I wanna dj yr next party
by TRUE
But I aint got no speakers,
aint got no headphones,
aint got no records to play.
by TRUE
so i dunno. the past is a strange thing: stories strung together like pearls on a string. i've been unravelling it for some time and at considerable cost. what does it say (if anything) about the blogger before u NOW if i tell u that when i was in high school my best friend was raped in her bed while i was passed out drunk on the stairs a few feet away? she struggled and shouted but i was all partied out and deaf as a doornail. it was her house but we threw the parties together. she did all the planning and i played the part of the moral sounding board. for instance, she'd be making jello shots and about to pour in a double dose of vodka...i dunno, she'd say, her voice heavy with consternation, maybe i shouldn't... and i'd say, yeah, of course u should! and then i'd get her to pour in even MORE. everyone came from all the schools cuz our parties were the best. the guy who raped her was someone we had been in the same classes with since the 1st grade--those classes being the nerdy, honors track robo-learning horsecrap. he was tall and bashful and always smiling and looking at the floor. she came running out of the room and knocked into me as she charged down the steps and out the front door. "fuck you, bitch!" i shouted groggily. she owed me ten dollars, which was why i had been waiting.
maybe you'll know who i am if i tell u stories about my heart of glass, and how id stand in the mirror pressing hard on the green and purple bruises across my chest to change the way they looked, so that when i took off my shirt for him again he wouldn't see that they were in the shape of his hands and fingers and become really sad.
or i could tell u about my heart of stone, and how after i got my second degree i turned my mind into a movie multiplex in an american mall, with a middle brow plot on every screen to ensure that i'd never concentrate on any one of them long enough to understand a lick of what was going on.
or i could tell u about the recent past, and all the coincidences and lies and dreams and fantasies...about the low, low place i sank to two weeks ago, when i found myself wandering around downtown going no where fast with no one to stop me. i made my way to union square, exhausted, and searched for an empty spot on a bench, passing students and couples and old people staring vacantly and druggies scratching at their skin and stoners rubbing at their eyes and cigarette smokers taking deep, contemplative drags while other people ate late lunches, or flirted half-heartedly or stared off into space, and all i wanted was to sit down and try to find a way to stop thinking, cuz if i could do that on my own maybe i wouldn't end up in a bar, spending my last dollars on poison...so i found myself trailing a girl who was also looking to sit down. she carried a bag from cosi's and she turned her head back and forth, an anxious, annoyed expression on her face. finally, an inexplicably empty bench appeared before us...it was too good to be true, i stood off to the side while she scanned it for puke or shit or a dead animal or god knows what...but there was nothing. she sat down at one end and i collapsed at the other...too tired at first to see what was across from us...a man, homeless for sure, in a filthy, ripped t-shirt with sweat running down his face and neck. he had on sweatpants that were little more than tatters, the cuff on his left leg half covering a bloody stump where the foot should have been. the stump was crawling with maggots and baby flies that buzzed in a small black cloud. oh man, i moaned at the same time that the girl on the other end of the bench smashed her cosi bag closed again. so that's why this was the only empty bench in the whole park. i couldn't believe i was seeing something like this in the middle of gentrified manhattan. it didn't occur to me at the time that i couldn't think of him as being a real, living man but only as a disgusting sight that i was being subjected to. i didn't think to go get help, or to give him some money, or to sit beside him for awhile...i dunno...i got up and started walking again...upset, unable to muster up even any compassion any more, unable to change the garbage into gold...and when i saw the girl racing ahead, pissed off at the world i knew my face was twisted and ugly like hers and i felt like i might as well have been already dead so i got up to head for the bar where there was a real chance that could happen.
as sad and revealing and crazy as these stories might be, what i'd rather tell u about is the future, and how im already a big part of it. but im late so it will have to wait for another time.
so i dunno. the past is a strange thing: stories strung together like pearls on a string. i've been unravelling it for some time and at considerable cost. what does it say (if anything) about the blogger before u NOW if i tell u that when i was in high school my best friend was raped in her bed while i was passed out drunk on the stairs a few feet away? she struggled and shouted but i was all partied out and deaf as a doornail. it was her house but we threw the parties together. she did all the planning and i played the part of the moral sounding board. for instance, she'd be making jello shots and about to pour in a double dose of vodka...i dunno, she'd say, her voice heavy with consternation, maybe i shouldn't... and i'd say, yeah, of course u should! and then i'd get her to pour in even MORE. everyone came from all the schools cuz our parties were the best. the guy who raped her was someone we had been in the same classes with since the 1st grade--those classes being the nerdy, honors track robo-learning horsecrap. he was tall and bashful and always smiling and looking at the floor. she came running out of the room and knocked into me as she charged down the steps and out the front door. "fuck you, bitch!" i shouted groggily. she owed me ten dollars, which was why i had been waiting.
