I've begun to the view the world in a way that I imagine a writer ought to. I jot down noteworthy ideas and I save them in the back pocket of my jeans, but when I look at them later I often am unsure what I was trying to articulate, or, more often, I understand what I meant but the feeling of the moment has passed. I think if I left one in my jeans, my mother would find it and think me quite mad.
I read Super Sad True Love Story a few weeks ago and of all things, one of the ideas stuck with me- the male narrator comments that women taste not at all sweet and vaguely urinary. Naturally, I decided to test this theory out on myself. Thousands of people enjoy cunninglingus with no ill side effects, so I was fairly sure that there's nothing medically dangerous about it. And now you know: Gary Shytengart was right.
On another sexual note, it strikes me that the non-porn, generally accepted euphemism for penis is 'member'. One has to wonder how that came (haha) about.
Sometimes, when it is very late at night I can hear a jet plane in the sky. There's something vaguely ominous about such a rumbling, but I'm not quite sure why.
I sometimes feel that I am very small and very young and terribly dull and unimportant. This often happens when I try to think of myself and my place in the multiverse- to think about myself as a God-like someone would. I'm not really sure where Christians get off- whenever I try to imagine a supreme being that sees all, it doesn't make me feel special or happy or important. Quite the opposite, in fact. It makes me feel alone.
On a somewhat lighter note, my Biology teacher told us yesterday that she's trying to sit down more because she's begun to experience contractions. The students, myself included, are very alarmed. Interestingly, she was still at school today and plans on coming tomorrow. She says she's trying to stay as long as possible because she doesn't want us to have a substitute for the rest of the semester, but I can't imagine one day will make too much of a difference. Still, though, it's nice to know she has our best interests at heart. (I'm not certain that I used the correct colloquialism there. Perhaps it is, 'taken our best interests to heart'. Regardless. Did you know that 'irregardless' is not a word? It isn't.)
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
I have been known to occasionally levitate on lonesome desert roads
Ah, Gubler.
On my way to the a town on the coast of North Carolina I saw two religious billboards that made me smile. One of them read in white letters on a red background, 'Who promised you tomorrow? Today could be your last. PRAY.'
I think there's a name for this sort of an attitude, but I can't quite recall what it is.
The other simply stated, 'JESUS CHRIST: SAVIOR.'
To which my dad quipped, 'Largest business card ever?'
There's something terribly distracting about flashing colored lights in the darkness. The streetlamp at the end of my road flickers on and off in the dark sometimes. Cars cast black, squamous shadows on my walls as they drive past. When they pass, the world seems just a little darker than it was before.
I sometimes have a thought and I wonder if I am the only person who has thought this before. Other times, I do something mundane and I think to myself, I am the only person who will do this exact same thing, ever.
Yet other times, when I'm bored in school I think to myself, 'I probably know more about crack cocaine than any of the people in this room.'
Somehow, knowledge of illicit drugs makes life a little bit more exciting.
I read an novel by Denton Welch today and I feel that it perfectly captures the exhausted, hysterical, claustrophobic, throbbing, lonely, acidic, awful, exquisite feeling of being youth.
On my way to the a town on the coast of North Carolina I saw two religious billboards that made me smile. One of them read in white letters on a red background, 'Who promised you tomorrow? Today could be your last. PRAY.'
I think there's a name for this sort of an attitude, but I can't quite recall what it is.
The other simply stated, 'JESUS CHRIST: SAVIOR.'
To which my dad quipped, 'Largest business card ever?'
There's something terribly distracting about flashing colored lights in the darkness. The streetlamp at the end of my road flickers on and off in the dark sometimes. Cars cast black, squamous shadows on my walls as they drive past. When they pass, the world seems just a little darker than it was before.
I sometimes have a thought and I wonder if I am the only person who has thought this before. Other times, I do something mundane and I think to myself, I am the only person who will do this exact same thing, ever.
Yet other times, when I'm bored in school I think to myself, 'I probably know more about crack cocaine than any of the people in this room.'
Somehow, knowledge of illicit drugs makes life a little bit more exciting.
I read an novel by Denton Welch today and I feel that it perfectly captures the exhausted, hysterical, claustrophobic, throbbing, lonely, acidic, awful, exquisite feeling of being youth.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
hot sweat and blurry eyes
I spent Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and today with my grandparents. I don't particularly like my grandparents, really.
