Something new, eh? I like it when I go somewhere and someone comes up to me and says "Oh, you're in for a treat" and they're right! Went out and pogoed to The Ex and a bunch of people collectively lost it and danced, bleeding on stage, hornrimmed glasses and beer and Dutch people everywhere. Got so many crushes on people.









There's so much to do.

I don't know why I can't let things go. Keeps me going I guess. I can't spin it any other way -- can you? Yeah, I'm locked in the grooves. Time to get out and bust a move, make music out of tape loops, start something bigger. Small steps, small steps.


"That way, or nothing at all." Exactly!

I had a dream that I couldn't move my middle two fingers for some reason. It was really annoying and I could actually feel it. I usually don't feel things physically when I dream. I looked in a mirror and my nose was crooked. I couldn't figure out how the hell my nose had gotten broken but my fingers were more of a concern as it made it harder to do stuff.


(I was making a stupid face like that, too.)

I pried my fingers apart from the half-assed metal sign they had formed and got back to work. I was part of the cast of a tv sitcom about a misfit family, a sort of post-Brady Bunch rip off I guess. It was set in the late 1970s and I had this janky as hell wardrobe of polyester coordinates. It was funny in an ironic way but not at all my style. It was ostensibly being filmed in this combination my house/tv show set/bookstore/spa place in a rambling old house. The building really made absolutely no sense like a Victorian house designed by a five year old with ADD or something. The other people on the show were my old housemates from college and I was stuck with the annoying girl who I and everyone else hated but just wouldn't move out for some reason. She was her usual completely socially retarded and arrogant self. She was eating unnaturally blue colored crackers loudly. I abhor that sort of shitty food and hate television even more, especially sitcoms. What a waste of life. This one I was on was particularly stupid and I wanted out. A gang of old, bizarrely dressed Swedish bikers with long beards and aviator sunglasses invaded the set. Great! My chance to get out. There was a younger guy with them and he was crying. He couldn't deal with life or something. I told him it was ok, speaking from experience. "Even though I play a 15 or 17 year old girl on this show, I am actually 23". That seemed to make him feel better. I was kind of annoyed by it though and a bit embarrassed, like, I really don't want to be dealing with this. Then annoying girl from my house rushed into the conversation in the useless way she used to and started giving useless advice and I got disgusted and left.

I think my subconscious is telling me to bust a move, get outta here, get metal as fuck, and do something dangerous.

Last night I was going through some old emails from the summer. The end of this summer really bummed me out. Like some kinds of animals do before natural disasters happen, I had sensed it was coming in this weird, primal, all-consuming terror way. I was dreading another New England winter and plotting my escape but all of the alternatives I came up with kind of sucked (Texas???) and what I actually ended up doing sucked beyond belief.

I said this before, and I'll copy and paste it and say it again:

31 August 2010
Changing is hard though. Sometimes it’s like one step forward, two steps back. But I don’t regret it so much though now, all that time being miserable and hoping it would get better. As if I could find the exact point where it started to go wrong and go back and change it. (In technical terms, this is called “magical thinking”). For all that, I came to the conclusion that: Some people need to go through their own hell and journey to their outer limits (mentally, spiritually, physically, geographically) in order to come out on the other side. I’m like that.

I said this before and I guess I've already said what I meant to say long ago. I guess that was my dramatic send off of sorts. A pretty good one. Romantic, almost. You'd be surprised how boys are into that, really. It's kinda gross.

I also said this before the hell that was... Jeez. Ok, I've sat here for a few minutes now and weeks longer than that and you know what? There's really no fantastic, magical, nice way to spin it. At least I've already accomplished several major New Years goals but I wish I hadn't gone about it so...hard I guess. I'm doing a hell of a lot better now that I don't feel like the David After Dentist kid all the time anymore -- "Is this real life??? Is this gonna be forever??????" Imagine, working like that. It was absurd really. And kind of a funny distraction because I knew I was going to quit anyway. I liked it when the bartender I worked with most nights would remind me to keep a 'positive mental attitude' and I was thinking to myself 'I literally am not capable of that right now, but I'll keep it in mind.' Difference is this time I didn't resist it and just sort of nodded my head and went along with it.





It's happening though. It's gone slowly though, much slower than I thought it would.

And ok, from here on out, here's a new resolution: less negativity, more positive vibes.

