journal 2


I decided that I still had a lot to say that I don't have in my existing writing. some of my friends urged me to keep writing in my journal. so I will. :-)

lately I have been thinking a lot about my childhood friend, Kimberley McKissick. she was a beautiful girl. I can't remember her middle name. Kim was always my best friend through elementary school. we went trick-or-treating so many times. the first time I ever went trick-or-treating without supervision, it was just her and I. I remember trading with her Brach's for Tootsie Rolls. or maybe it was the other way around. I remember her barbies.. it was like keeping up with the Joneses. she had this beautiful daybed and so many pillows. we went rollerblading at night and talked about her neighbor. she had a crush on him, his name was Chris. she wanted to see him that time we went trick-or-treating so we went to his house, but he was a Jehovah's Witness child and so when he came to the door we just kinda talked a teeny bit. I remember that he liked Kim too. he had braces and glasses and he was absolutely adorable standing there with the door frame seperating him from the real world. his parents keeping him from being part of the culture, because of their beliefs. I felt bad and Kimmy felt bad that he wasn't allowed to go trick-or-treating. *sigh*

it's 7:46 PM and I can't figure out if I am hungry or not. I think I am, but I am not appetized. some iced tea sounds good, I suppose. I love this bracelet that I am wearing on my left wrist right now. it's a small golden chain that has some of these teeny little fish instead of links. I can't remember how long ago I put this bracelet on. I never take it off. if some incredible event happens in my life, I switch the bracelet to my other wrist. I don't know why. that and my turquoise grandma ring are the only jewelries I wear all of the time. sometimes I wear some necklaces that I have and this little green bead and metal bracelet too. it's been a long time since I have worn earrings. my mother got me some beautiful, beautiful earrings and a necklace to match this ring she gave me for my 15th birthday. so I guess my quinceniera is September third. I love to swim. I miss the redwood forests. I want a burl. I got one when my parents brought me to the redwood forests near Fort Bragg. I love strange little things that grow.


it's 1:14 AM and I am sitting on my top bunk. I feel happy. I feel clean. I feel like a peach that's just been washed and prepared to be devoured by a hungry child. I had a dream that I was sitting on a countertop next to a sink, in a bathroom in my home. I was a woman and dressed fairly, however, I was nursing a baby. I looked into my child's eyes and smiled. A life I had made and will make. Life is eternal. I saw life in my child's eyes. I looked up from my child, and there he was. The mysterious boy of my dreams, with the green eyes. Except, he was a man, and he was my husband, he was mental, emotional, physical, and he was beautiful. And when I dreamt this, I knew I was the richest girl in the world, to have had parents leave me with the strength to know, and to live through the knowledge I acquire. Sometimes knowledge equals pain. But sometimes I am stronger than I think or believe or am told I am. Maybe I am always stronger. Maybe I am always growing. Maybe I am.

when you know that you love, the pain does not hurt. sometimes his eyes are blue. the sky is blue. did you know the world is turning blue? I love the breeze upon me. I love the light on my texts. I love the yarn in my blanket. these are all things made by another man. the fan, installed by a nameless electrician. the lightbulb, manufactured by beings probably oblivious as to who would purchase and use them. the yarn, the thread.. where did the polyester come from? or if it is cotton, where was it grown? the fibers that keep my the most comfortable. I love so much.

it's 7:37 PM and it feels as though a week has passed. I ate dinner at the Taj Mahal restaurant in the Frontier Village Plaza. My food was Chicken Divinity. It was a pleasure to every sense - sight, smell, sound, touch, taste.. and even equilibrium, magnetic, and um.. kethetics or whatever that one word is. Chicken Divinity. It's on the menu as Chicken Tikki or something similar. it was such a religious experience. and marvelous service. sigh, I wish I could connect to the net at this time.. there's this nasty, nasty busy signal screaming at me, though. aipe.. aipe.

okie, got my wish, finally connected. I got some wonderful email. this has been the very most beautiful birthday in my entire life. I have to show.. this poem, the most beautiful words ever spoken to me in my entire life. and here they are:

