Laburnum

monkitude failin a bit. i sleep in a bed with megan (she's a dyke so thats not why monkitude fails) two cats and a dog. im aLLERGIC TO CATS. I FALL ALSEEP WITH ASTHMA AND WAKE UP WITH LOTTSA that wasnt supposed to be caps lottsa snot in my nose. mmm. but its great becaues animals like me better than people. i remember my dreams here. two nights ago this beautiful girl i knew in the summer kissed me and led me up a cranky flight of wood stairs. and then i heard a rant from andy and a rant from sean who i have to hate especially in my dream when he becomes the incarnation of betrayal. but megan lives with a crazy woman who has a crazy lovely irritating 9 yrold little sun who i mean son who beats me in chess. the crazy woman calls herself miss led. i dont know her real name. she shaves her eyebrows since at some point in her life, to add to her tatto covered body, she tattooed french whore eyebrows onto her forehead. she's thirty something but weathered like an old wench. she guffaws. im surrounded by wonderful tattered 20s and 30s who drink bottles of cheap beer and talk about shit and granola sittin on the kitchen floor in their tattered lil snug yellow houses that seem oddly suburban standing in a ragamuffin row but at the same time hippy, or the last remantns of whatever being hippy means.

im almost done with the first draft of my play. how the FUCK am i going to revise it. gotta get back to it. you should all call me and entertain me. i dont smoke so its like a smoke break from writing when my phone rings, which is never.

miss you guys (there are perhaps three people (that's pushing it) who will read this) and i'll see you in a few weeks.

im a monk! and the main character is monk! im self referential! thats great! im straight edge! except for caffeine! until i'm not! my conditions so far are, i will be straight edge except for new years eve, when i want to roll, and if a random girl jumps on me at a party, in makes out with me. but those are my only guidelines. other than that im a monk. i will shave my hair to prove it too.

live journal is so fucked up. what the fuck. i havent written in it in a fuckin long time due to the fact that i find it fucked up. i might start writing but i feel generally creepy about it now. i dont know. i had a fucked up shitty day. fuck.

good weekend. lechery, music, wyclef scaling the heights of his stage like a drunk monkey. well he was drunk. and lipsyncing. and getting random girls on stage so he could kiss them and gyrate with them. it was funny. it horrified the columbia masses.

and brooklyn is always a good time. hannah you are apt to acquiring a warm bed. and i liked the other party brought to me by ms lipsandhips too with zillions of people i recognized from friendster (ah the small world of dorkhipsterdom of which i pretend and wish i wasnt a part) and columbia friends randomly mixed in. not enough booze. not enough booze.

the downtown musician squad grew one larger with dan playing trumpet and we smoked so much fucking weed our brains were oatmeal by the end but spence was already mixing the stuff down while we were zoning out at the end and i'll be able to sample the stuff for my play.

Cleaning orange juice from her cup

I’m thirsty but she’s drank a sour juice and left it to dry;
now the cup reads like a history of layers,
the lightest sips and deepest droughts set
in granular pulp. An expert could
read the tracks like an animal smells the sky
but I’ll wash it away ignorantly,
cleaning to the metal sounds of the sink.
I turn the tap, water fills her blue cup
like a train’s horn calling through a speckled dusk.
It rises up the plastic tracks,
billows like a dome of steam, then floods over,
sweeping pulp over the the rim like scattering suns.
I plunge my fingers down
they squirm at the cold like drowning beasts
but as they slide along the rutted walls
to the bottom sludge,
they feed off the orange sediments like wrinkled fish,
while the roaring train of water rushes through.
I wash her various remains down the metal drain;
I turn the tap and drink from her cleared cup.

I went to a party. There was crazy art on the wall, rich prep school kids in ties, funk band, me in the stainiest shirt I could get and others rambling in and out. Dull. but legos on one of the pool tables and I built a sharp lil spaceship with a dismembered head as pilot. I smoked too many times today. I blamed it on a long week of thinking and sobriety but sometimes I wonder. Read my paper over and it was fucking good. Melanie is so worried with her life. She wants to wring joy from it but she’s squeezing too hard. She lay in my lap and we rambled about her. We talked on aim for an hour about the universe. Or she talked about that and I talked about subways and the universe.

