Quotes From Tess's House!

-"Oh! Is that the one with the girl under the bed?!"
-"No. It's the one about my academics."

"I wouldn't be standin' in this line if the Reverend didn't want his chili dog. But the Reverend wants a chili dog, and by golly, the Reverend will get his chili dog!"

::nun with balloon hat!::

"How can I be African if you can't tie a knot?!"

"So if I'm ever pregnant in Africa, I'll know just what to wear."

"You're the woman. You're the woh-man."

I Feel As If There Is Nothing Left To Be Said, Not For A Very Long Time

"' . . . Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.'"

Brontë, Wuthering Heights, pgs 81-82

Freebird

I was looking at the leaves, climbing to the tops of the trees, but you were nowhere to be found...

Oh, my darling, don't be so upset. (And I shouldn't be calling you that.) It's nothing.

Or maybe that's what makes it so bad.

I do things or don't do things that come off looking like public censure, a shunning; but in reality it's just bits and pieces of who I am. You don't understand that I need to breathe. I do. But no matter how many times I say, no matter how many different ways I try to make you comprehend, you will never truly know this. Not in the right way. Which is sad, because it's not as bad as you make it out to be, on my part / but every bit as bad, possibly worse, on your part.

I want to teach you something, although I'm not certain how to show you. Here's my hand, not words said desperately. (It's not our job to make anyone believe.) And maybe that's the case, but I want to try. Among others, Robin says here's my hand will most assuredly ruin my chances at survival and escape. Not to mention any snatch of happiness.

She is probably right. But I like to think I am strong enough to beat the odds. Which I probably was, several years ago. But now? .................

I want to tell you that to get better -better enough that you can survive- you have to step back -you still have time to step back, now, and opportunity, so please, do it- you have to step back and learn to breathe. And then make a plan, slow and sure. And then when you're okay enough, go out and do it. But not a second before you're okay. You have to wait until you're okay, and there's no hurrying it along, it just takes time. So just wait, and don't feel the need to explain or prove yourself, 'cause you don't have to. You'll be okay. We'll be okay.














I see a boy in a tux and a girl in a yellow prom dress, leaning over the balcony and whispering about boys.

D e l i c a t e .

But now is not the time for that.

But that's okay.

I can save it for later.

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Just when I thought I would never have to speak to you again...

"Angela?"

"Yeah..."

"Oh, hey. It's me."

The male voice coming through the phone makes me wrack my brain for the possible options. Phil? Eli? No, it doesn't sound like either of them. Jade? No...

Then it hits me. Ohhhh. Up or down? It's you. You have not dropped off the face of the Earth. And now your voice is worming its way into my ear and into my brain again.

I sigh inwardly, frustrated and uninterested but trying not to show it.

Pulling a John on me, yeah? Although secretly I had hoped you would never return.....

Red On My Windowsill

I had a bad night last night.

I absolutely love bad nights.

In spite of the panicky feeling I have while caught in the middle of one, there is something intensely beguiling about them, and by the next day I look back and all I can see is alot of beauty.

Last night was full of art. Music, film, and paints. And the fear and the sadness was only a change in the shade. The volume. The angles.

I wake up this morning and realize, after an awful night,
I am getting a little bit stronger.
Because of you, in spite of you,
and mixed in with all this wrongness,
I am getting just a little bit stronger.

As Always, I'm Just Using Someone Else's Words

.

And we want everything to end, just like Nostradamus said...

fade to red...

Just like Nostradamus said...

Why do we dance in sadness?
Why do we hold it in?
Why do we smile in madness?

Can't
you
see,
I
need
you

Can't
you
see,
I
need
you

Can't
you
see,
I
need
you

I
need
you,

The
End.

my John.

The "Underclassmen We Don't -Actually- Know" News Of The Day

So today The Dirty Kid Who Also Has Pretty Blue Eyes asked me if I was dating Andy Hastings.