I do enjoy their town- a little, tourist-y type place off the coast of North Carolina. We went Black Friday shopping. One of the shops carries old-women type things in the front- Not Your Daughter's Jeans, jewelry, Vera Bradley items- but in the back there's a particular display that caught my eye.
Lace skivvies, rolled up in the most delightful fashion arranged artfully around a demolished sink. I stared at them for a moment, pretending to look at the display of bath ice cream next to it, and decided that I must have one of those undergarments.
Of course, there's that tiny little problem of my parents wanting to know exactly what I'm buying all the time- not because they're worried I've bought drugs or something, but because they're actually interested in my purchases.
So I left the shop empty handed, though I was still preoccupied with thoughts of pink lingerie. We proceeded to two other stores, but when we reached the third I told my mother I wanted to go back to the other store. Predictably, she asked me what I wanted to buy. I lied and told her I was going to buy her a Christmas present. At which point I left and made the short trek back to the other store.
Once I entered, I was consumed with guilt. Should I buy a pair? What the hell was I going to do with them, anyway? I opened my wallet and found that I had fifty five dollars. I decided to actually buy my mother a present, and I settled on a piece of jewelry. Unfortunately, none of the pieces of jewelry in the store were below thirty dollars- and the underwear in question were themselves thirty dollars. You don't need to be a math genius to know that I didn't have the cash.
Now free to examine the display a little closer, I noted that while the bikinis (bikinis, for those of us not proficient in the language of women's apparel, are not only a risque type of swimsuit, but also a cut of underwear) were 30, the thongs were 20.
I selected a pink one and grabbed the first normal looking piece of thirty-dollar jewelry I could find. Liberated, I placed them both on the counter. Again consumed with guilt, I hastily told the completely disinterested saleswoman that they were both gifts- and I guess I was only half lying. Only 25% lying if you count the vickies as a present for myself.
Secretly thrilled, I leave the store short fifty dollars.
And that is the abrupt end of the story of the most interesting thing I did over Thanksgiving break.
I do enjoy their town- a little, tourist-y type place off the coast of North Carolina. We went Black Friday shopping. One of the shops carries old-women type things in the front- Not Your Daughter's Jeans, jewelry, Vera Bradley items- but in the back there's a particular display that caught my eye.
Lace skivvies, rolled up in the most delightful fashion arranged artfully around a demolished sink. I stared at them for a moment, pretending to look at the display of bath ice cream next to it, and decided that I must have one of those undergarments.
Of course, there's that tiny little problem of my parents wanting to know exactly what I'm buying all the time- not because they're worried I've bought drugs or something, but because they're actually interested in my purchases.
So I left the shop empty handed, though I was still preoccupied with thoughts of pink lingerie. We proceeded to two other stores, but when we reached the third I told my mother I wanted to go back to the other store. Predictably, she asked me what I wanted to buy. I lied and told her I was going to buy her a Christmas present. At which point I left and made the short trek back to the other store.
Once I entered, I was consumed with guilt. Should I buy a pair? What the hell was I going to do with them, anyway? I opened my wallet and found that I had fifty five dollars. I decided to actually buy my mother a present, and I settled on a piece of jewelry. Unfortunately, none of the pieces of jewelry in the store were below thirty dollars- and the underwear in question were themselves thirty dollars. You don't need to be a math genius to know that I didn't have the cash.
Now free to examine the display a little closer, I noted that while the bikinis (bikinis, for those of us not proficient in the language of women's apparel, are not only a risque type of swimsuit, but also a cut of underwear) were 30, the thongs were 20.
I selected a pink one and grabbed the first normal looking piece of thirty-dollar jewelry I could find. Liberated, I placed them both on the counter. Again consumed with guilt, I hastily told the completely disinterested saleswoman that they were both gifts- and I guess I was only half lying. Only 25% lying if you count the vickies as a present for myself.
Secretly thrilled, I leave the store short fifty dollars.
And that is the abrupt end of the story of the most interesting thing I did over Thanksgiving break.
Friday, November 18, 2011
in youth is pleasure
There are a certain few experiences I feel that are central to the experience of being a teenager- they're sort of ingrained in the collective perception of youth, or at least they are in my mind. This is a list of the things I want to complete by the time these years are done.
