documentation

I lack structure and discipline and the ability to take others words of compassion for truth.

I would like to change all of this.

It would be nice to love someone and love myself in return.

It would be nice to talk to someone other than my cigarette.

I hate the fourth of July weekend madness and all the fake American pride that comes with it, but I still can't help wanting to have all of my best friends over for a cook out on the roof.

One of my new friends is having a cook out in her enormous tree house. I want to combine forces. By combing forces I mean that I want to combine all of that comforting picnic food and beer into one glorious good time in the woods of Liverpool.

I love tree houses. I love the woods. I love grilled vegetables. I love sleeping outside. I love passing back and forth a bottle. I love campfires. I'm hoping that everything works out so that we can all be together.

For nearly the entire month of June, Harrisburg has been victim to bouts of heartbreaking acts of violence, such as: six straight days of gun violence, a woman raped by three men at gun point in her own home and the murder-suicide of a brother and his special needs sister. All of these incredible acts have taken place in towns just too close to comfort.

People mourn the death of a pedophile superstar more than they do the loss of a once safe and beautiful city. I'm disgusted and heartbroken.

I had some time to sit around yesterday morning before I headed into work. I was looking through channels when I caught sight of The View. I haven't watched The View since I was attending school at Mansfield. I'm not especially attached to The View and I'm not especially attached to Anne Hathaway, whom just so happened to be their guest yesterday. I never really gave Anne Hathaway much credit as an actress because she always struck me as one of those Disney babies. I feel like she never had the chance to show what a diverse actress she has the potential to be until I saw her in "Rachel Getting Married." Her character was a complete contrast to anything else I've seen her do. Anyway, when she was on The View chatting with the other ladies, she happened to mention some of her upcoming endeavors. These endeavors ranged from Shakespeare in the park to playing Judy Garland in a film that is expected to go to theaters sometime down the line. I love Judy Garland and I suppose that is what started this whole rant.

Aside from that jazz, I'm doing well. I found a new place to park in Harrisburg so I don't get anymore parking tickets. It's a bit of a hike, but the walk is so beautiful. I even discovered a new cafe, antique marketplace and an Italian bistro where they give away freshly made bread. This particular section of town also hosts a lot of really old and beautiful row houses. I would very much like to live there one day if I can manage to. I'll have to keep checking for vacancy. It's very seldom that I find somewhere close to home that I'm in love with. I wouldn't mind spending a few years there on Verbeke street. I feel like it suits me.

Another thing I love about that particular street is that there are always people sitting outside on their stoops smoking their cigarettes. Take yesterday, for example. It was one of those stormy days where everything seemed to be tinted in blue. It wasn't raining yet, but you could smell it and see the clouds moving around inside all of that blue. I was on my lunch break and I decided to walk back to my car just to keep myself preoccupied. I leaned against the back of my station wagon with a book and cigarette in hand. After so long I put my book down and I noticed all of the other people around. There was a woman leaning in her doorway looking at me  with her arms crossed. She didn't look at me in a menacing way; it more so just merely acknowledging that we were both taking a break and enjoying the breeze together. There were other people on the street too that seemed to have no agenda other than to lean against the brick of their houses and finish their cigarettes. I guess it just struck me as one of those interesting human moments where we were all doing the same thing at the same time, taking in the same blue day and probably thinking about the same kind of thing.

Nothing else is really going on just now. It's Friday and I have discovered that, what with the way I'm living now, that I don't really anticipate the arrival of the weekend anymore. My nights always consist of staying up late and suffering through work the next day. It always feels like the weekend, which is a good thing I guess. I think tonight we're just going to play cards like always and walk down to the river again at night. Last time we went to a dock and sat in someones boat for about an hour. Karina had to keep tugging at the line connected to the dock to keep us from drifting too far away. I haven't laughed that hard in a good while.

Hopefully we will get up to something good.

Most afternoons I sit watching Clean House with Karina. We pass back and forth a bottle usually and laugh at all of the silly people who reside in America. Clean House is this show on the style network with a sassy host. The host goes into homes where people hoard too much shit to even live comfortably in their own homes. The host, in her sassy ways, visits these people and convinces them to sell most of their shit in a yard sale. The money from the sale goes towards remodeling their home and making it presentable, to say the least. It's a funny concept for a show, I suppose; people with too much shit and they love it all.

We watch Jerry Springer and Maury too, but those two we all know well enough what they are about. It's nice to relax and spend the afternoons this way. Although, on the other side of things, I think we're getting slightly less intelligent with ever episode that we view.

There really isn't much else that is new in my life. Austin, Pat and Ryan are staying with me this weekend because they couldn't find a show in Pennsylvania again. I'm excited to spend the weekend with them and show them around New Cumberland. I feel that New Cumberland is most charming in the summer, simply because of the good late night walks and star gazing on the roof. Despite their visit, that seems to be about the only I'm looking forward to as of now.

