i thought we might make a substitute for a guestbook or message board here... (oh, plus we can delete obnoxious spam posts! woohoo!) write whatever you like... xoxo jennyrose Put the new stuff at the top, eh? I know of this woman who asked that every time someone she knows drives past her farm they honk their horns, so that she is reassured that someone who knows her is close by. This strikes me as unbelievably sad. I encountered this in rural Britain in a beautiful quiet valley full of horses sheep and streams. I wonder about that woman sometimes, and try to imagion her life. -Dawn I just realized something. My mother has been sober about fourteen months now. Considering the fact that she was ODing every year like clockwork for a period of five years or so, this is a very good thing. Yes, I am still a little bitter. I will never really forgive or understand the fact that she rejected her family again and again to alleviate her sadness. But most of the anger has died. I'm glad she's okay now. She seems happy, fulfilled. It feels like the spell is finally broken. I don't have to hate her anymore. A superstitious part of me feels like I'm jinxing her sobriety by even talking about it. I can never really have a guarantee that her depression will never come back. But part of me feels like it's over, and I stayed sane. I survived it. Maybe it's even made me stronger. That perpetually frightened girl, kept in the dark by the adults around her; that righteously furious girl, enamored with her own anger; that embittered girl, wanting to withdraw from the world because she had been hurt - they are no longer me. I will never forget them, but they are no longer me. - Naela Armchair Activisum!!! Save the Rainforest with one click a day "http://www.saverainforest.net" "http://www.thebreastcancersite.com" Race for the Rainforest "http://rainforest.care2.com/front.html/player29656" Donate food with every click - The Hunger Site "http://www.thehungersite.com" To any that are so inclinded and interested the Beautiful Talented Shippy is dipped, dunked, and called Kosher, becoming a card carrying Orthadox Jew Monday Feb 25th and 9Pm Israel time. yay yay yay! Repeat after me, wanderlust. You. are. your. own. worst. enemy. You are your own demise. the fury you fear to unleash boils up under your skin, only stopped when you stand behind the counter pinching yourself until your hand goes numb and white. Because of his critisism, and your resentment with nowhere to travel. you know you'll never be good enough while he's around, always falling into clumsiness the minute he comes into view but it's the hardest battle to face. you can face anything but yourself and your stupid godforsaken self-hatred, which you've known since you were born. all you know now is that you want to be perfect like he is, but someday when he rubs it in a bit too much, you will snap. Tonight, at 2 am, I went to the store to get ice cream. Unfortunately, the store was closed. But on the way back I got whistled at. I was walking along the street, arms crossed. Two guys in hoodies walked towards me. I avoided even a hint of eye contact. Right after we passed, one of them whistled. I couldn't help grinning. I don't know what it is about me and wolf whistles, but I love it. I never make eye contact... I never grin until I'm well past them... I never, ever, encourage it in any way... but I don't mind at all, and in fact like it when some random guy whistles at me, or says "Hey sexy" or some other sexist thing of that sort. It's happened rarely... Three times I can think of, counting tonight. I don't know. I honestly don't mind. They weren't trying to hurt me, and they were appriciating all they saw of me in the three seconds it took to walk past me. Maybe it's because I've only recently become more than passable looks-wise, and am becoming better looking every day and week and month. I like it when people like how I look, be they my friends looking me in the eye and telling me I'm beautiful, or random strangers whistling at me. In a way, the random stranger thing is more fun. They know nothing about my personality, it's not my smile that makes them think I look good. In three seconds, I strike them as something beautiful. And it was a perfect whistle.
