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| 09:33pm 02/05/2008 |
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Tomorrow we will have been together for a year. We live in an apartment on the river where the lace curtains blow almost horizontal in the wind, rubbing against one another like lovers.
There seems to always be wind blowing, the kind you can hear. Canvases hover slightly and thump against the wooden walls. The plastic ends of the blind cords lift and tap quietly, over and over.
Wind chimes! There's even wind chimes.
We're growing basil on the porch.
We bought two fish named Ebb and Flow. Ebb passed away, but Flow remains. I've never loved a goldfish quite as much as I love Flow. She blows me kisses.
We wake, drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, eat breakfast, wash dishes, then either I or him or both of us go to work...
On rare days neither of us work.
We talk about going to the beach, or going to a museum, but we end up talking, and talking, playing music, kicking each others ass in Magic and rolling around loafing, lulling in love. The intensity has only grown, but we share the same excitement to be in the presence of one another as we felt in the beginning.
I'm so happy.
Blah blah bleh bleh blarg. I can't help it. I know I sound silly.
This is my life.
This is my life?
Yes. |
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3 minutes left - care for any last words? |
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| 08:36pm 15/04/2007 |
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Please don't ask me why
True as a sky
everyone is born to die
So take your time
but don't take mine
lose yourself but don't lose your mind
somewhere out there inbetween
the moon and the sea
I'll be waiting for you, my dear,
so wait for me
You can't regret what you forget
if only you could forget it
but it takes time and plenty of wine
the weight of the world there in your eyes
nothing could ever come to you unless you try, try, try,
you find yourself in trouble
if you cannot tell a lie
its easy as pie
somewhere out there inbetween
the moon and the sea
I'll be waiting for you, my dear,
just wait and see
somewhere out there inbetween
the moon and the sea
I'll be waiting for you, my dear,
so wait for me
I'll wait for you Sean Lennon. |
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1 minutes left - care for any last words? |
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| Backpfeifengesicht: a face that cries out for a fist in it. |
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| 03:01am 24/03/2007 |
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"No I don't believe in Jesus Christ
My mother died of cancer when I was 5
No I don't believe in religion
I was forced to go to church, I wasn't told why"
I don't feel like writing a lengthy entry. I have some words I would like to get off of my small chest:
Fucking
Pigs
Disgusted
Derisive
Unsociable
Irie
Frivolous yuppie lushes
Yammering
Button-up shirt
Half roll
Broken bowl
Muffled voices
Week long visits
Burnouts
Rotting
Melted plastic
Elephant cock
Sore
Giggly whores
Weary
Dirty 'ol mop
Grog |
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2 minutes left - care for any last words? |
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| 10:47pm 21/03/2007 |
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mood:  cookies
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A moth is tapping against the light bulb in my closet.
My dog chomping on a plastic bone that couldn't possibly taste good. Her metal tags clanging as she walks away...
Me chomping on a straw sticking out of an empty drink, delaying myself from making another. My metal necklace charms clanging as I adjust my position against the wall. It's not comfortable, but I pretend it is because I lack furniture.
I wish I had a grandmother that lived nearby with grandma furniture. A big, smelly, dusty couch. A creaky old rocking chair with a cushion tied to it. Cookies. Oh I miss cookies. Warm ugly blankets... Little gnome figurines.
Can I borrow someones Grandma? |
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| 05:25pm 19/03/2007 |
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mood:  sick
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I wish I could have called in sick the last few days at work, for I have been iller than ill. But
Undertow
is
Understaffed...
So this could not happen. I'm off today and I went to the doctor.
I got some anti-biotics and NARCOTIC COUGH SYRUP. I'm thrilled.
I want to sleep and take it easy, but I think I'm going to try to be productive... maybe blow some money on a memory chip for my video camera so I can take digital stills. Finally I'll have a digital camera, sort of. I feel as if I'm betraying film- but I'm not. I could never... Would never.... Oh, film.
On St. Patrick's day I was coughing up festive masses of phlegm. It was grotesque.
I'm writing a script for a short film called, "789"
The character "7" is a cannibal... |
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5 minutes left - care for any last words? |
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| 02:59am 10/03/2007 |
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Through my anatomy, dwells another being
Rooted in my cortex, a servant to its bidding |
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care for any last words? |
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| Oops. |
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| 08:00pm 18/02/2007 |
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I like my new job. Everyone is fantastic. The music is fantastic. The drinks are fantastic. I'm almost fantastic.
