and i'm a wounded bird, i will take your word.
when i was in high school i was a hardcore whiskey drinker. i really wasn't interested in anything else. there was just something about it. the burn. the cringe. that weird caramely taste you got when you'd finally had enough. but nothing ever seemed to be enough.
more more more.
last night was wild. we both wanted to go to this party, but we're shy so we said, oh well, let's just start drinking the whiskey. the party was afterall 20 dollars and drinks weren't free so might as well start here at home......
onward into empty soda bottles and on the subway system, shots on the table, oh god, by why? get to the party and i was fucking belligerent. not obnoxious or anything. but just like .... totally blurry. and it's an art party no less, so i'm trying to view the installations and i'm having a hard time. there's a girl in a white dress over by the bathroom, where i ended up alot - she's got a white covering on the ground with all these little soldiers, she got a megaphone because it's so loud, but you still can't hear, and she's quietly saying the names of the soldiers to no one. all of us in the bathroom line watch. she's got to be young, she's got braces, barefeet, no one can hear. no one can ever hear.
i wanted to hear their names, i wanted to hear everything. here are their bodies laying on this white covering and their names are being said, but not one of us can hear, and here we are... wasted life, wasted youth, all of us, what are we living, dying and fighting for? the girl next to me said, "i think it's suitable that you can't hear her." and we turned and stared together. i want to be part be part be part be part be part be part.
on another installation someone had drawn on vertical paper and left a bucket of art supplies so others could draw, so i took the pastels. blue, i chose a pretty blue and wrote out all of insecurites on this paper and this guy comes up, there was a scavenger hunt going on, he's asking me what piece this is and i don't know don't know and then he's trying to see what i wrote and i went to run my hand over it and erase but then i didn't. and he smiled, but not a mean smile and walked away.
and i'm a wounded bird, i will take your word.
ran into duncan. ha!, i said and he thought it was rather amusing. we talked and talked and then went to play this game of esp that he failed miserably at and then i looked at his palms for awhile and we went out in the hall and laughed and kissed a bit and on and on.
i was just re-reading what i wrote and all of sudden i could see the gray shadows underneath the characters and then in one paragraph the bottom half turned upside down like mirroring reflections. ahh, it just happened again. i must be really tired.
today i need to go and find a winter hat because i lost mine last night.
i really love how we hold hands when we're wasted.
i can't wait till i find a job i like. it's gonna be so great.
love,
larisa
more more more.
last night was wild. we both wanted to go to this party, but we're shy so we said, oh well, let's just start drinking the whiskey. the party was afterall 20 dollars and drinks weren't free so might as well start here at home......
onward into empty soda bottles and on the subway system, shots on the table, oh god, by why? get to the party and i was fucking belligerent. not obnoxious or anything. but just like .... totally blurry. and it's an art party no less, so i'm trying to view the installations and i'm having a hard time. there's a girl in a white dress over by the bathroom, where i ended up alot - she's got a white covering on the ground with all these little soldiers, she got a megaphone because it's so loud, but you still can't hear, and she's quietly saying the names of the soldiers to no one. all of us in the bathroom line watch. she's got to be young, she's got braces, barefeet, no one can hear. no one can ever hear.
i wanted to hear their names, i wanted to hear everything. here are their bodies laying on this white covering and their names are being said, but not one of us can hear, and here we are... wasted life, wasted youth, all of us, what are we living, dying and fighting for? the girl next to me said, "i think it's suitable that you can't hear her." and we turned and stared together. i want to be part be part be part be part be part be part.
on another installation someone had drawn on vertical paper and left a bucket of art supplies so others could draw, so i took the pastels. blue, i chose a pretty blue and wrote out all of insecurites on this paper and this guy comes up, there was a scavenger hunt going on, he's asking me what piece this is and i don't know don't know and then he's trying to see what i wrote and i went to run my hand over it and erase but then i didn't. and he smiled, but not a mean smile and walked away.
and i'm a wounded bird, i will take your word.
ran into duncan. ha!, i said and he thought it was rather amusing. we talked and talked and then went to play this game of esp that he failed miserably at and then i looked at his palms for awhile and we went out in the hall and laughed and kissed a bit and on and on.
i was just re-reading what i wrote and all of sudden i could see the gray shadows underneath the characters and then in one paragraph the bottom half turned upside down like mirroring reflections. ahh, it just happened again. i must be really tired.
today i need to go and find a winter hat because i lost mine last night.
i really love how we hold hands when we're wasted.
i can't wait till i find a job i like. it's gonna be so great.
love,
larisa
posted by L | 7:17 AM
1 Comments:
Sounds like a surreal evening Larisa! I hate looking for a job too. It always seems like I'm setting myself up for rejection - unless it's some sort of sell-your-soul retail gig. I can't wait for the day to come where I can do what I love AND get paid for it. I wonder what that feels like....
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