I'm your teenage prayer.

"You might think I'm not somebody,
you might think I'm nowhere
But I'm here to tell you I'm your teenage prayer."

There's a first time for everything. It just so happened that my spur of the moment trip to New York City presented me with an overwhelming amount of firsts; all of which I find nearly impossible to realize (and at times, accept) as truth. Looking back, all I can do is smile and wonder (only briefly) what my life would be like if I wasn't in it.

I spent half of my trip with clothes on, the other half was spent naked. Half of the nudity was expected, the other half was anticipated. I was happier with my clothes off. It was freeing. And for the first time in my life I felt (on some level) desirable. I realize it's not important to feel this way, but in the spirit of first times I think it's important to mention. I stumbled upon a few heartbreaking love stories and did my best to avoid becoming one. I think I survived (another first) although not entirely. I'm much too sensitive to be a tally mark on a bed post, but I'm dealing with it. I'm growing up. And even though my feelings and actions were only temporary, I now know what I want in permanence.

Flashbulbs against bare skin, neglected naps, twin bed closeness, avoiding eye contact, kissing races, Miller High Life, sweet and sour smells of Chinatown, warm and saturated sleep, city summer sun, free condoms and matches, trampoline nudity, tourists with crinkled maps, productive showers, lunch under grapevines, apathetic subway rides, models on street corners, loose tobacco, borrowed lighters, wanting to call someone mister just to spite you, drunken 2am pizza, walk/don't walk ignorance, grocery store oneness, not calling someone mister because I can't without you, vertically inclined in a vertical city, being called "Fucking Hipsters", fabricated truth, manufactured lies, over exposure, nylons ripped in fervor, walking tall, a song about a love song, release form release.

After my car dropped me off at the airport I stood outside and had a cigarette. I decided that I couldn't go back. If I were to go back home nothing would ever change and if I were to stay nothing would ever be the same. I came up with a plan (not much of one, really) where I would purposefully miss my flight. By the time my cigarette was finished I walked back to the sidewalk and waited for a taxi back to the city where I would call my parents to tell them how I couldn't come back. A taxi pulled up beside me and my luggage. I hesitated. With tears in my eyes, I waved him off.

I wanted to stay.
I couldn't leave.
I had to go.
I couldn't come.

Life is so beautiful in its randomness.
I would be a fool not to appreciate every little surprise.

(unfinished entry. to be edited.)

I'm going to New York City in the morning, Manhattan to be exact.
It just happened this way.
I never thought I could take my clothes off,
but I guess there isn't much to hide anymore.
It's mine to do with what I wish.
It should be fun, regardless.
I'm staying with a friend in Brooklyn.
I'll be back Saturday evening.


I woke up to a thunderstorm.
I found a Blue Jay feather in the grass.
I fed geese in a parking lot.

"The spark is not within me"

My face is tinted with sunshine and my freckles are in full bloom.

I realized that I enjoy not wearing underwear.

I gave up on giving up.

I started writing again. New title, new story, same ol', same ol'
But writers block has since gotten the best of me.

This morning (after calling off of work for no reason) while braiding my hair into pigtails, sitting Indian style, eating chocolate cake for breakfast I realized that there must be some Curious Case of Benjamen Button shit going on. There's no way I'm 20 years old.

Having said that, I start collecting unemployment tomorrow.

I think it should be required that every physically able person should go outside and do something nature-y every single day. Fresh air changes everything, for the better of course.

I really think I need to quit smoking soon. I sound like a dreadful combination of Christian Bale (as Batman, of course) and Kathleen Turner. Sultry? Perhaps. Unhealthy? Most definitely.

I finally found the words that have been sitting so patiently in my throat
but I have no one to say them to. I hope I find someone to tell before I swallow them.

I made a wish on a deceased dandelion.
I wish I knew then what I know now.
Or something like that.


For the record, I lied. I lie quite often, actually. But in this particular instance, I lied about that "last shot" business. Oh, and I broke a promise too. You know the one where I promised to take a hint? Yeah. Scratch that. The truth is, world, I don't have anything better to do than to keep trying. And I challenge you to find a better use of my time. My pleas have transcended merely wanting this. The hunger is unbearable. I've left a breadcrumb path for you. I'll be there when you're ready to follow it. I am the destination.



Person one: Why are you begging? It's pathetic. He doesn't want you.
Person two: Keep fighting until you don't want him anymore.
Person three: In the words of the great Pat Benatar, "Love is a battlefield."

In regards to person one; I know. I disgust myself.
In regards to person two; I've got a lot of fight left in me.
In regards to person three; Truer words have never been spoken.

"And now," cried Max, "let the wild rumpus start!"

