A Collection of Spectacles


i want everything. to pack it all and take it with me. the remnants of my name. the physical possessions of worth that are slowly decreasing in number.

if i think back and try to recall the last few memorable things i’ve said,
 it all sounds like dischordant noise.

this is the consequence of overindulgence. no matter how appealing the flavor may seem at first, it is only the precursor to the most bitter of aftertastes.

at best, my body must view me as an unfit caretaker. an inescapable parasite.

the next morning i realize that i am too unattractively boisterous to be concidered mysterious and demure (which is all i secretly strive to be).

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at every turn the television attempts to proselytize.  

                                            it says, “stop smoking. become active. i have drugs to help you  sleep and drugs to keep you awake.”

                         *                                        *                                         *

when i think about it, i feel as though i have such an infinite amount of time to waste. here.

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if i didn’t have eyes and i told you please don’t look at me would you still stare? i’d have to trust that you wouldn’t but surely you could. i’d never know. so would you look into my dark gaping holes simply because i’d told you not to? or out of curiosity? or something else? that’s assuming that you’d look. a “nice” person would cover me with a blindfold.


occasionally at my lunch table my friends and i try to answer the question is it looks or personality that’s attractive. and i say both. i am told wait but you were with [fill in the blank(s)]. after that i’m rendered speechless. because i would fuck a person with no eyes stick my tounge in the sockets.

psat: 166. not bad (?) the people i associate with always do better than me. it makes me an over-achiever at heart but never in practice.

yesterday i met this woman with an accent in the mall.  she was trying to get my mom to buy a hair straightener. she ignored me for a long time because my hair is not long anymore like my mother’s. she said if you buy it today i’ll throw in a free gift this vibrating brush. she turned around and brushed my hair with it. it’s supposed to stimulate the bloodflow and kick start hair growth she said. it made me uncomfortable. she did my hair because i begged her but only half. and if you buy it i’ll throw in this and that and finish her hair. my mom stared at me. i couldn’t help her. i don’t have the credit card. she bought it for one forty because we talked the woman down from two hundred. the entire time i thought i have a straightener at home already. why do i need another? because this woman is pushing her chanel no. 5 scented breasts in my face? fuck capitalism.

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all the men i know are feeble and weak.

i wish for. fuck it. i long for. someone strong enough to micro manage every aspect of my life. which verges on controling. which teeters on abuse.

[perched upon. hands wrapped firmly around the throat. count backwards from now till the time it takes to reach that hightened point. see when you do and the wrists are finally loosened it’s like taking your first breath again. it’s like being birthed. in reverse]

from time to time i think that there’s something inherently wrong with me

however sometimes i’m guilty of forcing it. i’m sure part of me makes things worse. i’m sure built in me is an aspect that says

“you’re going to take a plane?

well, i’ll walk.

just to make things harder.

i’ll force myself to suffer.”

but i’m not delving into sapphics quite yet.


i’ve been reading a lot of existentialist feminism 

psychoanalytic feminism from beauvoir and the french lately.

roles are not exactly defined. at the same time there should not be cries out for ambiguity from both genders a murking of the waters. interesting. i’m trying to sort things out.

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my cousin came back from virginia. i was able to bring him around to everyone and i was more content than i have been in a while because i wasn’t preoccupied with acting how everyone wants me to act.  

i picked up the phone. i was asked to have dinner at two in the afternoon. but seeing everything again bothered me.


in a half awake dreamlike stupor i figured out all the commonalities. the coincidences. then it all made sense. i wondered

       is life just a pattern of such things?

I just. don’t understand. people can be selfish by nature.

when i leave my house and go out on my own, i will be truly alone. i will have no place of worth to come back to. i will have to create everything i want for myself.

sometimes i think that if i could i would set fire to this. i would.

good sleep might “fix” things but i don’t have decent nights. again.

remember when i was hurt and brought down the stairs? you were only bothered by the fact that i was bothering you. except. that was the whole point. that was my goal the whole time. 

i should stop. i’m in an unusually needy mood.

at the same time i’m experiencing a frank indifference towards things.

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had a conversation about culture shock.

but what if you’ve had the feeling your whole life?

i was born in the city. i used to commute between here and there every week for days when i was younger. maybe that’s the root of my restlessness.

when you’re taught early on to accept over stimulation

 (bright lights constantly moving people surrounded by tall buildings looking down on you as if to swallow you whole)

as the norm, everything else seems mundane in comparison.


recently dreams have overlapped with reality

further distorting my grasp on it.

i can only apologize

because i am erratic

overly passionate at times

and beginning to lose myself in living dreams.(problems? yes. but to live any other way is inconceivable)

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