So here I am again. Rambling is in my genes, alright? For some reason... the last several months I suppose, I have been happy... I don't know why, my parents have split up, it seems like more people are dying every time I turn on the news, and I am so far away from everyone I love. And yet I can't stop feeling good. I don't know why... I feel especially guilty about this reading about the pain of people I love, about how I feel an automatic potential victim of so much just for having ovaries, and of how many people are just at the end of their rope in this city. I think your environment really influences your happiness. I hated living in the suburbs- I'm an urban person. I'm finally living in an urban area, and I think to myself at least 3 times a day "damn, I love living here"... My life is filled with anxiety, uncertainty and a lot of shit. And yet I am so happy to be alive. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really "authentic" because I don't experience as much pain as those around me. But I suppose you can still live a raw life and experience joy, right? I have no fucking clue where any of this comes from. Considering my situation, I feel like I should be going back to my psychologist, back to my hypochondria, back to crying loudly at night just so my mom will hear me and come talk to me at 3 in the morning. But I can't. Sometimes I wonder if this is some weird defense mechanism. But I don't think it is. This world can be shockingly beautiful, sometimes. -eira So my mom wakes me up before she goes to work this morning and tells me George Harrison died. I know this is going to sound unbelievably naive, and innocent, but I had never thought till today that it was possible for any of the remaining Beatles to die. I guess I always just thought they were going to be immortal or something, and I thought I'd never hear about Paul or Ringo or George dying because they'd just be around forever. And now one did....I was raised on the Beatles, it was pretty much the only soundtrack of my life from when I was about 9-13...this still feels so strange and unreal. And there's still people dying every day, and part of me feels guilty for not even considering that fact a lot of the time, but on the other hand, it's hard for me not to react to Harrison's death...-eira It's hard to reach out to people in this place. Everyone's closed off, like stone walls. They can't stand to be touched, and that's why what happened today happened. I tried to give someone I care about a lot a hug, and he ignored me. Just like that. I would shrug it off, maybe, if I was the type of person who was that open all the time, but it took a lot of courage to do that one simple thing. Wasted courage. And now I have a horrid shrinking feeling in the back of my stomach and all the blood in the world isn't making it go away. I hate this town. It has all these beautiful, brilliant people who won't let me touch them. They say I'm "cute", "funny", "nice", but do they want to know who's behind that face? I don't think so. Does anyone? Yes.... but the good memories of caring friends are fading fast, and the bad memories of compassion shoved back in my face slap me again and again. I don't know if I have the courage to reach out again, it hurts so much. It hurts too much.
I have always been the only person who knew everything about me, who cared to know everything about me. For short periods I'd have friends who'd know everything, who I could let read my journal and they wouldn't find much knew. But I change pretty quickly, and deep relationship-changing conversations are hard to have more than once a week. I've always been the only person who's known exactly what's up with me. Now, I don't. I have no idea what's going on inside my head. I am very firmly thinking only what I want to think about... I am not thinking about my family, or people I love, or good friends I somehow never talk to anymore, or letters where I can't quite write what I'm really feeling. My body is turning on me. I'm getting sore throats, allergic skin reactions, cramped hands, sore neck. I ignore that too... I can't do anything else, don't you see? I've been hurt enough! This is something I don't want to talk about or admit either. If I wasn't so closed off, I'd burst into tears daily. I wouldn't be able to function. I wouldn't be able to appriciate the wonderful, wonderful things about my life. I have no clue how I feel. And I can't let myself know either. I will not push too far. I don't know what I wish. I don't know what I need. I know where I'm going. I don't know how I'm getting there. In all senses. I wish I could rescue myself, that's what I wish. But I'm trying. And I'm not moving very fast. "How are you?" "How the hell should I know?" Sweaty Palms So here's to leaving our sweaty palm prints and hairy arm pits all over the place. To leaving our toothbrushes in the same cup as our paintbrushes, to live outside borders lines ideas. To loving boys and girls, to painting our boots funny colours, daring to put posters at eye view in bathrooms. Here's to a better world with more sex toys, shops, videos, and fewer therapy sessions, to laughing out loud and devaluing property because you move into the neighbourhood. Here's to cunt-country, penis-country, to free men and woman and woman who are men and men who are woman and all the shades in-between, to talking about masturbation in public. Here's to not shaving our legs and wearing tiny tank tops, to woman and
men in comfortable shoes everywhere. To printing up random weird posters and
leaving them around town, to pissing off authority just because it is
authority. To being our own Beauty Kings, Beauty Queens, Drag kings, queens
and queers. Here's to honesty to lovers, and friends and family. To pasting
comic strips around the house, to being nice for a change, for caring [1].
