ils sont plus avancés que nous, hein!"

although i want to stay, i'm stealthily dragged away. unfortunate boy and believe me, celui ci me gave. mine de rien là, la mine de rien. il me parle des lignes de basse, des néants qui me lassent. je baille, je raille. aaahhhrrrgggffff...
ses pas trop insistants m'alourdissssent; il s'agglutine à ma silhouette, suit chaque mouvement perceptible de mon être. il cherche désespérément l'assurance physique, glisse une main sur la mienne, les épaules, la taille. ce bref contact m'écoeure un instant, et je recule comme une bande élastique.

tout d'un coup devant moi apparaît une sirène de la seine. sereine! qu'elle me chauffe l'esprit en m'en priant de rien. elle me jette un regard de gamine grivoise avec une douce simplicité qui me touche jusqu'aux reins...elle m'envoie des petits coeurs de bisous qui restent collés à ma personne, malgré la tempête. oh, que je sais tomber! je fonds sous le charme. soumise, intoxiquée et contentée de reconnaître un tel réconfort peint sur les lèvres d'une inconnue qui ne se manifestera plus jamais. et dieu merci, c'est bien ce qu'il faudrait.
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Monday, July 12th, 2004

Time:2:50 pm.
i'm riding the metro invisible to an end unreachable. i'm covered in disguise but still feel staring. swarms of russians on the ligne 1. svelte, soviet bodies and fat, swollen faces. (too much coca cola?) icey eyes flash a monstrous smile at me and i duck out two stations before my stop.

opened up V. and found an ancient, nauseating love letter inside.
"...nonsense...nonsense....sentimental garbage..."

recollects an invasive sickness. particles disperse and self-destruct.

and now for my own epitaph:

"life is a jest and all things show it.
i thought so once but now i know it."
Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, June 28th, 2004

Time:10:14 am.
people are dropping like flies. there is no one in the world left next to me and i am almost relieved to remember that there was no one to begin with.

found one last, lonely amphetamine desperately hiding beneath the bookshelf. so i will go on one last, lonely rampage to keep myself at bay one more time.

one love, one passion, one force?
love is always the same self-indulgent emotion projected onto interchangeable and indiscriminate objects? we just want to reflect our own egos and glorify ourselves by proxy?
this idea is awful and stunted, even if great people said it.
we are breaking and re-making all the time and no feeling is ever the same. how can it be?

universal disinterested love is not the same as a delusional passion stemming from a narcissistic need to be affirmed. but they are both disappointing.
or maybe it's by weakness? more comfortable, less pressure? it's easier to believe in one's own imagination than in the virtue of a fiercely autonomous being?
maybe. but surely i'm not the only one to prefer authenticity. if this is the way it is then i don't care.

nothing is everything and vice versa.

we drove to normandy in the camion de chevaux with broken spedometer and fuel tank monitor.

i spent lots of time playing with one baby Quali, 3 weeks old and full of stitches thanks to his premature naissance. he is very thin and wobbly--all legs, knobby knees and a tiny muzzle that fits into one hand.
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Tuesday, June 8th, 2004

Time:1:00 am.
still superstitious suspicious about the increments of four.

"j'ai l'impression qu'on est dans un film de godard."
come on, i tell him, that's too easy, even if it's funny and truer than ever.
"on ne se reverra jamais"
it sounds sad and chokes me for a split chromosome of a second, but i don't protest, not one syllable, and instead say it's better that way. and it certainly must be.

our keyword: archimèdes.

but shhh...three things i have to remember not to forget...
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Sunday, May 9th, 2004

Time:3:04 am.
Mood:i don't dream about anyone....
inconnu au monde. prêt à naître. accroché dans un arbre de fer.
sa courbe s'étend doucement au creux de mon coeur souillé. raide, au bord de l'explosion, je me noie au fond des sensations perdues.
un regard de marbre, tes yeux étrangers me percent jusqu'au foie, tes mains égarées tombent sur mes mots, les attrapent un par un...
aplati sur le pavé
d'un air tout sombre
de ton visage rayé
"je n'en veux pas un ombre"
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Friday, May 7th, 2004

Subject:la vie pourrit
Time:10:04 am.
children are skeletons
the dead are walking and blue glowing radioactive beneath the sewers. the city heaves with each noxious breath it takes, leaking from every crevice the remains of every ancient disease it's ever known.
we are taking ourselves apart with scalpels and corkscrews and other such devices and putting our pieces out on the table. into vases like flowers. into jars like the rests of pharaohs and fetuses.

i am a bastion and she is cynanide. we are the weapons of warring gods. napalm rumbles over her regal belly, the object of desire and sin, when my lips come close to caress it. when my lips disconnect from my body, my soul, my intentions fold into origami.

i am exhausted of everything. tiny pieces of contaminated muscles atrophy and flake off of my organism. some time from now i will be only disjointed molecules and relocated energy particles scattered all about the atmosphere.
it's good to know that energy doesn't die. but as life bites off the tastiest parts and rebuilds me out of stucco i feel less and less concerned with dying. i feel like a god, taller than the sky and wider than the heavens, but i know it's only because i am at the breaking point of weakness.
i will live forever because i am already dead.
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Thursday, April 15th, 2004

Subject:"vivid and vivisected"
Time:3:55 am.

c'est ses yeux qui font de lui un baby lou reed.

i am totally struck like a gong now, and it's the sommeil qui veut m'assommer. it is tottering over me like a sotted sailor.

tomorrow i'm going to be somewhere i've never been before.

for now:
it's monkey love.
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Wednesday, March 10th, 2004

Subject:une fois la chair comblée, l'esprit arrive à s'écarter
Time:4:14 pm.

life travels faster than the senses can keep up. little girls' little souls ferment and rot in imaginary cocoons. we are unfinished works, machines in the first stages of development, unborn dreams on the brink of bursting.
we stop, indefinitely, losing the sensitivity of touch to the sins and impurities of existence. this is the tragedy of circumstance. the terror of the absolute in a series of moments that circulate above us. sterile before the impact, time and space collide and melt into us like snow.

mais ce n'est même pas vrai. ce sont des envies corporelles qui agitent, qui excitent, qui poussent à l'action. assouvir un fantasme, c'est de le casser. c'est d'assommer l'envie, le carburant de vivre.
une fois la chair comblée, l'esprit arrive à s'écarter. mais peut-être que je préférerais rester fébrile.