You are the one for whom I pray,
everything you do, everything you say.
How I long for our wedding day,
when I will make you a wife,
forever in life, until death.
Even during my last breath
will I speak my heart true
to say who I love more than anything:
--- Nathan William Reynolds


This morning, as I washed the dishes with a smile on my face, I pondered correctness. Politically correct, Naturally correct, Socially correct, Mentally correct, Emotionally correct, Educationally correct.. whatever. I pondered the differences in religion, the differences between virtue and corruption, the differences between right and wrong, black and white, and their correlation with instinctiveness and reactions within or without of mental control. I have come up with a question for myself to answer in life. Is it possible to be both politically and spiritually correct? I figure that it is a balance between spirituality and instinct that makes a person human. A balance between corruption and immaculate purity. What makes a person an individual is their accomplishment of the balance and their talents at balancing extremes. I present one extreme: Vampirism. Bloodthirst, violence, lustful pleasure. Those who do it justify it, albeit subjectively. It may be an outrageously minute human instinct manifested wrong or not. It may be genetic or fetishistic. But it is an extreme. For the sake of argument, we'll call it extremely dark.
Now, take what might be the extreme of white. Complete purity. How could a human be completely pure? Is it Godlike? To be pure does not seem to correlate with the behaviour of the Christian God. The Christian God seems to be a human balance of wrath, confusion, and power. Somehow it seems Godliness should be pure, the opposite of corruption. Godliness, righteousness. To live righteously might be to never whine, and do what needs to be done without a complaint.. to be genorous without spoiling those to whom you give.. to love without ulterior motivation.. to find the accomplishment of everyday life and completing tasks within it to be rewarding. I find it strange that people argue with me, that corruption is instinctive. Consisting of manifestations of curiosity, greed, and lust for pleasure/comfort, corruption never seems to lead to satisfaction. The greyer you become from black, the whiter and more satisfied a person might become. It does not seem politically correct to be righteous; pessmists argue with me that you are allowing people to take advantage of you, or you are not learning 'real world' skills, that you are sheltering yourself from reality, or that you're not having any fun. I see this as similar to the saying, 'All work and no play makes John a dull boy.' However, to work and find it rewarding, does not make you dull. So in this point of view, righteousness is just. But it is human to be somewhat corrupt.

Today, the day after I became 15 years old, I got out of my bed, and got a start at trimming my dog. When my dog needed a break from being trimmed, I got up and went to the kitchen. I sweeped the carpet (it's hard work), and I washed every dish in sight including even some dishes hidden behind appliances. I washed them thoroughly with a smile on my face, while thinking alternately about Nathan and the human nature argument. I then went on to scrub the oven and pans and racks.. and washed the counters, and oven surface, and very dirty washing machine (the washing machine is in the kitchen). I then went on to clean my room spotless and start washing my clothes. All the while, I felt so satisfied. My father hadn't even asked me to do these things. I'm glad I learned to do it myself. It is very spiritual to learn to pick up after yourself.


I wanted to create, to grow things, to raise things. I went to the pet store with my father the other day so I could get a guppy. I have bud luck with goldfish I suppose. They had no more guppies, and they had no more goldfish except the ones in the turtle tank. And as we walked to the exit there was this beautiful display of canaries.. but all the cages were so small. And even the large cages didn't have enough room for the birds to really fly in them. I want a bird.. but I want it to be able to go wherever it wants. Maybe the bird I saw at Kmart could be my bird. and it flies around whenever, wherever, does whatever it wants. someday that bird's gonna die and become part of the dirt and soil and mud again. But in the meantime I can safely assume it's just chilling out. I think it'd be nice to have a bird that'd come home occasionally and tell me how it'd been since I wouldn't be able to watch the bird whenever I pleased. I suppose it's not really possible to have a big enough cage. So I eliminate the cage altogether and have all these birds in the earth that to me, is mine. To you, it is yours. That is, if you want it to be.

