I got a new sketchbook to imprint my thoughts in. It's such
a relief to see that reflection- MY words, MY images. I can
see myself and own myself.
I need some attention. I want someone to tease and fuck
with psychologically. Or mayble I just need someone, and
that's all, and it's hard to admit.
I watched a tape of Rose and me from last fall. We recorded
each other doing improvisation in different roles on my
video camera. It's hilarious and it's sad because I don't
know her anymore. I'm a British rock star and a Hot Topic
girl and a crazy spaced out art student and a schizophrenic
boy named Collin Vincent in a big black sweatshirt who
talks to a frog candle about burning his mother's house
down. She's a spiritual hippy and a white rapper boy in a
beanie and camoflouge jacket and a squealy cheerleader and
a satanic girl who licks the wall.
Yesterday I returned to my art class to retrieve my 4' by
5' charcoal monument. I went at break so no one would be
there besides Ms. McClaine. There has always been a strange
hostile energy between us. I am very fond of her, although
I fail to express it. I respect her for making me cry, for
alerting me to my unconcious behavior. Before that very
charcoal monument leaned against a tree outside class last
winter, I was on the ground crying as she told me how
condescending, hostile, guarded and inaccessible she found
me. We had more than one encounter that brought me to a
state of violent sobbing. She reproached me for acting like
an outsider. She fought my silence with too many words. Of
course I respect her.
And this time I just smiled sadly at her. She greeted me
with some enthusiasm and I managed to ask her how she was.
She smiled bravely, combatting some hidden force of pain.
She told me she was pretty good...considering everything.
I didn't know what that meant. She was glad to hear that
I'm taking art classes and remarked that maybe our paths
will cross again someday as I headed out the door.
I saw Llano and Ravina outside. They are beautiful. They
must have no idea that they were ever dear to me and still
Saw Jake at the cafe. He seemed in high spirits and gave
me a two dollar tip. I should walk over to his house and
bother him more often.
Played chess with Max a few days ago. Good French brandy.
I have reason to believe he is in fact NOT gay.