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Monday, March 8th, 2004

Subject:(( attn!: propellant only i can decipher )) !!
Time:7:56 am.
i spent an astronomical sum. more money than i'm worth on the black market for sure.
i was sexy to kill and consume. i did it on purpose. so i could have the luxury of thinking that every male was a disgusting pelvic pulsation.
but then i found one i liked. (or maybe i was just drunk? i've already forgotten what he looks like. but not his address. thank god i didn't give him mine.)
my life has suddenly become surreal.
but since i realized that there is no truth (two days ago!), everything has become so much easier. (but only in theory...) the fact that i can love or hate anything with equal passion scares me. nothing is absolute, especially not me. i don't like it, i need a handle, otherwise i'll just keep on spinning. into the infinite. i prefer to believe in pretense, but i can't.

i think tseten's charm will kill me.

i lost my phone tonight and had everyone looking for it. i went whining to the guy in charge of the club, imploring him please to help me. "yes, yes, i know you lose dozens of phones every night, but it's very important to me, please!...." he shook his head disdainfully and said i'd never find it, then took me to the DJ, who made an announcement throughout the entire premises warning everyone that a phone had been lost with a "very, very important number, please return it if found." the newest j came to console me, and all heads were hung as everyone began to mourn the loss of the black nokia switchblade. i discovered two hours later that it had been in my sock the whole time.

in other, less recent news, i found myself the other night at this immensely posh boite off the champs elysées. we were swept in before the 40-meter-long line, and with no charge, since tenzin the ex-moine wrote a famous book and works in cinema now, and has connections all over the place to verify his existence in the superficial world. we were escorted to the VIP section, where the owner (also an ex-monk from the same monastery as tenzin!) of the place was there with his shockingly and heart-breakingly beautiful wife (a london girl actress and singer), who i later remarked was also pregnant. i told her before leaving that she was breathtakingly beautiful beyond words or gestures and she made to me the buddhist sign of thanks, hands together, one, two, three down the front, and said she would get my number from tenzin. I don't know if she will, but her presence is a garden of salvation and serenity; the universe is merely fog beyond the gates. i would think (if i could think) that that's enough for me to change the world.
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Monday, March 1st, 2004

Time:9:44 am.
i met this guy last night, and after having become far too drunk once again (everyone will be pleased to learn that i have finally discovered the wonders of being sick from too much alcohol) he came outside to rescue me with a hot, healing tea, and talk of his adventures at the cannes film festival. he offered to take me home and promised, "je ne te toucherai pas." i opted to go back with tseten, though, and her poor friend fresh from nepal who was even drunker than i was, hadn't slept for two days, and had to go to work three hours later. even though i know i am usually excessive when inebriated, i somehow feel that i didn't say thank you enough.

my taxi driver was in love with his wife, had two kids, and was from angola. he was thoroughly impressed when i said to him "luanda?" and then asked how i knew so many african capitals. (hah!) i told him of my newfound love of anything portuguese, and we sat in the cab in front of my flat to discuss the meaning of life.

today i feel everything and nothing at once.
i wish i had more to give.
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Thursday, February 26th, 2004

Subject:panic under seige
Time:4:37 am.
i am exhausted. haven't slept for days. why am i still awake?
i guess i've suddenly found things to do and think about.
i am going to the louvre and learning portuguese and engaging myself with feigned passion in important and complicated personal projects.
and all my senses are reverting back to bananas.
i am hallucinating everywhere. i leapt into a kissing couple when an imaginary rat flew at my face in the metro. i saw hoards of them scurrying like peripheral monsters all around the tracks, but to dare to jump at me! i kept blinking and shaking my head, hard to believe, but the beasts did not surcease!
simple sounds turn to symphonies or claps of guttural thunder. i am no longer hearing, but feeling them course over the walls of my ears.
i am heated, my body on the edge with all nerves switched on high. hooked to a live wire. at random and frequent moments, an intense carnal impulse surges through me. i melt beneath it and stay mindful of my vertebral column. become one with the mattress, humanity, the world. i shoot myself full of it and expose a vestal throat to invisible fangs.

this summer joe took me to a hardcore hindu yoga retreat on an island off of new providence. they preached detachment and compassion and purity of spirit, but had lots of rules posted everywhere, like no naked swimming, no bathing suits or revealing clothes unless you're in the water, no drinking or smoking, or meat (!) on the premisis, etc. the beach was totally deserted except for a dog who had lost his jogger, so we went right out into the infinite ocean. not so infinite, though, because not too far from the yoga retreat we reached another beach which belonged to club med! this beach was quite the opposite of deserted, as it was lush with nude and topless bodies guzzling alcohol while building sand castles or playing badminton, breasts bared and bouncing, and all flaccid appendages flapping in the wind. what a lucky find! at one point during our leisurely swim back to sivananda ashram, he stopped to wrap my legs around his waist and kiss me. i said, "you kiss like the dolphin!" which was true, because they both had salty lips and goofy consequent grins.
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Wednesday, February 18th, 2004

Subject:algebra suicide
Time:1:05 pm.
thank you for not hating me
that's very big of you
there's nothing much to hate or fear
i have no sleeves, no pockets
leaving no secret hiding places
except my head
my heart
and other such tiny, empty holes
the best part about being coy is the trouble it might cause while you remain totally innocent
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Tuesday, February 17th, 2004

Subject:"même si c'est difficile d'être humain, essayons de ne pas devenir des monstres."
Time:10:59 am.
i spent a weekend that felt like weeks in normandy. we rode horses at omaha beach:

and as testament that the débarquement was not forgotten:

i had planned on developing a healthy crush on the 16-year-old boy of the manor, but he was away at his mother's. he is very tall and stern and never speaks, either because he is boring, intimidated by brooke's overbearing presence, or a boy genius with insides spinning out of control. he fell off his horse three times and cried.

on the corner at cluny last night there's a young homeless girl with a puppy. the second time i pass i see a black lady-like figure bending down to talk to her, i turn the corner and see that atop the figure is feriel's face! she stands to walk away and i leap after her all smiles and bounds and calling her name. the boy at my side must've found the transition disappointing, as i do nothing but sulk when he is around.
as for feriel, of course she knew everything before i opened my mouth (this is the fifth dimension!) and she was beaming with benevolence.
we talked big about going to helsinki and then st petersburg, then china to tibet, on horseback.
yann said china is the last place you can have an adventure, which is definitely not true, but still sent a bolt of electric excitement through my being and right to the tips of my toes.

apart from that i am learning that life itself is cynical, so i don't even have to be.
i want to write love letters to a blank object of affection. perhaps we cannot properly express ourselves unless we are playing roles, and that is why reality and substance seem to botch up everything. i could play the game or i could try and soak myself in authenticity (with its appealing and preferable potency.) the most important thing is to know the difference.
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Monday, February 9th, 2004

Subject:quand on aime, il faut fuir.
Time:3:13 pm.
on désire ce qui se sauve. on désire se sauver.
le reste insaisissable. comme le temps. la musique. l'esprit.
i drank down the ocean deep.
four frothing dogs at my side and the world slid over my eyes in silence. that sweet and subtle breath on my neck was the wind that knocked me into a coma.
he's a human island. with extra hands up every sleeve.
on veut, on veut, on veut. tout sauf être comblé.

