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Seeräuber-Jenny   
09:50pm 05/10/2006
 
mood: sleepy
You toss me your tips
and look out to the ships
But I'm counting your heads
as I'm making the beds
Cuz there's nobody gonna sleep here, honey
Nobody
NOBODY!

I really really love that song. "Pirate Jenny" from The Threepenny Opera.

So it's really fucking cold. And we turned the heat on. All these old pipes sitting in silence, biding their time until it's that really-fucking-cold time of the year. Creaking in annoyance as they're put to work. Creaking like some sort of old war machine.

War machine? What the fuck. I'm tired. And cold. But.. "nobody gonna sleep here". Overactive imagination...

When I was a kid and it was this time of year, the whole turning on the heat was a horrible, terrible thing. That's when the demons and beastly things would come out of the radiators. We've got these old radiators, you see, and when they come on, they make these creaking whistling shrieking sounds. And I would think some sort of creature was coming out to eat me. And this is still ingrained in my mind when I hear that sound.

So, I'm going to be up all night, listening to all the creaks and cracks and groans coming from all the empty space. Upstairs. In the dark. Where I sleep. Alone. Stupid sounds. Last week I went upstairs and saw that the door to the spare bedroom was halfway out of the doorjamb. Of course my mind went into overdrive. I left the TV on, thinking that IF there was some sort of mass murderer hiding in there (a very bad mass murderer who can't be bothered to tightly shut doors), he or she would be waiting for me to turn the TV off, then wait an adequate amount of time afterwards, then assume I'm asleep and jab me in the neck with a knitting needle. So I left the TV on and read and left the light on. I hate how my mind works sometimes.

The plus side is the smell of the heat. It's oddly comforting. It smells to me like how I'd imagine a grandparent's house would smell. Minues the old people smell. It smells like "home". Heat. If you go to take a hot dish out of the oven, and then smell the oven mitts afterwards, that's what it smells like. Oh, never smelled oven mitts before? Call me crazy.

Back to the whole "Pirate Jenny" thing. Fuck me dead I love this song. So creepy. I'd post the lyrics if they weren't so long. I always like those kind of stories. Someone who seems so small and quiet, people look down on, then BAM it turns out they're psychotic and have just been biding their time to strike.

I've only been able to find the German version of the song, by Lotte Lenya, which is good enough. I've heard Bea Arthur do it, and she's great. God, I'm so gay. I wish I could find Nina Simone's version. Or Ute Lemper.

Lars von Trier was inspired by "Pirate Jenny" to create the Grace character for his America series. A little refresher course for those who don't know: von Trier isn't the biggest fan of America and is making this series about how evil and corrupt we are. Kind of. There's more to it, but that's the basic premise.

The first movie was Dogville, and Nicole Kidman (!) played Grace. She's a fugitive and the kind citizens of Dogville take her in and make her earn her keep. It all goes well. Grace is nice and quiet. But there's something up with her. A black car comes to ask about her. A man in the back hides behind a curtain, offering a reward for her. Wanted posters come up. Then a terrible thing happens to Grace, and the townspeople blame her, then turn on her and end up doing all kinds of horrible cruel things to her, and in the end she gets her (just?) revenge. The whole thing is filmed on a soundstage, with a black floor with chalk outlines of houses. Very little props. It's like a play. The movie is three hours long. Of course, it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I think it's pretty much amazing. I've watched it three times now, and it's never seemed like three hours to me.

A lot of people hate the movie, of course. "It's boring." "It's so unAmerican." "What's he trying to say?" I guess agree most with the theory that this is von Trier's take on how we treat immigrants. They work for us, stay out of the shadows, but if they step out of line, we try to squash them. It's pretty true, but it's not like we're the only country.

The second movie in this trilogy is Manderlay. Grace is played by Bryce Dallas Howard this time. After the disaster of Dogville, she and her father and his cronies are driving home. They happen upon a plantation where slavery still exists. Oh yeah, these films all take place in the 1930s. Grace takes it upon herself to set the slaves free. This was a really really controversial movie. It deals with race. Of course it is. And I really REALLY FUCKING WANT TO SEE IT. It opened up only to art house theatres, but of course it didn't come to any around here. Not even Ithaca. I was quite saddened. BUT... Yesterday I found out it's on DVD. It's OUT already. How the fuck did I miss that boat? I put it on my Netflix queue. I just need to watch and return the stuff I have.