The fuck with paint on nail polish in 18 new colours, carry out trays,
throwaway cameras and flashlights, aerosol bottles that choke up my planet,
loss 10 pounds before Christmas, the fuck the fuck with the fuckers who call
us fuckers.
Live your life loud, "cuz they aint gonna hear us if we're screaming
face down."
-Dawn, succulent wild woman and liking it.
[1]I worked a 8 hour shift today selling coffee soup and bagels to long lines of people who don't even know my name. One of my last customers looked me strait in the eyes and said "thank you for caring" and i wanted to hug the lady. It made the boys who tried to flirt with me, and the creepy men who were extra talkative worthwhile. Yah, i do care, thanks for noticing. This rant was inspired by the boy in Rome who liked my boots and sunrises at 30'000 feet. Lead follow or get out of the way.
I take a perverse sort of pride in that I am Not Someone You Need To Worry About. I just realized I don't think there's ever been a time I haven't censored myself, haven't tailored what I write or say to the audience of the moment. I don't talk about things that bother me, at least never in depth. I don't want to inflict that on anyone. I've never had a conversation where...
So I quit Aikido. After two years. I started this, and I persevered and I tried and tried and now I'm stuck and confused Maybe I will have to go back. These are my friends. Bought Sensei coffee this morning, and I didn't even know it was his birthday. It is a poor token of apprieciation. I want nothing from him because he has done everything for me. I lay in bed at night and cry over last year's wrongdoings and suicidal feelings, thinking of all the people I've hurt. Myself included. And I know I've been forgiven and even forgotten, it's only myself I can't forgive and forget. Back on the treadmill of regret, going through the motions. It's old news, now. I want everything from myself that leaks out of a hole in my heart, so I empty my room and give away my things to try and fill it. But I'm still confused and lost and I don't know what I'm doing. What am I doing?
Someone out there has this kickass photo of Tessa Robyn and I in the park in Eugene. i know it is posted up on the web some place, come on, fess up! whose is it and where is it pretty please? -Dawn
So I'm sitting here, staring at my computer screen, and I want to talk, and I want to be silent, and I want you here, going through my emotions with me, supporting me, making me feel as though I were a priority in someones life (other than my family). I'm in one of those moods where I don't feel happy, and I don't feel sad. I'm floating in oblivion, trying to make sense of my life, its not working. It's like when you want to do everything, yet don't want to do anything at all.It scares me how fast time goes by, in less than 3 months I'll be 18, I don't feel like I'm very old at all. Yet I feel so fucking old sometimes, way the hell to old. There's all this stress in my life, and dammit, i want it to go away. *sighs*, My mom found boxes of old pictures today, and when I got home, I got lost looking at them. There are all these pics from when I was little, and my parents were together, and it makes me so sad. I took this one pic upstairs, it's a picture of my dad, holding me when i was prolly a month or so old, and he looks so happy, and loving, like i mean the world to him. God I miss him, I miss him so fucking much. How can he just forget he has a family? How can he replace us? I talk to people, and they'll offhandedly mention something about their dad,about how overprotective he is, about how he won't let them date or do this or that, etc... And i wish that were true for me. I wish he cared enough to spend time with me, that he knew what was going on in my life, that he worried about me. There's so much more I want to say, about a million other subjects, but i don't have the energy... someone should call me. ~Jadzia ~~~~ I'm sad and hurt which I don't like being so I'm pretending to be removed and pissed off but I don't think it's working. I just spent the summer rather efficantly destroying a perfectly good life and now I'm sitting here trying to decide what kind of future I want and where the hell I hide the rubble of my past. My life is now more shot to hell then it ever was before-at 19 my crap should be pulling together not falling apart. love, *me* At the risk of having a long-haired flying object caress me sweetingly and say, that's just the way it goes in a squeaky voice, I write. I complain. This is a complaint to the gods, to the angels, to the underlings, to the campers, to the computer. Item Number One. I hate computers. They are way too unrainable, breakable, technological, they are too far from real Life, from lavendar