another weekend spent with lots of various animals. one girl so desperately human it almost disgusts me and definitely makes me uncomfortable. she's lying in the bed with her right arm oozing from a severe burn.
she calls my name.
"will you hold me?"
not one muscle twitches toward action. i am awkward and paralysed. answer affirmative but i do not move. there is a loaded shotgun next to the bed, proves the stories she said were true. i do turn effervescent with fear and aversion. but nothing happens until i close my eyes....
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Monday, February 2nd, 2004

Subject:un baiser imprévu à l'imprévu/revert back to introversion
Time:3:22 pm.
i met my guardian angel last night. he is a 58 year-old taxi driver named bernard. i had broken down to tears in the back of his mercedes and he turned around to tell me the story of his life, and the story of mine.
"you're not very pretty like that, you know. you have to turn the page and keep your head up. you are too young, happy birthday, it's only just the beginning of your youth!"
i smiled through the saline and felt my organ adored on the point of bursting right through my chest. what a mess.
he told me about his ex-wife, whom he still loves, but only because she was his partner in creating the wonder which is his son, his pride and passion, his only reason for life.
he told me i must make myself desirable, unavailable, and always demand respect. all these things inapplicable to me, an awkward creature in a land of fine functioning animals. but he is wise and sincere enough to spend the good part of the morning's third hour trying to soothe a lachrymose fool.
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Wednesday, January 28th, 2004

Subject:(spleen spleen spleen)
Time:4:05 am.
it snowed for my birthday. the sky was spilling over, sloshing with big bright snowflakes the size of poker chips and the consistency of greatness.
my heart had been dissolving all day, but the sudden inclemency of the weather sooned turned the mush into an uneven block of solid goo. now i am sure it will survive to help the other two with the requisite boom-booming.
(i have three hearts like a cow has three stomachs. the first one takes on all the brunt so the third one ends up with only minor convulsions and superficial scratches. i think it's genius. i am an evolutionary wonder.)
my stomach's another issue, though. it feels like it's been run over and spit out by a bulldozer.
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Friday, January 16th, 2004

Subject:love makes you feel like you're ten feet of roadkill splattered all across the pavement
Time:4:44 pm.
last night the moon was orange and looked like a slice of cantaloupe over the highway.

in other news, my horse nearly scalped himself Read more...Collapse )
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Friday, December 26th, 2003

Subject:gloria deo, pax terrae
Time:5:10 pm.
i am trying for the world championship of human hibernation. sleeping is my new favourite pastime. last night i dreamt i was being instructed by a horrible and wise little child who told me: "the only reason you go to the supermarket is to make everyone think that people love you..." it was profound in the haze of my dream, and i said, "yes, thierry, this is most definitely true, but you didn't think of this all by yourself, did you? surely it came from a fortune cookie or the back of a cereal box?"

when my body was finally sore from so much sleep, i decided to go outside. the day was fresh and foggy, and the sweet sound of militant protestors beckoned me to maubert-mutualité. it was a very small group of immigrants, shouting that they wanted papers and regularisation, etc. i thought i should join them, since, hey! i don't have papers either! and then they started chanting, "virez les fachos! virez lepen! virez les catholiques! virez les intégristes!"
really! "down with the catholic church!" then i looked down to st. nicolas and there was a giant mob outside, too, lined with police vehicles and armed soldiers. they set off the church bells.
and the immigrants screamed into their megaphones! trying to overpower the sound of the bells!
i was so excited that an involuntary spring slipped into my step.

correction: russian was a success, although i felt like the only one who enjoyed it. (maybe v. and i.e. both just like to feign misery: "this vodka is mixed with water." "this wine is just bordeaux." "they are singing in a gypsy language." "this food is not russian, i've never seen it in my life." etc.)

le sigh.
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Wednesday, October 22nd, 2003

Subject:(the s.s. dalai lama pulls out of port...)
Time:11:51 am.
i need a bigger apartment with a roommate. i saw sabrine briefly at the bottle shop and she told me neutrally that things were all the same, except she is going to brasil in two days and baïda had kittens a year ago.
strange dreams, some more banal than others. in one my homosexual professor emerges suddenly in the room, with a blowtorch. "out of bed, one, two, three!" he said. we were not fast enough, though, and he locked me in the cupboard for later consumption, then headed out on his way to work. i steathily escaped through the window, though, ran past him in his car, and he happily waved to me, "ok! see you tomorrow!"

also, on the bus sat next to me a rough old man. he didn't reek too much, but he had a bottle of spirits tucked into his coat. started talking to his schizophrenia really slowly and emphatically, "...tu vois, elle est vieeeiiille maintenant...oui, et quand elle fait l'amouuur avec un mec, avec moi, par exemple, elle a du mal...à jouiiiir...il faut qu'elle prenne ces pilules...mais oui...oui...mais t'inquiète! quand elle les prend, elle démarre comme une petite puuute de quinze ans, seize ans, dix-sept ans...ah, oui je te jure..."
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Wednesday, October 1st, 2003

Subject:l'amour ne rend pas aveugle, l'amour rend saoul.
Time:11:51 am.
et tu n'arrêtes pas de me dire des choses dégrisantes.

anyway i dreamt my apartment had been invaded by evil little leprechauns, spreading their filthy magic as best possible by filling the pipes with leprechaun piss instead of water. every time the faucet turned on, a foul, yellow leprechaun liquid flowed out. they laughed and giggled horribly, irish rictus bent at the corners as i hopelessly tried chasing them down to confiscate their pots of gold and avenge the havoc wrought upon my waterworks.

but i was delighted to hear that atlantis inferno finally set its giant manta ray free.
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Monday, September 22nd, 2003

Subject:the doubtful guest
Time:1:32 am.
some people have found my vigorous pre-consumption washing and inspection of vegetables a little extreme or obsessive. i just don't want to bite into any insects or other unpleasant surprises. lettuce always contains tiny bugs and worms, which can easily be overlooked and swallowed without a second thought. but, what if you were to bite into THIS:


there was an escargot in my salad!
i didn't even notice him during the washing procedure. it was only afterwards that i saw him in the sink, clinging to the side of a glass.
he is such a strange creature! his body barely even seems to qualify as solid matter. he just looks like slime! a little dollop of slime stuffed inside a shell. he has two sets of antennae, one of which i initially mistook for his eyes. then i wondered if maybe his eyes were at the ends of the longer antennae. i found this helpful anatomical diagram and discovered that they were!
and his penis is in his neck!!

he is now munching on some lettuce inside a piece of tupperware. i would like to set him free, but of course, paris seems to be a pretty unfriendly place for an escargot. any ideas?
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Tuesday, August 5th, 2003

Time:6:23 pm.
i am sunburnt and sore.
spent two days in the home of "friendly people" this weekend:
i raced horses with this nice gentleman named marty.
we rode them like comets with ropes and no saddles and i have the aches and bruises to prove it.
wednesday is the party for the mentoring kids (including leonard) and then i am finally leaving the island for good on thursday morning.
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Sunday, July 27th, 2003