Yesterday I also found out from Steve that Lucky McKee's The Woods is out too. WHAT THE SHIT. I need to watch some movies.

Aaaaaaaaand I've been rambling. So I'm just going to shut up.

Oh yeah, I want to do a whole story thing inspired by "Pirate Jenny". I don't know what yet. "Pirate Jenny" meets John Waters. That would be interesting. A play, and have it in the Brechtian style. Ugh, I'm so gay.

I've decided to just post the lyrics to "Pirate Jenny" just for the sake of completeness.

Marc Blitzstein's translation of "Pirate Jenny" by Bertrolt Brecht and Kurt Weill

1
You people can watch while I'm scrubbing these floors
And I'm scrubbin' the floors while you're gawking
Maybe once ya tip me and it makes ya feel swell
In this crummy Southern town, in this crummy old hotel
But you'll never guess to who you're talkin'.
No. You couldn't ever guess to who you're talkin'.
Then one night there's a scream in the night
And you'll wonder who could that have been
And you see me kinda grinnin' while I'm scrubbin'
And you say, "What's she got to grin?"
I'll tell you.

There's a ship, the black freighter
with a skull on its masthead
will be coming in.

2
You gentlemen can say, "Hey gal, finish them floors!
Get upstairs! What's wrong with you! Earn your keep here!
You toss me your tips
and look out to the ships
But I'm counting your heads
as I'm making the beds
Cuz there's nobody gonna sleep here, honey
Nobody! Nobody!
Then one night there's a scream in the night
And you say, "Who's that kicking up a row?"
And ya see me kinda starin' out the winda
And you say, "What's she got to stare at now?"
I'll tell ya.

There's a ship, the black freighter
turns around in the harbor
shootin' guns from her bow

3
Now you gentlemen can wipe that smile off your face
'Cause every building in town is a flat one
This whole frickin' place will be down to the ground
Only this cheap hotel standing up safe and sound
And you yell, "Why do they spare that one?"
Yes, that's what you say.
"Why do they spare that one?"
All the night through, through the noise and to-do
You wonder who is that person that lives up there?
And you see me stepping out in the morning
Looking nice with a ribbon in my hair.

And the ship, the black freighter
runs a flag up its masthead
and a cheer rings the air

4
By noontime the dock is a-swarmin' with men
comin' out from the ghostly freighter
They move in the shadows where no one can see
And they're chainin' up people and they're bringin' em to me
askin' me, "Kill them NOW, or LATER?"
Askin' ME! "Kill them now, or later?"
Noon by the clock
and so still by the dock
You can hear a foghorn miles away
And in that quiet of death
I'll say, "Right now.
Right now!"
Then they'll pile up the bodies
And I'll say,
"That'll learn ya!"

And the ship, the black freighter
disappears out to sea
And
On
It
Is
Me
 
     

(2 molestations | Violate me.)

 
Holy crap.   
08:00am 18/09/2006
 
mood: chipper
After a couple weeks of trying, failing, and yarn-tearing, I've finally mastered the knit stitch.



Woot.

Forty rows and still going. Seeing as all I know to do is the knit stictch, I'm guessing I'll keep going until I run out of yarn and then bind it off into a scarf. Go me.
 
     

(1 molestation | Violate me.)

 
   
11:32pm 25/08/2006
 
mood: creative
I'm hopped up on tea. Yes, I realize that this is a rather gay statement. But I'm tired and don't give a shit. It just took me six times to type "shit." I just did it again. I keep wanting to type "shot".

Oh, but what a mood I'm in. Earlier my glasses broke, andI shall have them fixed at Wal Mart tomorrow. I went to bed early and read for about half an hour. My eyes felt tired, so I turned off the light and layed down and closed my eyes, but twenty minutes later, here I am, bitching. I blame it on the tea. Lipton. That caffeine. I've been on this major tea kick this week. I love the stuff. It's pretty much all I've been drinking. Big mistake to drink before bed. And now I've got some DEcaffeinated Sweet Dreams tea. It should bring me down and make me sleepy, if the monitor burning into my naked eyes doesn't do it first.