Hannah sang oh Canada to me on my voicemail.
I’m going to Vermont
This girl just invited herself over. Shes nice but.

melanie and me



akiva's brother is here
he reminds me of myself a lot. its creepy but i wouldnt talk about that with akiva cuz he doesnt talk about things like that. but he's travelled around to interesting places like india and thailand lately and worked some time in the states though he's from south africa. it reminds me of my life a few years ago.
this is him sort of

aderol/aristotle till five in the morning. slept thru half the class,rolled in to an awkard silence, teacher clears his throat hand in paper. how theatrical. like the musical. i cant believe im in a musical. about dead poets society. how does my hair get so greasy after one day of not showering. i must be a swamp mutant. i havent played the piano in a week. i cant believe im in a musical. wtf. i should sleep. i'll smoke instead. same idea.

aesop rock came out all sweaty after the show and for some reason everyone'd already cleared out so it was just a tiny circle around him. andy more or less was at him like the first dog, jumped on him hugged him (the only guy more sweaty in the whole place for sure) and told him he wants to be famous or something, mr aesop rock told him send it to the manager). cameron asks him if he wants to do a free tibet benefit concert. 'uh. wish my manager was around, just email him.' i told him he's the next bob dylan shook hands. i guess he's more used to same genre comparison but he took it down to earth and smiled back, said, 'those are big words man, big words.' then he signed my gray hoodie.

i have no fuckin pictures ofhim aright? dont rub it in.

but i have some others.

john spewing smoke.


akiva stayed up all night for a physics midterm. 6am view.


i spray painted this on andy's wall.



13th st party with cameron's friends. colt 45. ran into girl i went on a date with last year and then wigged out on apparently. strange coincidences. she remembered my name as jake i remembered hers as natalie. her names natalie. wandered back down up hazy memory of the things,, back uptown this morning. too much.

i'll have money tomorrow in my bank account. i'll buy shoes and clothes hangers and weed.

i realized what i was thinking. when i grow up i want to be an excap,chile?
hannah hi yr hear. hows it goin. hear you in the other room talkin with boys and girls. but i'll be there soon.

had pretentious argument oh discussion w akiva roommate us stoned of course about the fact that the internet is 10 fucking times bigger than the invention of the car and it was nice and profound in the dumb simply way thinking about how we'll all be sittin in little cubbies strapped to the cyber world or such in 100 yrs. and how being a dork on the internet is fucking perfect... or maybe i said that part with hannah.

so now instead of no one reading this anyone might. but mainly strangers, which is like no one reading it. gender discussion groups. patriarchal society. sexual assumptions/expectations. girls who like guys who act like girls. it's quite odd to sit there hearing someone tell a group of people why you (personally) are not exactly masculine nor totally feminine either. funny to hear someone call christina aguillera 'subversive' for gyrrating more nakedly then anyone else. the best thing i can say about it was everyone there was totally in earnest about the subject. awesome.

hannah comin up arent ya. waitin for the call. rum on the roof. or maybe college keg parties if i feel like being an asshole and smirking in the corner. i dont know if i feel juvenline for that tonight.

Sleeping pills

Cardboard crown please wear my will
I’ve signed the lines.
I’ve cut the bones and blood.
Assembly cuffs now still my hands,
plastic toes steal my stumble,
sterile sighs anesthetize the salty sky.
My ugly monkey mouth’s ceased
to speak in bouts like drunken boats
wavering on doubt,
sinking from a liquid core,
muttering past the moorings.
Now copyright the thoughts you’ve sunk to seize.

barfed up interesting red things on the subway ride home. barfed up boring fruit juice flava liquid in the stacks. oh to leave my barf spattered across the city.
this headache's worse than the ones i used to get in highschool. actually, lately i've been feeling like im back in highschool for unclear reasons. maybe i should find my flannel shirts and really cool wire frame glasses and start all over again. it's time to be a monk and if i'm really gonna do it, i gotta grab the right garb. yum. i'm so skinny. i can fit in the most mischevious places. i hate how this works. i think i am going to have to remove you, heilo, and remove you hannah, from my list of people who can read my journal. actually, you are the only two people who read it. so once you guys cant read it, wait, that means NO one can read it! that will be great. then it will be a real journal, but one i'll never leave on a park bench or something. which i am quite capable of.