Time:4:29 pm.
the silly extravagance of moving to gambier village has proved counter-productive and foolish. i feel more and more like a potential relic, the success of which is senselessly impeded by the warped and erratic consciousness mysteriously nesting in my body.
yoga is a permissable, but sordid task with all the animal hair and unknown creatures living in the carpets. k is constantly harping at me to take off my sarong, to eat a piece of bread, stop obsessing over cucumbers and go outside a bit.
my neurotic eating habits are only worsening with time, and here i am surrounded by enormous vats of superchunk peanut butter which take turns moaning soft tunes from the cupboard and begging me to consume them entirely and frantically with any available utensil.
the new stagiaire is living here, too, and her gentle, level-headed sanity that i found so comforting at first has begun to suffocate me like a ton of cumulus bricks hovering precariously over my pillow.

the weather is a bitch, sassy, and rivals me in indecision. it's raining mad frozen blocks of heaven, over determined doric waters. it's blowing up a fit and a storm, then sitting quietly to brood and conspire, radiating with promising schemes, till the tides turn to betray us, sky swells and boils, and the cycle recommences.

last night was the defiant soirée at the ambassador's abandoned residence. i sat in the very seat of his excellency in the tinted bullet-proof lincoln on the way to the event, and reminisced on the very frequent and fond moments he had spent there, driving aimlessly around the island and drinking his way into oblivion.
his walk-in closet was at least the size of my flat in paris, but his two chihuahuas had left strategic stains all over the carpet.

the 7th of august is my set day of departure. i await it like a madman.
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Time:3:32 pm.
i wipe away a single, salty tear as my time at the bougainvillea intern house comes to a close. offended, distended, hairy nose pouts and sulks, plowing several scowl lines into her puffy forehead, and i nod reflectively, packing away copious amounts of hillary's stolen lemon biscuits.
i left everything behind. the microwave, the internet (bon dieu...) the girls gone wild, even the nutcracker joe found in the sand.
for the next two weeks i am scheduled to live with the new chargée d'affaires, her husband, and african dogs.
poor joe is starting to grate my nerves with his spastic mannerisms, but i am an unfortunate cat, and crave those câlins like a drug. he thuds in a fury against my omoplates, and loses himself underneath my hair like a little boy in a pretend jungle. my life flashes in little slides before me to the rythm of his organs. we stand on our heads in the sand. upside down and faking a balance between earth and heaven.
i am ever-so-slowly slipping into a sultry insanity. stuck within the white walls of the embassy's commercial section, under the watchful gaze of our favourite junior, i twitch as hairy nose blasts cmt and sings along audibly to shania twain. my brain belches a foul warning before it starts to divide and dance, each part to a different beat. it tunes the strings in my stomach to the highest possible pitch, and the minutes pluck a fiery melody that resonates in my pelvis. i float momentarily from the throbbing body and watch it sneak off to some barren corner, rubbing against the copy machine and obscenely stroking the printer on its way.

i stagger out of the office and start again on down the street. i'm looking for something lost and inexistent. annihilated and hopeless. i see little girls drinking from coconuts and boys diving from the docks. i pass winston, sitting on his usual stump, and carving faces out of trees. in a daze, i think of humphrey mackevoy's weeping willow. gazing languidly at its reflection in the pond, inviting him to possess it. sad and motionless, begging him gently to shoot a flaming current through it. it sags its sullen branches and sighs between his awkward thrusts.
i smile and squint and hope one day for such a willing receptacle to love's delirium, at frothing full throttle.
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Tuesday, July 15th, 2003

Time:8:53 pm.
here again i find myself convulsing in this tropical hell. i find myself racked by the invasive sobs of homosexual schoolboys everywhere.
the most disgusting and disappointing position i could possibly end up in.
i try talking rationally. try to recall what i'm doing and why. then i cringe to remember that i have no ambition. that i was complacently listening to what everyone said about the future and important status and i let them prod me along moving forward like a docile herd animal.
right into a big reeking barn with the other bovines and poultry. screeching so loud i lose my breath. lose my composure and find myself suffocating again in a state of which i was surely incapable before.
but here i am. affirmation that i am alone does not make me want to conquer the world. to do the dishonest business of diplomats. don't want to live some pathetic life which consists of being a shining american star in some sad secondary country.
i realize i was wasting away. decaying in the imaginary rays of an embrace. letting myself die.
no more kicking, no more screaming in sleep. lulling myself into delusion it hurts too much to break.
my mind is infested. i can't erase you and i'll never get myself back. the only passion left in me is a sharp, dry hatred for this place. it bites at the back of me, sinking jaws into the core of my pathetic chest. chews and spits. splatters me into a pollock on the bathroom mirror. oh but i will get back. and you will never see me again.
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Thursday, July 10th, 2003

Subject:*the only thing we have is nowness, is now*
Time:8:10 pm.
this was supposed to be a test of endurance. an exercise in strength. it had to be, couldn't be any other way. every person promises, threatens to flood me like a tsunami. but one by one they all fade out of view. all objects, too, even more silently. but i still cling desperately like a poor primate to a banana baited in a trap.

the mala rests constantly around my left wrist, to remind me that my watch is dead. that stuart is dead. that i'm on the same way down. with every other thing. so frail and ephemeral it jerks me to my knees.

mass to energy. energy to mass.

i look at my skin. already wilted and beyond repair. i look at the skin around me, against me. smell countless particles beside me, inside me, above and about me. i am the air, the sky, the earth and nothing at all. a breath and a heartbeat that flits through a moment and then falls silent for eternity.

the calm comes so close, but i'm still distracted by this impossible hunger to hold one more time...
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Monday, June 23rd, 2003

Time:10:06 pm.
i'm sitting on the dock again today at noon. baby waves lunge at my feet, and i can hear hurricanes rustling over the water. the wind is savage, stirs the sea up like a soup, all i can think is that i want to plunge to the bottom. all the bateaux arrive at the pier, open up gaping jaws to purge themselves onto the island. tourists are falling like niagara into the street, into the greedy arms of the local women, who salivate like hungry jackals, "pretty lady, get your hair braided? hey mama, wanna braid your hair?"

a little girl comes up to me, no older than 8, taps me on the shoulder and stares downward into my face.
"how bout i sing you a song and you give me a dollar?"
"or you could just sing me a song."
"...or you could just give me a dollar."

en un seul coup, d'un geste libre et maternel, elle enfonce ses doigts dans ma frange, écartant mes cheveux de mes yeux, les poussant à coté de mon visage.
un petit sourire se faufile vers mes lèvres, éperdu et involontaire, comme tout en ce moment.
elle me laisse avec cette petite caresse innocente, et s'éloigne vers sa mère.
le soleil se met à bâiller, à baver, à dégouliner comme du miel sur mes épaules. je fonds et je freine, n'existe presque plus. un pas incertain vers le trottoir, et je glisse sur le monde qui m'entoure.
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Tuesday, June 17th, 2003

