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pushed down strongly on my stomache on a soft bed with my lover's left hand
on my back my face breathing in the down comforter eyes half closed seeing
a blurry room i can feel the necesarry hand pushing the warm cylindrical into
my mmm pushed firmly up against my lover's belly holding it holding it holding
it slowly penetrating up up up and down my spine the love i desperately need
to suck from my lover's lower lip giving it to me so hard and sweetly that
i make honey

[06 Nov 2001|06:16pm]
what an emotional day. i feel like i've run 100 miles. talked to my mom all afternoon. i think we made some progress. wary but hopeful.
also talked to my friend that hurt me the other day and i feel a bit more closure with that.

it's too much to type out. and my friend doesn't want me talking about him whatsoever. i can still talk about him a bit since you don't know who i'm talking about.

secrets secrets secrets. what's the big deal? what are people so afraid of? i don't know. i don't get it. but i respect their wish to remain private.

still, it's a drag because that means that most of my life i don't get to talk about it. or at least i can talk about it but only vaguely, and that's tricky. i'm riding the thin line here. it's like a puzzle. how to speak about my life without incriminating anyone in my life as being part of my life.

sometimes this makes me just want to drop everyone in my life that won't allow me to talk about them in my life and only have friends who allow me to talk about them in my life because i want to tell the whole story.

but i don't even know if that's possible. and i really don't want to leave my friends who don't wish to be talked about because i love them so.

what a dilemma. i feel like woody allen or something. it's hard to be a writer who speaks of their own life. it's virtually impossible to write about a life without including all the other lives entangled in it.

sometimes then i think i should just not write at all. if i can't tell the WHOLE story, why tell the story at ALL? why even attempt it? what's the point? how can a make a story as meaningful and rich as it should be if i leave out the best most crucial parts?

maybe i should disappear and come back under a new name and disguise so i can speak completely about what goes on in my life. but you already know too much about me...you'd recognize my style. and i've already told you enough about my past that if i brought it up somewhere else under a new name..you'd know that it was me.

do i continue to write just bits and pieces here? or do i just not write anything?
of course i'm going to write. i can't NOT write. writing is my life. this is what i do. i document. i share. i share my ideas and my little corner of the world. i feel it's necasarry ( sp? )...it's my gut feeling that i must write and photograph and draw and make little worlds. worlds that are fabricated from my mind...and also the real world around me.

i wonder what the point of this is since i know that someday all this will be dust. someday all this writing will be gone. all this documentation will not exist. why even document at all then? but i just have to do it.

[06 Nov 2001|06:20pm]
i'm folding up the screens to get them ready to go to the museum. i've found some screens online that are very similiar to the screens i have here, and i am working on a way to get those. i think i can swing it, so everything should work out fine :)

i need to move stuff out of the way anyway so that i can get my carpet up and paint my floor red.

[06 Nov 2001|08:24pm]
pushed down strongly on my stomache on a soft bed with my lover's left hand on my back my face breathing in the down comforter eyes half closed seeing a blurry room i can feel the necesarry hand pushing the warm cylindrical into my mmm pushed firmly up against my lover's belly holding it holding it holding it slowly penetrating up up up and down my spine the love i desperately need to suck from my lover's lower lip giving it to me so hard and sweetly that i make honey