From a site with pictures of signs badly translated into English:

http://engrishfunny.com/2008/08/31/engrish-used-remake/

I don't even know what they meant.

So, following 5thstory's listmaking example, I am making a list of things I want but cannot have (or cannot have in the near future), for no particular reason, just because it will make me feel better.

-Rice krispie treats

-Lots of coffee

-A bigger bed

-New guitar strings

-Fish and chips

-Condoms

-Top surgery

-A tuxedo

-Better hair

-A night with my girlfriend

-Money

-The ability to surf

-A fabulous body

-Sleep

-Sex

-A non-infected earring

-A backrub

-Soap

So, I've learned to play 'Science Fiction/Double Feature' on the guitar. It makes me happy. I can now play a grand total of 3 songs. (The other two are 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' and '20th Century Boy'). It's very satisfying, and my guitar makes me feel sexy. It's a shiny black Fender Telecaster, and its ability to make a lot of noise that is completely controlled by me is oddly seductive. Plus, chicks dig it.

In other news, cats can sense moping. My two cats jump on me and purr whenever I mope in their presence, which is very cute and reassuring.

Also, not sleeping is bad, but coffee is good.

I hate my ovaries. Not because they are overtly female, or because they hold potential babies or anything like that. But because they result in a period. Which is a week of bleeding and bitching, and (here's the killer) NO COFFEE.

I want my coffee. And I want it not to give me violent, horrible cramps. Please? Sadly, no matter how much I wheedle at the universe, it will not grant me this one request. Sigh.

In other news, I'm performing in 'Romeo and Juliet' at the SF Theatre Festival, and I wish it would rain.

Some haiku I wrote after returning from a walk.

Empty coffee cup
Abandoned on the sidewalk
Used up, and tossed out

Many pairs of shoes
Intrinsically animate
But still not alive

Familiar streetlight
Unlit and useless until
Twilight steals in

Silly little boy
Ice cream precariously
Balanced in his hand

A destination
Much more precious than its end
Because windows glow

Stare out the window
Of the well-lit coffee shop
Longing for the rain

Books on Kennedy
A different bookstore, but still,
Such a reminder

Feet against the ground
Tramping off the largest street
Winding towards home

I get to go see the Dresden Dolls tomorrow with my friends. Yay for stripy-socked angst. And I get to wear fishnets and a spiffy hat. So right on.

In other news, hot weather sucks when most of your clothing is black.

Also, puppies are cute, and ice cream is good.

Life is calmer than it has been in a very long time. It's kinda nice.

Mind if I corrupt you?, she said
And my mind switched to black and white
It became night time in a big city full of lights and rain
And she took a drag on her cigarette, then tossed the butt into the gutter
Where the lipstick-stained filter fizzled into darkness.

Not at all, I said
And I mentally adjusted my fedora,
Removing a lighter from my coat pocket
And lighting her second cigarette, as well as my own,
And she took my arm as we walked down a seedy alley

Take me home with you, she said
And I made my book-filled bedroom
Into a cheap flat on the east side of the city
Owned by a man who never asked questions
As long as the rent was payed.

You want a drink?, I said
Pretending I had proffered bourbon
Instead of my usual black coffee made in the ancient coffee pot
In a shot glass, or maybe a bottle
Instead of a chipped mug.

She put her arms around me,
And I allowed the credits to roll,
And the camera to fade to black.

Here's a bunch of poems I wrote tonight while I was in a productive vein.

Modern

I feel very cold
But I might go stand in the rain

I'm not sure I can see
But I might go sit in the dark

I can't feel my legs
But I might feel the need to run away

I feel very fragile
But I might go stand on the highway

I might be insane
But you can call me modern
Or maybe misunderstood,
If it makes you feel better.

***

Temple

My body is no temple
Rather, it is an empty church
And within its shattered doors
You will perhaps find one lonely widow
Crying for her husband because she has forgotten how to pray.

There is no stained glass in my eyes
Just a broken window,
Looking in on ransacked pews and tattered hymnals
Nobody has ever sung within these walls
Not that anyone would hear.