Subject:hard to hold
Time:6:38 pm.
we are mad. vicious. eviscerated.

grounded, underground
white hands drive us into the casket
you come up my throat like a tidal wave
twisting and turning, idiosyncratic
i blink you back, shake you off,
lids locked like a safe
eyes like stones in the sockets
out of the vacuum, the air is so heavy, i slip

underwater for an instant, two loves in the corner,
peeling back the scalp and diving into the gold

the flood is neck-high, laps at the backs of our ears
say we're in it together, sharpening our hearts on the edges of eagles
poor paroxysms, electric reactions, stiff as a bullet against my bones
stiff like your shadow in sleep.
splashing onto the floorboards
squinting into the sun
looking for another day to come to the rescue
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Sunday, June 15th, 2003

Subject:bzzz bzzz
Time:11:02 pm.
Mood: blah.
the girls are in heat. the whole house quivers with each pulsation of their libidos. they are ferocious. they hitch their skirts up and saunter out to the docks, waiting for the cruise ships to come in. they wet themselves as a hard, bloated body comes into view. seeing as the pickings seem pretty slim, i'm hoping they'll do the right thing and pass this catch around so they can each have a bite. but they start to squabble and scream in a monsoon of claws and hair and lipstick. soon enough he has disappeared somewhere behind a palm tree, and they all crawl home, heads hanging low, to take a cold shower. (all individually, might i add, much to our dismay...)

the battle continues for full reign over the house's temperature. the tundra rages in the vents, so i build little fires under their beds, and mine, too, so we're all sleeping soundly until they wake up in a sweat, confused to find no marines sizzling under the sheets.

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Time:9:08 am.
i open my eyes to the day. it slips in through the bars, the light as soft as her skin and almost as painful.
i feel myself disintegrating and spring awake gasping for foreign air, swollen and still soaked in dreams.
haunted by all the nights we spent with our faces wrapped in gauze.
the wind ripped us from the earth, thunder like a stampede in the stomach of hades.
i turned my back for a moment and you disappeared.

and now i go off searching for something invisible, expired. in suit and tie, i stumble down the street, gathering static under my soul. distended and ready to burst.
the sky shrugs its shoulders and the clouds all disperse, parting before me like the sea.
i'm going walking with your ghost at my heels, foaming. clinging to my ankles, dusting the tracks my steps leave in the sand. i am a million grains of it.
a sleepy vision hangs over these walls. steady, spreading slowly towards me like a quiet flood.
we'll hold hands in the dark. hold hands in the storm, and set ourselves adrift at dawn.

i can't believe it, either.
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Friday, June 13th, 2003

Subject:and love followed just behind me, panting at my feet
Time:11:20 pm.
Mood:gilled jesus.
exhibit A: badass bouledogue.

today i nearly drowned myself on the stairs leading into the sea. hypnotised by parasailors. a jug of water tied to my ankle.
there are banana trees in the yard and geckos in the bathroom.
i have so much manque it's killing me.

last night: first alcohol sampling at the residence of the almighty deputy chief of missions, bob. he hugged us when we arrived, and then sent his servants off to make drinks. he successfully impressed me by offering me a kir, concocted by his very own ivory hands. he was still further impressive in presenting us with his private, fenced beach, and discharging a thick, cynical mock-arrogance that wafted into my nasal cavity and knocked me out into a complete daze.
luckily, there was plentiful wine with dinner, and when i was presented with the main course--a chunk of fowl disguised in a mystery sauce-- i was drunk enough to force myself into compliance.
"the same matter i'm made of! it will be just like eating myself!" i thought, as a perverse and wicked grin thrust itself across my protesting face.
"i am an animal, i kill and consume. i destroy. and especially, I RAVAGE."
i expected a coup de nausée after ingesting half the breast of the beast, but i seem to have survived for the most part.
mary rose resembles the penguin, but red-headed and republican, can you imagine? she was like a sponge involontarily pressed against me in the car, her speckled shoulder an inch from my mouth. i had a terrible, terrible urge to lick that revolting rotund protoplasm, or maybe even sink my fangs right in. i stared intently and uncontrollably at it, so close and juicy and disgusting until my eyes crossed and a feverish shiver shook me out of it.

i am sick, sick, sick and this was a bad, bad, bad idea.

i passed by your garden, saw you with your flowers
the camellias, magnolias and azaleas so sweet
and i stood there invisible in the panicking crowds
you looked so beautiful in the rising heat
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Wednesday, June 11th, 2003

Subject:one down and nine to go
Time:12:28 pm.
Mood:poisson d'avril.
my heart still beats the waltz (throb-throb-throb') and my head's still spinning since you sent it like a top across the atlantic ocean.

i testify. never wanted to spend any time in a beach resort, and especially not a beach resort for a bunch of hard-boiled fucking easter eggs. hoards of cruise ships and fat midwestern asses bulging out of khaki shorts. breath-taking, titillating, this landscape.

everyone here is dead and smiling, and parts of me start to atrophy.

flesh and fluid dissolving in the heat. dissolving in the vide. i am lying heliophobic. still all day while the sun sucks the life from me. belly-up to the great blue. my largest, most abused organ cooking under heaven. the clouds are laughing vapor, the only ones who get it. come down to kiss me with inaccessible lips.
there is a tree near the pool who is not a tree at all, but a nymph turned upside-down and buried up to the pelvis. her long lady's legs emerge from the earth, scissor-kicking like a synchronised swimmer. twigs and leaves start to sprout from the knee on down and i wonder what happened to her feet. i want to caress her and count her rings. something alive but immobilized. only senses i don't understand. incapable of protest or reciprocal deceit. i want to possess and defile her. cut her into firewood and carve her into a fish.

there is still some disgusting soft sliver of me that's come to the surface of the bog, wanting to be coddled and comforted. held like a baby animal until the blood swells my veins up like rivers beneath my skin. i feel myself whining and pulsating like the most pathetic creature alive. needing. hopeless.

poor leonard is distressed by his calling to be a prophet. a brown-eyed angel dressed in green fatigues. a vegetarian and a chemist. language-fiend and bearer of truth. he talks to me about girls and god, the world and the island and i slip into a sudden deluge. my range of vision starts to go black. occipital elizabeth loses her footing. slips into the wormhole. my stomach's sending some foul, deadly solution up my spine to submerge me.
i stumble to sit down while leonard takes off like a chivalrous rocket, grand hopes to save me with a glass of water from the kitchen on the hill.
they said it must've been the heat...

today the (ex)ambassador holds a special meeting to give a rap about the "deterioration of the haitian situation." he also says, in reference to the scheduled 4th of July party, "we're gonna blow the roof off this town! if i'm gonna leave they're gonna think they're under seige! ha-ha-ha!" (he looks left and right, but there's not another chuckle in the room.)
his lips and fingers look like he's been eating arsenic-powdered donuts, and he resembles a quenelle or a lump of raw baker's dough, destined for greasy goodness. he rides around in a big black SUV with flags on each side and makes his chauffeur drive him to the hilton, half a block from the embassy, since i suspect he risks being transformed into a flaky, delicious pastry if he stays too long in the bahamian sun.