At this hour of morning I know I should be sleeping.. sleep will always remind me of that beautiful sunset the other day, when my father and I drove out on Iron Springs road almost the whole way to Skull Valley. We ended up deciding to stop midway in between the top of Iron Springs and Skull Valley, and pull over and watch the sunset from the side of the one hill. Where we pulled over.. there wasn't really a shoulder but we made do. There were big bumblebees on the grasses, and I was looking at them and I asked my father, "What are they doing?" because they didn't appear to be buzzing at all. He told me, "They're sleeping." It was so beautiful.. knowing that. Knowledge is so beautiful.. even simple things. Standing there looking at the two or three big sleeping bumblebees, there was rythmic movement to their bodies.. as if they were inhaling and exhaling, almost. I admired the bees for so many moments, but sunset drew that many moments nearer, and I hiked out to the side of the hill with my father. And we watched a very beautiful sunset, for a while. There was a lot of love in that.


I just got back home from hanging out at my friend Denise's house. We watched the MTV Music Video Awards together and played with her cat's kittens. I am in a lot of awe in how I renewed a friendship with her so beautifully, as with Chad at school. I'm sorry I haven't written that much about my current life lately. I'm in school.. Prescott Excel alternative education center. Anyway, I was friends with Denise in middle school, but I ended up changing schools and a month afterward, moving to Kingsburg. At the time I was friends with Denise, Chad was acquainted with me and I remember loaning him my pair of famous yellow fireman's trousers complete with red suspenders. It was around the time that Denise's brother died in the car accident.. she's been having a tough time but she is healing now. Man, I really love the Machines of Loving Grace. Butterfly Wings.. such awesome songs too. Awesome lyrics, truly. I'm saving up to get Denise a copy of Concentration for herself, for a Halloween present (the holiday is just an excuse cause we both know she wants it and I want to get it for her). *sigh* I thought all day about my love.

if you were to say your sweetest words to me, what would they be?
I live in your love and love every second of it.. as a continuous epiphany. it's heaven with you.
you would look into my eyes as your words caressed my ears, with such finesse would you bring me to embrace you.
every thing is the most beautiful thing when I witness it with you.

I am so happy. I love the depth of the Tool songs. I love the Beastie Boys. I love ants and caterpillars and bumblebees, and honeybees. I love cloud-to-cloud lightning. I love hide-and-go-seek. I love sleepovers and pizza delivered. I love guitars and rather large expensive but fantastic amplifiers. I love Marty and Emily and Amy and Kelly and Ben(even though your new you sucks). I love the entire world. I love every little bit of it.. a little bit at a time.

September 24th, 1998.

natural progress is what I have partaken in lately at school. I am loving school more and more, because it is so fun. we are allowed to be natural, finally. it is natural to learn. mmmmmmmm how I do love butterscotch and butter toffee. well I've got some more manifestoey ideas:

symbolism, words, meanings not necessarily apply, interperetation to whoever wish, whatever wished. Science, mechanics, math.. when used to create is absolutely wonderful and natural for human beings. But when it becomes unnatural it is most truly disgusting. How I love music and creating music so truly.. I love the arts, I love the machines, I love the dance, I love the nature, the science, the geography, the sociology, the psychology, the perfection is possible in life. detachment is wonderful. dismemberment is a whole different equation. understanding is true genius. knowledge is a sidekick. What I am saying is not cryptic. It's true. It may not be "fact". I love..

October the Third of nineteen hundred and ninety-eight.

My bedroom looks entirely different. I love my bunk bed and the way my top bunk's comforter makes a big padded canopy over my bottombunk-heaven. The gooseneck cliplamp that arches its glow into my bottombunk cubbyhole makes it such a perfect cranny for reading, and kicking back, and so on. I just lie in my bottombunk sometimes and listen to Aenima or Secret Samadhi on repeat. I love having a remote control for my stereo of loving grace. I spent about a half hour this morning making a remote-control holder out of duct tape that hangs from one of the bars of my green metal bunkbed. I love my easel and how it so gracefully holds my bags o-stuff and my famous "rawhide" brown jacket that I got from daddy so many years ago. all fallen apart and whatnot. sooner or later I'm gonna have to stitch up the loop in the neck so I can hang it from a hook instead of draping it over my easel. I love how I can ramble on and on about all the lovelyjunk in my room. my very small amount of posters obtained from Denise. she painted her room black, you see. and she didn't really wanna put the posters back up. except for a few rather beautiful Marilyn Manson (Omega!) posters. It's a great big white world.. drained of its colors.. we used to love ourselves and one another. Yes, I am quite glad for the apocalypse of now.. how beautiful life will come to be after this disgusting industrialized lifestyle is gone.

