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.