there are four smiling, stray canines who frequent the house in search of food and love. they do not have fleas and i adore them.
however, there are still the interns to be tamed.
corpulent mary rose waddles down the stairs to make pancakes. amanda the swedish man strings beads into homemade jewelry.
amanda is the alpha female, and screeches the loudest, while the cautious mary rose affirms her own identity by trying to guess what amanda will say next and then screeching it in synch with her.
they have not yet accepted me into their pack, and make frequent trips to the toilets to conspire, intentionally neglecting to invite me. i am observing them closely, though, and learning to speak their language, with all the appropriate interjections of grunts and guffaws. i will soon perfectly simulate the mating call of the marines, to lure the girls into my presence, then i will provide them with bottles of bud light as further incentive, and soon enough they'll be eating out of my hand like good little rabbits.

until then there's always villa vortex between my legs.
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Sunday, October 6th, 2002

Time:12:59 pm.
the mayor stabbed?? i am always missing the exciting public attacks on political figures. 3h in the morning, hôtel de ville, irréversible? paris turned into a dodgy backroom of a marais club?
still, what a horror to be stabbed in the gut. toxic fluids let loose to ransack the insides.
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Time:2:07 am.
well, i certainly didn't last very long. darling delanoë's *nuit blanche* might've been more enjoyable a year or two ago. i went to see the filles de saigon, who were of course very stunning themselves, but the crowd was enormous and ridiculous and impossible. there were several fat girls and a curious lanky asian boy who strutted up behind me screaming shamelessly about waiting in line, then about why had they come to look at all these silly people walking around in stupid clothing. the boy then said the whole place was a zoo, but he wasn't sure which of us were the animals. funny, and true! the mob clambering up the pillars and over each other, frantically clutching the bars to peer through and get a quick glimpse, or the finely groomed creatures prowling up and down the aisle on the other side. silk and blank faces.
it was rather boring and depressing. i grew impatient and soon left.

there were disgusting racailles and drunken adolescents polluting every streetcorner, and when i reached the piscine, the line to enter stretched an astonishing 250 meters.

i am so uncomfortable amongst so many people. feeling a cold sweat creep up to strangle me. foul odour and thick, stagnant air in the métro. i nearly collapsed into a neat pile, but luckily i am invincible and need not worry about such public displays of weakness.

bus service understandably perturbé. "but really really disturbed! more disturbed than us!" two suspicious boys offer to walk me home. one is short and nondescript and the other tall, shaggy, and drinking a fetid beer. i decline several times, but they are going my way anyway, so here we are. they guess i am russian, how amusing! yes, i am from st. petersburg, stylish and sleek, ça se voit pas?? of course, we love the russian charm, what big beautiful eyes and stellar smile! they are much more entertaining than expected, they sing in italian, strum the guitar, and leave me alone politely when we reach port royal.
then there is a strikingly civilised man pissing right there in the open! he has a camera bag, and his worm of a penis is completely exposed, spritzing onto the gate of the garden. it is so revolting i think i must take a photo, but i am too slow with the camera and he zips up and sidles away.
for some reason it makes me think of visiting japan.


and i think very too much about....

someone on my little street is having a wild party. the music and shouts of approval are so loud i cannot tell which side of the street it's coming from.

i miss nmeione like mad. sort of want to kill her boyfriend, but i don't think i'd be ready for the responsibility which would ensue. ma petite renarde! i stupidly tell her that i'm the only one who loves her, and he is just a bloody typical turk, incapable of sufficient appreciation. she clings to me while he's muttering dumbly in the background, her name he grunts in deep syllables, but we are face to face and grinning like knives. we are hand in hand and we melt together, disintegrate him like plutonium.
he groans, too heavy, too timid.
she affirms he is neutral, but physical presence reassures her being.
and so on. and so forth. hmm.
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Friday, October 4th, 2002

Subject:someday there will be another lover till the end...you need not hold your breath till then
Time:11:41 am.
i dream of songs and wake up singing.
gemini, siamese, preens himself pristinely like two swans in winter.

the night is heavier than the day. insistent and pressing. ominous and urgent. shadows cackling and breathing dark on my neck. i shiver and shudder and stay under my eyelids.

i am sly smiles today. curling up sarcastic corners. i am mad over you like a junkie, and full of fever to prove it.
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Tuesday, October 1st, 2002

Time:9:47 pm.
singing sand
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Monday, September 23rd, 2002

Time:12:50 am.
we unfortunately and tragically missed bobby conn, who was followed up by some n'importe qui group, and then a sub-par performance from the otherwise promising tortoise.
i somehow consumed enough pression-piss beer to end up lightly soaked in a droll, dull drunkenness which i didn't even recognise until the morning after.
julien seemed to have split early. on account of being amoureux and chaleureux, or something, as i was obscenely and brutally informed. felt rather rotten and dumb. must've been that great wall of ivresse.

but today was somehow simple and grand. i wandered about amidst patriotic celebration, and somehow found myself at shakespeare and co., where mr. george whitman told me, "tea party upstairs!"
i went up and met a charming old austrian man who asked me, "are you interested in books?"
"well i'm going to show you something then..." he said and began to fumble in his bag.
i put down the works of oscar wilde and the book of "einstein and religion" (what the hell was this? E=mc2...the creation of energy from nothing is possible as long as E=0...???) and waited patiently for his surprise.
he produced a book of eleven short stories, and proudly declared that it was his first to be published. he handed it to me and i read a few pages, then he asked how i liked it and if i might like to buy it, or at least come to his reading tomorrow at 8. he asked my name. his was leo gaton. from san francisco. sort of.
so after a few moments at this terribly endearing tea party, there suddenly appeared vania, the mad mold of extreme quirkiness i had met a few months ago at chateaudun. how delighted she was to see me, she said! i was also amused, and thought maybe she had calmed down a bit, as she began telling me she might've found a job in los angeles, about which she was especially excited, because there lived a man with whom she was desperately in love for 7 years now, and he didn't even know her yet.
"oh?" i said.
"you might know him..."
"who is he?"
"oh, it's my handsome stan kirsch from the highlander series."
she showed me a picture of him she kept dearly tucked in her notebook, along with several photos she had of herself and family in martinique, spanning much of her life. upon showing me one in particular, which vaguely resembled a make-shift headshot, she asked, "wouldn't you say i look like this girl?" (holding the image up next to some blonde model on the cover of a magazine) "c'est presque...on dirait que c'est moi mais en blanche, ne trouves-tu pas?"
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Saturday, September 21st, 2002

Subject:you should know...time's tide will smother you...and i will too
Time:4:45 pm.
agnes seems to want to be my friend. she is indeed much friendlier than her first impression suggested, i think. she wants me to call her "aggie," though, which i'm not sure i can do.

