Saturday, December 19, 2009


once upon a time, being by the way, the 29th of November, she was sitting in this place and looking towards that one and writing about neither but thinking of both.
"The truth, thats the problem, i dont think the truth matters much really. i think the truth is a stationary thing." she thought, imagining him reading that line and knowing that it meant nothing and therefore that it was a lie- by the way- that last bit, the bit about the boy, thats the truth.
until she edited it. see the line there? the cross out? the correction? "i suppose" she thought, "that makes it a lie again."

i used to draw all the time. i used to draw my hand holding a pen drawing my hand, my fingers, i used to draw- both my socks are inside out- i used to draw my hand holding a pen and drawing my hand holding a pen because i saw my dad draw that once and i thought it was the height of surreal originality.

im not getting sick you know. i dont believe in sickness. i dont believe in the heavy eye lid feeling that i dont feel that doesnt mean anything about a fever!

Harriet The Spy is a cautionary tale for journaly people but also i think it creates narcissists because we think about what we write about and H the spy teaches us to never write about other people. i only ever write about other people in a general vague way and i write the word "i" over and and over.

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