Hope for the future, May 28th, 2010:
“we are excited about life every day and actively defeating boredom
like how it should be
shimmering bliss”

More notes from May 28th, 2010:
I got a sunburn on my neck from laying outside and drinking g&t's all afternoon.

I tried to write my overdue senior reflection essay and got two paragraphs into my revised draft before deciding I was too high to do anything except lay on the floor and listen to Fugazi, which I am pretty sure is the opposite of what you are supposed to do and listen to Fugazi. My moral sense seems to have been shaped by their music more than anything else. A good one, I think, instilled into me at an impressionable age when I was flirting with a fake nostalgia for communism and mass-produced and sold anarchism. (Also kind of music more sophisticated than say, the more youthful efforts of Minor Threat. Punk rock for kids and grown ups.)

I don’t even know what I like anymore really. I see the same people all day every day and pretty soon I won’t anymore. Ok, a list of turn ons: guys in glasses, guys with beards/interesting facial hair (especially if bald), guys who read books for fun, guys who can admit to having feelings and it's fine but they’re not wieners about it, guys who are responsible, guys who know how to have fun, guys who like spontaneous trips to wherever, guys who are honest, guys who are at least somewhat reliable, guys who don’t smoke weed. Ultimately I am just kind of lazy when it comes to relationships and would rather couple up sooner than later but avoid the (inevitable, I'm told, but don't believe) communication issues regarding what 'commitment' means to whom and whatever, it's just boring.

I started writing a letter that went unsent to this guy I don’t even know (a recurring trope in my life I guess) but really it was just a monologue to intended for an audience of myself only: “I'm about to graduate college now and it's freaking me out a bit. Weird in the worst unknowable way. There's no way my senior project can be complete, as even at 50 pages, a book was just released two weeks ago (after 700 years of virtually nothing, at least the information age has improved some things in some respects) 350 pages in length...in Dutch...which I don't understand very well yet. Oh well. I suppose I'm cutting edge. The other final project I'm doing is on meditation.” I stopped writing because, oh hell, I don’t even care anymore.

* Walking down unknown roads into new towns. I like going and getting lost and disoriented and a bit scared but mostly excited and totally aware of my surroundings and then working my way back.
* Now my best friend Jared has a friend from Arcata visiting who at 21 has also just flown on an airplane for the first time in his life to the east coast. It's a nice exchange. We make plans for the future that probably will not pan out. He's a cool guy and is also unashamedly into booty jams.
*Anton putting a tattoo on Jared
*I think about how I know all these people.
*Jordan, a friend of mine who I went to Montreal (accidentally illegally) with for Spring Break '09 woooo did a performance on intimacy and experiences of such that was so brave and true. I wished I felt that strongly about anything ever.
*Talking about pop punk with my friend Peter. He rules. He's a bit drunk and a bit more forward than usual and hugs both me and Jared and tells us both how much he'll miss us both. I promise I'll come back and visit.
*Campfire songs over fireworks. People start inexplicably getting patriotic, chanting USA, USA drunkenly over our illegal fireworks purchased and transported across several state lines from South Carolina for 5 dollars or less at 2am. Time to go.

- - - - -

Notes from May 30th, 2010:

I don't know what I'm doing now. It's late. And I'm paraphrasing a Stanislaw poem, and I don't even really get poetry, and I'm also playing "Beast of Burden" as loud as possible at 4:27am on a Sunday.
What is my life,.
- Jaimi


- - - - -

Notes from June 1st, 2010:

A clear and dusty day in June
My stoned mind just spilled that line
Describing...what's it like, describing?
Believing that the sum is "yes."

Looking around at all my comrades
My police-state mind just spilled that line
I want to give names to our bonds
I need names to play the game

But what makes my heart run?
Why the thunder in my thighs?
My body
My mind
The idea of my life
Seems like a symbol

Everyone loves dead actors and film stills and French New Wave and the film Breathless, myself included. Jean-Paul Belmondo is still alive though, I just looked it up. He was way too handsome in his hey day, with a rakish, reckless charm. 50 years later, girls still can't get enough. This guy came into my work once. I couldn’t believe it – he looked exactly like a young Belmondo except that his eyes were blue and he was preternaturally ruined by life. His face was leathery and his teeth were horrible and mostly missing. I wondered how the hell that happened. Where'd all his teeth go? What ugliness seeped into his life and ruined everything? Probably meth. Avoid that one, kiddos.