i am disturbed by my compulsive urge to stare in the locker room. of course i do not shower there myself, but i cannot help feeling distressingly suspicious in the midst of swarms of naked female bodies promenading all around me. i allow myself slight glimpses, but make a conscious exertion to ignore this landscape of luscious curves. i just can't seem to get used to a nudist environment, especially when the greater percentage of these bodies are young and smooth and sculpted.
it reminds me of the dreaded day camp i used to go to where all the girls changed into their bathing suits every day in the vestiaries by the lake. i was horrified each time by my apparently singular and unnatural interest in all the nakedness. wasn't i only supposed to be interested by naked boys? there was so much variety in the bodies of these little girls. some were very young, and others on the verge of puberty, with miniature globular buds of breasts, fuzzy tussocks emerging where the thighs met. i was uncomfortably and madly fascinated. a pervert and lesbian for sure, i thought.
but, no. i guess it's just interesting to see so many exposed bodies, which are usually hidden under layers of cloth. nudity is primal and reminds me cheerfully that humans are just animals. primates. mammals. it is strange and enthralling.
maybe all that is very childish of me.

i am going to see tortoise and bobby conn tonight and for this i am already thrilled. no need to be looking, as the show suggests.
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Tuesday, September 17th, 2002

Subject:tweedle...buggy, bunny, bean, berry?
Time:10:32 pm.
my computer is humming insistent and loud. it sounds like a field of crickets or cicadas or something.

someone tricked me into subjecting myself to an infernal international business course instructed by a slobbering ruddy australian. his voice is like my refridgerator's buzz, and i didn't retain a single thing he said. a cute german girl whose name i still don't know (simone?) sat beside me, proposing several exasperated glances for exchange, and sighing emphatically at fixed intervals. the class was full and silent and dead, except for agnes and her pneumatic breasts deployed before me like tanks. they stand at firm attention, and i always see them before i see her face, which makes me blush furiously and immediately look elsewhere. she is a stern simulacrum of polish hardness, and i am fairly sure she might grunt and send a fist into my face for making such crass reference to those bulbous entities protruding from her chest.

my grandmother underwent a dreadful surgery to repair a squared-off femur bone grinding mercilessly into her acetabulum. i spoke with her briefly on the phone, dopey from the morphine drip and sick from the jello.
instant guilt and not a good granddaughter...

blugh, but...

i've been up and around as usual wading in the thick and obstinate fog that is my head. occasionally a drizzle will douse me in thought particles, and i am all agape until a ton of bricks comes smashing into the static.

i keep remembering those 18th century english horrors happening deep in my sleep last night. filth and rubber and madman. girls and a trial and a fleuve of blood. i am hideously aware of my left femoral artery, clutching it in dismay...i see that vermillion jet gushing like a fountain, staining me and draining me and oh what in the horrible hell was that dead girl's name lying to my left?
i blink blink blinked myself back into our dimension and stared at you for minutes on your pillow. i wondered if you were looking back at me through the dark, smiling sinister and savvy, and i braced myself for the next episode. you didn't move either, though, and i began to shake you frantically, with great hopes and desperate that you'd wake up.
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Friday, September 13th, 2002

Time:11:59 am.
i am sleepwalking since monday. ears blasted out from high altitudes or something. each time i swallow i wince. whimper. marching mechanically like an inert zombie, my head feels like a receptacle of dysfunctional human pulp.

i'm hovering in waves.

back to sleep i guess maybe.
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Friday, September 6th, 2002

Subject:... :(
Time:10:38 pm.
things are all of a bloody sudden very good here and i'm feeling i don't want to leave!

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Time:5:01 pm.
my head did feel like a meteorite this morning.
dense intense and heavy.

i am unfortunately experiencing selective amnesia yet again.
hum. sudden klonopin confessions with wide eyes i'm still trying to digest. i must and do take everything with a grain of salt and sand or whatever...but i am so subjective lately i'm nearly nonexistent.

i feel suddenly at ease and contented here. but complacency is toxic...thus this counterurge to flee.

no time no time no time now
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Wednesday, August 28th, 2002

Time:4:31 pm.
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Tuesday, August 27th, 2002

Time:9:23 am.
Mood:dangerous, flimsy, in cognito.
drove deep into the dark woods yesterday evening to see the fossil resin and her new bouncing baby. looking at her, i kept thinking of a mushroom...not so much for its notorious psychotropic effects, but for its mushroom-dome silly shape. she also looked sort of like a distant mont blanc, or my juvenile image of biblical characters- a messy, incongruent triangular mound of hazy nebulous topped with a pointy felt hat. she told me about snipping off bits of the baby's penis, which sent me gasping in silent but visible revulsion.

"is something wrong?" she kept asking!

but no no no.

yoyo and orange bears. i wake up and i'm still dreaming.
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Sunday, August 25th, 2002

Subject:for bonny sweet robin is all my joy
Time:9:13 am.
oh last night was in a rage. brought me down with it kicking and screaming something awful.

on the bus to the avion was the most beautiful baby boy ever to be seen. his eyes were giant chocolate almonds and his head was covered in downy curls. he was so small, but dressed like any normal-sized grown person, even with stylish little sandals to top it off. he clung to his mother in a sweet and silly affectionate way. grinning and giggling as he observed all around him. i winked and he squealed! oh, heavy, my chest, i was in love!
later on the plane, though, there was yet another of those horrible police-siren-like children, sitting directly behind me and demanding between screams and sobs to be held by her mother, who was just in the seat to her right. it reminded me of the even more horrible child on the overcrowded bus the other day, who howled like an adult male being held down and castrated. it was quite a curious phenomenon, his normal baby whines punctuated by manly, nearly gorilla-like roars of protest.
the heat, maybe, i don't know.

oh beautiful, for spacious skies...

it's true about the skies! it boulverses me a chaque fois, but there is quite significantly more sky than anything else.
except maybe commercialism and propaganda. wow, vanilla, blueberry, cherry, lemon soda. ten different kinds of m&ms and skittles. every product comes in a vast assortment of flavours and shapes and sizes and thick marketing schemes. YOU WANT THIS! yes, and me, too! yes i want it, i need it, give it to me!!
i actually haven't left this house yet. i'm just making reference to the many commercials i've seen and the convenience store we stopped into on the long haul home. the candy section alone was significantly bigger than the entire market across from my apartment at port royal. amazing!

um. so i was gutted last night, and rightfully releasing fluids into the atmosphere like carbon dioxide liquified.

