Regression

when it snows here we all forget how old we are.
actually the truth is that we remember how old we are and we scream in terror at the thought of being so old and we run outside and race away from our twenties and back to our toddler years and we build snow men and snow forts.
we put on our mittens before our jackets so that our sleeves are on the outside of our mittens and no snow or cold gets it.
we ask our friends to zip our zippers so we dont have to take off our mittens.
we pull our socks out of our boots, over our jeans. we let our hair fall into our eyes. we let our cheeks turn red.

everyone is cuter in the snow... i think.
red cheeks, frizzy hair, big smiles, sniffling noses, bright colored hats.

im watching them from my window.


on the last snow day i built a chair. molly, jordan, molly and i built a chair.
in the back of my mind i was eight years old and grinning. in the front of my mind i was trying to build the best most chair like chair out snow.
it became an assignment.
a few yards away some kids were building a snow fort. molding snow bricks inside a plastic bin. we are civilized, we have taken an architecture corse, we know about the indiginus peoples of the south pole, we know they built igloos with snow bricks.
look at our technology. this is how we have fun in the snow.

and it is fun.
but... in a differnt sort of way.

A Tiny FIlm

this is the film i blogged about a few months ago.
i video taped the screen of the steenbeck. hence the ridiculously bad quality.

The Wolf With The Red Roses

Last night, in john's car, while we were lost somewhere in westchester, trying, half heartedly, to get back to campus (half heartedly because we both enjoy being lost and had admitted that, as long as we didnt have to pee and as long as the car had a tank of gsa, we didnt need to be found just yet) he played me a meatloaf song that started with this silly little exchange that he told me is supposed to be marriage vows.


man: On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman:Will he offer me his mouth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his teeth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his jaws?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his hunger?
man: Yes!
woman: Again, will he offer me his hunger?
man:Yes!
woman: And will he starve without me?
man: Yes!
woman: And does he love me?
man: Yes!
woman: yes!
man: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman: Yes!
man: i bet you say that to all the boys.

And what i think about it is this:
Will she starve with being eaten? Will he offer her his throat? Does she love him?

And if this question had been posed to me, i would have answered: Well, Sir, it would depend entirely on the amount of swagger of the wolf in question.
If the wolf has enough swagger for my taste, than sure, sure, have my throat.
And by the way, what im measuring when i measure swagger is this: The probability that the wolf will be able to swallow and stomach me and the probability that he will choke.

Starbucks

"what should i write about?"
"whats it for?" he asks
"for thinking about something other than my film."
"im telling you, blog about me." she says from the next chair. we're all sitting in easy chairs in starbucks, all behind our matching apple logos. we're sharing one charger cord. we're both at 19% battery.
"why?" i ask her. "why should i blog about you?"
"im ferociously inspiring. do it..." i read that line, '"im ferociously inspiring. do it...' out loud, back to her, as i i type it here.
"tell me you typed that and didnt just recount it from memory."
"no" I say and type at the same time "the only things i can recount from memory are Gandalf monologues."
"do one."
"are you serious?"
"yeah."
i cant bring myself to say it out loud so ill type it here: "so do all who live to see such times but that is not for them to decide. all you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you...
"what did you do to your hand?" i ask him, out loud.
"i cut my hand with a hatchet, while chopping wood. isnt that the most manly injury ever?"
"getting shot is the most manly... no. they're like on the same level." that was the boy on the next couch. hes trying to write a poem for an application. "im not a poet." hes staring into space, i wander if hes thinking in witty rhyming cuplets. hes the only Dell around our short flat table. "how do you spell damaged?" he asks the girl in the blue rain boots whos reading a hardcover book without a jacket and playing with a piece of her blonde ponytail.
"op. katie i want that car." shes looking out the window, "look behind you, the yellow jeep. a yellow jeep with all the jeep accessories. thats my dream car."

theres a girl on the starbucks line wearing a short orange jacket and skinny jeans. she has long dirty blond hair thats kind of wavy and thrown over her shoulder and coght in her orange hood.
shes standing with all her weight on one foot and holding her wallet in the hand thats hanging by her side.
im watching her and pretending she is sophia.
all that, all that description, that all looks like sophia...
sophia moved to san francisco this year.
she defferred all her college admissions and moved to San Francisco.
"what are you going to do?" we asked her.
"work. make money. build up my portfolio."
...be a real perosn.

i throw that phrase around.
"a real person."
basically what ive decided constitutes reality has a lot to do with independence and fast moving decision making. spontinaity.