I'll try to remind myself to be better about updating. Maybe when I become a roller derby announcer my life will take a more interesting turn instead of getting drunk in the afternoons with my best friend.

        "... Creation seems to come out of imperfection.
              It seems to come out of a striving and a frustration.
              And this is where I think language came from.
              I mean, it came from our desire to transcend our isolation...
              and have some sort of connection with one another.
              And it had to be easy when it was just simple survival.
              Like, you know, "water." We came up with a sound for that.
              Or, "Saber-toothed tiger right behind you." We came up with a sound for that.
              But when it gets really interesting, I think,
              is when we use that same system of symbols to communicate...
              all the abstract and intangible things that we're experiencing.
              What is, like, frustration? Or what is anger or love?
              When I say "love,"
              the sound comes out of my mouth...
              and it hits the other person's ear,
              travels through this Byzantine conduit in their brain,
              you know, through their memories of love or lack of love,
              and they register what I'm saying and say yes, they understand.
              But how do I know they understand? Because words are inert.
              They're just symbols. They're dead, you know?
              And so much of our experience is intangible.
              So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed. It's unspeakable.
              And yet, you know, when we communicate with one another,
              and we--
              we feel that we have connected,
              and we think that we're understood,
              I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion.
              And that feeling might be transient, but I think it's what we live for..."

I haven't done an "art blog" in a good while. What better way to reintroduce my fleeting obsessions than with robots? I sure do love them.

here
you see this
hand

here you see this
sky
this
bridge

hear this
sound

the agony of the
elephant

the nightmare of the
midget

while
caged parrots
sit in a
flourish of
color

while pieces of
people
fall over the
edge
like pebbles
like
rocks

madhouses screaming in
pain

as the royalty of the
world is
photographed
say
on horseback
or
say
watching a procession
in their honor

as the junkies junk
as the alkies drink
as the whores whore
as the killers kill

the albatross blinks its
eyes

the weather stays
mostly
the same.

c.b.

We weren't bothered by the seemingly early hour of the evening. We bought a fifth of whiskey and stayed up until 6 a.m. watching movies that were released exclusively in the Sundance Film circuit. Nate was there and we talked about the worthwhile flea markets in the surrounding area.

We were all still drunk when we awoke this morning to the self-timer on the coffeepot. We arose with great effort and made our way to the kitchen to be entertained by the last thin line of coffee streaming into the pot. We also made bagels, but we forgot to eat them on account of still being drunk.

We listened to Jeffrey Lewis and The Brian Jonestown Massacre while we got ready. We also heard Nate mumble in his sleep.

We parted ways and went to work after that. I slept in my car during my lunch break and I was surprised that my headache subsided almost effortlessly.

There is some normalcy to these late nights and early mornings.
I'll see you on the roof again tonight, dear friends.

This past weekend was one of the best ways I ever recall welcoming the new warm wind.

Friday night Angie and Karina came over to drink some beer and watch a silly movie. We talked about Providence and Arizona and Holland and other places that you miss when you have to return back to a life you are bored with.

Saturday I awoke early to spend the day with Angie. We drove up to Newport with the windows down and basked in the first good bit of sunlight we had felt on our fair skin in months. We went to visit her Aunts home that is surrounded by gardens and fence posts that have been overtaken by ivy. I really enjoy spending time with Aunt Michelle because she is an artist. She is the woman in the thrift store that will salvage a child-sized guitar so that she may take it home and paint it however she chooses. She gardens so much that I even happened to see one of her finished guitars used as a flower pot. There were small green stems blooming from the sound hole. It was beautiful.

We only stayed long enough to dirty our knees in the garden. We dug up broccoli for supper that night and we didn't even care to wash our hands before we left. We were so content smelling like wind and mud and warmth. Afterward we hiked up a steep trail to discover a grass clearing. Angie's Mother had bought the land ages ago and I think she always desired moving up there now that her girls aren't as young. We sat down on a tree trunk that had fallen over, maybe in a storm, and rested a while and smoked. We let the stillness and peace of that place seep through our skin and release into our nerves. It was such a fine day.

Sunday I ended up calling Jamie because I missed her. Jamie is my childhood friend that I just recently bumped into not too long ago. The last time I saw her was fifth grade. She had trouble at home and someone came and rescued her and took her away for a long time. I like seeing her now and I think that she likes seeing me too. You have to keep the people from your childhood around. They are the only ones who know what fucked you up initially. There's comfort in that, I suppose.

