novembre
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we can hear your beats under hours
i'm supposed to be working on a short story, but i just started writing in my journal instead. i think my body is programmed to commit to any form of distraction. i'm currently working on devising a strategy to trick myself into being productive. well, i will, right after i've written in my journal.
1.
i make a fool out of myself on a regular basis because no one is going to do it for me. getting older means gradually not giving a fuck, noticing how you don't give a fuck anymore, and being proud about it. (it also means regretting having spent time giving a fuck in the past, until you eventually decide that you don't give a fuck about regret, either.
but you will always hold on to your past.)
2.
i live in a block-wide cluster of warehouses, but i always refer to a singular warehouse when people ask me about it. mine. i know it confuses them, but i think of where i live in relation to this cinderblock castle with its tagged up walls, burning men and a parking lot that smells like pee. second story, first door in the hall on your left. that's us (k-dogg, sj and me). the hand-me-down-muscle beach. open the door and you can judge the weather outside by subtracting about eight degrees. maybe it was the heat that made me become an insomniac again.
the warehouse is warm today; walking up the stairs i remembered when i first moved in early this past summer. my brother and i climbed up to the second story and with each step everything got hotter, denser, heavier. the people in the warehouse next to us grew pot and seemed to be hotboxing the entire complex. my skin started seeing things. didn't help that i had so much stuff to move in. trip after trip of box after box and i realized right then that i'm made for a house, that i'm an old lady with too many trinkets. i have too many things and neuroses to live above a tweaker who blasts jungle up through my floorboards.
not that i really mind him that much; he can hear us when we wrestle and besides, i like to break night listening to loud shit constantly. he reminds me that it's not just mine.
3.
this is the weirdest place ever to live; it's like a fabrication of an apartment building. it's like living in a sidewalk treehouse. i rarely have friends over (i MISS having a place where people congregate), but it's oddly comfortable. while i really want to live somewhere with a backyard and doors that actually close, walls that actually touch the ceilings -- the warehouse has its odd charms. there are some awesome neighbors. we can bang on CC's door and go on midnight bike rides whenever neighbors are game. when there's a show at grandma's i go down and wander through, looking for friends, but not really listening to the music. the noise bands that play shows here make atmospheric clusters of sound that snake through the building and hands down i think this is the best way to experience noise shows: as part of something else. great if that's your deal, but you can tell i'm not much of a fan.
but back to the floorboards.
4.
the floors here are warped. i was so sad to figure this out, because the main part of our warehouse is open space. it's crying to be made into some sort of derby showdown venue. we have a number of chairs on wheels and rollerskates and skateboards (even a wheelchair) but we can't properly wheel around and race. i figure the floor rippled from an earthquake before the building was retrofitted, and now we're stuck with its ripples. there's a static wave caught mid-roll in the middle of the kitchen. my bed is even on a slant, and this is one of the reasons why i like to stay over at friends' houses.
5.
when i got home today i peeked and sj was sleeping in her room, mattress and bed spring on the floor (pushed against the building's cinderblock wall, parallel to the unfinished wall that divides our rooms: struts and drywall), sweatpants puffed out on her legs, tangled in her blue cotton comforter. how do you sleep? do you lie down and pass out, or do your limbs travel? i'm a wanderer. i bet sj is primarily a passer-outer. i never hear her through our wall.
she is so dear. i like to keep tabs on her.
6.
i turn twenty-seven in five days.
4:57 pm - 11.20.05
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