"how do you spell spontinaity?"
"i dont know."
"its okay. i never spell things right on my blog. my readers dont expect it from me." i smile in a pretentious way
"i could never blog."
"what?"
"i could never blog. i dont have that thirst to connect with other people."
"by the way im typing everything you say" i say and type.
"o i figured that out. thats why im not going to tell you the saddest story of my life... cuz youll write it down... what if i stop talking?"
"i dont know."
shes stopped talking.

"uhhh. im so hunry." she begins again. "theoretically if a person eats a chip they shouldnt be hungry anymore."


there are two acting students rehearsing a scene behind me.
as they memorize more and more of the diologue its gets more and more bizzare to listen to them. right now the girl is putting on her jacket, theyre getting ready to leave but shes still rattling off some argumentitive outburst, completely contrasting to the way shes nonchalantly zipping up her zipper.

driving

in my dream i was driving on the highway between home and the mall. i was going to see a movie. i was excited.
but the sun was shining in my eyes and i suddenly i couldnt see.
i was driving but the sun was so bright in my eyes (i realized later as i woke up that, in real life, the sun was shining on my face through the window) i coudnt open my eyes, even to stare into the sun, it was as thought my unconcious brain functions had taken over, for my eye's preservation. "you will not look into the sun, it will hurt you." was what i imagined my brain was thinking and it continued to squint and shut my eyes while i tried to watch the road.
-ive had dreams like this before. dreams where the fact that i am asleep, the feeling that my real body is feeling of my eyes being closed, begins to infiltrate the dream and in the dream some circumstance arrises where i cannot open my eyes.
anyway, i was driving and i couldnt open my eyes and i kept thinking, i should really pull over but i cant pull over because i cant see how to pull over, maybe i should stop but im on the highway and if i stop the people behind me will crash into me.
so


as i began to wake up i began, right away, to analyze the dream.
i dont like analyzing dreams by 'meanings' that someone else has assigned to them. usually i like to analyze my dreams by the way they make me feel. i mean, they are inside my brain so they are created by me so the analyzations should be created by me as well.
now, that said, there are some symbols that i like. and that make sense to me and that my brain, uses (i suppose) to communicate with itself because the brain that creates the dreams is the same one that is going to analyze them later... so anyway- my brain likes driving as a symbol.
driving is supposed to symbolize life. which is pretty straight forward.
if you are driving you are driving you life.
if you are in the passenger seat take note of who it is who is driving you life.
if you are about to go over a cliff and you are driving... thats interesting. if you are about to go over a cliff and someone else is driving... thats interesting.
anyway
i am driving down a highway very very fast, blinded by sunlight, unable to see, but still feeling, under the fear and confusion, intense frustration that this really extreme emergency of a situation is preventing me from getting to the mall where the movie that i want to see is happening.
that was the feeling of the dream...
this huge life altering possibly deathly situation and im so incredibly frustrated that it seems i will have to take myself off the road and not make it to my movie, or die and not make it to my movie.

and even though dying is something that im scared of, the bigger fear was that i would die and not make it to the movie.
anyway
i think that i made that point like eight times.

i woke up and wondered if the dream was about the stress of planning and making my freshmen final film.
but i think its more about even though im pretty clueless about what im doing, im still blindly hurtling towards it really really fast pretending that i know how to drive, pretending that i know how to drive blind and pretending that im worried about dying. but really i have no idea what im doing, or how to do it and im definatly not afraid of anything... which is kinda strange.