Jamie and I also went for a drive. We got coffee and she even suggested that we take this old mountain view back road. She knew the name of passing flowers that lined people's driveways and we talked about books. We got lost after so long but it didn't matter. We would reach an intersection and turn whichever way we felt looked the nicest. Lately I feel like that people that I can actually sit down and converse with are few and far between. I'm happy to have her as a friend again, especially since she knows the names of writers and flowers.

We didn't do much after our drive was over but I was happy to have spent another day outdoors with someone I felt connected to. I was in fear of the arrival of spring, but now I find that I am embracing it. I never thought I would have so many good people in my life.

Much too much has happened.

The old prick who lives beneath us called the fuzz on us Saturday night. Six people climbed out the kitchen window and hid on the roof while the rest of us stayed and produced our identification with distaste. Nothing happened with the exception of a seemingly concise lecture and talk of how noise is not much appreciated at certain hours of the morning.

In the morning I awoke to discover a boy sleeping on our kitchen floor. I didn't know who he was, who he came with or how he even ended up in my house. Someone came to get him eventually. His friend told me that about two months ago the sleeping boy had come home from the war. I guess drinking himself silly and blacking out  is the way he has taught himself to cope with his PTS condition. In that moment I didn't know what feeling to identify with: complete and utter heartbreak for him and the life he now has to lead or rage that our country damages people and finds them dispensable.

"It's fucked what they do to people and get away with, you know?"
"Yes. I know."

I helped put the sleeping boys shoes back on while I watched his friend coax him back to consciousness. I realized that this whole scene must be familiar to him now. I don't think I will forget that morning for a good while.

Despite the unwanted arrival of the fuzz, the weekend still had its high points. Jeff and Kristi stayed with us all weekend and we even got to spend Easter together. There are few things more adorable than four grown twenty-something year olds sitting cross legged around a unstable coffee table eating chocolate eggs and watching The Food Network.

If this is what you call dysfunctional, I will continue to welcome it and embrace it.

Also, over the weekend it was decided that Karina will be living with us. I really can't express how happy I am at the idea of it all. I like her soul much more now.

I predict dueling typewriters in the early morning and time-lines made of yarn and polaroids lining our ceiling.

I was riding back home with Dave last night when he ran over one of those orange construction cones. I suppose you could refer to the act as intentional. Anyway, that cone now resides in our living room. I think our decor is finally complete thanks to this most recent addition of white-trash-construction-work interior design. What can I say? It suits the motif of our entire apartment perfectly.

There isn't much else happening just now that requires updating with the exception that I'm highly anticipating the festivities of tomorrow evening. It will just be more running with scissors bullshit. These days it seems that it is my mantra.

I fear I've lost my depth.

My visit to Mansfield was perfectly fine.

I had the most satisfying piece of gum, courtesy of Michelle, and I also had the best night's sleep, courtesy of Connie's semi-dilapidated "clam" futon.

I sincerely feel that these instances are noteworthy.

They say before you check yourself into rehab that you first have to "reach your bottom."

This amuses me. Most medical practices are concerned in helping their clients steer clear from any sort of bottom. I suppose bottoms are somewhat different in terms of spiritual cleansing. Again, this sort of amuses me to a degree.

Aside from that, I'm working on Lawrence's accounts of his Mother's life and listening to jazz dialect. I've come to find that the spontaneity of the music mimics the complete fucking mess that is my writing. I have to go to an office store at some point tonight to get a new ribbon for my typewriter. I suppose that could be taken as some sort of excitement or milestone in terms of my ownership of a typewriter.

A little while back Dave landed a part time job at this highly reputable vintage clothing / piercing parlor entitled "Checkered Past."  The store is actually located so close to our building that we can see the neon sign from our bedroom windows and fire escape. With that being said, when I'm at a loss for anything to do I typically venture over the store and have fun with Dave and the other employees. The best part of this arrangement is that everyone at the store is so lovely that my visitations are never considered to be of a nuisance to anyone. Also, given the fact of just how close we are to the store, the staff of Checkered Past can usually be found dwelling in our small living room after works hours almost every evening. I very much enjoy these regular nights in with such spontaneous, personable, knowledgeable, hilarious and welcoming individuals.

As it happens, tonight we are going as a group to watch Krista (the piercing apprentice) act as Lady Capulet at this old time dinner theater. We are going to drink port wine and dress up and it is going to be glorious.

Other glorious things to make note of:

1.) I am getting a free piercing this week. Of what part of my face or ear I am entirely unsure.

2.) This upcoming weekend I am venturing up to Mansfield to visit for some ice cream on a park bench in good company.

3.) My interviews with Lawrence are going very well. Each interview we get a little more in depth about his Mother's life. I feel comfortable saying that his Mother is a very admirable woman and I would like to think that his family will be very pleased with the collection of stories that Lawrence has chosen to dictate. This whole circumstance makes me wish that I could always write memoirs this way.