If you should walk up my dusty aisles
And sift through the dust that covers a long forgotten altar
Perhaps you'll find my great-grandmother's bible
It was left here long ago, and I do not know what to do with it.

There is but one benediction
Within my unholy tabernacle
This broken bombed out shell of faith
Nothing is sacred, and I am a church.

***

Scars

It is odd to be troubled by the nonexistence of scars
Or to take comfort in the patterns
You hope that they'll cut into you
You've memorized them like a catechism, haven't you?
You're wishing for them
For an actual manifestation
To convince you it's not all in your head.
You want to have something to show for it, don't you?
It's still mysterious to you
You're hoping like a frightened child
That you'll even get that far, aren't you?

***

Keepsakes

I've always been fond of keepsakes
Old movie ticket stubs,
Bottle caps, pens, little things
They remind me that there is something out there
Beyond my cold room and coffee pot.

Likewise, I cherish my bruises,
Scratches, scars, the occasional cut
Tiny reactions to something other than myself
They remind me of the things outside my skin
Of cats and tree branches and the hard and reassuring ground
Of lovers, stoves and bookshelves
Things that are comforting
In their distance from my insides.

***

Lust

Lust is phenomenally difficult to write about
In any way that does not seem
Profoundly silly.

***

Coffee Sonnet

I so long for its bitter caresses
With such thrills the like of which a lover
Feels to watch as his young love undresses
Yet with zeal unknown to any other
For in the predawn hours I have none
Of this inky liquid, my one true love
I await the brewing of my only one
That I might stand and perhaps even move
I will not dilute my lover with cream
Nor with plebeian sugar stain her virtue
For 'tis of blackness that I always dream
To that sable ideal must I be true
My joy, the one thing that can turn my head
My greatest friend, and I'll sleep when I'm dead

***

Fishnets

I'm still a little boy
And I don't know where I'm going
I'm not sure how I got here
So I'll let her take over
She wears fishnets

I'm unsure, as always
And I have no idea what I'm doing
I'm not sure how to drive this thing
But I think she knows how to steer
And she wears fishnets

Maybe I'm in love with you
But you'd never know from me
I haven't got the balls to tell you
But I'm sure she can handle it
Because she wears fishnets

I'm a tiny thing
Terrified to put my foot down
Without her high heeled shoes
She knows how to use them
After all, they match her fishnets

And I get to be her for a little while
If I wear fishnets.

***

Edgy

I am not a plot device, sir
I do not appreciate your artistic vision
As it applies to me.

I refuse to be art directed, sir
Nor do I wish for you to determine my fate
Based only on what is properly metaphorical.

Moreover, sir, I am not dramatic irony,
Innovative staging, or creative writing.
And with all due respect, I decline to be your literature.

I am not a metaphor, sir
Nor simile, or any sort of powerful imagery

I do not appreciate your attempts to write me, sir
Because I do not exist merely
So you can call yourself edgy.

***

My Apologies To Eve Ensler

I'm very sorry
But my vagina is not a shell
Nor is it an ocean, or a field
Or anything else that sounds like some sort of scented bath salt
Or a Walt Whitman poem.

Likewise, it is not a village
Or a small animal
Or even a red leather sofa.
It is nonpolitical, non-interesting
Nonentity

My vagina does not wear pearls
Nor does it have anything to say
For we are not on speaking terms.

My vagina exists, unfortunately.
That is all the monologue it deserves.

Here's me going on about myself:

Eye Color:: Blue
Hair Color:: naturally brown, now fading to peroxide blonde from purple.
Height:: 5'3"ish
Weight:: 130ish
Right handed or Left handed?: right.
Your Heritage:: English, Swedish, German, Irish, Scottish, probably some other European countries. I'm a mutt.
My Worst Habit:: Being way too hard on myself.
Shoe Size:: 8
Pants Size:: No idea.
Innie or Outie? In.
Parents Still Together?: Nope.
The Shoes You Wore Today:: doctor martens.
Your Weakness:: attractive people.
Your Fears: many things.
Your Perfect Pizza:: mushrooms, cheese.
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:: survive.
Your Most Overused Phrase On An Instant Messenger: don't use it.
Thoughts First Waking Up:: ugh....
Your Best Physical Feature:: eyes.
Your Bedtime:: as late as possible.
Your Most Missed Memory:: being three years old and joyfully oblivious.

