Phase the Twelfth: I got my drivers license sophomore year of high school, and all I ever wanted to do was drive around with my windows down and my music blasting.
Let’s try this again I guess no music for now because music just sort of weaves into your skull and you can’t escape it, but it’s usually a good thing because its just so wonderful like water and air and you just don’t think about it you hear it but you don’t its almost like writing this you just roll roll roll with it…I wonder what Isabel thinks im doing im just clack clack clacking ferociously, so different from Kerouac he didn’t have a silver laptop with two keys missing and a battery that’s been dying all year and that will probably die any minute now, he had his pen and his pad and he was really really moving just moving moving moving so insane you cant really do that these days how much does gas cost already?? Completely impossibly to be free we’re all squares no more Beat Chicks over here, because the would-be Beat Chicks get their funky vintage leather skirts from Urban Outfitters and then they sit in Starbucks to write pensively on their computers but they’re paying $4.01 for a fuckin cup of coffee…coffee should be free. It’s music. Two days ago I was so hung-over I wanted to die, didn’t have enough caffeine literally was going nutso…I’m not even that caffeine-crazy like Nikki is I just don’t understand how that girl functions she sleeps for two hours and then just has coffee coffee coffee all day long,I would be a jitterbug messbum if I were her but no she keeps rolling rolling rolling moving always moving like my fingers they just have lives of their own I wonder if this works better because im so tired right now I slept for 5 hours that’s not enough for me, but I guess I can work with this oh no im losing steam gotta keep keep moving say anything say anything now im sideways I wish I could stop writing about writing this is fucking meta and fucking annoying rlll eyes closed windows down wish I was in a car a real car not the car in my head but one with no windows no doors no child-proof sunroof but just like a sheet of wind that u could ride on and blast ur music and just fly that would be so sweet I wish I had a car at school because im just so stuck. Gotta know that u can go if u wanna go, even though we wont go, we wont leave where were supposed to be because were here and were just so static all the time except that its like there are a bazillion Alex’s its like cubism everytime I twitch my eye or move my finger it’s a different me, and its just so weird we are not supposed to be static creatures we’re built to move. That’s why the gym is so weird I look around and its like fuckin Brave New World all these little tiny people on treadmills and ellipticals is that for serious? LITERALLY RUNNING AND GOING NO WHERE why haven’t people been more freaked out by the gym in the past its fucking fucked up I think…metaphor for life seriously so bizarre. Sometimes I literally feel like I’m on a fucking elliptical just going going going okay now it’s Sunday im gonna read and do work all day then its Monday okay Im gonna go to class have lunch go to the library gym dinner work maybe watch Mad Men and go to bed…are we meant to be cyclical like that is that how we’re supposed to be? But then if the cycle breaks just snaps in two like a stale cracker well then what do we do, we freak out try to put humpty dumpty together again (weirdly my second humpty dumpty reference in this class how random is that I didn’t even really like that nursery rhyme when I was little I preferred the ones with girls like mary had a little lamb bc I could pretend to be mary and id walk around my house with a little stuffed animal, preferably a lamb but if there was no lamb at my disposal I guess a little dog or pig would do, and I would just so easily slip into that roll and BE mary. I always wanted to be other people like not even in a bad way, I would just randomly pretend to be people, not even tell anyone I was doing it, so it wasn’t like a game I played with other girls, it was just a game I played in my head with myself id think someone was cool and just secretly pretend to be them I wonder if other little girls do that too? Like the adorable girl at tutoring who loves my hair because its long and wrote a poem saying that we were best friends and we look alike…does she really want to look like me I think that’s such a weird concept now, although when I was little theres a 100% chance that I would pretend to be an older girl that I thought was cool. Its weird that im flattered like I want her to think im pretty and that my hair is long why would I care if a little girl thinks im pretty? Why do I care if anyone thinks of pretty? Of course I care its all part of the cycle why do I even go to the fucking gym “for myself” okay yea that’s a wonderful excuse think about how much time Id have if I didn’t bother with the gym, id probably have a blood pressure that shot through the roof and eight chins but hey at least I would get to sit here for hours on end and write and write and write like