"It's the ambiguous meal--we're not sure
if it's lunch or
dinner"
February 31 2007
It's almost too easy to seal your life in a tiny white envelope. Address it to Ambiguity, who's obsessed with golden arch nail polish and this certain brand of cherry chapstick. The city is Chicago, but sometime's it Hartford, Connecticut, depending on my mood. It's charming, she says, like a Madeline hat in a thrift store down the gay district. periodically throughout evening such a these, I tend to scream erratically in order to break the silence; a sound that is unbearable. This twix taste like a crayon and I make a point to not be one, though I understand the battle from one friend to another. You go girl, cause that boy doesn't know what he's missing, and my best friend moved, too. You'll never get over it, I promise. I don't have the strength to keep her here. Orlando is simply bleak. My life is contained in a whiffel ball, holed with Economics assignments and two-week old summer reading essays I placed on his desk as nonchalantly as I could muster. I can basically say that I am "fornication under consent of the king" 'ed. Everytime I see that man, he's crying, and Thomas Morris taught me a lesson. Word is Precious, he said, but I'm not sure which words he meant or how long it takes for them to become so holy. The living are learning to die, and the dead have learned to live already, he said, you're friends who leave you will learn and so will you in their wake. I walked away with a $50 bill in my shoe and a pencil in my hand. I burned a hole in my book like the hole in my arm. Wanna know how I got these scars on my left arm? You see, I had a best friend. And she was beautiful, but impressionable. One night, I decide that I'm going to show off a little bit, so I pour some drinks. Things get out of hand, real quick. To show my invincibility, I said "Hey guys---watch this!" and thrust the cigarettes from my lips into the arm. I pushed deep and the next morning, found about six layers of skin missing in that one spot with simply no memory. Why so serious? Well Bishop Moore thought it was a joint and you'd think I'd learn a lesson, but that's asking way to much from Ambiguity Me. If your heard it--it's a lie. If you saw it--illusion. Learn the rules and the seven stepping stones for Ambiguity in order to understand. My moleskin has this passage it reads:
"The shitty thing about this city is that the wind blows out my smokes. It lets the cherry burn stale so I must re-light, effort i would not have wasted in the city of my own. Home. I miss having one."
God damn it, I should've asked Thomas Morris' middle name! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Bishop Moore,
I have nothing to lose because all is already lost. Thank-you for showing me what it's like to have nothing. A catholic kid turned Atheist Teenage beat poet, so named by a previous lesbian lover. What do you think about that? That's right, you had a flaming lesbian (well, another one) in your school for about a year and never realized it. Well, maybe Durgin, did. Am I seeming slightly sporadic? Are my words wittingly wrong? Give me some paper, I need something stationary as the cups runneth over with too much grime on the converse I wear to work, to school, to play and practice. Keepin' it real at public school and missing you to death, drowning in the lakes created by Fay as Gustav approaches. I love you Bishop Moore. You completed me. ha! I could never love you--Fuck you! And Fuck your ugly-ass new golden shirts the color of something I puked when I overdosed on Tylenol tablets in the sixth grade. I'm not a misplaced teen and I don't need you to find me in your purse. I'm not your goddamn keys so leave me be to rot in hell in public school. You have to live for the things you've lost, not in spite of them, but shit, I'm doing both and you're to blame. Write me off, I'll reappear, tie me up, I'll unravel your knots. Try to tell me I'm worthless, but I'll take the lead just watch me. I'll make it happen and you won't be there. Just another member of the audience, applauding how well the performance was. Bitch, you wont even be there. And i wont give you a refund either.
As Always,
Mariah.
