Little girl blue

[Private/Host Filter]

Fri, 15 Jul 2005 13:52:53 GMT

Racing through the dunes, up and down those little hills of sand, is hard, I won't deny that. We did it because we had to, we do it because we have to, and hope we don't trip and cut outselves open on broken glass.

And I always wondered why God or whoever made life that much harder than it had to be, why the waves couldn't wash up on pebbles or even just a smooth sheet of unshattered glass. But I guess glass has no friction, and when the water came in wet and salty, you'd just slip, fall, break something bad. Pebbles can slice up your feet if they're not worn down enough, and I guess that at least, if you fall on sand, it might burn if it gets in your eyes and sting your mouth, but it won't hurt you. It won't hurt you too bad, and you can always rise up again and keep stepping.

I never wanted it. I never wanted this, because running on asphalt is easy, and running on concrete was easier, and just don't understand this. His smile is gone (I did it)), and I want the waves at my feet again, my thighs, my hips, my breasts, then under, but I don't understand why I can't eat, and why I can't sleep, and why, why, why this all matters so goddamn much to me.

Wed, 30 Mar 2005 05:13:32 GMT

New layout. Cute.

I'm tired. Fucking exausted, niños. *sigh*

Durden, get over here. It's so cold tonight.

hmmm

Tue, 01 Mar 2005 09:13:44 GMT

..so I hear there's a rumble in the Bronx.

Mon, 14 Feb 2005 16:39:21 GMT

Querido,

I keep seeing all these things. Shells and weird striped rocks and crabs and shit. Sand, too, it’s always everywhere. I walked into a café last night where the walls were thick and the windows were cut holes in the walls and you could see the stars through them. There was a man up there reciting a love poem, and half the words I couldn’t even understand because he said it too fast, but it didn’t remind me of you at all, mainly because there was a candle on each table and those lights were all flickering against the walls, making the shadows jump. And I thought about how shadows make everything more real, and I wished you were there, gringo, because your shadow is different from all the rest and then I wouldn’t have been the only one burning little strips of paper into ashes above the holder.

Maybe this makes me a liar, huh?

Happy Valentines day, mi gringo. This one's for you.

Aleta

Tue, 11 Jan 2005 09:53:14 GMT

Hey, Tyler, you still coming up with me this weekend to the surf thing?

holla

Sun, 02 Jan 2005 16:25:28 GMT

Anybody wanna come with?

Fri, 10 Dec 2004 21:53:36 GMT

Yo, Kacia, you and me. Wanna tear up Santa Monica like somethin' somethin'?

Tue, 19 Oct 2004 23:02:14 GMT

...I think my insides are on fire

SOTD

Tue, 19 Oct 2004 06:56:24 GMT

Pack up
I'm a stray
enough
Oh say say say you'll
Say say say you'll
Say say say you'll
Say say say you'll
Say say say..

Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Maps...........
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you

Made off
Don't stray
Well my kinds
Your kind
I'll stay the same

Pack up
But don't stray
Oh say say say
I'll say say say..

Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Maps...........
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Maps...........
Wait.
they don't love you like I love you

Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Maps...........
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Wait.
They don't love you like I love you
Maps...........
Wait.
they don't love you like I love you

Tue, 05 Oct 2004 02:49:27 GMT

Hey, yo, gringo, I kinda miss you. Look, I'm sorry if....I was all weird about that stuff. Sometimes I can be real stupid, you know? Not nearly as stupid as you, but only because then I'd have to be dead, huh? ^^</p>

For real, though, the tarot card thing....you can forget it if you want. It's not so big a deal. Like, right now, I just kinda....I kinda....

I just kinda want to see you again, huh, querido. But don't make a big deal outta it, ok...?

Wed, 15 Sep 2004 23:54:49 GMT

Sun, 05 Sep 2004 01:56:20 GMT

scuffed-up, sullen angel

Slamming this urban skin,
Gummy and exposed,
Un-sanitized friction never tasted better
Than against these rescued
Soles-for-hire
Fresh from Salvation
On the rack.

And I guess it’s not the
Dangerously-ragged underbelly
Or the
Fact that he bled his heart in
Faded neon around those so
Expendable edges.

No.

See, it’s those savage, cast-off
Waves that roll in on this
Gasoline-soaked tide
The grungy pastel chewing gum;
The shattered bottles
Sad like
Cuervo’s ode to
Vanished yesterdays;
Fido’s excretory evidence.

