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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Penny Lane's LiveJournal:
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|Friday, October 22nd, 2010|
she had desire written on her cherry lips as she dipped her biscotti into her coffee. one dunk for every half inch. i hadnt been counting but i hoped she noticed.
for the record that line was in my saved drafts.
go here instead:
|Friday, December 18th, 2009|
i saw him walking up the street. it was different watching him walking up to me, because by this point he always seem to be walking away from me. our love was like watching a candle melt. our love was like watching glass crack and then break. shatter. our love was like sparklers burning your fingers because you fucking needed to watch it sparkle. our love was like the free matchbooks at bars. our love was like nothing, was like everything.
for days i have been trying to write something worth a damn. but i find that all my thoughts just trail back to you. and i imagine you watching me disappear. imagine you seeing me from far away, and avoiding my path. i remember how you would slip into me so easily. easily than any other man ever had. but at the same time i remember thinking about all the other men, and how i am sure that i thought the same thing about them. how each and everyone seems to be the one who is meant to be.
i watched you undress. i watched as you undressed me. my eyes devoured your body, your fingers devoured my body. i loved you in moments. i loved you in pieces. i wanted to be the one to put you together again. i loved the mattresses on the floor and the smells of pumpkin pie. of burning pizza slices that i tried to reheat.
and here we are with jane eyre helping us along. her wit, like jane austen. but maybe not at all like austen. maybe not at all. but there she was. and there i was. and there you were. and i left. because i have already seen us end a hundred times. and i could have loved you. i could have. or maybe i couldnt have. but i like to think i had it in me, for you. because there was something about you. and there still is.
|Tuesday, September 29th, 2009|
|hello, old friend
my hair is blonde. i have been using the same coffee cup for the past six days. i never finish the cup from the previous day, so i have to wash the ring from previous days coffee in order to pour more in. lately i will only drink black or very sweet coffee. unless you are bringing it to me, it tends to be the sweet variety. the theatre company i am an intern for is reviewing MY piece in exactly two hours. i had no idea what i would be in for this when the woman i work for asked me to send her some of my writing. my hair curly is much better than my hair straight. i find that it is hard for me to keep up the pace that i start. i have missed almost all of my classes this past week. i dont know why, i dont know why. i never miss work. how come something that should be priority never seems to be?
i want to kiss your neck, softly, slowly, and i want to hear you coo my name into my ear softly, slowly. maybe you still love me, maybe you don't. that's okay, that's okay.
my cat is in a little ball sleeping next to me. so cute.
|Saturday, September 5th, 2009|
i've grown skins, they are layered. toughened. impossible to puncture. i don't feel anything anymore. it's sad. i feel everything, always. i don't know the difference between the two. i thought this could be something, you didn't feel the same.
disposable. how to stop before it starts?
|Thursday, August 13th, 2009|
I don't want to take pills to make me sane. I don't want to drink alcohol to make me sane. I don't want to kiss lips that do not belong to me. I don't want to forget you. I don't want you to forget me. I don't want to grow old. I don't want to attempt it any more. I don't want to have to feel time. I don't want to be sane anymore. I'm sick of trying to do that. I just want to be comfortable in my insanity. The impossibility of that has tasted me blood over and over and over and over again. Oh sweet metallic lover, you tiptoed softly passed me in the night, but I awoke anyway. I wanted to grow old with you, silly me silly me. I have already grown old and you have pushed the possibility down, down, down. All that is left of you, all that is left of me, all that is left of you and me are tastes and smells. sofamiliar.yetforgotten.
|Sunday, June 7th, 2009|
last night we drank half-shots of tequila to pace ourselves but finished the whole bottle in moments. everything is moments. you were on top of me and i was on top of you and we were woven together for moments and tongues and caresses and lies and lies and so many wonderful delicious lies that we tell each other. last night i touched your breast very softly as we made out a bar that my boy/andor/friend works at. this was after drinking tequila, but before a second time this week had occurred. called you and you said you'd be there in five minutes. i laughed. you talk in rhymes and laugh at my inconsistencies, you laugh at my scrunched up face and problems in life. you laugh. you don't get it. i can't really move forward when i am stuck inside of your quicksand limbs
|Saturday, April 18th, 2009|
the lovely smell of wood-smoke in the air made me feel thicker amongst the clouds. fire fire everywhere. i saw you dancing there, beer in your hand, the blue of the ocean in your eyes. i felt the romance. you looked at me through the fire, and I guess that is how you will always see me; aflame.