MY FAVORITES

Favorite color?: black
Food?: sushi
Sport?: ultimate frisbee
Animal?: cats. or possibly puppies.
Ice Cream?: coffee.
Candy?: dark chocolate.
Store?: weird little stores I find by accident.
Salad Dressing?: I hate salad.
Actor?: Humphrey Bogart
Song?: Poison Pen by The Nerve Meter.
Letter?: I like Q.
Number?: 7
Gum?: Not so big on gum. I guess minty.
Holiday?: I'm rather fond of Thanksgiving.
Season?: When winter is almost over, but not quite.
Toothpaste Flavor?: Mint.
Radio Station?: 102.1 KDFC
Perfume?: Whatever my middle school German teacher wears.
Scent besides perfume?: skin or coffee.
Body part on the opposite sex?: eyes or hands.

FRIENDS AND LIFE

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?: A starving artist.
How Do You Want To Die?: Either painlessly or in some way that makes a really great story to tell at the funeral.
Turn ons:: intelligence, sarcasm, love of books.
Turn offs:: willful stupidity, smelling funny, Republicanism
Which One Of Your Friends Acts The Most Like You?: Sam.
Who's The Loudest?: Chrissie.
Who Makes You Laugh The Most?: Sam.
Who Have You Known The Longest?: Liz.
Who's The Shyest?: Not sure. Depends how you mean it.
When Have You Cried The Most?: In September after having my heart broken.
What Is The Best Feeling In The World?: Feeling like somebody wants you, whether it be onstage at the end of a show when you can tell the audience liked it, or when someone kisses you.
Worst Feeling?: Guilt or heartbreak.
Where Do You Want To Live When You Grow Up?: Maybe San Francisco, maybe Paris, maybe somewhere else.
If You Could Change One Thing About You What Would It Be?: This goddamn biological sex.
How Long Do You Think You'll Live?: Long enough.

FINISH EACH SENTENCE

Let's walk on the: prestidigitator.
Let's look at the: kneecap.
What a nice: tar pit.
Where did all the: ends of my fingers wander off to?
Why can't we: tap dance on the roof.
Silly, little: figment.
Isn't it weird that: we exist?
Never under any circumstance: should you irritate a librarian.
I wish: upon a star, but then I tripped over something.
Everyone has a: foible.
I am: Syd. Syd I am.

HAVE YOU EVER

Been In Love?: Indeed.
Been To Juvie?: Nope.
Mooned Someone?: Nope.
Been Rejected?: Yes.
Ran Away From Home?: No
Pictured Your Crush Naked?: Yes.
Skipped School?: Kind of. I pretended to be sick.
Thought About Suicide?: Indeed.
Slept Outside?: Yes. It was unpleasant.
Laughed So Hard You Cried?: Indeed.
Cried In School?: Yes.
Thrown Up In School?: Yes. Not recommended.
Wanted To Be a Model?: No.
Cheated On Someone?: No.
Done Something Really Stupid That You Still Laugh At Today?: I do lots of things like that.
Seen A Dead Body?: No
Been Bitched Out?: Of course.
Drank Alcohol?: When I was in Europe two summers ago.
Smoked?: No
Been On Drugs?: Prescription, over the counter and caffeine.
Eaten Sushi?: Mmmm...sushi.
Been On Stage?: Many times.
Gone Skinny Dipping?: No.
Shoplifted?: When I was like, 5, and it ended in a tearful apology and much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Been Drunk?: No
Been Called A Tease?: Yes
Been Beaten Up?: Mercifully no.