Yeah, I guess those angels
They’re always babbling about
Do live here somewhere
Besides the florid heat of
Six P.M., those hills
So alive with holly.
On the ground, this
Beat, this
Heat, and my
Crazy rubber bumpers
Capturing that harsh
Streetlamp exhalation.

Mon, 23 Aug 2004 12:49:04 GMT

Huh. Well, I guess the only reason this entry has to be locked-up is so that Leyna never knows what I was thinking about before I really met her. Not like it was really a new idea in the history of theft and petty crime, but I bet she'd be hurt. Honestly, the money would have gone to people who needed it. Just maybe not in the organized sense. After all, my friends are still out there and I still owe them a debt greater than I think anyone could ever pay back in five lifetimes, let alone one. When shit got rough, they were right there with me, although maybe not in the conventional way. But in the way that counted. In the way that maybe let me face another night out there with the Pacific soaking into my bones and the Undertaker rattling that bottle around in the spokes down below.</p>

I owe them, and I think I may really regret this decision, but whatever. Fuckit. There's nothing I hate worse than to see a perfectly capable girl who doesn't think she can handle her own life. Because I've learned that even the dumbest motherfucker out there can fend for herself when pressed up hard enough against those ropes. And it's the ones who think they can't who're always leaning up against somebody else to save them, who get washed out with the tide and never come back whole. Never are whole in the first place.

Whatever. Dumb bitch probably couldn't last two seconds out there on her own. Forgot to pay the bills? Ha. That's rich. But fine. Her party will go over ok, little Annie orphan will get her's and Leyna'll be there to see it. Show her that maybe that cousin of her's isn't always right. She's got a lot of spine, I can see that in her. Just needs a little push like the rest of us.</p>

Wed, 28 Jul 2004 19:52:55 GMT

Sometimes I feel like the world is coming to an end. I can taste it in the tides. Like the way the salt used to be rocks long ago but just melts on your tongue now. Everything has an end. Even me, which is a weird thought. There've been so many times I thought it was the end. So many stupid things I've done. Not that I shouldn't be alive, but some of the stuff I did....I gotta be part feline.

I was young; that's my only excuse. I was way too fucking young for that world.

I don't know why I'm thinking about this, but I had to write it down. Not to make it real, but to give it weight, if that makes any sense. Too heavy for my head right now. And that's all I've got. Right now.

Fri, 18 Jun 2004 20:10:26 GMT

A man once asked me where home was and I said the sun setting in pain over the Pacific. I don’t really think I’m a romantic, but I always remember the first night, and the second. It was all that I could see, or wanted to see, anyway, dying in ragged rage onto the umbrellas, the people, the pier and, most of all, greater than all, the thrashing Pacific. The tantrum stopped cold and chilled under the gold.

And it’s funny, because I’ve watched it for as long as I’d like to remember but I never really wanna leave the show. I guess like any other girl I like beautiful things and glitter. But I don’t have pearls or emeralds or even much real jewelry except for the shitty little knick-knacks I pick up in Venice. But, see, I guess I do get those flannel mornings, warm and grey and studded with lonely seagull calls. When all this place is is this desolate landscape of tans and grays, brown and spongy where the water creeps up and bites. Those tangy sunrises, just a whisper of strained pink calling through that heavy grey, then the people, louder, louder in crescendo And on the days when it doesn’t rain, sunsets like the inside of a mango just cracked, a sweet citrus-y orange symphony, or all the melting plum gelato you could ever imagine…

Sun, 13 Jun 2004 02:52:21 GMT

Run away at dawn to find your meaning somewhere out between the low-hanging gray sheet of sky and roll of sea. Your peace wafting somewhere between the sheaves of dryly dying sea grass, and your life in the slope of slimy sand. Crabs pop in and out of their holes, but the storm does not lower, threaten, even whisper. Come with me down the brown VIP carpet; I’ll pull you over, out, and under until we’re there, just out in the middle of everything where nothing sits still long enough for anyone to get us. We’ll ride her in as she combs out her hair, ride her in and laugh in between the lacy tickle of the foam. We’ll ride her in between AIDS needles and baby clothes, plastic bags from Ralphs, the occasional seagull feather. And when we stand again immersed in brown, her all over and through us, we’ll be safe and salty, new as babes, purged of all traces of offices and file folders, bosses in psychedelic ties and pin-striped shirts. Because the wildness lives here, full fallen and risen again in the swells, the tide pools, her face, the uncontainable fury. A freedom thrives in secret between the wristwatch shadows of this continuously dying land. Listen; can you hear her? She washes up gentle beneath your toes…..