me explaining to angel why i'm having a bad day:

linernoteluv (10:10:41 PM): ugh i'm fat and a male lion and i can't sing and divorces suck and i still have feelings for karl and everything with victoria is crazy and i've gone and done it again and i can't stop and everything's tangled and messy and i like need to do history and to stop sucking at my job and to stop being fat and a male lion and obsessing.


UGHHHHH!!
i have to work tomorrow. bugger.
i need a cool life, oh, about now-ish. please and thanks.

tomorrow is the day of reckoning- when i match up my voice with those of the stupid upper middle class white spoiled private school brats i like to think i'm above.
oh holy fuck.
poem, now please- come out. now.







peas.

hmmm.
y'know those tricky little epiphanies that come (often after you yrself come) and leave you feeling inspired and justified and ready to start something? yeah. just had one of those. hm.
t'was nice.

content of epiphany followed along the traditional lines of 'love thyself' as delivered to us by tonite's episode of 7th heaven. garsh.
anyway, the basic thang of it is that i'm really tired of feeling so beat all the time, in every sense of the word. i'onno. i'm a little girl, and i'm in the mood to start acting like it.

so... wanna have a play date? ::le grin::

i accidentally deleted a massive entry i had here. it involved my first hookup with another girl, the fact that i now have friends, the fact that i suck and can't grow up already, and mention of a mysterious phone call early this morning. booty call? i think not.
hhmm. quandary...

lordy. crazy ass day.
lauren's birthday, got osme crappy grades back, need to catch up on history, cannot write to save my ass.

will be at globe 3-8:30 tomorrow doing hw with angel and laur and julie and the working. going to see either wimbledon or garden state, then pulling a girls nite sleepover thing and getting angel hazed friday morning.

new screename: linernoteluv (use it!)

blargh. homework, and parents' divorce, and writer's block-- oh my!

It simply was and there was no explaining it. He had tried before on several occasions to make this clear to her, but she simply couldn’t seem to grasp it. Still, he felt it his duty to try.


“Why is the sky blue?� he asked her.


“Because of the thickness and degree of curvature of the atmosphere and the refraction of the light hitting it,� she replied archly.

oh god, ohgodohgodohgod- i think i'm maturing or something.

oh my god. yes, yes- YES!
no, that was not an orgasm, nor an herbal essences commercial- that was me, Alison, and the feeling of validation!
oh yes.
i swear to fucking god, if i can get just one of these moments thrown into the mix once every, say, year or so, i'll be set. ::le sigh::
i don't want to be one of those people who blames all their fucked-up-edness on their parents, but i'm really sstarting to think that the reason i'm so hyper-sensitive and emotional and conscious of myself is because of my dad, and how my mom and i have always lived on our toes- never knowing when something small we did would make him blow and i'd spend the nite crying in my room, feeling like shit. wow. i am SO ready for this counselor. jesus.
mr. malcolm- fuck you. fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou. i KNOW i may not have the credibility of our society that kristin has but motherfuck THAT!
she's great, she's really is- and i know that she's got a ton of talent. but, i mean, why can't someone else get a chance? i'm not worse, just different. god, i hope it's only that i'm different.
if i suck at this than everything's down the drain.

letter from ms. coriale to me.
oh god-- i will TAKE IT!



I took a look at "my visible heart" and here are some of my thoughts:
 
First, you did a good job at splitting the poem into parts, although your title really prepares us for the conclusion, meaning a visible, exposed heart, sure of the truth of a feeling that came from her insides.
 
Then, your introduction prepares the reader for the lack of security or optimism that the writer is feeling, "highway warnings, a lamp post waiting to fall, seemingly done, or had they not yet begun.."  There is a heightened intensity from the beginning and I wonder if this is a surrealistic view of a vision that creates futuristic ties: "pretty and captivating and seemingly done or had they not yet begun." This then creates a time change that leaves the reader unconvinced of your experience, yet you come back strong in the end.
 
Then, I wonder about the role of society that perhaps interrupts, yet in this case the vision of infantile innocence escapes the frame of the "transparent glass." 
 