BUT I am in SUCH a mood to write. I fished some plans for this screenplay from a year or so ago out and I hope to maybe start working on it soon.

I had a Piccarillos eggplant sandwich for supper. Amazing. On the way there, I saw a cluster of those Holy Roller sign-waving people gathered in the mini-park across the street from Piccarillos and Hunters. The ones who always picket on the four corners outside of Wegmans, preaching about God and Jesus (Jayzuz), and how the world is going to hell in a not-so-neatly-wrapped handbasket, etc. etc. They were gathered in a circle. It looked like they were getting a pep talk before heading off into the great big ol' world to keep fighting the good fight againt sinners and Sodomites. However, one of the corners was already occupied. A small cluster of people. One person waving the Stars and Stripes. The other, in a pair of fairy wings, waving a ROYGBIV Gay Pride flag. I instantly loved them. There must be a Gay Pride place or group in Auburn. I want to join! Maybe I'm just tired now. Maybe I was just really hungry at the time (haha... "Someone's HUNGRY!"). I just wanted to help and join the whole gay rights cause. Watching that steaming, festering dog turd of a film adaptation of the amazing graphic novel V For Vendetta, the best part was the whole scene with Valerie's letter. It brought tears to my eyes. The one line, "Why do they hate us" resonated so much. All the shit people do. I never was big on movements, but coming home, with my green hair, and some fucking redneck driving by and yelling "NICE HAIR, FAGGOT" really incensed me to do something. It doesn't really make any sense. I've never had any outright homophobia or hatred directed toward me, myself, but I just feel fed up with ignorance and such. Coming to know about the Phelpses didn't help either. Fuck them. In the ass. Ugh. I'm all tired and self-righteous. I need to go write.
 
     

(2 molestations | Violate me.)

 
Shudder.   
09:10pm 21/08/2006
 
mood: depressed
So I just got done reading the most disturbing thing I've ever read. Well, most disturbing in recent memory.

The Girl Next Door.

By Jack Ketchum.

I've read Ketchum before. His short stories are very good. "The Box" is a masterpiece. His novels are hit (Off Season) or miss (She Wakes) with me. They all contain this feeling of mounting dread, that things aren't as they should be, and they probably never will be. But nothing has hit as hard as The Girl Next Door.

The Girl Next Door fucked me up. I'm in this hazy, semi-catatonic state of depression. I was shaking when reading parts of it. I'm shaking now thinking about it. By the last few chapters, I had tears running out of my eyes. An icy feeling in my guts.

A lot of Ketchum's novels are based somewhat off of real cases. The Girl Next Door is.

You can read about it here: http://www.crimelibrary.com/notorious_murders/young/likens/1.html

The Sylvia Likens case. I stumbled across this a year or so ago. It's the saddest thing I've ever read. People are sick. I found out a work of fiction had been written about what happened to Sylvia. The Girl Next Door. So I found it and got it, and it sat on my shelf. I wasn't sure why I bought it. I didn't want to really read it . A compulsion.

But I finally read it. Started on Friday, finished today. I knew what would happen. I read about Sylvia. The novel follows the real events pretty closely, adding some new things. Knowing what was going to happen, though, I kept finding hope that Meg would escape.

I find  comfort in the knowledge that while the novel is based on the case, Sylvia didn't go through some of the abuse that Meg went through (i.e. the sexual abuse). However, Sylvia didn't have someone who gave a shit about her, like Meg does. That seems bleaker somehow.

I need to do something, listen to something, read something, watch something CHEERY.

I've got the next book  I want to read at hand, Running with Scissors. Weeds will be on shorty. I could always chat... but that's not really so good anymore.

I shall recite some lines from a Sondheim (oh how I love him) musical, Merrily We Roll Along:

"Charley,
Why can't it be like it was?
I liked it the way that it was,
Charley —
You and me, we were nicer then.

We were nice,
Kids and cities and trees were nice,
Everything …
I don't know who we are any more,
And I'm starting not to care.