I wasn't sure whether it would be extrememly inappropriate to laugh or not. "::shakes head slowly, confused:: No-oo-oo." But I guess that's what you get for holding someone's hands in the middle of the cafeteria for at least one minute solid.

Crutches And Cast might have shattered bones and meningitis in California!!!

Don't forget everyone, Friday is Crutches And Cast Green Day, a.k.a. St. Patrick's Day. Wear Crutches And Cast Green!

Dance, Dance, Angela Sparks

I like boys who smell nice.

I also Like Dirty Boys With No Money =), but that's not the point.

Pot or cologne, it's all good.

Long skirts and rain and warm weather are nice, too.

#9 Dream

Don't need no drugs
(You're my chemical)
Now I'm dependent
(Swear I'm clinical)
Addicted to those glances, taking chances tonight
I need a fix in those heroin eyes

It's a good thing the addictiveness of your eyes isn't really as strong as H . . . . . I'd be dead by June thirteeth.

Which Is Worse?

holding someone up close but not being able to get into their soul

or

having occasional small bits of access to someone's soul, but never being able to touch them

There Are Times When...

A short conversation about books led to a discussion about the way they smell: paperbacks vs. hardcovers, new books, books from antique stores....

"Oh, look! We just got these brand new books in English and they smell great."

I pull a crackling-new copy of Wuthering Heights from my bag and open it to an arbitrary spot in the middle. Holding it up to the face of the boy next to me I say, "Here, smell this."

He sticks his nose into the spine of the pages and inhales.

"Ooh."

"Isn't that wonderful?"

He nods.

Then this boy does a lovely thing. He holds the book less than an inch from his nose, the binding in his left hand and all the pages held in his right, and fans them past his thumb, inhaling slowly, eyes closed.













I think he owns my soul.

I Heart Trev

From this day forward, I declare:

I DO NOT LIKE BEING AROUND PEOPLE WHEN THEY ARE DRUNK.

Period.

I adore Jim Morrison.

Went to see a Doors tribute band tonight with Crystal. . . . . disaster!. . . . . it seemed....sacrilegious --awful!-- and it made me terribly sad.

Jim, baby, we love you and miss you lots. Oh Jim, we need you.

We then proceeded to Steak N Shake afterwards and put in a good solid hour with our friend Trev -who was quite sleep-slappy tonight-, and took some goofy pictures which will hopefully portray the fun we had taking them.

Yay!

Now I am sleepy, and am going to bed (smelling of cigarettes yumyumyum).

'weathered faces lined in pain'

I feel like -I- should make an "all the things I miss" post. But, the list would be too long.

Uncountable images, smells, and sensations begin shoving their way into my mind's eye, jostling for space, position, attention, empathy. I fear their overwhelming existence and shut it down before they can take even a smidgen of control.

My sister is coming to this place tomorrow night. I feel like I should be more excited than I am. On one hand, I am thinking of What's Eating Gilbert Grape? and wearing my vinyl white hat, and laughing, and singing along (loudly) to the (loud) Stones in her tiny, eucalyptus-smelling car.

On the other hand, everything I can see or hear is a rather boring shade of gray, looking sort of 2-D and statue-esque. Stone. Something is separating me from them. But some times I feel as if everyone else is under a bell jar, and only me and maybe a few other people -very far away-, are breathing open air. The things out of my senses' range could be colorful and engaging, but here's the catch: As soon as I can perceive them, they slide to still, cold, quiet stone.

I try to picture the antique store's basement with it's bright fabric, the slightly-dusty smell of old furniture, and endless, late-night peanut butter cookie forays, the damp feeling of dark sweat combined with an enormous bass amp blowing your hair around............... But it all seems incredibly far away, pehaps something I had watched in a movie once........maybe years ago........

I am looking for my soul in this backless screen and in the clean, new books lining these shelves. But unlike some days, this morning I can't even find a clue.

As always, I can blame it on something. Now it is the medicine. It's all a reaction to the medicine, right?