flowers, too close to Men who would rather sit inside and be far from swingsets and children and- no, that's not it. Because being a scholar is lovely, and that is all indoors. Computers are too loud, and the people who use them are often too preoccupied with the latest to think of tea in the conservatory, scholars would be ever willing to break and speak to the old ladies about their latest research. Computers are something beyond me, something only my father can master, something I should learn, something he can teach me, in a stuffy office, in august, when summer is almost spent, and I should be with the children. Computers would make me wealthy, computers would make me elite. Computers would be Good for Me. Item Number Two. Myself. The way I always have something to say, the way I can twine words for hours, the way I think all this through instead ofsaying fuck the world and leaving it at that. The way I must understand things, and never do. That I must think things, till they die of starvation and deprived of light. The way I can spell. I can write. I want to run away, and forget speech ever existed, I want to look into another's eyes without the smallest chance of making them understand my thoughts through words, I want to communicate the way all communicate, with action. I want to not be thought of as intelligent. I would rather be beautiful. I want to stop understanding Oscar Wilde and be a silly woman he talks to. I would rather not be a woman at all, for the stereo type is far too unflattering an illfitting, and I have no time to create not a man of intellect. I want to be so intelligent that I can make people believe I am not. I want to be Lord Goring. Item Number Three. To thine own self be true. I want to know what I want, and not let anyone take the knowledge or the thing from me. I want to make decisions and have that be the end, I want people to hear me so I may hear myself. A rare place, where they respect you before you respect yourself. A place to grow. The plae we've all been looking for, all our lives. A Place. I want for things to open before me like flowers to drink, I want to live free for a year and giev myself away, my time and my spirit, I want...wanted. I wanted to have one last beautiful year before college. Before I grow up. I want to go to college next year, having done amazing things, having spent the year better than anyone could have spent it for me, having volunteered in India for three months, like the Prince of england. I wanted to live like a prince. I wanted to help orphans and have wealthy benefactresses pay for my food and airplane tickets. I wanted. I wanted my bagel toasted. I wanted my expenses paid. I drew myself a fairy tale and decided I would have it. But I forgot to ask if it would have me. Item Number Three, addendum When I do decide what I want, I want to be able to reach across time and space and hate and snatch it. I want to murder the voice which says I should wait, wait for evening, wait for morning, wait for the proper hour, wait till you're ready. Four. I want love. En masse. Five. I want someone to come to me, and do you remember? in that game we played, in Nathen's group, where we were all blindfolded and had a number, and had to get in order of our numbers? well, eventually we figured out that the thing to do was take a hand, firmly, and tap it with a commanding manner. When people talk like that, it's easy to listen. I want someone to come to me, and speak that way, and say this. That none will judge you forever for the actions you do today, tomorrow. That there is no opinion which mayu not be repealed, that there is no act that may not be undone, that actions have no consequence. Then perhaps we could live fully. And perhaps we could love fully. And maybe then we'd forget about tomorrow, because that's the place we can't fucking get to anyway. And maybe not* Item Number Six. Colleged. Hmm. I meant college. but are you colleged? I am. I got so colleged last year, I thought I'd take a year off. I seriously did. But now my plan- or was it a dream? falls through and I look at college scholarships and web sites...arr! What we need is a butler. What we need is the ability to be our own butler. I now take control of Kim's life without her sensing it, ah! the power of it all. I wil make all her decisions, and speedily. And how. And, damnit. And, I don't know what I want from college, Jeeves, will you please decide for me? Ah, I thought you were looking into a career in Business, sir. Ah, that's right. Thank you, Jeeves. I wonder if Shimer College sells degrees in business. I think I only exist in my room. Or maybe that's the only place I don't exist. I'm invisible, air, in a lot of places, I'm a big little trollish gnome creature in the studio, I'm a fairy