I'm at Undertow, cocktail waitress/bar wench... It's a little scummy sometimes, but I like the hustle. I have a few close talkers that like to repeat my name, "Molly....Molly...Molly....molly...mollymollymolly." with a creepy drunk-guy smile and rank breath... but, otherwise, it's nice. Did I mention that I get to watch middle-aged people dance drunkenly? It makes me happy - Plus, last night they were dancing to a top notch Beatles tribute band. And that is why I'm almost fantastic. I'd surely be fantastic if I could get out of this city tonight.
I want to hear some funny serving anecdotes.
Here's one of my own. When I was at Olive Garden in Merritt Island, a family of Londoners (Mum, little boy, and daughter) were seated in my section. They had heavy accents, which instantly won me over.
At OG, there is the spaghetti entree, with a choice of up to three meatballs or an italian sausage.
[....And I just realized that this story will basically suck when delivered via non-verbal communication. The accents are pretty key. Oh well, Okay.] The daughter orders a salad, the mom orders a plate of spaghetti and 2 meatballs, then it's time for the son to order:
"I think I would like the spaghetti and meatballs as well... How big ar yer balls??"
Managing to keep a somewhat straight face, I reply, "Massive."
"And what about yer italian sausage, is that massive as well??"
Straight face contorts, "Yes, also massive."
He got the sausage.
Do tell some of yer own. |
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| 05:59pm 16/02/2007 |
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brokn keeeyboard. wioooll not beresponding orpostinggggg until furthernoticcce. |
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care for any last words? |
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| 11:26pm 13/02/2007 |
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I recently found a few old journals, grades 2-5. I thought they were gone forever.
I have become obsessed with reading them and developing a "Childhood memoribillia predicts the future in a highly detailed way" theory. It's true. I'm compiling examples... Will post when I get it all together.
Anyway, I came across an entry on Valentine's day in second grade. It reads as follows:
"February 14, 1996
Oh no, it is Valentines day.
I am sad." |
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| 03:34pm 10/02/2007 |
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Dear Vodka,
I love you so much, and this is why what I am about to say is so difficult. I fear that I won't be able to see you anymore... You always make for a stellar time, but overexposure to you always ends up with me breaking something or nearly getting arrested.
I know about the other people you have been with... I've seen the pictures, and frankly, I'm disgusted. I'm sorry I invited Orange Juice on those several occasions, but I was under the impression that you were comfortable with that. I'm going to miss your kisses.
Best,
Molly Nugent
Dear Rum,
I appologize for my lack of correspondence, I've been a little tied up. I miss you and think about you all of the time. Are you free tonight?
Yours,
Molly Nugent |
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10 minutes left - care for any last words? |
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| I'm always changing my mind. |
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| 12:07pm 16/01/2007 |
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C'mon kid. Why don't you....
Do this.
And this.
And this.
and this.
& this.
& this.
You shouldn't be..
Doing that.
Or that.
Or that.
Or that.
Or that.
Or that either.
Why are you doing
this
when you should be doing
that? |
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care for any last words? |
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| 08:46pm 26/12/2006 |
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Hi. I'm homeless again.So I decided to come to Vero to visit. I have all of my belongings in a couple of suitcases, again, bobbing from house to house, couch to couch, floor to floor.
... Things have shifted quite a bit, really, and I've been sifting and living amongst the debris of what used to be for the past 11 or so months. My mother and I homeless, my brother living at home with my dad. None of us the same.
Doing alright, living and growing, but not the same.
This time of year is when families gather, by either an actual desire to spend time with one another, or an obligatory urge out of fear of appearing rude to the extended family. In the past, my family's Christmas's were tense and forced... but I miss small things. I can't ignore the fact that I don't know where to go or what to do with my day today. The fact that I have not had a place to help hang stupid decorations or burn cookies or hug family members or wrap or open a single present... Rudolph the green nose reindeer from my childhood remains in a box somewhere. (Given to me by my grandmother- she was always a terrible gift giver..) Stupid little things like that.
... Even though in past years the family part was always draining and fake, it's still sad when it's gone. Sitting in an empty house that I used to live in, parents split, my father in Canada (Whom I have not seen since March... Though he lives in Vero, a 45 minute drive from Merritt Island- where I have been living) my mother in Washington, randomly... losing her mind, and definitely at the peak of her mid-life break-down frantic-urge-to-"live"-crisis. My brother in Vero- our interactions have been brief and abrupt, until a half hour ago, I finally hugged him and sobbed in his arms for a while... Without saying much, his eyes agreed that this was pretty sad.
Sure, I've been invited to friends' family gatherings with that sympathetic head tilt, raising their voices at the ends of their sentences and looking toward me like an orphaned stray cat. But why would I want to intrude on their Christmas?