The apocalypse. Thinking about it makes me shiver with glee, and I couldn't be more honest about that. Ooooooer how wonderful it will be, when industrialization is an evil of the past. The only beautiful industry is the industry of art, science, music, dance.. but even then, in current American society, it's just not industrialized beautifully. As if industrialization could ever be beautiful... Lo, the machines of loving grace, the art that will be our comfort in times to come.. how we shall bask in the glow of growth. The leftoers of us.. we will be those who persevere in times "rough". O, who's gonna be able to live happily in a world where there is no air conditioning? No imported vegetables and fruits? No prepackaged meals, no spectrum of makeup.. industrial fashion.. cleansers, chemicals to make us so healthy. How putrid it is that girls my age so thoroughly rely on makeup, on accessories, on new clothes and being "one step ahead" of fashion. Well, I tell you now, that perseverance in adaptation.. our continuing homeostasis.. those of us who don't give a flying fuck about our place in society, those will be us who teach.. who guide, and will finally be respected for our outlook. It's already becoming. My small classroom acknowledges me as being a hell of a wise nut. Zany, sure. Mature, yeah. Scary, all in all.. for they can't figure out how to be true to theirself without depending on television and industrial media.

This isn't me, I'm not mechanical. I'm not industrial. I'm all natural, in my cleanliness of heart and soul. In my honesty and grace, whatever power I've got, I have a life, and I fucking love it. My ultimate happiness would be just to live naturally with people who I see as spiritual-mental-emotional-natural peers. And to prosper.. have children, be children.. such a strange fantasy, that I might not be surrounded by industrial mechanical american morons.. :-) The lovely earth mother's resources for industry are losing. She's running out and there ain't gonna be no turning back to those who've dependencies. I know so many people who've great heads on their shoulders.. einsteinian brilliance, articulation of Homer, creativity of those who wrote the Vedas.. the beauty, compassion.. of a mother cat, of a family of bats, of an elder willow at the foot of the river of life..

I've words to speak, opinions to share, parts to play, art to create.. to write, draw, paint, sing. Smiles to cast and neighborchildren to play with.

I know there are cynics who look at my writing and think, "Goddamn this is one self-centered little bitch. Goddamn this is one optimist who's never gonna succeed in the real world. Goddamn this is one bitch who just don't know what the hell she's saying. etcetera.." I know there are people who think similar things about me, because I've been confronted. Many a time. Well all I can whine is, well fuck. Whose life is mine supposed to be concerned with? The lives of the media, the people in commercials, the classmates and friends? Just cause I think about myself and my life and my future does not equate to a person who is self absorbed. My life depends on my family, depends on my neighbors, best friends, boyfriend, companions.. depends on the bugs in my ecosystem of a yard. Depends on my house on which the siding is just happening to be falling apart (and hell I know my grammar is bad but it's better to understand than if it were good and my sentences did not run on and on). my journal is about me written for me cause it helps me remember the course my life has taken and continues to take. i write my journal for my friends because they don't always know. i write it for my future friends who might care to know my feelings in my past. I don't write my journal to impress a damn person. so all i can say to those who are unimpressed, overly critical, and cynical about my person based entirely on what they have read in this journal, is a dumbshit. *sigh* I just finally had to rant that out.