Look at us, Charley,
Nothing's the way that it was.
I want it the way that it was.
Help me stop remembering then.

Don't you remember?
It was good, it was really good.
Help me out, Charley,
Make it like it was. "


Ugh. I'm in a mood. Enough lamenting. I should go do something.


And I just remembered I have another book I found used for two bucks, Let's Go Play at the Adams', loosely based on what happened to Sylvia Likens. Oy.
 
     

(2 molestations | Violate me.)

 
Whydoes Gael Garcia Bernal have to be so gosh-darn pretty?   
03:37am 24/07/2006
 
mood: blah
Watching the Science of Sleep trailer. Looks a bit like Eternal Sunshine, but I don't care. Looks all quirky and lovely. I want to see it. I just have this thing for unconventional love stories. Awwwbigsigh.

Want to see Sweeney Todd too. Gah. Tickets are going, going, going.

Oh, yeah. Today, I was at Marten's, with my father, getting fresh corn and zucchini and stuff, and as I was getting corn, a vehicle drove by, and this loud voice blared, yelling, "NICE HAIR, FAGGOT!" Lovely. I go all the way out to Idaho, and I never get any overly hateful comments about my hair, I'm home for less than a week, and, hello homophobic ignorance. I hate to say it, but it made me feel shitty. More shitty at their intolerance and the fact that they probably wouldn't have said anything if they were just walking by me instead of driving by. I fucking hate that I have to live surrounded by these types of people, that I have to feel crappy because of who I am. Fuck them. I need NYC.

I really need to put the finishing touches on my journal I kept during the trip. I didn't document that Saturday, when I went to the redneck reception. These people were all sorts of proud of being redneck. Nothing against rednecks, but the image I see in the media is of two-stepping, cowboy-hat-wearing, truck-driving, drunken wife-beaters. Hell yeah at pride for that. But I'm sure they wouldn't be too keen on gay pride, although I'm sure I'm a lot more able to hold my tongue.

There was one guy who was wasted and all over Nettie. She told him off, and he'd come over me, putting his arms on my shoulders and talking quietly about her. It was disgusting. I was beyond uncomfortable, but didn't say anything. I've been around enough drunks to know that some of them can be set off by the slightest hint of sarcasm. Reminded me of Burns and JR and others I've witnessed beating the shit out of the women they "love." I had this awful twisting in my stomach all night. I hate that I have to feel like that, but you never know what alcohol is going to do.

I used to be anti-booze. Not straight-edge, just didn't like alcohol and didn't see any point in it besides to make you a fucking blubbering idiot. Now I just realize I'm anti-idiots who can't handle their alcohol and end up beating the shit out of loved ones or driving and killing others. Just the other day this guy drove drunk and crashed, sending his four year old daughter flying out of the windshield. I have no sympathy for him. Ugh. End rant.

So, on a good note, I have a new dog. This couple at the Redneck reception breeds Jack Russel Terriers, and Mom bought a puppy. He had a spiked collar, and when Mom told me to name him, I tried to think of punk-ish artists. Baudelaire came to mind. Didn't fit. Then I went from JACK Russel Terrier to JACK to.... JACKson Pollock. He was kind of a punk in his day, so I named him Jackson Pollock, and Mom likes Jack Nicholson, so his full name is Jackson Nicholson Pollock. I hate people who give their dogs full names (hi, Star Jones), but oh well.












Gah. I'm like one of those annoying parents who shove pictures of their baby in everyone's faces. To a single gay male, a puppy is like a baby. Quelle pathetic.
 
     

(3 molestations | Violate me.)

 
So.   
08:09am 15/06/2006
 
mood: exhausted
I'm off. To the great USofA. I said good-bye to dad. I felt like shit. I don't really want to go so much. Oh well. I'll write.

I have so much packing to do. All my clothes. Everything else. Blah.

So tired. I haven't been to sleep yet. Tried to finish my script for submission. Guess what I didn't finish? I put it on a disc to finish at Uncle Harold's.


FUCK.

I'm going to miss Dad. And Nikki. And Sandi. And all the rest. Like there are soooooo many more to miss.

A month seems like a really long time all of a sudden. And I have this pain in the pit of my gut.
 