I'm not doing Christmas this year. I can't, so I won't. Now where did that mango ice cream go....
It doesn't really matter, Christmas, that is. Mango ice cream always matters.
It feels that certain things have been stripped away, and I cannot get them back. I should've figured out then what I know now. It couldn't have changed anything, but I could have soaked up a little more of what is lacking now.
I have been kicked to the streets by my "best friend." I still do not know why. I do not know why she has spent the last few weeks going out of her way to wig out and be unpleasant to me. I hope when she is sitting among her family eating a specially prepared vegitarian xmas dinner, .... I hope she looks around. I hope she looks at her plate, I hope she looks at her lap when she is opening gifts, I hope she looks around and sees smiles of everyone she cares about, and realizes what it would be like to have none of this.
She invited me to her family Christmas... I accepted this invitation at first, but then declined, realizing that this was not my family, and honestly the only thing that lewered me in was a home cooked meal and maybe some wine. |
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| barely tolerable |
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| 11:07pm 14/05/2006 |
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The laptop resting on the leather couch is heating up...
is someone preparing a steak?
No. It's the laptop hard at work, cooking the couch.
oh
ARRRGH. I'm not impatient, but I have a very low tolerance for inane behavior and the individuals that demonstrate it. How could my tolerance be so low when I encounter them so often? Why am I not building a resistance??
People can be similar to drugs. That is why you will often hear someone who is
hard-to-take refered to as "a pill."
I've had a lot of very large diamond-shaped pillpeople crammed down my throat.. One, after another, after another... And still, I remain effected by them...easily agitated (internally.) Never outwardly, heavens no. I'm too considerate for that kind of behavior, though I deal constantly with flustered individuals fretting about how unfortunate they are, how the world is against them, how stressed they are.....one after another, after another... I am not a complaint booth. I am not your peeing tree. |
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care for any last words? |
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| ...and you will know us by the trail of jesus juice |
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| 04:53pm 08/05/2006 |
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mood:  bored music: feist- tout doucement
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Blurred and in constant motion...? What the hell was I talking about???
That may have been earlier, but not today.
Today I have to find a way to brush the dreads outta my hair. It's bad. I've neglected it for a longggg time.
I'm writing so much music on guitar lately. It's exciting and makes me smile. I'm poor and have been making money by playing at coffee shopy bars and that Bodega Blue place. I had to play for two hours last time at a wine tasting, and ended up running outta stuff to play with quite a chunk of minutes left... I ended up playing Danzig- Mother...... At a wine tasting.... Yeah. A wine tasting packed with a majority of older gentlefolk. One person recognized it, sort of.
Do you ever read a book and get attached to the main character? Like, in a sick way... you feel like crying when you finish the book? Yeah? REally?
I started a new book, so sad that I would be missing my beloved craggly old drunkard man narrator, only to find that the book I bought is narrated by the craggly old drunkard man in his younger years. I got so excited I shouted, "Oh Fuck, Yes." ....And creamed all over the paperback. I was eating boston creme donuts.
I need to get drunk. |
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care for any last words? |
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| born to die. |
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| 04:20am 03/05/2006 |
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mood: lethargic music: sleep breathing noises
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Since my last update I have:
Passed time,
Haven't slept in my own bed in 5 months,
Continued to play/record/write music,
Had life changing experiences,
Distanced myself from other experiences,
Gone out of town at least every few days,
Moved around, squatting and couch surfing,
Stayed away from you. Yes, you.
Gained trust in select few,
Met people that will impact my life, until the end of it,
Gone to great fucking shows,
Read a lot of good literature,
Traveled,
Got a purple truck,
Written so many short stories/poems/rants/and the beginning of the book I'll never finish,
Sorted out some of the rubble in my head,
Formulated the beginnings of a plan of what exactly I want to do with my remaining years.
Things have been going well. I'm happy, but never satisfied... I think that's a good thing. Then again, it Is incredibly hip to be discontent with life on livejournal. The fact is, no one is content, you'll never be truly content, and if you are, I pity you... Things can always be better. Griping about them doesn't make them change, unless it's griping in an organized protest......
I know I've griped, but nothing really changed until I got so sick of life turning stagnant and sought out to change it. I can't even think about settling while everything's so blurred and in constant motion. |
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| 01:36am 24/01/2006 |
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All we have is now. Now will transform into then as soon as you blink, and who knows what happens when your eyes close for that millisecond. |
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1 minutes left - care for any last words? |
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sinkflsink's journal