maybe you'll know who i am if i tell u stories about my heart of glass, and how id stand in the mirror pressing hard on the green and purple bruises across my chest to change the way they looked, so that when i took off my shirt for him again he wouldn't see that they were in the shape of his hands and fingers and become really sad.
or i could tell u about my heart of stone, and how after i got my second degree i turned my mind into a movie multiplex in an american mall, with a middle brow plot on every screen to ensure that i'd never concentrate on any one of them long enough to understand a lick of what was going on.
or i could tell u about the recent past, and all the coincidences and lies and dreams and fantasies...about the low, low place i sank to two weeks ago, when i found myself wandering around downtown going no where fast with no one to stop me. i made my way to union square, exhausted, and searched for an empty spot on a bench, passing students and couples and old people staring vacantly and druggies scratching at their skin and stoners rubbing at their eyes and cigarette smokers taking deep, contemplative drags while other people ate late lunches, or flirted half-heartedly or stared off into space, and all i wanted was to sit down and try to find a way to stop thinking, cuz if i could do that on my own maybe i wouldn't end up in a bar, spending my last dollars on poison...so i found myself trailing a girl who was also looking to sit down. she carried a bag from cosi's and she turned her head back and forth, an anxious, annoyed expression on her face. finally, an inexplicably empty bench appeared before us...it was too good to be true, i stood off to the side while she scanned it for puke or shit or a dead animal or god knows what...but there was nothing. she sat down at one end and i collapsed at the other...too tired at first to see what was across from us...a man, homeless for sure, in a filthy, ripped t-shirt with sweat running down his face and neck. he had on sweatpants that were little more than tatters, the cuff on his left leg half covering a bloody stump where the foot should have been. the stump was crawling with maggots and baby flies that buzzed in a small black cloud. oh man, i moaned at the same time that the girl on the other end of the bench smashed her cosi bag closed again. so that's why this was the only empty bench in the whole park. i couldn't believe i was seeing something like this in the middle of gentrified manhattan. it didn't occur to me at the time that i couldn't think of him as being a real, living man but only as a disgusting sight that i was being subjected to. i didn't think to go get help, or to give him some money, or to sit beside him for awhile...i dunno...i got up and started walking again...upset, unable to muster up even any compassion any more, unable to change the garbage into gold...and when i saw the girl racing ahead, pissed off at the world i knew my face was twisted and ugly like hers and i felt like i might as well have been already dead so i got up to head for the bar where there was a real chance that could happen.
as sad and revealing and crazy as these stories might be, what i'd rather tell u about is the future, and how im already a big part of it. but im late so it will have to wait for another time.
U would make such a great lesbian...
by TRUE
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Easy like sunday morning: jesus and his miracles and coffee and my bed.
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This message was sent from a T-Mobile wireless phone.
On the bridge
by TRUE
I turned and looked back and the smoke and ash and emptiness killed and salted a piece of my brain for me to feast on forever more.
family/affair
by TRUE
Nobody wants to blow
Nobody wants to be left out
You can't leave, 'cause your heart is there
But you can't stay, 'cause you been somewhere else
You can't cry, 'cause you'll look broke down
But you're cryin' anyway 'cause you're all broke down
It's a family affair
It's a family affair
--"Family Affair", Sly and The Family Stone
by TRUE
Love is like a flower-shaped firework:
I can see the beautiful black leaves against the bright green grass.
by TRUE
I luv raymi. She is the one and only ferreal star I've ever met. Fuck britney and whoever at the b-bar. The b-list assholes I did blow wit.
by TRUE
Im getting skinnier by the second...so skinny my tummy's swollen like a starving african baby.
by TRUE
im so fucking paranoid right now. my leg is shaking. i can understand why people jump up and suddenly rob liquor stores to take the edge off.
ha.
