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divorced's Journal

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9th September 2002

3:26pm: Oh you pretty things, don't you know you're driving your mamas and papas insane.
First on the agenda, a poem written about Kaila by Rosie Steffy.

Kaila's Lover

Kaila is a pretty pumpkin
She will meet a pretty lad
He will wear an emo sweater
'Tis expression, not a fad

He will weareth horn rimmed glasses
When he takes her on a date
When he trusts her he will murmur
Of his love for Bonnie Rait

He will readeth books of Shakespeare
And sometimes sporteth a mulliet
He'll woo her with his favorite monologue
In which (of her love) speaks Juliet

He will listen to her secrets
He will shareth all his own
They will learn of inner selves
By the outer world not known

And when his pretty lips meet hers
On that starry spangled night
She will hear the voice of her heartbeat
Telling her "this love is right".



Now, the most wonderful thing since sliced bread and wrapping cookies for hours straight.


I know where I want to go to school.
School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.


They have photography. But more so, they let you do whatever you please. Everything is elective, the school rocks, the teachers are amazing, it is small, in Boston, and here it comes...affiliated with Tufts University. My Uncle is doing some physics thing there this year so I will visit my choice school when I visit them.

It is so awesome. I really think it will work out well. I can take courses at Tufts and Emerson and any of the thousands of art schools they know all throughout the world. YEAH!!!


"So where were the spiders..." Bowie.



So at this second, with my watermelon and good news, I am happy.
Okay now the watermelon is gone, I have to clean this hell of a room, and I remembered what was said this morning. I am getting the feeling that the generation is just sex. Meaning, when someone says that they want to be with someone they mean "with someone" as in sex. It is code. Girlfriend = horny kid wanting sex. And I also realized that the whole dream situation is unfair. I was never able to be in the race, I was put on the bench before the first hit. Plus, I wanted his heart and the other wanted his body. Damn my luck.

But I am just looking for nice, calm, fun. No drama. I will find my true love later. So I am not worried or searching. Unless of course my imperfections are now perfect for you. "There's a starman waiting in the sky, he'd like to come and meet us but he thinks he'd blow our minds"--Bowie.

I am a starman. Let me blow your mind.
7:41pm: my new bracelet says...organic asparaus.
I never told about my dream date did I?
I want to go out at night.
I want to be in a very soft, silky dress that lays across my skin like light.
With heels to push up your back.
I want the boy to be dressed up too.
Shirt down a bit, so I can see the heart beat.
I want to go for a drive at night, in the back of a taxi.
Anywhere really, to the city maybe, through the city.
Kissing in the back in the dark, hidden and afraid.
Then in his car, to the beach, my hand on his.
Clash, Cure, Cocteau Twins in the background.
He sings.
I smile.
He looks over.
I turn my head down.
He kisses my eye.
I say let's go for a swim.
You get out in the buff.
I laugh.
I leap.



I will always have a crush on the dream. I just wont go after it, because I am not a dirty whore.


Blunt. Clear. Too sweet for my own heart.



ps. Nina, I am coming Spring Break I think or at the end of my year to Boston. So the school is nice? The book did not have campus pictures. But I fell for it like I fell for the dream. Quick and ill in the mind.
Current Mood: sad
7:59pm: The music is true, I've got a crush on you.
Call me.
Write me.
Bite me.
I'm yours.
Current Mood: horny
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