I love my orange camoflauge curtains my mother made for me right before seventh grade that still hang on the same window.


recently has been described on 1998.txt. (file no longer exists)

October 22, 1998

Nathan William Reynolds, God of Forgiveness.. to me... and why must I cry and fall apart this way, I don't understand how the needs are so bad and felt and driving me mad. This is my kinda blank page now I spoze. Geez I hurt because of how I love so much maybe too much. Damnit it's one of those times where you just need lots and lots and lots of hugs. Lots of hugs. Lots of friends whom I've got but not present right now and no one to hug me right now. Friends who I love with all my heart and soul but they are over 700 miles away and one in particular who's like, 2000 miles away. Nathan I love you and I don't know how long it'll be until you read this but I just hope and hope that I will get over the insanity of recent occurence--Just it keeps me alive to think of the child we'll have after we marry so far in the future. One of them days that a girl goes through when I'm angry inside don't wanna take it out on you.. song that I remember from when I was in 6th grade or so. Except I'm not angry. I'm made of forlorn. Made of forlorn. I feel so lovelorn. Sorrowful. Needy. I just wanna lay down and hurt about you because it's the most marvelous distraction from the knives in my drawers and the knife that was so intricate sunday morning.

Today in school two classmates and I were talking about babies. It feels so wonderful every time I can remember that dream about me sitting on the countertop nursing our child. Narmada, a girl.. Adam Jeremy, a boy.. no child yet, nothing definite anymore. Life that used to be so chaotic but wound definitely that way, the chaos I cannot control anymore is hurting. I can't find someone to just hug no more. Daddy is like just a daddy now and he doesn't hug me very often. I don't think I've hugged him in two days. This is insane, I haven't gone that long continuously without hugs since January at least. And I look at my photographs (all of the remarkable ones are in my gallery on (URL no longer exists) and remember Lhordgen and I know she'd never hurt me and there is a reason to not cry and feel so forlorn. And I look at my picture of me at pismo beach from when I was with Amy and that's a good reason to not feel so forlorn. And I think about us at noseXmas this year, in the future, and yes I do believe that is the best reason upon my mind to not feel so madly forlorn. I don't look forlorn. My hair isn't nappy for once, Beth, my new teacher, braided my hair for me. Damned long splendrous "glorious" hair that the teacher ladies always remark to me about, that gets nappy and funky when I wear it down without gel or conditioner.

I need to shut the fuck up because I'm just whining at this point and my acknowledgement of this could easily be considered whining. But I just gotta say something beforehand: I love. I still do. My verb of love is a little fucked up right now because of the (bad LANGUAGE DAMNIT!) fucked up events of late and the insanity in my family and my vicinity. My environment has gone so topsyturvy and I have got to get out of the house now, darlings. Thanks for caring because if you're reading this you must have some compassion in yer lovely heart.

Monday, October the 26th, 1998

okay I think I've healed.. scalpel dives into the skin, good doctors never leave a scar.. no proof again. nevertheless, I've a scar in my heart but it is hidden beneath bandages of kisses from my love. all I can say is that I feel beautiful once again. I bet it was holding Melissa's baby that did it to me. Man, man, man I love babies just so much much. And Kula Shaker's Hollow Man. and I love Tool so divinely. odear I'm full of divine.. now how am I to share it?

I got this in an email a while back...

She smiled at a sorrowful stranger.
The smile seemed to make him feel better.
He remembered past kindness of a friend
And wrote him a thank you letter.
The friend was so pleased with the thank you
That he left a large tip after lunch.
The waitress, surprised by the size of the tip,
Bet the whole thing on a hunch.
The next day she picked up her winnings,
And gave part to a man on the street.
The man on the street was grateful;
For two days he'd had nothing to eat.
After he finished his dinner,
He left for his small dingy room.
(He didn't know at that moment
that he might be facing his doom.)
On the way he picked up a shivering puppy
And took him home to get warm.
The puppy was very grateful
To be in out of the storm.
That night the house caught on fire.
The puppy barked the alarm.
He barked till he woke the whole household
And saved everybody from harm.
One of the boys that he rescued
Grew up to be President.
All this because of a simple smile
That hadn't cost a cent.