“I love Nietzsche’s madman aphorism. When I was reading it out loud to Jorge on the phone, he asked, “Who is that?”
“It’s Nietzsche.”
“Did you say MIKA?”
“YES, IT’S FUCKING MIKA.” And then I burst into song, to the tune of Grace Kelly’s soaring refrain: “What are these chuuuuuurches now if they’re nooooooot the tombs and SEPUUUUULCHRES OF GOD?!”
| — |
“Grace Kelly” by Mika.
I’m looking through my notebook from spring 2007 right now, it’s an absolute gem. |
“His blessed heart and crown, upon a bike;
His scepter scrapes gold scales into the street.
Emblazoned there, in rain and snow alike,
The consecrated trail warms walking feet.”
| — |
old unfinished poem about my boyfriend’s name. This stanza is his middle name, Christopher, patron saint of travelers. |
“I forgot what writing feels like. Real writing really hurts. I want to throw my computer across the room and scream. Every sentence I write is a massive footlong brown stinking piece of shit and then I swear and roll my eyes at myself and revise it into something EVEN SHITTIER. I want to quit and then I want to die because I’m such a quitter. The worst part is that I know I have to wade my way through this swamp of shit and pain and painful shitting and the end result is STILL going to be absolute shit-caked bollocks, and I will have to repeat the process indefinitely if I want to begin to approach the level of mere mediocrity, although there’s no guarantee that will ever happen. And yet I’m gonna do it. There is no reason why, none whatsoever, and I MUST!”
| — |
rediscovering the awful truth about writing for the umpteenth time in my life |
this is how I write the name “Stephen Merchant” in my diary
“This is Christine’s third production. Christine is very excited to be playing an ethnic character and to have her mike off during her lines. She would like to thank Lauren S. for ‘keeping it real’ and knowing all the words to the songs but not thinking it’s weird.”
“This is great. I’m gonna get shot down so hard, I just know it. It’s gonna be a new level of hell. All day and all night, wailing and gnashing my teeth because he won’t have any desire to know I exist. Prom is going to suck hairy ass because I’ll be positively EMO with disappointment. I’ll wear a homemade t-shirt listing the dates I failed at love. I’ll cry myself to sleep in Angelo’s arms. In fact I’ll probably MAKE OUT with Angelo to restore my sense of self-worth, but it won’t work and I will feel even more horrible. I will end up like Emily, listing my interests and passions as things like ‘shopping’, ‘hanging out’, and ‘sleeping in’.”
| — |
I miss the mean, weird, bitterly dramatic imagination I had in high school. |
“As soon as we got back to the hotel, April went to Travis’s room. Alone in our room, I opened the door and went out onto the small balcony, where it was much cooler and windier. I paced on the balcony drunkenly for a while, taking off my ring & necklace and putting them down on the concrete ground carefully and reverently. I tried to cry but couldn’t. I really wanted to write down the fact that I was completely mulched and moping on a balcony in Tokyo, but I realized I had absolutely nothing to write on, and THAT made me start sobbing like a baby. I really wanted to tell Chrissy, but I couldn’t even talk to April. Soon, I heard Travis’s balcony door open and the two of them came out flirting. I listened for a little while, but they just sounded too cute and I just felt too lonely, so I went in, unfolded the futon halfway (spilling beer all over my stuff and crushing the two paper cups that held my contact lenses), and went to sleep in an awkward position.”
| — |
one of my favorite memories from Japan: the time I drunkenly sobbed on a balcony in Tokyo because I had nothing to write on. I will think of this a lot when I’m old. |
-
CHRISSY:
Dekalb, Illinois, birthplace of barbed wire.
-
LAUREN:
Who the fuck is Barb Dwyer?
“I don’t know how I haven’t mentioned this yet, but his head is HUGE. Apparently I like that in a man. His face is like some kind of CREATURE’S face.”
“But why did you have to look into my motherfucking eyes like that. Why. You looked into them like you were watching a meteor shower. Like how I must’ve been looking into yours.”