i was drinking whiskey, smoking too much, wearing too little. it was so hot out earlier, and now it was night time. somehow after three years of avoiding the beach i found myself at a bonfire with a girl from work who i thought i was in love with. strike that, a girl from work i so desperately wanted to be in love with, for she was beautiful. beautiful. flawless skin, a sneaky smile, eyes that winked at me like the pebbles i used to collect from the river at Horseshoe Meadows. But more than that, she was sure of herself. Her life was at a place where she could forever put on pause and be content, no, happy with. I was constantly aiming for the fastforward so as to be where she was. i suppose i was hoping that maybe if we could be in love some of that certainty would spill over unto me. She had a girlfriend, though. But she was out of town and invited me to this bonfire, and although I had several papers to write, I decided to oblige. and there i was: drinking whiskey, smoking too much, wearing too little, and there you were, looking at me through the flame. i noticed this, and started to feel misplaced in such a big group of people. started to feel too big or to small or too noticeable, or not noticeable enough, and felt my feet taking me towards the water, away from the fire, away from the people, away from trying to adopt a life that i was never and could never be apart of. i sat at the very edge of the shore break, daring the water to hit me. i closed my eyes for just a moment, only to open them to you.
"you must be claire's girlfriend"
"nope, wrong girl," I took a swig of Jameson.
"yeah, i didn't think it could be you. i heard she was a bit on the manly side."
"am i not manly?"
"no, not really. sorry to be the one to tell you"
i drunkenly tried to explain to you that i wanted to sleep with claire, although i knew she had a girlfriend, although i was not really interested in girls. all of this turned out to be much easier to explain when drunk. and you understood. you told me you came with your coworker, straight from work, a friend of claire's. we turned back to look at the party, to see the people who brought us here, we could just barely make out our respective friends kissing. you told me you saw me drinking straight whiskey through the flames. you actually said "through the flames" and i giggled at how seemingly poetic it was. i told you i planned to move to italy when school was over, and you said experiencing Rome was like feeling another dimension: that you could feel the vibrations in the air, in the wind. you could see the waves of heat and light. after you said that i started to feel an ache somewhere that i couldn't place, which grew as i looked at you. you smiled and touched your hair and i kissed you on the lips.
sometimes there are words in my head from someone else. they are hidden very carefully though. i have been coming to the website four weeks or maybe less than that since i last posted, hoping that something would come through my fingertips from my brain. their is a peace in the words that is allowed inside of myself when i get something out into the world like this. writing. something i do. something that has turned into or forever was and will be my greatest passion. ever since thursday with the new addition to my emotions i have felt calm. it is something that has not been experienced in a long long time. i spoke with my mother on friday after work for a long time. i am very worried for her. this is turning out to be more of an update than working piece. i better start over
|Saturday, April 11th, 2009|
this is an attempt to make something happpen. my fingertips are moving on their own and i am not controlling them them them them. it is all just spilling out of me. i can feel nothing. i cannot feel anything. i feel everything all at once. my waist is three inches too big today. tomorrow it will be something else. tomorrow will not happen for you or for me or for you or fuck you. it is incredible how much you have hurt me. there, that was something logical for ya. hope that is working out for you just nice. my veins, their blood, i feel it moving right now. it may be the caffeine or it may be the fact that i cannot remember what the drugs are supposed to fix anymore or if there was anything left of me to fix when i started them so long ago. how many years has it been? well i havent eaten any meat for a while. before that i had to go to the hospital for not having enough iron. i was lifting weights and telling everyone at the gym that i had found the man i was going to marry. i was thirteen going on blind dates with every teacher i ever had. you were the seventies, with your shaggy blonde hair and prettyboy blue eyes. lots of talk and lots of polyester, it makes you hot. it made me sigh. it made us think twice about what was going on, who i was, who you were. what we were. what are we, anyway? i am in love with you. no i am not. i love the fifties and you are trying but that is not you. you are san francisco, a city confused by all the glitter. no, san