DO YOU

Swear?: Sadly yes.
Sing Well?: Not really, but I sing anyway.
Shower Daily?: I go crazy if I don't.
Want To Go To College?: Yes
Want To Get Married?: Don't really care.
Believe In Yourself?: Not at all, unless I'm being violently arrogant.
Get Motion Sickness?: Sometimes.
Think You Are Attractive?: No. I just have funny hair.
Get Along With Your Parents?: Mostly.
Like Thunderstorms?: Depends.
Play An Instrument?: Guitar badly, piano worse.
Own An IPOD?: Mhm.
Pray?: Not since I was 10
Go To Church?: Not unless forced, and promised breakfast afterwards.
Sleep With Stuffed Animals?: One.
Keep A Journal/Diary?: No.
Dance In The Rain?: Sometimes.
Sing In The Shower?: Frequently, to my little brother's annoyance.

THIS OR THAT

Pepsi or Coke?: coffee.
McDonald's or Burger King?: coffee.
Single or Group Dates?: single.
Chocolate or Vanilla?: coffee.
Strawberries or Blueberries?: strawberries.
Meat or Veggies?: both.
TV or Movie?: movies.
Guitar or Drums?: guitar
Adidas or Nike?: adidas by virtue of not being notoriously unscrupulous.
Chinese or Mexican?: either
Cheerios or Corn Flakes?: coffee.
Cake or Pie?: coffee.
MTV or VH1?: coffee.
Boxers or Briefs?: boxers

CAN YOU

Do The Splits?: oy vey, no.
Write With Both Hands?: technically, but not well.
Whistle?: quite well.
Blow A Bubble?: no.
Roll Your Tongue In A Circle?: indeed.
Cross Your Eyes?: not really.
Walk With Your Toes Curled?: probably.
Touch Your Tongue to Your Nose?: yes.
Dance?: no
Eat Whatever You Want And Not Worry?: well, i don't worry, does that count?

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON

You Touched:: my brother.
You Talked To On The Phone:: my mom
You Instant Messaged:: nobody
You Hugged:: mom
You Yelled At:: mom
You Played A Sport With:: Elizabeth et al

WHAT'S THE LAST

Time You Laughed?: Today
Time You Cried?: Today
Movie You Watched?: Not sure
Flavor Of Gum You Chewed?: mint
Joke You Told?: Something bad, I'm sure.
Song You've Sung?: The Man That Got Away

RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT

Where Are You?: My room at mom's on a futon.
What Can You See Out Your Window?: the garage.
Are You Listening To Music?: Yep. Dresden Dolls
What Are You Wearing?: boxers
What's On Your Mousepad?: don't have one.

BELIEFS

Do you believe there is life on other planets?: sure
Do you believe in miracles?: no
Magic?: no
Love at first sight?: no
God?: His name is Manny. He has a bicycle and a sick sense of humor.
Satan?: no
Ghosts?: no
Santa?: No
Evolution?: of course

IN A BOY-

Fav Eye Color:: Brown or blue
Fav Hair Color:: Brown or black
Short or Long Hair:: don't really care
Height:: close to mine
Weight:: same as above.
Best Clothing Style:: suited to them.

IN A GIRL

Fav Eye Color:: blue
Fav Hair Color:: brown
Short or Long Hair:: depends on the girl
Height:: shorter than me
Weight:: proportional
Best Clothing Style:: whatever suits her.

RANDOM

What Country Would You Most Like To Visit?: Germany
Number Of CD's I Own:: many
Your Good Luck Charm:: my barbie leg.
How many pillows do you sleep with?: one
Do you drink milk?: no
Person You Hate Most:: not worth it.
Most Outdated Phrase:: gag me with a spoon.
Do you think God has a gender?: I told you, his name is Manny.
Where do you think we go when we die?: Well, I'm going to Bad Joke Hell.
How many rings until you answer the phone?: depends.
What is something scientists need to invent?: Cure for aids.
Are you a health freak?: neat freak yes, health freak no.
Are you a virgin?: Oy.
If you could travel into space, where would you go?: No idea.
What is the worst weather?: when it's not quite raining, but miserably wet.
Did you play with Barbies as a child?: No
How many grades have you failed?: none

The result of a pot of coffee and a weird night.

