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newer-older-profile-gbook-notes- e-mail-dland pointed baloney. 04.29.02 at 12:23 am 0 comments so far when i was around the age of twelve, i was upset with my cousin. as with most episodes of anger, i've forgotten the reasons with time. regardless, i wrote of his behavior in my journal. i spoke poorly of him, and left the journal under my pillow. well, said bratty cousin found the journal, read it, ripped the page so that i would know that he had seen it, and promptly he told my grandmother, as younger cousins sometimes do to older ones. she told me that i should have separate journals; one where i could write bad things about others, and one where i could write the other stuff. i thought the logic was baloney. actually, i still think it's bullshit. the boy shouldn't have been looking through my shit. however, his transgressions were never addressed. alas, as the older child, i bore the brunt of it. regardless, i see some validity in the distinction between one journal and the next. while it didn't fit my childhood experience so much i understand where my grandmother was coming from. although, i'm sure she wasn't thinking of such a public forum as online journals when she reprimanded me. i remember that i once said that i was going to strive to think positively about others. granted, i never stop thinking, i have a dirty mind, and i'm very good at thinking cruel thoughts. but i have refrained from writings that are directly hurtful. maybe that's going too far�i'm no saint. i remember when i was about eleven, maybe. it was after my parents were divorced, but not too long after because i wasn't very old. i was at the extended day program at my school. it was a beautiful, hot day. hot enough to warrant open windows�something that doesn't always happen in seattle during the school year, right? i can't remember what we were talking about, but we were sitting on couches near the window. i said, 'my dad has pimples all over his back, it's so disgusting.' or something along those lines. more importantly, my father was right outside the window. he wasn't mad. i think he was honestly hurt and said that i shouldn't say mean things to people at whom the thoughts weren't directed. that was the last time i was caught in the act. i don't want to be caught like that again. and the only way to ensure its extinction is to shut up. or at least that's my solution because i can't help but think certain thoughts sometimes. i feel like i'm at sunday school or something. or confessional. neither of which i've ever actually been to, mind you. and not that i'm actually going to fully implement my solution. that's one of the prerequisites of confessing, right? what's my point? the validity of my point is moot. this is just me rambling and reminiscing. and you have gotten this far, so my writings certainly can't have been that repellent. it's interesting. i just realized, in thinking of gossip, that i've learned how to keep someone else's secret but i haven't learned how to keep my own. there is always at least one other person who knows what's up. but this time it's not you, and it doesn't seem like it's going to be me either. and i think that's really my point. though she is often out of character, lyric/music is the best way to emote and, so, tonight ani difranco it is. a wise girl once wrote, "any word or explanation would not even come close to what i want to say. too bad we communicate in words and not by emoting. the closest i have ever come to being able to express how i feel is by my music. we should all just explain things like 'here's a song. feel it and you'll understand.'" here's a song. feel it and you'll understand. //thirty two flavors//squint your eyes and look closer/i'm not between you and your ambition/i am a poster girl with no poster/i am thirty-two flavors and then some/and i'm beyond your peripheral vision/so you might want to turn your head/cause someday you're going to get hungry/and eat most of the words you just said//both my parents taught me about good will/and i have done well by their names/just the kindness i've lavished on strangers/is more than i can explain/still there's many who've turned out their porch lights/just so i would think they were not home/and hid in the dark of their windows/till i'd passed and left them alone//and god help you if you are an ugly girl/course too pretty is also your doom/cause everyone harbors a secret hatred/for the prettiest girl in the room/and god help you if you are a phoenix/and you dare to rise up from the ash/a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy/while you are just flying past//i'm not trying to give my life meaning/by demeaning you/and i would like to state for the record/i did everything that i could do/i'm not saying� that i'm a saint/i just don't want to live that way/no, i will never be a saint/but i will always say//squint your eyes and look closer/i'm not between you and your ambition/i am a poster girl with no poster/i am thirty-two flavors and then some/and i'm beyond your peripheral vision/so you might want to turn your head/cause someday you might find you're starving/and eating all of the words you said//
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