The ending is my favorite where you are the "cosmonaut, warrior, girl" (separated creatively since warrior girl would drown out the effect of your womanhood..The poet is a warrior, a woman and her strength and faithfulness to this love is like a roller coaster of disbelief, release and realism..But, in the end, she reveals her loyalty and perhaps her visible heart..to love "with your insides" is to love internally, despite all of the outside pressure, the "highway warnings, lamp posts waiting to fall and the red that warns us to turn back and flee from what we have learned to be ominous..
 
Alison, you are a talented young poet and when I read your work, I ask myself about your experience, your impetus to write..how is it that you have gained this vision at such a young age..I have heart a lot of poets, academics and others who are trying to get exposed and they do not approach your force..You are also using division well as well as other poetic devices..I tried to look at your poem, draw some conclusions and give you some feedback..I hope this helps and again, thanks for sharing this with me..I really enjoyed it. 

I know this is lame, but I think 'Iris' is really underrated and gets a lot of trashin just cause it was in City of Angels (one of my all-time guilty pleasures, to be sure.).
blargh.

Dear Ex-Boyfriend,
You suck. And by suck, I mean a lot. Like a lot a lot. Like, how much weight that Jared guy lost from eating Subway kind of a lot.
Best Wishes,
Alison.

Dear Friends,
Stop getting boyfriends, I'm jealous.
ROAR,
Alison.


Sorry, I'm feeling very Alanis Morrisette tonite.

translucent orange vials bright like highway warnings. wreck ahead, between big curves and a lamp post waiting to fall, and
i was there! and knowing, determined to see through and catch the red skies in mourning, pretty and captivating and seemingly done.
or had they not yet begun?

not yet begun to see, a small infant freshly plucked and messy. blind, without the aid of transparent glass
everywhere, slid within holey frames,
some upon which we traced in love when the heater made canvases in the nite,
and others that you took off and placed on the table in preparation even after the loving was long gone. (i am trusting that it had begun.)

opaque masses, no question as to their intentions, running into dead ends in the dark
of my convex frame quelling yr concave, only to have it begin heaving again, leaving.

a coup de grace to winter car rides

i will not regret blind faith at 3 am,
playing a cosmonaut, warrior, girl,
massive and unshrinking no matter the signs.

i will not regret this thing,
this that i share with yr mother-
i have loved you with my insides.

there were hearts!spray-painted onto the downspiral
of the pedestrian bridge, that was adjacent to all
that was green and brown.
and there was you; me, blue in jeans and tight
zip-up hoodie against you(r) blushing, against the cool
railing, against
a serene city backdrop that is only unfurled in the mid-afternoon of a chilly june day, when the lucky kids are still
in school and adults are being predicatable, making it easy,
getting divorced,
and we're all burning a bit-         giving off light.

there are cryptic messages
on stickers
on the gray
that paves the way,
and you; i, i smile in appreciation. i kick
the discarded pedal to the next level
of the spiral, i forget
to count the peddlers, i hate
people who are at liberty to hold hands.

it's gone cold now, and there are speed-limit signs.
there are on yr own days and,
i'll be home early to bond with you
days, and they're all the same-
precursors to the two separate beds, in two separate rooms,
and you; me, who doesn't want to be caught crying, speaking up
in foreign tongues that would reveal where i've been since the bleeding started and the rainbows stained
coffee-spoon dips, and i took (in) plunges deep down
sewer manholds, manholes, collisions breaking the
ground- an inverse eruption in slow motion.
right now i'm breathing in the city, breathing in so many different places
confined by so many phi-based relations...

i am keeping busy. baking on the ground, sweating, driving, creating, scanning
the horizon,
searching with baited breath for a sign on the bumpers of
non-descript vessels, being hit in the solar plexus
till i rush back to the stairs and

lips pucker and pop!against the sides of arms whose
grasping hands lead their puppeteer up and down staircases in hot pursuit
of boys that never beckoned to me.

right now i'm breathing in the city, breathing in so many different places,
confined by so many phi-based relations...
save for the consistent erraticism of
my own inner climate.