Baptism And Drowning

I've passed the point of over-caffination where you're merely shaky, and ended up somewhere between the sickly shudder of euphoria and the gripping melancholy crash that is inevitable, and I'm not going to sleep tonight, I know, for to try will invite all the thoughts I've been carefully poisoning with increasingly chilly coffee to sneak back in on me and they will line up, orderly in their well-plotted and efficient break-down of the inhibitions I have painstakingly trained to protect me from memories of tortured passion or bitter-sweetness, all the things I don't want to crop up in my dreams, if I don't have to see them, they can fade into the wings, and maybe in years to come I'll take them out like battered photographs and examine their dusty lines, tracing fond faces with my fingers, at last learning to smile at the thought of a long-gone caress, or a conversation where the words have been forgotten.

Until then I will poison them, sitting still and shuddering while my eyes drift off and become delirious hazy blue orbs, bobbing along in a sea of dark, hot liquid, slowly wending its way into my body and singing, soft and dark, of all the electric crackles along my nerves, humming, humming in the dark. I sit and smile and hum in the dark, humming jazzy little snippets to my cooling coffee, riffing on the higher, paranoid notes, dropping into a deep mahogany anxiety, rising to a tinkling schizophrenic interlude, and all the little out-of-tune violins inside of me sway, and they become louder, more insistent, and they shriek with broken strings, and rise to an unhinged chemical crescendo, before they glide like paper swans back into my own little tenuous vocal cords, humming, humming, humming in the dark.

I'm smiling, and my teeth clack together like yellowed castanets, a frantic rhythm that compliments my demented humming, clacking like my fingers as they dance jerkily across the keyboard, tap tap tapping away like fingernails drumming on a skull, tap tap tapping like mice behind the wainscot, tap tap tapping like tiny dancers on a stage that insists upon moving about at random, as if the feet upon it make it uneasy. I become obsessed with the spelling errors, and the words sit and stare at me, daring me to strike the wrong key and render then meaningless, they threaten, they cajole, anything to retain their purpose, for within my convoluted syntax they must function, these little black and white miracles, and I feel at once paternal and vindictive, for I dictate their existence on the page, and even as I long to jeer as they scream for mercy, beg for a reworked sentence, demanding punctuation or another syllable, it occurs to me that the modern world has robbed them of their potential substance, for they may never exist in ink, perhaps they will remain mere lights on a screen forevermore, and I pity them, my little creatures, I brought them here, and now I sit and play God, I am sorry, little words, little souls. And I pity them, my little children, little beings I have begotten with my tap tap tapping on the dingy keyboard.

It's icy cold in this nondescript room, full of books and simple furniture, where I sit and twitch and smile into the walls, imagining my thoughts spewed up on them like bile, a stinking mural of love and death and words and responsibilities and sex and curtains and all the other ineffable things littering my draughty shivery mind like discarded bits of string, they creep along and form funny little shapes in the insides of my ears, and sometimes the strings creep down my neck, along the veins and into my lungs, and I cough them up like consumption, when they leave my body the strings become bloody. Sometimes they crawl along my arms, drawing intricate patterns on my goose-bumped skin, and they raise welts, and I have to get them out, so I tenderly coax the shining silver blade into my service, and I delicately open the skin, so the strings can crawl out, but they become frightened and move away, so I must open it again, and again, until the strings are encouraged and thread their way out, and they drip drip drip into the sink, until I wash myself clean.

I fill the sink with water, submerging my head like a baptism or a suicide, the purity is the same, so cold, so clear, and there is nothing that can touch me here. Perhaps it is salvation the strings try to drag me towards. The remnants of their exit shine at me in the dark, gleaming white, like smiles, like the porcelain of the sink when my eyes are open under water. The shaking slows as bubbles escape my lips, taking the shudders up to the surface where they dissipate into the indifferent air over my head, and the strings are gone, I got them out, and the humming has stopped, I am quiet, I am pure, white like the tracery of hurt on my arms, white like snow, like cold, like paper, and white like skin untouched, virginal, I am virginal for this moment, this second between baptism and drowning.