on fifth street, and that was not a stupid attempt at matching the first letters of words. The kitchen smells of freash coffee and i have afew minutes alone. Oh god kids what am i doing? Im so scared. Im not going to camp which feels so wrong and yet kinda all right. I see Robyn Tessa and Ryland tomorrow. I feel grown up and whats even scarier i dont mind it. I wanted to say that i love you. its a full moon, it feels like a full moon. I am just where i want to be, beginging just what i want to begine being the person i love most. -Dawn I'm wondering about a lot of stuff today. I just met the faces of so many people I've known for almost a year, now, more in some cases. Faces of people I've known by their words, the things they say that they have time to consider, to think about and edit. I know the calmest, deeper parts of so many of them, and so little of the surface. I'm wondering how true knowing someone like that is. I feel so deeply connected to so many of these people, and still, there's this awkwardness of seeing each other in person, as if "I don't really know you". Everyone I meet seems to feel it more than I. Do I really put so little into physical appearances? I like people, meet them, and meet how they act in real space, and I like them just as much. I'm glad (really, really, really) glad I'm this way, but something makes me think it's weird. I'm so happy. I got to see so many old friends at once. I'm overwhelemed. A lot. I miss Carrie. I miss Marina. I miss Emma. I miss Jess. I got to meet Carrie and Jess. And Roya. And lots of other people. PaperMoon-Nick. Katherine. I'm so happy!
Argh. Much. My band is broken. FalsePride is no more. Zen is gone and ain't comin' back. We will get a new bass-player and continue. We'll be a bit heavier...maybe a little more "punk". <-"" for punk cuz that word gets thrown around way too much... all my friends are away...All except two. One is at about 4-5 hours drive away and the other has been avoiding me for the past 5 weeks. We were the best of buds for a couple of months and now she's totally avoiding me. She won't return my calls. I got through once and she wasn't happy about it. I've realized these past couple of weeks that our entire friendship...oh sorry...friendshit...has been like this; two whole years. Damn. It's not like I don't try...she goes through a period of "Oh yay! We're best friends! I love you!!" for a month or two and then in an instant, turns around and says (although not verbally) "I'm tired of you. When I've grown tired of the next best-bud, I might give you a call." Which is another thing. She never calls me...she might return a call once in a while, but she never EVER calls me on her own. She never asks me if I want to hang out - it's always me who initiates things between us. I'm tired of her shit. I'm never calling her again. If she wants to hang with me fine. If she wants to chat with me great. Let her call me. but i am never calling her again. I don't know if you guys can understand how much it hurts to write this...to think it. Any advise would be very welcome...write to my smaller bio-page, "DeaN". I made a big ramble, but Im afraid I held back too much. ~Dean of once was but forever will be False Pride.
looking over online phots from a year ago. Was that really a year ago, it wasnt 3 or 5 or 9? What happened, how did so much change so fast? the planet earth goes around the sun once, and suddenly everythings, whoa. wow. wierd. I want it all back the way it was, but with the courage and maturity i have now. It feels wierd to be old enough to reminice about the past.. -Dawn Was I ever 13? Lately I can't believe the gigantic step I took in going to camp for a week with total strangers at that age. I look at other 13 year olds. I look at my brother.... was I ever that age? Most of my good friends now are older than me. They're moving into their own homes, or at least having to think seriously about it. Make decisions that will probably affect the rest of their lives. And because of how much I love them and how much of my time I spend with them, that's part of my life too. I look at them and see who I will be, what I am looking at for the next five years. How old am I anyway? I have been looking at this world for sixteen and a half years. Age is relative anyway... but I don't feel sixteen. I do feel sixteen. I just don't know how old sixteen is. Sometimes I am old. Sometimes I am young. Sometimes both within five minutes talking to the same person. Tonight I feel old. Yet I am constantly on the alert for my mothers footsteps on the stairs, knowing I can't afford to have her yell at me... knowing that hardly anything around me, from the computer to the stack of CDs to the glass of water, are truely mine. Are even my choice. Knowing