it goes like DIS:
yr life has been sinking for a while, like an overturned ocean liner whose hull is slowly filling with water until one day BAM u freak the fuck out over something comparatively lame, like a lost file or a deal that fell thru and suddenly yr announcing in a brassy tone that doesn't sound at all like yr usual stoner drawl that yr gonna jump out the fucking window and before anyone can say anything or give u a fake laugh u step like a giant, robotic crane over to the window where u pop open the latch and swing out the frame. the wind does not wake u up or bring u yr senses back, if anything the fresh air and white noise of the ventilators' indifferent humming seems vaguely soothing and the next thing u know yr climbing out on to the sill as everyone around u breaks out of their freeze frame and starts screaming and rushing over. u think to yrself, im an idiot, im a nut...at last there's no denying it...at last they'll be forced to face the facts and as u stare at yr scuffed office casual shoes u wonder wtf am i doing as a jackhammer bangs out a beat somewhere far in the distance...maybe even in another borough...another time, another place, where there are shadows of leaves dancing on the streets and the jingle of an ice-cream truck and the smell of a pall mall that the old man in front of u lights...an old man with time to kill but none to spare as he's getting closer to the end, just like u, on the ledge, where it's dawning on u that this is real and there won't be do over and yr not sure how yr gonna get back thru the window--it was as wide as a wound when u walked thru but now its shrunk to a peephole--so u slap yr hands flat against the wall as yr knees lock and for the first time u let yrself look all the way DOWN.
jamie
im so fucking paranoid right now. my leg is shaking. i can understand why people jump up and suddenly rob liquor stores to take the edge off.
ha.
it goes like DIS:
yr life has been sinking for a while, like an overturned ocean liner whose hull is slowly filling with water until one day BAM u freak the fuck out over something comparatively lame, like a lost file or a deal that fell thru and suddenly yr announcing in a brassy tone that doesn't sound at all like yr usual stoner drawl that yr gonna jump out the fucking window and before anyone can say anything or give u a fake laugh u step like a giant, robotic crane over to the window where u pop open the latch and swing out the frame. the wind does not wake u up or bring u yr senses back, if anything the fresh air and white noise of the ventilators' indifferent humming seems vaguely soothing and the next thing u know yr climbing out on to the sill as everyone around u breaks out of their freeze frame and starts screaming and rushing over. u think to yrself, im an idiot, im a nut...at last there's no denying it...at last they'll be forced to face the facts and as u stare at yr scuffed office casual shoes u wonder wtf am i doing as a jackhammer bangs out a beat somewhere far in the distance...maybe even in another borough...another time, another place, where there are shadows of leaves dancing on the streets and the jingle of an ice-cream truck and the smell of a pall mall that the old man in front of u lights...an old man with time to kill but none to spare as he's getting closer to the end, just like u, on the ledge, where it's dawning on u that this is real and there won't be do over and yr not sure how yr gonna get back thru the window--it was as wide as a wound when u walked thru but now its shrunk to a peephole--so u slap yr hands flat against the wall as yr knees lock and for the first time u let yrself look all the way DOWN.
jamie
by TRUE
It feels like it did. The sky is the same.
"We don't call a cloudless sky 'empty'." -Wittgenstein
It's filled-in--the past inside the present.
by TRUE
Im gonna move out west and live in the desert and have wolves for pets and psychoactive mushroom tea in a long silver thermus.
by TRUE
They were playing Soul II Soul--the light in the bathroom flashed in time to the beat. I clutched my tummy and wrote angry shit on the wall.
by TRUE
I've got a time stamp on this, bitchesssss.
Everything on this site is pressed Strate-Thru with its own particular "here and now" variant.
Fuck Reality.
by TRUE
When I was little it didn’t take me long to realize that I was nothing special.
Sure, I was smart…sure, I was cute…sure, I was athletic, but I wasn’t the SMARTEST, and I wasn’t the CUTEST and tho I scored pretty high at all the games, I was never the HIGHEST scorer...
I wasn’t the baddest tuff girl, or the sweetest sweetie pie or the biggest kiss-up or even the nerdiest nerd…I was just kinda there, with my “nice” clothes and my “plain” brown hair and my shy smile…
A boring white girl, with nothing much to say and no one who especially wanted to hear it.
So I spent more and more time staring out the window…zoning out on the asphalt covered playground and the brown, polluted fields that were past them, with the black birds on the black wire and the highway overpass filling out the backdrop…I stared and stared and stared some more at all the things out there until one fine fall day I realized they’d started staring back.
reality, medium-rare.
by TRUE
Don't care if it's Chinatown, or up in Riverside...
I don't have any reasons--I left them all behind.
I'm in a New York state of mind.
by TRUE
My Bloody Valentine rule the skool. I don't care if listening to them dates me. Fuck you anyway. My time is NOW.
by TRUE
I threw out my handle like it was a fave denim jacket that i got blood all over--it was sad to let go but when it was gone it was gone fer good.