francisco knows what it is doing. you are just lost amongst it all. this writing bit was an attempt to purge myself of a parasite that i think i have. i really think i have it. it is eating all of me, and speeds up my blood to my heart. which is dead anyway. it does not need all that blood. maybe send it to my brain, that way i can actually do something right for a change. i have fifty cents in change right now, today i bought a ripped chair. it was rippped. curly moustache asked if we would reupholster it. maybe it is fine the way it is. it was more beautiful than that bullshit white one upstairs. there was nothing to that one. nothing at all. just a lot a whole lot of white emotion. i used to love you because i thought we made a tragic pair. we were green and black and gold and shades of pink that had never before been seen. and now we are nothing, and that makes you happy because you knew that with me you could never get what you wanted. whatever the hell that may be or was or is. i am glad. i am glad it is done, for once i can breathe. maybe hope that i can love myself again. i spent so much time loving you enough for both of us that i forgot who i was. i love fashion, not all fashion, only the kind that dares to speak the words that can never be said. i love the drama to an outfit that makes people stop. it makes people feel a certain way. whatever that may be, it is extreme. writing helps me cope. i took a class on coping and what i learned is that class cannot teach you anything that writing cannot. that probably doesnt make sense because my mind moves faster than my fingers can type. and i am just typing. like kerouac was alleged with. typing typing typing. how i would love to throw my type writer at something fragile. old glass, perhaps. watch it shatter. watch it crumble.
|Saturday, March 14th, 2009|
tonight i feel lonely and i have lots of work to do. tonight i feel lonely. lonely night, lonely night. i do not know what i want. who i want. if i want anything or one at all. maybe to go somewhere and be alone, somewhere far. far far away, where i do not know anyone. somewhere sleepy. somewhere long, somewhere far, some where. maybe somewhere where i get phone reception but do not have a cell phone. or somewhere so long and far and off and remote that i do not have any way of getting in contact with the world around me. they can't reach me, they can't reach me. they stopped trying to weeks ago, but i still want to remain out of reach. even the tips of your fingers cannot get to me. i will be forgotten but it will help me to forget. i need to forget.
|Friday, March 13th, 2009|
|day dreams, desiree.
me and you and green green grass. a tiny tiny home, room enough for just us, some animals. stars above in a midnight blue blue sky. sweet yellow flowers surrounding, the sun closing in on us. you and me and sunshine and smudge and you and me and kissing lips and kissing friends and telling secrest and makingdrinking lemonade. growing old and staying young. holding warm hands. strong hands, soft hands, hands that i trust. horeseback riding and fresh juice and the smells of spring. wet earth, kissing between trees, in the bushes. adventure, backpacking andor hiking through our property. sunshine green grass cool blue water. you and me and me and you and smudge pets and pats and kitty kisses and too too many books and lazing around in the heat of the sun, the sunshine underneath branches. reading reading reading, kisses hand touches fingertips kisses on the forehead day dreams day dreams, chewing weeds, grass stains and giggles. a world of beauty and a world where pain makes sense, only it does not hurt so bad now that we know why it is there.
|Wednesday, March 4th, 2009|
|this is just to see if anyone still reads this !
"Post anonymously, and say anything.
How much you hate me, how much you love me, how much you can't stand me, how much you want to have sex with me, how much more you want to spend time with me, how much you want to kill me. Anything about your life, your parents, friends, me, you, whatever. It can be whatever the fuck you what, and you can be brutally honest. Do it if you know me, do it if you've never met me. Just DO IT.
Remember, it's important that you comment anonymously."
|Sunday, March 1st, 2009|
I'm not really sure.
|Thursday, February 26th, 2009|
this is not really the end.
it will never end.
this has happened before, and it will all happen again.
i see my brain in pictures, and i see it decaying slowly slowly. i feel like i've been poisoned when it comes to my mind, and every day is difficult, every day i have to struggle. and i am so tired. i am tired. i am tired of you, and i am tired of me. i am tired of this "we" that everyone seems to be looking for, or that everyone seems to have found but every you that wants to be a we with me is just so ephemeral, waiting for the you to be the way with that is not me, it is not me. and i am trying to ease the poison out of me by letting it flow from my fingertips to the keyboard.
this is the end.