#25 how can one take delight in the world unless one flees to it for refuge?

after not smoking for a week..
nice. but it wears me out. the first hour was good- forgot julia stiles was sitting behind me for once and didnt look up from my notebook, listened about 3/4 the time about a shaw play, got lost in my thoughts for the rest... havent been that into an academic subject in a while... ive been too social. too into never being alone and never feeling lonely. it was my natural state for two years or so and i left it behind since i decided somewhere along the way that it hurt too much. but ive forgotten the type of bittersweet escape it can be. kafka has this cool quote about how the only way you can enjoy the wonders of society is to take refuge in it. i may have butchered the thing. its an aphorism. number 25 i think. whatever. im just afraid i've been taking too much refuge from my privacy.

i saw vladimir putin today. i have a picture. you dont.

dan is so corny and i love it. i play him green grass of tunnel by mum and he tells me 'wow this song makes me feel the universe. when we play organically, we delve into the earth, and if you dig deep enough, you hit the universe, but this shit, this shit is already there.' we get like little kids about where music's going and how were catchin the gravity---- we play for an hour in the practice room. trumpet and piano. but he makes the thing sob and squeal. half tones and hissing and helllll... and i worked for just one week on a chord progression and it's a song ive never felt more deeply... it's like walking on thin ice and i think it falls thru a few times when we wallow too far out in it and sink into something cold underneath all the sound, but it's not all there yet, it's just in our heads illusion like, until we get the third vital piece, the dj. i'll start looking for him, but first i want to know exactly what im looking for. what he needs to be, sound like, want. and soon lyrics will come, and maybe performances but its not even about that... it's about not being able to think straight about anything but the sounds i just made with dan that brought us deeper out there into that elusive atmosphere to which ive been groping for years

its 2:19. ive read twenty pages. and tasty sesame noodles. melanie tried to give me a hicky but i fended her off. the bitch. all my alone time has been totally permeated by loud music on my headphones. they've become an extra appendage and i feel cold/naked if i dont leave home without them. it's good for learning tons of obscure music. now melanie is reading this so i cant write anything deeply personal. fuck that.

yes. i said trees.





mr. lama played in the park without me so figured out my own games with ms. heilo. blanket sitting, poetry reading, menthols. nothing too racy or illegal.

weekend fragments include:
ukranian gypsy punk. stage dive. heilo.




coincidental run in w. hannah. sofi fucking read my emails by mistake to find out my fucking sordid trail of women i left in europe. fuck that. as if backpackers fucking pack consciences. and she's mad at ME. drugs. alcohol. no drugs. no alcohol. gabbing bored at turn tables on the hudson, dykman st. above 191st, huddled an instant later serene on the sharp rocks in the dark the river shining with the Georgie W splayed out like the reflection of a huge white jaw eating up the shadows

my sister calls me everyday. its endearing.

yum.

'friendship for utilitys sake seems to be that which most easily exists btwn contraries, eg btwn poor and rich, btwn ignorant and learned; for what a man actually lacks he aims at, and one gives something else in return. but under this head, too, one might bring lover and beloved, beautiful and ugly. this is why lovers sometimes seem ridiculous, when they demand to be loved as they love; if they are equally lovable their claim can perhaps be justified, but when they have nothing lovable about them it is ridiculous.'
nichomachean ethics, viii. 8

current mood:


jammin like freaks.


a nice view tonight.

was supposed to get stoned tonight with sofi dear. what an odd feeling sitting here caring again about one person because they dont care as much about me.
aborted manogomy. not for me.
its just not realistic anymore. new york changes you.
or maybe i change me, but someone did it and it leaves me a bit empty in the middle but all my facets nicely embellished. oh im so GENUINE to people these days. and
i will get stoned with melanie.

good night moon.

amsterdam was brilliant lastnight. slick with rain, long red traffic light stains.

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