This is about the first man I ever had a crush on (that I realized for what it was), the choreographer for the school play last year.

Pedagogue

The lines of your hands are clear
Elegant and definite
You gesture to the people listening attentively,
Your hands carve the substance of your words
Shaping pictures in the air in front of you,
Pulling music from the stillness as your fingers play across
A thousand instruments you have conjured in the space before you

I think of the magic your hands could work across my skin
The contours of my face taking new life in your caress
The thin muscle of my shoulders growing tense and slackening beneath your fingers
,The strong lines of your palms tracing themselves anew over the curve of my neck,
Your adept touch sensitive to my trembling
My lips pressed to your palm in reverent tenderness

Your face is dynamic
Old-fashioned handsome, bright eyes and noble features
The faintest ghost of a beard brushed across your cheeks
Your lips are curved and soft, constantly moving as you guide your pupils
Your voice rising and falling in elegant patterns, the words mere catalysts
As your eyes flash in anger, and your voice swells like a symphony
Crashing into a fiery calm, your gallant jaw clenched
As the emotion subsides and your features are once more clear and perfect

I imagine tracing my lips along the edges of your noble forehead
Running my hands over the faint stubble that shadows your rugged jaw
The icy blue of my eyes meeting the fire of yours and melting into your powerful gaze
The soft Renaissance curve of your lips pressed roughly against mine in startling violence and passion
As the fire behind your handsome face smolders over my smooth skin and melts it for your shaping
The hardness of your jaw or the delicate contour of an eyelash deciding my fate
As I trace the lines in the skin of your face, begging you for tenderness

Your form is strong
Your legs long and well-formed, stepping deftly through the world you inhabit
An understated dance, elegant and fascinating
Your arms are powerful and refined
Subtle in their suggestion of protection for those you welcome into them
Broad shouldered, you stand with the authority of a general
The delicate range of motion belies the strength with which you hold your ground

In late-night dreams your long and powerful legs are tangled with my own, so fragile in comparison
Your arms twine about my waist, encircling me fiercely
Clutching me with something like fear to lose me, mingled with desire
The faceted muscles of your shoulders contracting as I sketch patterns over them with my slender fingers
Your chest heaving and undulating beneath the hesitating caress of my lips
The power of your body simultaneously in thrall to me and holding me prisoner

You, my mentor, it is doubtful we will meet again, for the lesson is long since finished
You, my lover, remain in my head forever more

This weekend was the first practice of the school ultimate frisbee team/club. It was completely awesome. I forgot how much I like ultimate frisbee. It's one of the few sports I'm halfway decent at, and the people on the team are ridiculously wonderful, sweet, fun people. The only downside was that my shoulders, face and neck are sunburnt. Which hurts. But oh well.

I'm actually managing to deal with school this year. The academics weren't really a problem in middle school, except when I slacked off, but school as a whole was miserable. This year everyone seems more sane and intelligent, and I don't get a lot of bull from authority figures. It's nice to not have your teachers/counselors/administrators being insensitive about your gender/sex and all the chaos it entails. So far, most of them haven't said anything, and the only ones who have have been supportive and wonderful. I'm also more athletic then I've ever been. I'm playing frisbee, going to the gym, and intend to play rugby this fall. Things are looking up. Or at least they are no longer intently studying the ground.

I also finally got around to reading 'No Exit' by Jean-Paul Sartre, this weekend. It was brilliant, and I will probably be quoting 'Hell is other people' for the rest of my life. Because very often it's true. I also read three of his other plays, which I enjoyed, but were not as good as 'No Exit'. However, this put me in a semi-depressed uber cynical mood, so I was not pleasant to be around, I'm sure.

