JOURNAL EXCERPTS 1995
Journal entries are listed in descending order ~ oldest entries are on top.
First day of school. I feel fat. Suzi said I looked fat. Anna said I looked thin. I'm in trauma. Shared privacy. Credit card is paid off.
Cleavage = Anna's way to success. Fangu Putana. I'm on the bus. I'm in allergy hell.
September 6th, 1995
"Hello, What's your name?" I don't answer. The ally is dark and misty. I just stand halfway into the shadow. My eyes stare right into his soul. I can easily have him. "My name's Jimmy. What's yours?" Silence. "Do you want me to guess?" He smiles. I raise an eyebrow. "Is it John?" That supposed to be some kind of joke.? "Is it Mark? Joe? Peter? Phil? Rick? -Who are you?" I smile. "That depends... how much are you willing to pay?"
GOD SAID HELLO
- There is no life in this body -
REFLECTION: I don't think the people in my journal class realized that the above piece was fiction. They all think I'm trash... wait... I am trash.
September 6th, 1995
I am still in allergy hell. I waved hello to Aaron. He didn't wave back, do I scare him? He turned around and said "Hi", scared but civil. I smell cologne. Sexy. I think it's Aaron.
Why do I draw in my journal? I should only write. Write letters. Write words.
I smell like cigarettes, but I don't smoke.
September 10, 1995
OK. Bored. Lonely. Depressed. Fat. Ugly. Aggravated. Very Depressed. Unloved. Would date Mr. Magoo if he asked nicely right now. I wish I was beautiful - WORK ON IT - Lose weight - Look good. By Friday? I will lose 10 pounds by October, 15 by November and by December I will be a GOD! God of war, death and heavyset people. I hate this room - all men - all STRAIGHT men.
"The wedding's off!" - Yentl
EARTH, HEARTH, SMART, TART, CART, FART, K-MART
Barbara Streisand is a man. I need a job, a life, a lover, an apartment, and a cure for allergies.
September Something, 1995
Somewhere in Jersey City State College. Outside the Gay & Lesbian (or friends of) Club door - Why am I here? - do I hope to ensnare some stray fag who wasn't looking where he was going? How amusing. Why am I on the floor?
Someone talk to me. Fat chick here. She no talk to me. Where's my best friend - in Audio Presentation. Gay people everywhere. Here a Fag. There a Fag. Everywhere a Fag. Fag. Who is this fat chick and why am I still here?
September 26, 1995
Writing Assignment: Choose three topics and combine them:
1. Sex (of course)
2. Social Skills
3. What will come at the end of the rainbow?
"Polite Leprechauns Fucking in a Pot of Gold", "Sexual Ethics in Munchkin Land", or "Lucky Charms"
October 13th, 1995
Title: A GOOD CRY
Chapter 1: I Never Had A Ballerina Barbie.
Chapter 2: I Was A Teenage Hall Monitor.
Chapter 3: I'll Show You Mine, If You Show Me Yours.
Chapter 4: Virginity - The Big Bang.
Chapter 5: I Went To The Prom With A Crayola Crayon.
Chapter 6: Miss Thing & I - Best Friends Forever.
The journal class is tiny today. very tiny. tiny penis.
October 14th, 1995
Some homeless man started yelling at "faggot" at me. " Yeah, but I'm a faggot with a house."
I want a pizza bagel. Distance is my major. What does it take to make a hero?
REFLECTION: I love the random one-lines throughout these journals.
October 27th, 1995
I think his name was Jeff (or was it John?). Well, it started with a J. I remember his apartment though. Candles everywhere - like a video on MTV. We fooled around on the couch. He was a fabulous kisser. He was about 2 inches taller than I was, I think, or maybe he was shorter. He had brownish hair, he was really thin, but had a nice build, very nice shoulders and arms. I remember kissing them. Then we fooled around in the shower. Then we fooled around on the bed. He had a nice bedroom. Very clean and spacious, Queen-sized bed. Funny how I remember the apartment more than him. The one thing I do remember was that he had a very odd penis; the hole was on the wrong side. I found out later that he was an art director somewhere. I should've asked for a job, after all... I gave him one.
REFLECTION: His name was Jeff.
October 29th, 1995
Madison Square Park
Bald lady, Bald Nikki. Ann's over there. Journal people. Church bells. Pope. Truck. Tweet. Tweet. Blue Lady. Red Lady. Sunlight. Leaves. Artists. Pepsi. Briefcase. Pigeon. Pigeon. Shit. Dog Shit. People Shit. Blonde. Hat. Walkman. Music. Chino. Slide. No Children. Coffee. No sex. Homeless. Tree. Lamppost. Peach Tie. Sculpture. Voice. Muffled Voices. Coca-Cola Truck. Gray Shirt. My schoolbag. Fence. Manila Envelope. Nice Ass. No Ass. Flag. Academy Bus. Red Jacket. She can't sing. Bike. Haircut. Is she a lesbian? Is he gay? do I care? Squeaky bike. Squeak. Tweet, Chirp. Twerp. Blue. Green. Red. Yellow. Black and gray. Fat. Traveler's checks, Cards & Gifts, Baby carriages. Don't stare at me. Hat. Bumble bee. Paisley. Daisy. Lips. Voices. Voices. The Voice. Birds. Pigeons. Tick tack of heels. Hindu people. Oriental. Blacks. Hispanic. Rainbow. Water. Dance. Garbage Can. Is this a park? Dog bark. Madison Sq. Park. Gray hair. Annex bridge. White shoes. Gray shoes. Purple dress. Yellow flowers. Long hair. Short hair. No hair. Do I click with someone? Do I care? Not. Hot. Snot. Body. Orthopedic Shoes. Hindu's are leaving. So am I. We didn't start the fire.
