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Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in
harmony's LiveJournal:
| Tuesday, July 2nd, 2002 | |
| 6:55 pm | things that make me skip:: girlsgirlsgirls. learning african dance. pasta with sundried tomato. shade and grass and books. a particular girl in my room until 4:30 am touching my leg. e-mails. deciding to preform the entire vagina monlogues and organizing meetings with girls who wear shirts that say "cuntalishious" and tim collins wanting to do his own vaginas-are-cool rants. this here. this all. i'm screaming. its back. (happy) |
| Saturday, June 29th, 2002 | |
| 3:10 am | to all those who did not pick me up from the hill: no. bad. because:::: (to yuri especially) TOBY *anna* is back! Toby is the tough chick who squats all over the country and is always broke and always cute. her dreads are gone. after 6 years! and she listens to journey. ha. and likes cowboys and pirates. but not together. and she has tattoos of tools! because "she likes to fix things" i really missed her. she and alice will be there on sunday. go yuri go! run! and noami is back, but i won't even get started on her. the dino love. oh. and what else? leaving, packing too many photos and memories and fears. and loving too many people all of a sudden, my cat is sitting by my suitcase wondering if she can sneak in without me noticing, and i wish i could bring her and my friends. they can be small i bet. it would be fun to try. this dude andy and i used to pretend to be eggs. and we all like the fetus position. so just be a fetus in my suitcase. i am worried about a particular sexy comma who thinks she is queen of the cats when really i am..but that is not why i am worried. she should take care of herself. and enough sex. she needs just to read calvin and hobbes. settled? okay, its decided. complete. no arguing and loneliness and hatred of puppies allowed. yaz woke me up yesterday. feeling loved is the only thing we ever want. that extra turning around and looking back, that dimple, that compliment, that "its me".. wait! this is not why i am online. no no. i remember. reason: YOU ALL MUST WRITE ME. info that you will save/savor: Harmony Hazard July at Bennington (no longer July Program, very weird) Bennington College Bennington, Vermont 05201 AND i should arrive tomorrow with happy messages: 802 447 4172 my mother *susana* just came in and asked "have you seen susana?" so i better go and help her find herself (?) |
| Friday, June 28th, 2002 | |
| 1:51 pm | my favorite thing about having people over at my house is finding their doodles the next day. |
| Tuesday, June 25th, 2002 | |
| 7:28 pm | i went to sleep at 11 last night. woke up at 2. walked around the house at 3. read a book at 4. wrote at 5. took a shower at 6. played with my cats at 7. fell asleep at 8. the alarm went off at 9. i can't sleep anymore. any suggestions? my pillows reek of lavender. i don't know what to do. housing works bookstore/cafe is my new bed. its better to be lazy there. everyone volunteers so there is a nice calm i-don't-really-know-what-i'm-doing-but-i'm-n i am talking to azikiwe about poetry. its hilarious how we both forget that he was my first kiss and that he is the reason i'm so freaked out when it comes to sex. i've decided to be a doctor just so i can scare my patients with my last name. as azikiwe says: "dude comes in with a gunshot wound to the shoulder, hears your name and passes out upon admittance" he said the word penis in the first minute of conversation. its oh too similar. and about calling himself a poet he says: "theres such a large sense of responsibility, its like the difference between a clitoris and a penis (pardon the bringing back), the clit was a penis at one point then moved on to a creature of a much higher calling" and i guess hes saying that his poetry has improved. that his poetry is now a clitoris. hes marvelous, really. i can't stop buying lesbian anthologies. now for the wisdom of the famous susana, my mother. and no, you can't seduce her. "the table is not a cat litter box" "whenever you have champagne, you must give it to the woman who gave birth to you. always." "you should have penguins for diversity day" "have you noticed that a lot of sea people are called bob" what are sea people?? oh my goodness. |
| Monday, June 24th, 2002 | |
| 8:38 pm | things that make me happy::: crushes on boys whose names start with D. girls whose names start with A. Particularly Alice, Alisa. poets with champagne. chalk & dawn at 5 am. things that make me mad: depressed rich kids using drugs as an escape. people who come to parties to steal cameras. water bugs. there is a gray shirt and a brown leather bag up for grabs. the cheap sunglasses were already claimed. |
| Wednesday, June 19th, 2002 | |
| 10:35 pm | i'm still trying to figure out how livejournal works. or rather, how to write in it. for now, i'll just transcribe excerpts from my notebook::: her lips bunched up like rude petals. she’d grow old with that smile, throwing it about as if she knew its worth. a pretty that wasn’t deserved. wasn’t matched to her inconsequential voice that answered the questions instead of pondered them. i don’t think she loved to hear herself talk but i think she was afraid to hear herself allow silence. silence is vulnerability, is waiting for disaster, waiting for an insult. waiting for the better to step up and claim attention. she didn’t know what to do if her lips weren’t parted and stared at. words forgave her quickly, were used to her rapes. they felt almost sorry for her. lonesome with people around her, words were her clothes, acted like a comfort and she needed a comforter, never a sheet. never the sheet chic shit of simplicity. words made her full. i saw his veins today, saw his heat clogged up so he forgot if he was naked. i think i like him in my bubble only. the way he clocks his head back and asks for my body as if that could fulfill his lonesome. he ripens silent with me, shuts off the ever constant treadmill of laughing words. its sweet to watch his eyes juggle my affection. its not that she's a wallflower-she loves dancing, but she prefers it alone. rejecting the world for her illusions, she climbs into fantasies, celebrating with her own dancing toes. the people continue their buzz, their PM and PMS prattle. they think escape is spelled under her clothes, but her