i wonder if you've got that feeling in your stomach yet the one we used to get after those vowels and curses the one that vacuumed- are eyes from across the room cause i know i have and all that's left are peeling photographs and too much time on my hands to plan how i'd hold your wrists kiss your lips and say i'm sorry and stop this feeling in my stomach

Last night was fucked up. Really fucked up.

We're back together. Edit: ..Back to fighting.

Dan has just completely given up on me.. He says I'm worth fixing the problems we have..but he doesn't want to put himself in that place? I don't know. I miss him. Alot. And I have learned alot from him. Like how I will always give people second chances and never give up. And I will never, ever walk away from love. California in three. Thank goodness. Peace & Unity Chel.

I am not a concept. I'm just a fucked up girl trying to find peace of mind. Good-bye.

Thursday, February 09, 2006 Fuck. I'm ready for the next process in the evolution of my life. I'm sick of the cycle I'm in. No matter how many reds I stub out, I just light them up again. I'm sick of this fucked up relationship, that's always almost derailing. And rolling. And crashing. Why won't it just burn out already? It's been two years too many. I'm ready to grab my diploma, and my pink samsonite suitcase, and board the plane to California with a one way ticket. A ticket away from all these same old faces and streets and hallways. I'm so bored of being hurt and and insignifigant. Fuck the joke that is high school. Fuck Maine. And fuck you. Friday, February 03, 2006 Dear Fools, What I believe but can not prove: No part of my consciousness will survive my death - besides the fading thoughts in other's minds or the hole I left in the ditch between the telephone poles on Riverside. Consciousness is an accidental gift of blind processes. And I know this. But I don't want to be left at the bottom of the pit with every other wrist-cut existentialist. And I fluctuate constantly - not my morals, but how I prove them and how they concern me. So what, I know how to use a filter, what the fuck is that going to get me? Just another routine. What I need is love. Undying-in the moment-forever passionate-spontaneous-love. I need a promise that you can give it to me. The answer to my equation will always equal mickey mouse pancakes and kisses on the back of my neck - unwavering of their significance. Am I making any sense? Without your love I'm another on-the-verge-nihilist. And I'll write myself in philosophical circles forever, without your love! Don't you get it? Ball and chain to your name. This is what I believe - but only time will prove it. Be my consciousness. Love, Chels. Sunday, January 22, 2006 My best times are always at 3am. And even though we had to be quiet. The January air holds our memory - our words and eyes are locked in the trees. They're frozen solid in the ice - and come this spring we'll retrace our steps to find melted water made flowers and a warm welcoming. And from this day on - I'll be painting many prints of the blurry minutes and sharp vowels and warm fingertips. Even without the beer on my lips I was happy. No - ecstatic. Nights like that are really magic. When I'm dressed up with all the love of my best friends. And the cold night is ours to transcend. Just a few more months and every night will be like this. Just a few more months till forever.

When I'm camouflaged in alcohol it's ringing in my ears - out of sight out of mind. That's kind of hard with you in the room. Ignoring the awkwardness and the repetition of Incubus. I stumble up the stairs to puke - more word vomit from Chelsea True Heart. Out of sight out of mind, I can't throw myself in front of that train again. Who is this about? All of you. You're the ends of my hair and the scars on my thighs and the worry in my eyes it's all of you. You've done this to me. You're all the numbers on the clock and the thick brown smoke and the dirt under my nails. It's fucking all of you.

We fight too much.

The truth is that everyone is lying.

Always waiting.

My unfinished poem.... empty your head and your ashtrays into the same trash can cry out your eyes scratch your itching brain ill be in the kitchen peeling oranges lay down and cross your fingers beneath empty trees while you bang your forehead on broken piano keys crying out for the color blue ill be in the bedroom sleeping

I feel like I'm standing on the sun, watching the lovers get fucked over faster than my mind and body are disingrating. Watching the tears evaporate off my face and rain back down into his cup, as he tilts his head back and drinks me up. But I'm only here on this airplane, sitting in row fourteen, seat F, watching the insignifigant people get smaller in their insignifigant lives. I press my palm up against the glass as if to say goodbye to the only signifigant thing I had. Peace & Unity Chel.