im doing now and not worry about it or feel like im wasting my time because what is time anyway ITS NOT REAL theres no such thing as time yet im obsessed with it, check my phone constantly to see what time it is, I watch the digital numbers shift I wish they would tick it would be so much more tactile to me that’s why clocks are so cool because they tick its like a bomb. Each tick ur older, ur just still there doing what ur doing and then the clock stops but “time” keeps going but HOW DO WE KNOW THAT if the clock stops doesn’t time stop? Nope that’s why I hate football it says theres 4 minutes left but really its gonna be about 15 then why the fuck are they telling me it’s 4 minutes just goes to show you how fake time is its just this weird concept that we throw around and can change whenever we want because its not real. Huh. My hands are hurting im sitting at a weird angle I wonder if ive written anything interesting I honestly cant remember im the fuckin energizer bunny over here I could do this all day I wish I could do this all day instead of reading this godforsaken novel its all I talk about I just want to scream sometimes and pour out my heart and be really really vulnerable, that’s why I hate writing poems sometimes because I cant do it I cant pour it out even if im the only one who’s gonna read them, I just cant do it cant write about love and my emotions because when theyre on the page in black and white theyre something else entirely something surreal and bizarre Hannah just walked in and I don’t even want her to see what im doing try to explain it I guess its futile but its not its so beautiful a cycle a good kind of cycle I guess not the creepy kind that makes me feel like im being watched. Are we being watched? Now Im conscious of the clickity clackety noise my keyboard is making I wonder if im bothering anyone. Why cant we just make up words and why do some words mean certain things and other words mean other things its really bizarre…chuppert. Kirtyl. Wernophone. Lostentatious. Predunturt. Dertoffland. I wonder what those words mean you know like “is this eggwhite?” that’s what Isabel just said I thought id add it in just some heard poetry to throw into the mix speaking of eggs im fucking nauseous from my omelette I usually like them more than I did today oh heyyy battery nice to see you’re holding out okay I guess ill do this until you die isn’t htat nice doing smething til the day you die, we live until we die yea I guess that’s not such a crazy thing to say because of course we all know that but its weird to say out loud sometimes, we live until we die, that’s just too fucking big I don’t want to think about superbig or supersmall because then everything gets all skewed and fucked up and its too much to handle that’s why we cycle because we don’t know what else to do because nothing else is in our control but whose control is it in? Are those words another language? What the fuck is language don’t even get me started on that. I wonder how many words I’ve typed I guess I can check will that break my flow flow flow I wanna go back to bed im dying of exhaustion I should probably blaze and do this except for the fact that marijuana (mary joe wanna) scares the fucking bejesus out of me what did I say to isabel this morning, “I wish I could take medicine to make me less anxious about medicine” I guess it all started the one time I got way too high, haven’t smoked since then, that was TWO WHOLE YEARS AGO that’s totally insane…and the fear just blends into any substance other than alcohol and advil basically, I took cipro for meningitis and was buggin out, cant take anti-anxiety meds because they will make me anxious hahaha what wonderful beautiful crazy irony, irony is always beautiful and crazy because what else could it be. Oh shit I’m dying.
K im back so weird how you can re-charge a computer I was just on such a role over 1,000 words in like 20 minutes what the fuck wish this shit worked for writing my art history essay, its weird how things just take different amounts of time like for art history it took me 4 hours to write the same amount of words as here. Hannahs reading bridget jones diary THAT’S AMAZING I need to take this classs whats it called? “Jane Austen and wha? Something something the novels of tradition something…” okay idk what she said but I need to take this class I hope it goes towards an English major that’s fuckin crazyyyy I have to read stupid 19th century shit that’s sucking my soul, actually that’s not entirely true I really would enjoy this book if I didn’t have to read 200 pages a day…okay enjoy is the wrong word I really mean appreciate you know, its such a difference its weird. I need to listen to some music now and this wont work so ill take a little break, re-read, recuperate reuse resign redo reduct reduction you can re-anything really, retro backtrack go back in time like a time machine what the fuck is time, that should be my thesis of the day seriously. Okay ill be back. “Cuz all she wants is a boyfriend, all she gets is one-night stands” – Lily Allen I really love that bitch.