"You gotta be the one,
you gotta be the way"

The past few days have been whirlwind like in nature, but in all actuality the past few days have been just the same. So, I find it only appropriate to summarize the aforementioned past few days in a whirlwind matter; in true haphazard fashion;

A vast sea of comic books, mutants and moon shadows, pulling a radio flyer wagon, peanut butter cookies, rough drafts,a little red dress, one long drive on empty, duct tape on a door, duct tape on a window, mustaches and keg beer, older men fascinated with my wasted youth, further demotion, grimace and the hamburgler, track #6, feeling heroic, heated argument over what belongs to me, bursts of unexpected wind carrying cherry blossom petals into my face, finding our groove, undesirable sobriety, red to blond thoughts, finding a house without directions, Romeo & Juliet, track #6, technicolor scars, Julie Newmar, jumping on train tracks, climbing barbed wire fences, feeling defeated, The Last Batgirl Story, waking from a dream where I was defiant and oblivious, clumsy and unfocused pirouettes, impatient hands holding a silent phone, disowning once trustworthy butterflies, irrational and exaggerated exclamations, snapping at friends hopeful words, choking fits induced by laughter, eating massive amounts of humble pie, crying "I can't do this" and screaming "I did it", running in nylons, financial sacrifices for rock and roll, walking on the top of the world, faking it, feeling lucky, blurry photographs and track #6.

If my car were a cat, it'd be on its ninth life.

I should have known things wouldn't be easy.
I'm putting it to rest or setting it free.
Either way, it's no longer a part of me.
Wait. Not yet. Okay?

Dandelions are unappreciated.

love thy self.

"In love the paradox occurs that two beings become one and yet remain two."

My bad habits are resurfacing and I'm gaining a significant amount of weight. And in regards to both the former and the latter, I don't much care.

My mother had a miscarriage yesterday. She wasn't going to "have" it, but it's still a sad thought for some reason or another. We laughed about it today, though. We're always laughing about the sad things, or so it seems.

I'm reading the thesaurus.

I need money for ballet lessons. And perhaps, too, a leotard. Or better yet a unitard. My body would look so slammin' in a unitard.

Your name comes up more often than I feel comfortable noticing. But never from my mouth, I can assure you. I'll hear it in a crowded bar or in a quiet bookstore and it always leaves me with the same feeling. I usually smile, shake my head to myself and then look out of a nearby window, at a nearby street, eyes glazed over with a sense of "Oh well." The complete duration of this cyclical, almost daily process is approximately 33 seconds, give or take a few.
Copious, affluent, flush, fertile, abundant, opulent. Even your synonyms leave me distant.

The fate of my day must surly be foreshadowed by a bowl of pink milk and perhaps the sun which insisted on nudging me unwillingly awake.

milk and honey.

"I'll show you where the flowers never grow"

In the past week I've experienced, in summary, a rainbow, a dead dog and lots of rain. All of which, or so I find, are suitable guests to this abrupt and adamant feeling.

I have $25 and some change to last me until next Friday. This should make the next seven days nearly impossible.

I find it relatively amusing that people are so concerned about this pandemic. I'm not sick and my immune system is doing just fine. I'm more concerned about that silly little organ situated comfortably underneath my breastbone. It's not beating the same these days.

I accidentally felt up several female mannequins today. They are much too stubborn to move on their own, so my hands did all the work.

I desperately want a motorcycle. I want to sell my car, buy a motorcycle, move to the countryside and open a pie shop. I'll just bake pies and tend to a garden. Did I mention I would have a garden, too? Because I would. And a weathered wooden fence and creaky porch steps.

Even when I'm running late, I'm always early.

I'm running out of eyelashes to pull.

two part harmony.

"The world is dying to meet you"

Spring is so, so wonderful that I find it to be completely exhausting.

Yesterday I went to a used book sale. The books I purchased perfectly summarize who I am; Get Happy: Biography of Judy Garland, a thesaurus, Survival, Evasion and Escape: A guide published by the U.S Army in 1968 and The Art of Loving. I went to a concert, too. Every song was about love, which was tiring but opened a few closed windows in my barely open mind.

It is windier than usual today. Our windows are open and the drapes keep blowing upward. The trees are sporting their new growth and the cherry blossoms are popping. Now is the time for something good. I think.

Some people find my ceaseless crusade to be romantic. While others think my relentless attempts are pathetic; they think I look desperate. The truth is, I'm fighting for someone who won't fight for himself. So, I've come to a viable solution; my only option. I've made the choice to surrender. However, I am not waving my white flag out of defeat, no. I am waving it out of indifference. If you want me, then you'll have to find me. I'm worth fighting for. I am (as you are) a creature of endless value. I cannot promise you that I'll be waiting with open arms. And I certainly can't promise a open heart. But we'll burn that bridge when we cross it; if we ever cross it. But before I go off waving flags and burning bridges there are a few things you should know. I had a good feeling about all of this and I truly believed that something good was to come of it. I am in no way superior to you. My feelings and intentions were and are true and unassuming. And I firmly believe that we will both soon find whatever it is we are looking for, or something like that.

"Anyone who imagines that all fruits ripen at the same time as the strawberries knows nothing about grapes."- Paracelsus

I know very little about very much. I know nothing about fruit.