4.) With summer around the corner, Dave has been talking to me a lot lately about continuing to live together after our lease has expired. Although our life is pure insanity and  it seems that all moral value has been forgotten at times, I don't think I'm ready to abandon this running with scissors lifestyle that I have adopted with him. Not for a while.

5.) I anticipated that I would receive about six-hundred dollars or so with the arrival of my income taxes. Turns out, there was a mistake on my forms and I actually got back over one thousand dollars. It most certainly feels like I've been given a fresh start and I'm happy that I've had the fortunate opportunity to look debt square in the eye and say "fuck off." Fancy that.

I spent my Friday evening in Anne's home watching Changeling and Annie Hall (two excellent cinematic gems) while drinking iced tea. The wind was particularly violent that night and I distinctly remember not being phased by it at all because I felt so incredibly safe in her home. We talked for so long about anything and everything. I felt like it was one of the first times I had really talked to anyone in months.

I first met Anne Stone while working in Newport. When I first began working at the cafe it seemed that she would always make an appearance in the morning. We would talk shortly about the odds and ends of things while she waited patiently for her order to be prepared. The thing that distinguished Anne from other costumers was that I never felt as if I was engaging in small talk with her. I think of small talk as conversing with someone who does not give a fuck about what you are saying. Half the time people don't even make eye contact with you during small talk. They say their two cents about the weather or make some not so clever comment about their dissatisfaction with the work day and that concludes the whole riveting small talk experience.

Another thing that I noticed about Anne was that she was never hurried by her schedule. Typically when she would come in she would say that she was just heading off to work. She would say this, but she would still stay a substantial amount of time just to talk to me about whatever suited our current mood or interest. This is not to say that Anne was one to lose track of time either. Everything about Anne was calming.  I liked Anne straight away because everyone knew she was one of the few who had her priorities exactly as they should be. She took the time to connect with people and set her errands aside just to offer her undivided attention.

I don't think there has ever been anyone in my life who has conveyed so much compassion, charm and poise as Anne Stone. I wish that I was not so afraid of loving her or thinking of her as the mother I could only hope to have. I guess I still mourn the wreckage of everything that was ruined before when I put faith in others to compose the family that I won't ever have.




Currently reading: Beautiful Losers
Currently hating: American ignorance and the fact that the car has become our wheelchair
Currently loving: Dave, Rob, Jeff, Troy and Eli
Currently eating: Hummus and carrots

Choose An Artist: Elliott Smith

Are you male or female: Miss Misery

Describe yourself: Dancing On The Highway

How do you feel about yourself: Stupidity Tries

Describe where you currently live: Coast To Coast

If could go anywhere, where would you go: Fear City

Your favorite form of transportation: Tiny Time Machine

Your best friend is: Talking To Mary

Your favorite color Is: Rose Parade


What's the weather like: Flowers For Charlie

Favorite time of the day: Twilight

If life was a TV show, what would it be Called: Punch and Judy

What is life to you: Ballad Of Big Nothing

What is the best advice you have to give:  A Distorted Reality Is Now A Necessity To Be Free

If you could change your name, what would it be: Sweet Adeline

Your favorite food is: Ostriches and Chirping

Thought for the day: Say Yes

How would you like to die: Bottle Up and Explode

My soul's present condition: Strung Out Again

The faults I can bear: All Cleaned Out

My motto: Let's Turn The Record Over

Things are fine. Just another weekend free from threats of eviction.

I used to be such a nice girl. Now I'm callous and stoned the majority of the time.

Angie invited me to attend a rally with her that was held on the steps of the capitol building. I walked away with a cherry flavored cigarette, some new friends, an empty flask and a date.

Needless to say, it was a lunch break very well spent.

There are few things better than walking the streets of Harrisburg on a overcast day, passing back and forth a flask full of 12 year old scotch with a rally of lesbians as your companions. What beautiful souls.

I know that winter has an unmerciful grip on your bones. However, I do not think that you would care to reside with the rest of us in squalor. My kind is no longer your kind.

There are no towels for drying your hands because they have all been used to soak up and savor spilled beer from the already stained carpet. Pots and pans, plates and bowls line the entire surface of the salmon colored counter top. Someone trips over one of the six cases of beer that had already been emptied and flung carelessly in front of the refrigerator. There are people screwing and vomiting and a stranger presses his mouth to my cheek and I can feel his kiss rust and stain my skin. There are no rooms left untouched by the thick and heavy smoke. That smell cannot be washed from your hair or your clothes or even your bones. It's as if we are running our own little pharmaceutical and everyone is just here to get off and savor their artificial freedom in good company.

I have arrived at Bridge Street, the paradise of my despair.

They say good writers are made from this. Who knows.