|Friday, February 13th, 2009|
in essence, i am a slut; but it is all a balance, it is all in relevance to whatever and whatever. and you were a happy happy boy looking for love in the wrong sheets of the wrong towns, and then you found it shortly after you used unhappy girl me but that's okay, that's okay, because it was mutual at some points, and it wasn't during others. my mind has been made up about certain things, why i do the things i do, why i keep the people in my life that i do, why things seem to add up to zero but explode like fireworks. how perhaps i should rethink things but i will not because now i feel as though you make the decisions you make based on a truth to yourself, and now i need to do the same. we'll be together forever in our tumultuous ups and downs, in our delicious and occasionally deceiving love affair. in you i have found a life partner. and you and i, love, are the perfect balance of whatever and whatever. sometimes i see stars, sometimes i am trapped, and sometimes i take off and never come back. and the red wine is dripping, slipping through my finger prints on new skins: kissing in cars, walking to the beach, drinking sparks; etcetc. we made love on my bed a week ago and my socks were still on, you laughed and i laughed more and it was nice having you there at night, even if you weren't comfortable, even if you were unsure. sometimes i am unsure. but most of the time i am completely sure of my actions. my heart is always in the right place, but my head never is. the mind the mind the mind, it's draining. makes you want to drink drano sometimes, but that would be too easy. and life aint east, right? right. softsadmusic and lovely people, occasional sunshine through the rain. my life is like the weather here. it's complicated. it's cold. it's beautifully warm, but that is very seldom.
|Sunday, January 25th, 2009|
|more of the same
My steps were like cement in that old building, that old old building that made my eyes swell with dust and guilt. My heart was as heavy as the boots I decided to wear that day, the only pair of neural colored shoes I owned. I longed for the summertime that had existed months before. I was happier then; treating my body as well as my mind for once. But with the carmel and auburn colored leaves I had lost the ability to do that. Time had become an issue, and workworkwork took up the leisure moments I used to spend taking care of myself. I had come this far, they had taken my purse with promises to return it after the visit. The women who made this promise smiled at me with the tiniest, whitest teeth. They looked like pieces of gum behind plastic, they looked angry, like they had planned an escape for that day, but I had decided to come. He had called to me and I followed his voice blindly into the night, blindly into something I was not sure how to anticipate. At some point it dawned on me that what used to exist between us was not what you would call "love." There is a type of organic love that is supposed to occur between Father and Daughter but it was never there for us. I was more of a possession, something that could not exist without his existence; something he reveled in. I think this fact occurred to me sometime between the first day of fourth grade and my first suicide attempt. All such dark moments, first days of school and suicides. They're very similar. They both start with S. She patted me on the back as I walked through the metal detector, Miss GumTeeth. I wasn't sure what to make of that. I wasn't sure how I was able to move. My joints had aged beyond recognition in a matter of minutes, and everything ached and creaked with each passing step.
He sat behind plastic, we talked on the phone like we had years before, only this time, he saw me. This time he saw a woman standing before him who was not someone he recognized. I existed only in his memory as something small, a chess piece, something that could not grow. I did not even exist in pictures, mother never sent any, and I never had any desire to keep in touch. I wasn't even sure how he got my address, even some of the people I was close with during high school did not have my current address. The man who was half of my chemical makeup stood before me and waited for me to sit, but all I could think about was whether or not inmates received free postage. Somewhere someone said that I had forty-five minutes. Or maybe they were telling him that he had forty-five minutes. Maybe this was a dream. I sat down. He sat down. We sat down. Slowly, he picked up the phone, simultaneously his hand pressed on the plastic between us. I could see his fingerprints smearing on the case and it made me shiver. I picked up the phone.
"It can be quite cold in here, sometimes." He said in response to my movements. I scoured my mind for something to say, but nothing came.
"You look lovely, just like your Mother in college. She never wore her hair that short but it was a different time then. Men really like long hair, you know."
Had he insulted my hair?
"Her hair is doing fine." I managed to say after a few moments of silence. "You asked me to come for something urgent, I believe." The coldness in my voice could be detected over the air, and silently, his eyes glanced to something on the floor below him that I couldn't see.
"Yes, I have a bit of a favor to ask." The blue in his eyes twitched.