I'll miss the way she called me "beeb" in her Scottish accent. The way she sometimes called me Karri or Cheryl and how she always called Danny, Scotty. I'll miss her trying to fatten me up on chocolate saying I couldn't think straight cause I was too skinny. I'll miss the way she would comment on how "black" Dan was. Thanks for Dinner Gram. No problem, I'd do the same for a white man. I'll miss her calling my Dad a yuppy. I'll miss her listening to my radio show, but not liking it cause she doesn't like vegans. I'll miss walking into her house, and having her sing to me... Here comes the girl with the long black haiiiirr. And the ugly facceeee. I will always remember her and the effect she had on Danny. I wish I had gotten to say goodbye. I can't think straight. I can't even imagine how crushed and alone I would feel without my Nana. She and my mom are the ones who have always been there and understood me. I need to call her. I Love You.

PLEASE READ THIS if you feel like actually thinking for once.... Think about your direct bodily experience of life. No one can lie to you about that. How many hours a day do you spend in front of a television screen? A computer screen? Behind an automobile windscreen? What are you being screened from? Is watching things as exciting as doing things? Do you have enough time to do all the things that you want to? Do you have enough energy to? How many hours a day do you sleep? How are you affected by standardized time, designed soley to synchronize your movements with those of millions of other people? How long do you EVER go without knowing what time it is? Can you put value on a beautiful day, when the birds are singing and people are walking around together? How many dollars does it take to pay you to stay inside to sell things or file papers? What will you get later that could make up for this day of your life? Who prepares your meals? Do you ever eat by yourself? Do you ever eat standing up? How much do you know about what you eat and where it comes from? How much do you trust it? How are you affected by the requirements of efficiency, which place value on the product rather than the process, on the future rather than the present, the present moment that is getting shorter and shorter as we speed faster and faster into the future? WHAT ARE WE SPEEDING TOWARDS? Are we saving time? Saving it up for what? How much freedom of movement do you have - freedom to move through space, to move as far as you want, in new and unexplored directions? And how are you affected by waiting? Waiting in line, waiting in traffic, waiting to eat, waiting for the bus, waiting for the bathroom - learning to punish and ignore spontaneous urges? How are you affected by holding back your desires? Is pleaure dangerous? Could danger be joyous? DO YOU EVER NEED TO SEE THE SKY? Can you even see stars in it anymore...? Do you ever need to see water, leaves, foliage, animals? Glinting, glimmering, moving? Is that why you have a pet, an aquarium, houseplants? Or are television and video your glinting, glimmering and moving ? How much of your life comes at you through a screen, vicariously? Do videotapes of yourself and your friends, fascinate you, as if you are somehow more real in the image than in life? How are you affected by a non-stop assault of symbolic communication - audio, visual, print, billboard, computer, video, radio, robotic voices - as you wander through the forest of signs? What are they urging upon you? Do you ever need solitude, quiet, contemplation? Do you remember it? Thinking ON YOUR OWN, rather than reacting to stimuli? Where can you go to find silence and solitude? Not white noise, but pure SILENCE? Not loneliness, but gentle solitude? How often have you stopped to ask yourself questions like these? Do you ever feel lonely in a way that words can not even express? DO YOU EVER FEEL READY TO LOSE CONTROL? -Days of War, Nights of Love Peace & Unity Chel.

Give me inches and perpetuate this moment - ardor filled, heart spilled, fired blown and fragile still. 'Cause I'll be gone soon - chasing the afternoon, like a hand in the wind on the highway - the road to far away, where I feel close. The hawser bend becoming loose, and breaking when I pass thirty times one hundred. There'll be no panarama view for you, do we end? 'Cause I'll be studying, and thinking, and searching for irony and I don't know if I'll want to come home. I'm an-alphabetic yet poetic. Esprit and dedicated to my cause. Is that enough? Am I making all this up? There's months till that moment comes - the one where I'm packed tight and the door slams shut. And you're the little figure growing smaller instead of bigger in the rear window of my life.