I do not have a pot belly. It's a cauldron.
"I come home in the morning light - My mother says - What you gonna do with your life? - Oh - Momma dear, we're not the fortunate ones and girls just wanna have fun. The phone rings in the middle of the night - My father yells - When you gonna live your life right? - Oh - daddy dear - you know you're still number one, but girls just wanna have fun. Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world. I wanna be the one who walks in the sun."
Kevin Sorbo is Hercules.
SSSHHHH!! - I have a migraine headache & everything sounds 10 times louder!
October 30th, 1995
1. Telephone numbers you have to spell.
2. People named Jason or Javier.
4. Fat people on bicycles.
5. Loud nasal voices.
6. Fabio - "I can't believe it's not butter... spray"
7. My best friend's x-boyfriend. My x-boyfriend.
8. Wanting to be alone & not getting it.
October 31st, 1995
Am I still here?
Do I still have a soul? Or have I slashed it and mashed it and crashed it beyond repair? Guilt haunts me. Am I Jewish? I feel so horrible over all the things I've done. Bad decisions. Mistakes. And regrets of youth. Fear. Terror. Ambition. I've been lucky. It's an evil world, and I'm still alive. Will anyone mourn me when I die? Will I mourn myself. I cry now. I haven't the strength to cry anymore. I'm all spent. Energy is all gone. I feel like a shell that's been snapped & there's nothing inside. Am I shallow? Lonely? undeserving? depressed? Most definitely YES. I hope at least half the class is absent, maybe he'll send us home early because it's Halloween. I sound so pathetic - Who is that girl? WHO is THAT GUY???? Ooh Baby! Wow. That is beauty in a pair of 501s. Ummm!!! Finger-licking good, Papi. SMACK - Kiss - Kiss - baby-eyes!.
OK. Enough. Back to the depression. Where was I? Hard to pick up where I was.
I was distracted.
Ahh... there he went again ~ ooh! another one!
November 1st, 1995
Things I Fear
1. First Impressions.
2. Losing control of a situation.
3. Dying violently or young.
4. Loneliness - never meeting Mr. Right
5. My x-boyfriend's mother.
6. Losing people I care about.
7. Coming out to my family - losing them.
8. Dreams of people who have died.
9. My best friend's x-boyfriend's mother.
10. Being abducted by aliens.
11. Little dogs like chi-WA-was
15. Women named Olga (see #5).
OK. It's 1:15 - Do you know where your children are? Do you care? No. Do you have children? No. Are you lonely? Yes. Fear. Anxiety. Stress. Nerves. Tension. All of the above and none of the below. I want to draw. I want Robert Taylor. He is really nice. He has a beautiful body! and his personality is even more beautiful than he is. I love his eyes, his smile. What am I doing? Fantasizing about someone who may not even be gay. Am I insensitive? My nose hurts. It's 1:25. Almost. I really want to leave.
November 3rd, 1995
Things I Fear
I hate bugs. I hate mice. I hate bisexual men who play the clarinet and have ugly mothers named "Olga". I want to die. I want to go to sleep. I want to go home. I hate men with bad fingernails. I hate my life. I hate black chairs. I hate the fact that my ass sweats. I hate being fat. I hate complaining. I hate heterosexual couples. I hate the Power Rangers. I hate Barney.
Spontaneous sex is a dangerous habit. I've had more one night stands than I'd care to mention. I have to admit, I've been lucky though. I'm still healthy, and I'm not dead. I do consider the "bed-hopping" days of my life to be at an end. I've matured past that need, or so I would like to think. Sex became almost unpleasurable. It seemed more of a display of technique than anything else. Not all of it was bad, some aspect was still good or I wouldn't have done it at all or as often. Granted, afterwards, I felt like a cheap slut. This period of my life did massive damage to my self respect and dignity. I can never recover that little part of my soul that died during that time. It all started after I broke up with my first boyfriend. I guess in a way, I was looking for another "A.V." to fill my life, First there was W.G., then F.C., followed by Scott, Jeff, John, Tim and Andrew. After awhile, the names became a blurred memory, as did the events. They were shadows more than faces, ideals more than individuals. I never stayed long enough to get to know them really. I didn't want to. Why stain the good moment with arguments, fights, or tears at a break-up? Why put myself through that? I can't justify my actions, but I don't completely regret them either. They are a part of me, of who I was, and they've shaped who I've tried to become.
This is really deep. deep shit. knee deep in shit. My ideas are so scattered. I guess in many ways, I'm scattered too - lost in the daily shuffle. The Seven Deadly Sins: Mastercard, Visa, Discover, Optima, Gold Card, American Express and Discover Card Nexus.
December 5th, 1995
Today is my birthday. I am now 22. So what? So now what?
That teacher smells like camel piss.
Andrew's here with me. He has a nice butt. I grabbed his butt. I bit his butt. I kissed his butt. I licked his butt. I sucked his butt, and when he left, he left his butt here so I wouldn't be lonely at night.
Does a penis have an aura?