My depression seems to be only rearing its head when something else is bothering me, like a headache or my mother. So I seem to have reached a point where I'm just over-dramatic about things, instead of perpetually sad and moping. This is good.

Judy Garland makes everything better. Even broken hearts and math homework.

A song I wrote, sort of to blow off steam.

No Dostoevsky Tonight

Some nights I can deal
With Raskolnikov
And such
Some nights it seems
That even Wilde
Is too much

There will be no Dostoevsky tonight
No more Russian angst and blight
I had a bad day, and I'm sorry to say
That I can't read Dostoevsky tonight

Some nights I need calm
So I read Neruda
In the dark
Some nights objects have no effect
So I read that hunting poem
About the Snark

There will be no Dostoevsky tonight
No more Russian angst and blight
I had a bad day, and I'm sorry to say
That I can't read Dostoevsky tonight

Some nights my brain feels addled
So I read Ginsburg
And think
Some nights I feel sad and romantic
So I read Shakespeare
Under the sink

There will be no Dostoevsky tonight
No more Russian angst and blight
I had a bad day, and I'm sorry to say
That I can't read Dostoevsky tonight

I'm sorry to say
It just ended up that way
But I can't read Dostoevsky tonight
Oh, no
No, no, no
No Dostoevsky tonight

I've been listening to a millieu of music from various musicals of late. Mostly Gypsy and Les Miz. It entertains me, and Ethel Merman seems to counteract depression.

I also tried out for the school play, 'You Can't Take It With You', which I don't know at all, but I think I did alright in the audition. I doubt I'll get in though, being I am a little freshman, and nobody likes freshmen. However, this chick in my drama class is really cool. I first met her through my ex-girlfriend-turned-friend about a year ago, but we re-met in drama this year, and she kicks ass. We spent about half the class the other day exchanging theatre horror stories about missed cues and falling setpieces. It was fun.

Hot drama class guy has revealed himself to be a boor, and a lunkhead, so now, I get to feel even more guilty for spacing out in class and drooling over him. Grr. If he was perfect I could worship him from afar, but he's not, so I lust after him while knowing full well that every time he opens his mouth I want to strangle him. Oh well. Lust is a transient creature.

On another boy-related note (my God, what has happened to me?!), there is a sincerely adorable boy in my French and history classes. His name is Ron, and he's a little geeky, smiles a lot, friendly, wears glasses, Iranian, plays soccer and is so cute it's difficult to look at him without wanting to throw your arms around him and ruffle his hair. Sigh. I actually considered signing my lazy intellectual ass up to play soccer for this boy. AND, he's actually a decent human being! Knowing the way my life goes, I may suffer in silence on this one forever. But I'm hoping we can at least be friends, because he's fun to talk to.

I miss my best friend. She's still in middle school, and we don't see each other much now. I miss our stupid jokes, and the way she smiles, and the way she laughs at me, and bashing teachers with her, and knowing that I'd have someone to talk to on Monday morning when I had a bad weekend. Sigh.

I'm not sure where this came from, but it's how I'm feeling tonight. It's not about anyone specific, just written to an impulse, a thought, I suppose.

The Masochist's Love Song

Use me, take what you want from me, then cast me away
Hurt me, tear me into pieces so I can finally let myself cry

I'll be whatever you want me to be
Any depraved creature of your twisted fancy
Only show me that you can hurt me
Force me to stop believing I can be loved
Hurt me
Hurt me so I can pretend I don't deserve it

Don't pretend you love me
Don't let me believe you wouldn't hurt me
Never give me a reason to remember you
With anything less than pain

Force me to look you in the eyes and see them burning
Don't let me beg for mercy
Sink your teeth into me and make me bleed
Make me forget all the hurts
Except yours

Make me forget that I ever tried to love
Force me to think only of you
And the pain
Make me hate you so you can't break my heart

I will be anything you want me to be
But don't ask me to love you
For that would be the only pain that I could feel
I cannot love you
Because you cannot love me
And to pretend otherwise is a hurt I cannot survive