Wow! Where did it go?

Where did it go?

My youth. No longer a teenager. Not sure if thats good or bad. Most of my teen years had a lot of bad in them. Rebellion. Against what? I had it good. Then worse and I grew up.

I want to be a little girl again, 8 or 9, apple of my mom and dads eyes, safe, innocent...

You can't go home again. Its not there anymore. And at this age I don't know where it will be. Still time for adventure, still hope and dreams, yet rootless and a little lost.

There's a lot I'd like to do. I still want to live in Paris forever and be young, and write. And love. Elusive love.

Love could be home. Safe and warm and the thing all decisions are based on. Nope.

I'm being a bipolar bitch today. Shouldn't be writing, all my stuff will come out and you don't want to see that! Yuck.

So I'll tell you about dinner. Going to "Bottega". Michael is a bit smarmy, but the food!

Gonna have:

Antipasti

Wood Grilled Octopus olive oil braised potatoes, pickled red onion and salsa verde

Pasti

Potato Dough Raviolo filled with spinach and ricotta, black truffles, farm fresh egg yolk, sage brown butter

Secondi

Duck Three Ways roasted breast, confit leg, duck liver mousse, Sierra Beauty apple passata, spiced hazelnuts, and watercress

Contorni

Truffle-parmigiano fries

And gonna sneak copious amount of wine. Get stinking. In the mood for it. NOT driving. (Learned THAT lesson..)

One more year and I can seriously pursue the writers curse, alcoholism. Not yet. Only 20.

Thinking of wohooing too. Maybe even get up on the table and embarassing everyone. (ya gots to do rad shit for posterity). But then posterity is only 9 days, cause the world ends soon. Damn Mayans. Bad planning if you ask me.

What would you do if you knew there were no consequences? Stuff you would be thought insane for if there were? Or just live out your life in the quiet desparation most of our lives are too full of.

Tomorrows headline "Underage drinker causes near riot at local restaurant" I guess I took my bra off too and slung it at some old dude whose wife was giving me evil looks..and grabbed the hot waiter and tried to make love to him then and there! While ordering a bottle of 1998 Krug Brut Blanc De Blancs Clos Du Mesnil...

Naughty Monkey me!

Yea.

See 20 years old and I still got it.

Imagination.

Hope I don't get stuck in it though...gotta keep at least one manicured fingernail clawed onto reality.

:)

.

Ah School...

Back in the grind, autumn in full glorious last stages of leftover summer before the cool winds and rustling leaves come blowing by reminding of how life moves on never stays the same.

Run on sentences feel so good, stream of consciousness, alive and loving it in the face of the hideous oppression of structured writing to meet the dry expectations of grad student TA's whose only desire is the professors approving eye, a beer or ten, and a new crop of young women/girls to prey on.

Yea I'd fuck for a grade if I had to, but I don't, even though there are a couple of guys I wish would ask, as if guys ask instead of passive aggessivly maneuver and scheme, just ask guys, have some balls and say it, "I want your ass".

I'd have more respect if it was done direct and left alone if rejected, but then where's the fun in that? Too simple.

I need to write 4000 cogent words on mid seventeenth century literatures beginings, lots of poets, not too much in the way of what we now think of as literature, the novel and all.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due: 
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view: 
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my lays. 

Yea right, its work to read, maybe my attitude needs adjustment, a few beers would do the trick, but spend months on my hips too, wine perhaps in baccannal spirit, or harlots gin, and strip naked at Dr Andy's poetry night and read "Rape of the Lock" with my most drunken slur!

Wa dir oofeens frum amrus cusses srpoings...

And fall down to the applause, a performance piece macabre.

http://poetryindavis.com/ ?? should I?  I probably won't, but sit mouse quiet in the back row and fantasize about having the courage to walk up front and do anything at all! Men are not the only ones living lives of quiet desparation, internal fantasy the only love known, unseen, not recognized for who you are, but just a blob of flesh, not even acceptably shaped.

Ah well. I have not lost hope. There IS joy in me, and things wanting to get out. This was some of it.

Luv ya.