1) Go on a road trip. The road trip must go through the desert. The road trip must be confined to the continental United States. The road trip must take us to California. The car must be old. The motels must be sketchy. I will go alone, or with friends. We will take lots of photographs. It will be our coming-out in the traditional sense of the world.
2) Get a fake ID and go somewhere. A strip club? A concert? An X-rated movie? A lounge? A bar? The world is my oyster.
3) Get so drunk I throw up. Steal the alcohol from a parent. Never do it again.
4) Have sex in the back of a car. Maybe in the school parking lot, after a football game. During a football game. In the woods. Down the street from my house.
I don't know where these ideas came from- I can't think of one particular movie or TV show or book where they happened, but I feel that fragments of all the words I have consumed have fused to form these images in strangely specific detail.
I feel that I must do these things in order to have lived to the fullest- I don't know if they'll all happen, but they damn well should.
1) Go on a road trip. The road trip must go through the desert. The road trip must be confined to the continental United States. The road trip must take us to California. The car must be old. The motels must be sketchy. I will go alone, or with friends. We will take lots of photographs. It will be our coming-out in the traditional sense of the world.
2) Get a fake ID and go somewhere. A strip club? A concert? An X-rated movie? A lounge? A bar? The world is my oyster.
3) Get so drunk I throw up. Steal the alcohol from a parent. Never do it again.
4) Have sex in the back of a car. Maybe in the school parking lot, after a football game. During a football game. In the woods. Down the street from my house.
I don't know where these ideas came from- I can't think of one particular movie or TV show or book where they happened, but I feel that fragments of all the words I have consumed have fused to form these images in strangely specific detail.
I feel that I must do these things in order to have lived to the fullest- I don't know if they'll all happen, but they damn well should.
you'd better run
A baptist church near my school has their message set to, 'Let God "Occupy" Your Heart!'.
Today, on the way to my favorite restaurant, I saw a stray dog tearing apart a deer carcass in the middle of a field. I feel that if I were a religious person, I would interpret this as some sort of sign from some sort of deity, but instead I was surprised, not by what I felt, but by what I didn't feel: revulsion. I was expecting to feel disgusted but somehow I was first struck by the remarkable honesty of the image- I wonder why we view other animals as savages when really, they're just being real? I thought about all this over dinner as I watched my mother eat a burger. I don't think I have any moral objections to killing and eating an animal, but there's something about the sterilized way Americans, particularly, view food and meat consumption that always alienated me. People argue that we cook animals because they're not safe to eat otherwise, which is obviously true, but it's just another step in the distance between us and the food we eat. I would argue that eating is one of the most intimate interactions- so I wonder why people don't worry about what they consume more?
Today, on the way to my favorite restaurant, I saw a stray dog tearing apart a deer carcass in the middle of a field. I feel that if I were a religious person, I would interpret this as some sort of sign from some sort of deity, but instead I was surprised, not by what I felt, but by what I didn't feel: revulsion. I was expecting to feel disgusted but somehow I was first struck by the remarkable honesty of the image- I wonder why we view other animals as savages when really, they're just being real? I thought about all this over dinner as I watched my mother eat a burger. I don't think I have any moral objections to killing and eating an animal, but there's something about the sterilized way Americans, particularly, view food and meat consumption that always alienated me. People argue that we cook animals because they're not safe to eat otherwise, which is obviously true, but it's just another step in the distance between us and the food we eat. I would argue that eating is one of the most intimate interactions- so I wonder why people don't worry about what they consume more?
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
this place I have disowned and reclaimed, loathed and romanticized
I was reading Salon today, like a cool kid, and I read an article in which the author describes her hometown. I thought to myself, 'What a deeply humanizing essay.' In those exact words.
My home is located in just about the middle of North Carolina. This county I live in is filled with small towns, medium towns, and rural backroads of grass and gravel. One of the best things about the County is that it is absolutely, unarguably beautiful. The most beautiful time is just before the sun sets- something about the sunshine and the grass and the flowers almost makes me want to cry. My busride is over an hour long, so I have the time to stare out the window for extended periods of time. My home itself straddles the line between the County and The Town. I have a Town address, but attend a County school. The politics between the two regions are entirely too complicated for me to attempt to explain, in this post anyway.