tattoos reek beauty, to her at least. the best conversations come to her when she's alone without people to converse with. she didn’t think she was lonely until someone cocked their head slightly wondering why she never was seen with people. it was an odd obligation to be born into the world but wanting just to sleep and write, interacting only for matters of food and nurture. i’m trying to remember how i died. the suicide was recent, but the rush was forever. a boy claws his way laughing past my ‘no’s and i realize this is why i never stopped before. it is a subtle compliment when his lips stroke desire because my body penetrates the air 2 feet from him. he knows my x-region, the xtra plead that always works to get me in rhythm. i pump the teasing and i wonder if i enjoy the unfulfillment dancing in his pants, reminding me of all the classrooms i never spoke in because the boys were too loud..recalling the throwing up in depressed toilet stalls, stalling my way to acceptance..i remember having men on the street mistake my travel for their parade.. the three states that didn't want equality come back to me. i can hear the hidden 73 cents in my pocket for his every raping dollar.. i can feel women’s power failing as we hold the fists of waitresses and nurses instead of owners and doctors. women cannot control their position in society, so we control our position in bed. act as the men’s itch (oh don’t you want to scratch?) and drive them wild. drive them crazy and after all this driving, we are left tired and never arriving at our destination. they said to wear a tight dress so i’d get an A in the class. and i didn’t-and i got a C. so i went to my boyfriend and i licked him wanting. licked him until i succeed in something. and in my head, i counted numbers and waited for the revolution. |
| Tuesday, June 4th, 2002 | |
| 10:13 pm | this is such a nick entry. eh. beauty everywhere except this bra.. wowies, what a day. time is so weird. how many lifetimes did i have today? i started my internship. i never thought i'd write "correctional institute" so many times. the letters were really interesting- some of the prisoners preached entire sermons, others drew, wrote poems, asked us for "pens and freedom"...intense. i almost cried at some points, i must have read around 200 letters. many were very smart, using words i had on my english final this morning. and they sounded so sweet, so humble, i wanted to write individual letters back..but then i would remember they are prisoners-have they raped? killed? one man wrote about "the night he drank and drove and a life was taken"...he had a life sentence. but he connected with language better than i can connect to cds. prisoners are living this parallel life yet so easily forgotten. why is writer and prisoner considered such different things? i'm afraid of feeling so much. one day i'll free all the zoos and educate all the prisoners. or get rid of prisons. utopia. anarchy. dreams. i think they must feed off fantasies and their imagination. maybe we do too though. the woman i work with is friends with sapphire (!!) and the org. recently published "road to roma", a collection of gypsy poetry (faint). meant to be. H&M; scares me. the music. whoa. "I met you at jc. penny. i think yer nametag said jenny. i stepped to you with a freshpack of gum. but i knew you were looking for some OH NO. i just got to get with you. girl.. and your sister. i think her name is debra. ooooH!" -beck!! hehe. random random. i saw punk jean stumbling on rollerskates and a boy. i used to be intimidated by her, now i think shes cute. wish i knew her better. seeing her monday. alt has new art. i like it, a lot of different stuff. i don't know about all the gun stuff, but there are some nice anti-starbucks pieces. rhys (also known as the guitar player who tried to do coke in my house but realized it was baking soda) was there, depressing, but real. i wish i could bottle his creativity and wear it as perfume. i'd be magical. hes hitchiking to albany and then canada. he carries his guitar as if it were a memory. i'm worried about him. my jokes couldn't make him smile. he has over 2000 songs. and then alisa. back from a year in spain. its been too long without her. i want to sleep in her hug. people. i can't get over them. |
| Monday, June 3rd, 2002 | |
| 10:41 pm | i once read a poem that said school was a blur of smoking trees...(alex fishman! anyone with a last name of fishman must have interesting poems)..i have friends who can dash off their grades from the past 4 years. i have no memory of taking a chemistry final, or chemistry class even. school is a series of broken hearts. freshman year? all i recall is large headphones blasting gypsy dreams and a certain boy who cracked me until i fed myself with fiona apple's paperbag, believing that i was "just a mess he didn't want to clean up"...and sophmore year i hid in a park under false realities called love. junior year? hating myself was my hobby, delerium, wishing there was an eraser to rub me out. and i've just had a revelation: i am not graduating. the yearbook i clutch means nothing. i am in shock. sleepless nights next year? fingers down thorat? sex to distract myself? i don't think i can do this anymore. isn't school about learning? and i love learning as reading, bursting thoughts, squirming minds, opening, inhaling, free- but i dont find that education in a classroom that teachs me to be silent..write in the lines.. capitalize as if my name deserved it. weekends just teach me that life isn't school, life isn't stuck rules and assignments just because they need assignments. i'm tried of classrooms. i miss the streets. |
| Sunday, June 2nd, 2002 | |
| 6:55 pm | i have converted to technology. livejournal. yee-haw. so what if peace was in a pie and you were on a diet? (anjelikas kitchen yo) i practice my posture when i think of vegtables. breath. space. stumbled upon 3 years ago this weekend: ethan/shawn/the group/ being laughed at? belonging? (love, yes. but..) caitlin's spinning and a hare krishna could-be-a-pothead lady made me forget. 6 train down my viens, i trickle calm and not yer drug-blood. i like to giggle alchoal and move on. if i was in arizona i'd be swimming at this hour. summer makes me think of twiggy. or everything does. its wild how organized the newspaper is, even if politics are not. hmm. time to think of a boy and dance. |