i was reciting some foolishness in my head, about being profoundly disgusted and fed up and nauseated. i have become a sort of figment of conversation here, which isn't too surprising i suppose. but i don't exist in france, either. france is just some ridiculous place where i speak with a funny accent and 50% of the population hates me by default, or anticipates anxiously to confront me, so as to ask why i am so selfish and ignorant and why did i vote for a geocentric, anti-environment, dopey republican president. the rest of the population smiles stupidly and asks me how i am enjoying my tourism and when am i going home to the enviable land of the free.
i do prefer it, but that might just be because it's not america.
i don't really care, i suppose. why would i openly desire some sort of pseudo-affirmation or identity in some vague...false karass, anyway?
i am nothing in france and i am nothing here and it will be quite the same wherever i go. for now, anyway.
i wonder if i would have retained something meaningful had i stayed here. i wonder if i had anything to begin with.
...i wonder what sent me into such a foolish frenzy. i feel quite calm and indifferent now.

so i went into my sister's room in search of saline solution. i was immediately consumed in an immense flood of clothes and shoes, which projected out from the closet and completely covered the surrounding bits of carpet. her room in general was a disaster area, looked like a drop-dead-fred-type of thief had just passed through, breaking and overturning everything in his path.
i started trying on the shoes, all the same sort of high-heeled clunky eurotrash design. but lined up toe-to-heel all of these shoes could have quite literally and easily made a tour around the whole of this house a good ten times, and i suspect could've wrapped around the entire neighborhood itself.
when i casually asked her if she'd like to give her beloved sister a pair of shoes, as i was sure she couldn't wear them all herself, she gasped incredulously and barked a hasty "NO!" as if i had asked for a kidney, or a much less-expendable organ.
my sister seems to be the single most selfish, obnoxious, insolent, self-serving, CARELESS person i have ever had the misfortune of being fully exposed to. this is what bothers me the most. i wonder if she will grow out of it.

my entire body feels like it's my collective heart. all except the space in my chest where my real heart should be. it feels like a void around which the rest of my organism is throbbing wholly, pumping loyally and mightily.
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Friday, August 23rd, 2002

Time:9:59 am.
hello world!
i woke up like a rock today.
hello avion!
i hope those atlantic skies are smooth and gentle.

must finish. oh, nerves.
quiet, be still.

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Thursday, August 22nd, 2002

Subject:die katze sage... das deutsch ist megaschlect! achtung!
Time:5:09 am.
Mood:(but not the secretagentbees!).
i am subatomic. cannot sleep. full of electrons and sizzling particles. hissing above me in an effervescent nimbus. so much sound i snap in two. but not down the middle, rather, up my dorsi. they are starting to protrude and i feel mutated. i have a great mysterious dent at the base of my skull, just discovered!
i was almost aquatic. my arch enemy covered in invisible fins. i seize him by the flippers and force him flailing onto the reef. a few wrestles and drop-kicks, strangulation and bang! he's slurping up the tropics with havana in hand. brave but no contest. buries his four webbed-feet in the sand. glistens in the sun like rubber, ça y est, i swoon! starfish belly for you!
*you know i love it best when you're the plus pliable.*
translation: we want gymnasts without the stunted growth! soup with lively, orificed contents.
soon i'll be stuck in an original knot.
and you thought you could fool us, hah!

i'm going to make myself a red cape and wondersuit.
a para-chute.

and smiling, smiling, i go down like monsters and kelp!

(but only nice ones with no scales and soft teeth.)

i really really really want watermelon and marshmallows now.

i am the hero! i win the game! marshmallows shall rain down on me like locusts and i will catch them in bountiful watermelon wedges.
a slice might be nice, but the whole vine is super-fine.
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Monday, August 19th, 2002

Subject:l'assassinat considéré comme un des beaux arts
Time:5:05 pm.
eyes peeled wide open these days and i look left and right before i'm off like a bullet to the other end of the street.

fed-up with menacing bobigny sans adel, i finally heard from juliet. she stayed over last night and hastily left after waking up at fourteen-o-clock.

i'm impatient for the future just because i already see the end of the present. dim of the past. the walls are caving in and doors closing all around me and i scramble to rid myself of everything i know will be rotten soon enough. but parts of me are sticky. sappy. caught in the minutes like molasses as they sludge out and outer.
try stretching myself through the bars, but it takes too long and i forget.

i feel my cells disperse from the core and rush in a mad flow to my fingers and toes. spice in my bloodstream. i hadn't a chance.
we found you on the floor. waiting in a heap. your head spinning with taboo. i wanted to cradle you, put you back together, but my arms were only two and not enough.

but what am i talking about anyway?

a videur-looking man with car keys delivered my ticket this morning. i am quite anxious that the place i'm going back to has transformed into a real circus. a real, screaming side-show.

i just want something that lasts. something that isn't constantly trying to wriggle out of my hands. but maybe i hold too tight.

that isn't true. i don't hold at all anymore.
maybe, then...
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Tuesday, August 13th, 2002

Subject:glad to see the dolly devils behaving themselves sagely
Time:10:32 pm.
the night is young and restless and she's fidgeting under my seat.
my poor pattes are nearly recovered, but i'll have to give up on girliness. i will donate all the torturous footwear to my dear sister, as reward for her precocious alcoholism and relentless obstinacy. she nearly clobbered my grandmother!

so, david seems to be a strikingly interesting mec indeed. he talks a lot, like joshua, which mercilessly reminds me of my own social ineptitude, and awkwardness in general. i seem to have even lost the instinctual responses for generic questions new people compulsively ask. i try to answer truthfully and end up sounding ridiculous and clumsy.

hum. i would much prefer the days consist of 42 hours. it's certainly not that i am a busy bird and require more time to accomplish my missions, but i just seem to function better being up for 30 hours and then sleeping 12.

around luxembourg on the 38 the other day a small old man attempted stepping onto the bus from the forbidden back door, instead of the front. the doors were sliding shut and he finished by falling face-first and dropping his plastic supermarket bag and briefcase. two men helped him up, and began scolding him, "on monte par l'arriére, monsieur! pourquoi vous avez fait ça?!"
then the bus driver: "c'est quoi, ça?? vous vous prenez pour qui là?" everyone stared as he made his way towards a seat, clutching each rail tightly as he moved to the next.
my own stomach constricted in grief, but as soon as i start to feel a little sad or sorry for someone i am suddenly swept over with a rush of consequential guilt. i cannot freely give myself the luxurious hauteur from which to look down on people with a sigh and a shrug of pity. it is easier to hate. in other circumstances, of course. i guess because such a supposition is more superficial? it's undeniably silly to presume a self-excellence and significance which puts the rest of the world to a revolting shame. and conscious silliness is much more comfortable.
or something.

so. black boy in châtelet station, bare torso, kneeling by the steps hoping for some change. but what a pretty face! his cardboard sign is upside down. his eyes are shining behind thick lashes. i squint at him as i walk by. he does the same. cocks his head to one side like a puppy.

everyone is looking at me like they know something secret, and i wonder what it might be. i try providing a new significance to each smirking face on the metro, contorting them in terror and panic. explosions or tear gas as was so popular last last summer. (why was it always happening to us??)
but i thought...maybe death is not so horrific.
old-age and loneliness could be much worse.
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