that I couldn't manage on my own. How old am I? I can't put a number on it. Am I old or young? Can I be either? Its past 1:30 am. I just ate a large amount of caffine chocolate coffee and ice, so i feel ramly and wierd and in that wide awake but i should be asleep sort of b`mood. fuck what a life. Interesting eh? Come back from half way around the world and everythings the same yet different. People are taller, longer hair, beards, no beards. but they all hug the same and stirfries smell the same, taste the same as we sit with crossed legs on hard wood floors eating with chopsticks talking about the "good old days" when we were young foolish niave 16 year olds. When did i get this old? i missed yah. Im glad to see you again. I wish it was raining, maybe that would bring me down off this high. I dont want to go to bed. I am afraid of the dark, the sound of Tessa breathing, and time to lie there adn think over my life as it changes in a blurr of colour around me. I want committie meetings about my life every 12 hours so i know where i am going and to make sure i dont hurt anyone. Dawn "There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground There are a thousand ways to go home again" --Rumi I know how to travel. Yes. But where?... I haven't a clue. Took Mom's advice and spun our globe around. I ended up in the middle of the ocean.... twice. She votes for Australia. I agree... I think? I've thought this through and I can already feel the new backpack, the clothes I would take with me, the stones in the drawstring bag on my belt. I dream a lot about building planes and flying from city to city. And across the ocean. And would I land in flames, heroically? Or take the bus back home and wander the streets as an invisible imposter?
Some words ask, some words know. Other form illusions, vague feelings. Later, explainations. Names. Some are glaringly specific, arousing a sense of purpose. Others learn to let go of purpose. We are words, and we have much to tell.
I'm in a talking mood, and am on IRC, but don't really know what exactly I want to talk about! So I'm just going to ramble on and on.... ahhh, total and complete power over the entire universe!!! No-one can escape!! I seriously want to go on a road trip, just need a car! *Soon, soon I'll have a $ for one, ahh, very soon* I'm going to be ordering all my cool glass 'n tools 'n stuff on the 31st, and than I can sell it, yay! Alanis Morrisette is coming to anchorage in July, I'm absolutly, positutely going to that concert! I feel like going skinny dipping, just need a nice secluded lake... I watched a really good movie last night, 'Chasing Amy'. But... I DIDN'T like the ending!!!! Arg! I'm a happy ending type person, I mean I realize life doesn't always end happily, but..but.. sometimes I'm in the mood for a really happy good ending movie! I unpacked all the boxes that have been sitting in my closet cupboard for almost a year... wow, I forgot about all those incredible books. Yipes, did I say forget? I didn't forget, just ahhh... took a sebatical from remembering;) Heather 'n I biked 7 miles today, go us! Thats the first bike ride I've taken for months, felt really good. I just realized I only have 3...ya 3 lifeguarding classes left before the written and water practical tests.. I have got to practice! Tomorrow....Thursday, Friday, Saturday... Shit. I just remembered something. I'm spending Fri night at Dad's house. That oughtta be interesting... Seeing as I haven't spent more than an hour with him since January. How sad is that? I used to love him sooo much, when I was younger and I could only pick one parent to do something with, I'd always pick Dad. I was a total daddies girl. Now, he doesn't even know my friends or what I like to do. Ooh, I just looked out the window, BeAuTiFuL sunset over the mountains, they look all purply pink. Oki than, I must be going, this ramble has gotten long enough:) mwah!!!! ~Jadzia aka Jasmine S.~ Archives: NBTSWikiWiki | Recent Changes Edited 230 times, last edited on March 29, 2002 by 142.59.83.107. © 2000 NBTSC Webmasters |
admiration turns to resentment, then, and your insecurity becomes a monster instead of an afterthought. it's the little things that count. like his "i'll handle this". like his "why didn't you pick up the trash?" as you're about to get the sweeper. his handsome, charming, guileless, beautiful fucking face that you wish to SMASH. of course it isn't his fault that he's perfect. it's your fault that you aren't. but you take every opportunity you can to get a jab in on his armor, so passive-aggressive, so weak. striking low blows. hiding in the women's room, crying, because of his good-natured critisism. your fault for being too high-strung. your fault for not being strong enough for competition.