On my Mother's birthday, her first after the trial, I made her a cake. I took weeks preparing for the moment that I would put all the ingredients together and she would smile and we would go to the beach and play in the wavebreaks like we used to. Grandmother and I bought candles and we set it up so that she would be out all day until the cake was ready. At around 4pm she walked through the door and everything that we had planned was perfect. We sang happy birthday, her eyes glowed but when she blew out the candles, it seemed to take an extra effort on her part, her breath quivered. I could feel the heaviness of her sorrow as the tiny flames dissipated and immediately I walked to my bed and slept for the rest of the day.
|Saturday, January 24th, 2009|
I've lost my voice. Maybe it has just been misplaced, but I am pretty sure it has been lost. I'm thinking of how you were raised to do what you are doing, but still i find myself confused as to how you continued on the path that was already etched in the wilderness for you. why didn't you break the rules, the most important of all rules, create a life for yourself that was yours, not something that was planned. i do not know how to speak to you anymore, because my voice has been lost. last night i screamed and screamed until the moon was higher than my heart, until you had hoped to touch my soft face, feel my eyelashes between your fingertips; hold me under covers. you are pretendingpretendingpretending, i had such high hopes that you would come to your senses sooner than later, that you would nod at the past with your head held high to a future that is beginning to come about. lots of words with Rs, lots of pirate games, your eyepatch is deceiving, you are no pillager you are just a poet. a poet whose words slip off the tongue as simply as ink will splash the canvas and your sticky paint fingers cannot hold on to much any longer.
|Saturday, January 17th, 2009|
|things that piss me off, could you be one of them?
1. Bad smells. This may be relative as fuck, as when I say "bad" it is incredibly specific to what I
think is bad. For instance: I love the smell of cigarette smoke on fingers, especially if they are man fingers.
2. Center hair parts. Go back to your trailer and look in the mirror, plz. thx.
3. People fucking with me. Please see last post.
4. Lame' leggings. They're stupid. As in, American Apparel/Urban Outfitter told you to buy them. You are a tool.
5. Urban Outfitters starting to make vintage hats. The thing with that is it is a contradiction in terms. Stupid.
6. Fat bitches. You are fat, stop bitching and go run somewhere instead.
7. Chandelierings. Those were never "in," not even when people were wearing them. They are stupid, and so are you for buying four to get one free from Claire's. Asshole.
8. Trite, pretty things. I don't have an explanation. Shit just pisses me off.
9. Those who make you feel hella guilty.
10. People who hate the word "hella," FUCK YOU.
11. Saving the paper bags from groceries. Turns out, they can't really be used for anything else.
12. Drunk bitches that shop for vintage and yell and fuck my shit up.
13. Couples that shop together for HOURS and end up buying nothing because the other one didn't like whatever they tried on.
14. When people ask for your number but then do not call you.
15. Dating in general. Stupid and taxing.
16. GEs. More specifically, Math.
17. Classes that are not offered at State anymore but are NEEDED for me to complete my minor. Where did HMSX 300 go?!
18. Natural blondes who dye their hair, and then try to go back to blonde. YOU'RE DUMB.
19. Men who decide to love me LONG after I've stopped loving them.
20. Maybe replace the last one with "my timing."
21. Allergies !
22. People who demand attention when they know someone who has passed away.
23. Bad kissers.
24. Bitches who claim to have thought of something conveniently right before I decide to do it.
25. The fact that I'm not Shannyn Sossoman.
26. MY INABILITY TO SAVE MONEY!!!
|Friday, January 16th, 2009|
|must remember the words of a friend.
"Man... alcoholism is terrible. I don't know. Theres something really romantic about it. Like it being almost a tool for survival... its so tragic, but in every tragedy there is beauty, just like in every destruction there is creation. goodness gracious its like 6 in the morning and I have a DMV appointment in 6 hours. (I am drunk). I can't wait to take the written test and take a funny hangover picture. I am off. Take it easy sarah. Don't let boys fuck with your emotions or lead you on anymore. Thats bullshit and you know it. When a boy even starts to TOY with your emotions, give him a proper explanation (not so bluntly or off-handed, but casually) as to how you don't like being fucked with. With that, I promise you a good relationship OR the boy will leave and you will have no emotional trauma because he didn't affect you yet."