Tattoo

i dreamed i had a tattoo on my chest of an egyptian looking couple, facing eachother, like egyiptian drawings do, in profile.
a man and a woman, inside a ancient style border. they were both very narrow and they almost fit on the center of my chest.
my chest was disproportionate and too wide.
i was lying on the hill in front of the kindergarden building at green meadow.
i think the fall fair was going on.
i was lying on my back and leaning forward with just my neck, to look at the tattoo.
and i couldnt remember if it was real so i picked at it like one might scratch at a temporary tattoo.
instead of peeling or not peeling the lines of the tattoo started to lift out of my, leaving indentations where they peeled away.
as though they were metel strips that had been welded into these crevices in my skin, like i had been carved and then the lines of the carving had been filled with molten medal that then hardened but was still moldable, like wax.



i peeled the metel out and off and it left a crevice in my chest and i thought "what will my breasts be fastened to?"
because there was empty space under them, a dent, a reverse relief, in the shape of that couple facing eachother.

and then a boy ran down the hill and i quickly covered my chest with my shirt.
and the boy lay down on top of me
and told me that he was in love with me
and that he hoped that was okay with me
and did i want to try him out.

i dont remember what words he used but it was something like that like "please just give me a try, see if you like me."

and he asked if he could pull the rest of the metel out of me with his teeth, like that would turn him on. like he thought it was turn me on.
so i let him
and he bit at the metel strips and pulled them off me which didnt hurt but felt odd.

and i lay on the hill in front of the green meadow kindergarden bulding, while the fall fair was going on, while he was pulling metal out of me and i thought about how i would try very hard to love him, but i didnt now. not yet.

clean

id like to be cleaner.
id like to not feel like my clothes are contaminating.
i don't know why me feet have started to smell and i dont know why there are red lines like scratches on my back.

in target i put on a leprican hat and it left green sparkles on my forehead, the tops of my cheeks, n the hood of my jacket and in my eyebrows.

tonight, while watching avatar for the second time, i left the theater to pee and ran down the hall so i wouldnt miss much of the film and while i was running on the black carpet between the red rope lights i realized that i was running because avatar makes me want to run. it makes me want to run to get somewhere to do somthing that i love.

the silly thing is that movies are what i love so i was running to get back to my seat to get back to the world in the screen. and the blue people in the movie are running to run because they love to climb in their trees and their running to teach jake sully how to run or shes running to leap and fall and shes falling to get to the ground to kill a animal to hunt.

id like to be more windswept.



i drank a sip of water from a water bottle on my dresser adn i realized that that water had been there for about two months and was probably dusty

dusty water

id like to be less dusty.

my hair grows in the winter. its grown at least an inch in three months.

i bought a silver ring with a moonstone in it.
i hope it doesnt turn my finger green.
im going to take a shower.
and pretend im a blue person in a water fall.
i hope i get cleaner.
i hope the red lines on my back go away.

crying

we watched Adam yesterday.
It's about Adam who has aperbergers and Beth who doesnt. and how she takes care of him and how she loves him and how he, in every way possible, doesnt know what to do.
i cried.
the last time i cried in a movie
was the last time i saw Adam.
i dont cry in movies.
i dont cry a happiness and i dont cry at sadness.

what makes me cry in adam is when he is standing at his door, and Beth who invited him to go out, is calling to him from the hall, and he CANT he just CANT go.
he sits on the floor and opens his hands wide and stretches his fingers. and presses his palms against his face and he just cant go!

what makes me cry is the fear of everything!
but its not normal fear its literally fear of fear.
he has no idea what to do. he doesnt have an idea of an idea of what to do.

he literally paralyzed by nothing. but the lack of understanding.
all he does is misunderstand and be misunderstood. but as far as being misunderstood he doesnt even understand hes been misunderstood.

its the most heart wrenchingly solution-less situation.
but hes trying!
really really trying but
but
how do you try?
and how do you explain that youre trying and how do you try?

and this is how i used to feel when i didnt do my homework.
btw, mommy, this is how i used to feel.

i could tell you why i should do it.
i wanted to do it.
but, first of all. i didnt know how, i didnt understand, i was so fucking frustrated with the "you poeople" of the education system because they didnt follow common sense, and everything else that iw as feeling while i understood, because im smart because "albert einstien, thomas jefferson, motzart, they all had lots of imagination." i am smart and i know its rediculous to feel this way of this. just do the fucking homework, just open the door.
but i CANT!
so i sit on the floor and press my strechted out palms over my eyes and cry.

but that was then.

now the only time i feel like that is when i watch this movie.
so i hide under the blanket and whisper "i love this movie. i love this movie" until one of the mollys kicks me.