I love the County and I love The Town. The Town is a college town, right next to the oldest public university in the entire United States. Main Street's highlights include a vintage shop, a dress shop, a used bookshop, a comic book store, a head shop, an anarchist bookstore, a denim store (?), a record store, an art supply store, an art museum, a sushi restaurant, another, crappier sushi restaurant, a pizza place, a Mediterranean deli, two spirit wear stores, a movie theatre that seems to play only movies that are at least one year old, another, better vintage store, more than a few bars, a Ben and Jerry's, and a Dunkin Donuts. Clearly, this is where I belong. I feel as though I could not have created a better assortment of businesses- the only thing I would think to add is a strip club. (Though for all I know there is one)
The County contains another town, which we shall refer to as 'the town'. The lack of caps is to distinguish it from The Town, but also to illustrate its inferiority. This is the place about half of my high school peers call home. Main Street of the town includes a restaurant, a 'soda shop', an antique store that is only open for a few hours on Sunday, an African Goods store, a Sheriff's office (though I think it might be abandoned), and an actually fairly decent jewelry store. At the end of Main Street- yes, it is a dead end- is The Courthouse. The Courthouse burned to the ground last winter leaving behind the brick frame and what I referred to as a child as 'King Soldier', actually a bronze revolutionary war foot soldier on a 10 feet marble pedestal. I'm not entirely sure how the denizens of the town were able to afford such a thing- perhaps it was a gift in the same way that the statue of Liberty was, except instead of France it was The Town.
the town claims Courthouse Rebuild efforts are underway, but driving by weekly gives me the distinct impression that said efforts have since been abandoned. And so The Courthouse and King Soldier, once enforcers of law and order, now loom over the town as a reminder that you really should replace that faulty wiring in your ancient house.
The rest of the County, or so it seems to me, is entirely farmland and farmhome- I both pity and envy the residents of the town, because though they have likely never ventured further than the coast, or Virginia if they're lucky; they live in beauty that never ceases to amaze me whenever I drive through. It's not that my neighborhood is ugly, exactly- it's just unremarkable. I'm grateful, though, not to live in the field of duplexes, or in one of the tree-less suburbs that surround my neighborhood, formally known as Highland Forest.
One of the more interesting parts of the town is the abandoned trailer park directly across from my high school. It's absolutely fascinating- dozens of trailer sprinkled over the hill, in various states of disrepair, all abandoned. Daily I wonder about the abandoned trailer park- Where did these people go? I found a photo album on flickr of it, annoyingly all in black and white, illuminating nonetheless. Fascinatingly, they left everything behind- clothes, televisions, bibles, canned food, folding chairs, and ghettoblasters. I wonder if there was a fire- but if there was, why aren't the trailers and everything in them burned to the ground? And if they didn't burn, why didn't the owners come back? It's sad, but this is one of the top ten places I fantasize about visiting when I get my learner's permit.
There are so many other things I could tell you about The Town and the town but I think these stories are probably only interesting to me, so I bid you adieu.
My home is located in just about the middle of North Carolina. This county I live in is filled with small towns, medium towns, and rural backroads of grass and gravel. One of the best things about the County is that it is absolutely, unarguably beautiful. The most beautiful time is just before the sun sets- something about the sunshine and the grass and the flowers almost makes me want to cry. My busride is over an hour long, so I have the time to stare out the window for extended periods of time. My home itself straddles the line between the County and The Town. I have a Town address, but attend a County school. The politics between the two regions are entirely too complicated for me to attempt to explain, in this post anyway.
I love the County and I love The Town. The Town is a college town, right next to the oldest public university in the entire United States. Main Street's highlights include a vintage shop, a dress shop, a used bookshop, a comic book store, a head shop, an anarchist bookstore, a denim store (?), a record store, an art supply store, an art museum, a sushi restaurant, another, crappier sushi restaurant, a pizza place, a Mediterranean deli, two spirit wear stores, a movie theatre that seems to play only movies that are at least one year old, another, better vintage store, more than a few bars, a Ben and Jerry's, and a Dunkin Donuts. Clearly, this is where I belong. I feel as though I could not have created a better assortment of businesses- the only thing I would think to add is a strip club. (Though for all I know there is one)
The County contains another town, which we shall refer to as 'the town'. The lack of caps is to distinguish it from The Town, but also to illustrate its inferiority. This is the place about half of my high school peers call home. Main Street of the town includes a restaurant, a 'soda shop', an antique store that is only open for a few hours on Sunday, an African Goods store, a Sheriff's office (though I think it might be abandoned), and an actually fairly decent jewelry store. At the end of Main Street- yes, it is a dead end- is The Courthouse. The Courthouse burned to the ground last winter leaving behind the brick frame and what I referred to as a child as 'King Soldier', actually a bronze revolutionary war foot soldier on a 10 feet marble pedestal. I'm not entirely sure how the denizens of the town were able to afford such a thing- perhaps it was a gift in the same way that the statue of Liberty was, except instead of France it was The Town.
