A Collection of Spectacles


i cut my hair. it’s shorter than i’d like (right past the nape of the neck) but i don’t care.

fuck what pleases people. i’m not trying to please anyone.

it’s what i do when i feel like i need to change, to be someone different. i think i will put red on the undersides. something different.

i’m too much like a guy. i don’t have feelings. when i feel hurt (and i feel hurt all the time) i cover everything up pretend i’m dead so nothing gets through. i’m too tired to love. i want to be fucked and told i’m pretty.

i have a horrible habit of separating things. i place people into catagories: people you fuck and people you befriend (and although the two needs could be met by the same person i would still see two separate entities). this is why i could be had by everyone in the world and still feel lonely.


i hate the tsa. what a nonsense job. telling me to put all my liquids smaller than 8 oz into plastic bags. telling me that i couldn’t leave with those items if they weren’t in the bags but having signs that allow blades under four inches. telling me that i couldn’t leave with a rum bottle that size but saying that it was okay to buy the same thing in the airport facility.

oh and i hate when planes land i bite my lower lip and think i’m going to crash and die.

i sat in cars, looked at the sky there and honestly thought i could live here. i could live in puerto rico. abandon everything right now and live here. no phones (i hate them anyway) no name no address no way for anyone i once knew to find me. i could abandon everything and live here.

i loved the clear blue water. i hated going back home on the plane because i had to watch the water turn from beautiful to shit.

the highlight of my trip was the rainforest. i got to swim in a huge waterfall. the guide said it was “refreshing.” refreshing meant freezing.


the next man i meet. i will look at his inner thighs and say, “i refuse to look you in the eyes because i might realize that you’re human and i don’t want that. i want bodily fufillment without attachment.

if you begin to love me then it’s over because that’s too much work. i’m being honest. at least i’m not lying to you.”

like everyone else, i once thought that paying for it was the most vile thing ever. now i think it’s about the most honest thing a person can do. everyone knows what they’re getting into.

Filed under: Uncategorized

4 Responses

  1. izzybelle says:

    Post a picture of your hair, I want to see it. =]

    When you look into your heart of hearts, you see a hard-ass bitch who wants to do what she pleases and not care about anyone. You wouldn’t mind being what people call a slut because “Fuck them, they don’t know you anyway.” You want to walk the dark, city streets in thigh-high red boots and crunch a roach with your pointy stiletto heel on the way to a club. Under the cover of hazy lighting and booming music, you’ll make eyes at a hot guy (who cares if he’s married), he’ll buy you a drank, and you’ll bring him home for the night. Sounds kind of cool, doesn’t it?

    But that’s not who you are every day. That girl doesn’t paint pictures when she has too many words. That girl doesn’t rock out to Indie music that nobody else has ever heard of. That girl doesn’t stay up until the wee hours of dawn just to listen to a friend cry. That girl doesn’t have anywhere to go to on Tuesday night when all she wants is some company, not to give her body to anyone. That girl does not care about anyone, and she doesn’t know how to get out of this rut. You can’t get live like that forever.

    At this point, Allie, you have separated yourself into two entities. One of them is the girl you feel that you really are: the heartless bitch. You are a heartless bitch, but that only encompasses about 1/4 of you. The other 3/4 of you is someone else entirely. You are loved. Nobody who is really and truly loved can be heartless. And you say that you want to get away from it all, that we care too much, but if you do decide to make friends in Puerto Rico, they may come to care too much too. And then you would have to leave. Any plane that goes up, has to come down at some point. It’s the coming down that’s the hard part.

    Whoops, therapy session in a bottle =X Sorry!

  2. dana! says:

    izzy is deep.
    i cant follow that up.
    i try not to look at the insides of toms thigh
    thats just gross.

  3. Claire Anne says:

    My dear, dear Allie.
    I have too much to say,
    and i’m lazy to type it out.
    I’ll see you tonight, though 🙂

    It could be worse?
    Money can’t buy lovee.

    I’m dead. hot. dead.

  4. Claire Anne says:

    P.S. I will live with you in Puerto Rico

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