the town claims Courthouse Rebuild efforts are underway, but driving by weekly gives me the distinct impression that said efforts have since been abandoned. And so The Courthouse and King Soldier, once enforcers of law and order, now loom over the town as a reminder that you really should replace that faulty wiring in your ancient house.
 | |
| the town as it is today, but without the roof. Or the trees. |
One of the more interesting parts of the town is the abandoned trailer park directly across from my high school. It's absolutely fascinating- dozens of trailer sprinkled over the hill, in various states of disrepair, all abandoned. Daily I wonder about the abandoned trailer park- Where did these people go? I found a photo album on flickr of it, annoyingly all in black and white, illuminating nonetheless. Fascinatingly, they left everything behind- clothes, televisions, bibles, canned food, folding chairs, and ghettoblasters. I wonder if there was a fire- but if there was, why aren't the trailers and everything in them burned to the ground? And if they didn't burn, why didn't the owners come back? It's sad, but this is one of the top ten places I fantasize about visiting when I get my learner's permit.
There are so many other things I could tell you about The Town and the town but I think these stories are probably only interesting to me, so I bid you adieu.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
It's not a bird, it's not a plane, it must be Dave who's on the train
I've been listening to a lot of Scooter lately. Because I'm a 2003 raver.
I had a lot of things to say about five minutes ago but when I pulled up this page, I no longer had anything to say.
Today I bought 100 dollars worth of books, but I only paid for forty percent of them. My best friend's birthday party was Friday. I feel well-liked. I like parties. I like my friends.
School is so monotonous. Sometimes I sit in my room and I feel that I can't breathe. Then I have to open the window and stick my head out. Does that qualify as a panic attack? I don't think so.
My friends think that I am in love with any boy that I talk to on facebook, though really that's not the case.
Additionally, I'm thinking I could be a lesbian. I've just been reading a lot of different kinds of erotica and I'm really enjoying the lesbian ones. I don't really care, it's just something to think about. I'm not sure that someone can know their sexual orientation without, ahem, actually trying everything out. Or maybe, someone can; but I cannot.
Also on that note, I recently purchased a vibrating toothbrush. Does anyone really think that a vibrating toothbrush is going to be used for cleaning teeth? Apparently they do. I was overall disappointed with it, but maybe if I try it again later I'll like it better.
So that was my weekend!
Also, at CVS yesterday, my mother and I ran into an old colleague of hers, one that I happen to know pretty well. He was purchasing condoms. I don't think my mother noticed, but I did. Also, I think he's married. So that's GREAT.
I had a lot of things to say about five minutes ago but when I pulled up this page, I no longer had anything to say.
Today I bought 100 dollars worth of books, but I only paid for forty percent of them. My best friend's birthday party was Friday. I feel well-liked. I like parties. I like my friends.
School is so monotonous. Sometimes I sit in my room and I feel that I can't breathe. Then I have to open the window and stick my head out. Does that qualify as a panic attack? I don't think so.
My friends think that I am in love with any boy that I talk to on facebook, though really that's not the case.
Additionally, I'm thinking I could be a lesbian. I've just been reading a lot of different kinds of erotica and I'm really enjoying the lesbian ones. I don't really care, it's just something to think about. I'm not sure that someone can know their sexual orientation without, ahem, actually trying everything out. Or maybe, someone can; but I cannot.
Also on that note, I recently purchased a vibrating toothbrush. Does anyone really think that a vibrating toothbrush is going to be used for cleaning teeth? Apparently they do. I was overall disappointed with it, but maybe if I try it again later I'll like it better.
So that was my weekend!
Also, at CVS yesterday, my mother and I ran into an old colleague of hers, one that I happen to know pretty well. He was purchasing condoms. I don't think my mother noticed, but I did. Also, I think he's married. So that's GREAT.
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