     

(1 molestation | Violate me.)

 
Oh man....   
04:47am 27/05/2006
 
mood: tired
This is pretty gross and dirty and of a HIGHLY personal nature, but fuck you. This is my journal. So, if you don't want to read about anything fucked up and involving bodily fluids... Don't read on...








































So anyway. Earlier, I was tired and couldn't fall asleep, so I decided to do what I usually do to fall. Masturbate.





So..... I masturbated.





And I was tired and didn't want to get a tissue, so I just let it go in my hand.




And then I must have nodded off. With the mess in my hand.


And then I woke up, and it was gone. Only it wasn't. It was like my hand absorbed it. Like a...YES. Like a LOTION. My hand was all smooth and supple. And a bit sticky. Obviously I washed my hands. Many times over. But still.... So soft. Like a baby's bottom. I've never touched a baby's bottom, but I hear good things.







I smell a new innovation in lotion design.

Ew.
 
     

(1 molestation | Violate me.)

 
Mhm.   
05:07pm 26/05/2006
 
mood: thirsty
So, I decided to go through and deleteall my old mail from my old wandj name. I had 9000-and something. Deleting bulk mail took it down to 7000-and something. Now I'm down to 6289.

I've come across all the Topica things from Art and Trash. Hmm. Nostalgia.


And Amy(Greene, not my sister)'s response to an email I sent her. She was a sort-of-friend. More of a friend of Randy and some other people I don't remember. Anyway, she had borrowed some of my underground horror books (Ed Lee!) and then after a falling out with some mutual friends, moved. I was pissed, since she had had my books forever, and I never got them back, and sent her a semi-harsh email. I didn't think she ever responded, but I found it. I should read it. Maybe when I'm done with the rest of everything.
 
     

(Violate me.)

 
Whoa. WAIT. Just...whoa...   
02:55pm 25/05/2006
 
mood: contemplative
So I got my grades today...

Issues in Art: On Location         A

Introduction to Sociology          A

World Literature II                   A

Alcohol                                    A

CPR-Basic Support                  A

Honors Seminar II                    A

Total Cumulative Grade: 3.567


I can understand the A's in Alcohol and CPR. You'd have to be an idiot to fail those. We didn't do much in Sociology, and the tests were take-home, so there's that. I still can't believe I did good on the NYC trip. And Honors, I can't believe Nelson liked my writing.


And about World Lit...

How in the name of
FUCK did I get an A in there? Okay, I did good on my two papers. But I missed one assignment, didn't do extra credit, bombed the mid-term, don't know what I got on the final, but I'm pretty certain I bombed a significant portion of it.

I'm kind of (hella) confused.


Well, my average went up, so now I'm Magna Cum Laude. Go me.
 
     

(Violate me.)

 
Well.   
01:41am 18/05/2006
 
mood: cold
It's been a while. And... not so much has happened.

Margaret Cho was great, Mr. Lurker.

Have a crush. Blah. Sad and pathetic and etc., I know.

Inner turmoil with my sexuality.

Back to writing.

Graduating Sunday.

Professor Nelson pulled me aside in class to tell me that he nominated me for the Honors Scholarship. And I won. All because he likes my writing. I don't know what I said or did, but I was pretty much in awe the rest of the day. I decided I should go to graduation. Ordered my cap and gown.

Told mom, and she said something along the lines of how she hopes I know how great an honor it is that Nelson nominated me (He's pretty high up in the English department, if not the head...). Gah. She's so...whatever the word its. I'm tired. Blah. Sill kind of struck with.

Can't decide if I should stay at home and get a job or go on this big trip next month. Trip, probably. Only thing is, I'll feel like shit since Dad couldn't get the time off (actually, he didn't even bother to see if he could), and he's going to be in the house, alone, for a month.

I really really want to dye my hair again. Green. Like Baudelaire. I'm really going to miss World Lit and Valdina and other things. Wahhhh.

Rewriting a script that got wiped off my computer after abut 90 pages in. Yeah. My life rules.

And I've decided what song I want playing at my funeral. Not that I plan on needing a funeral anytime soon, if I get my lard back to the Y.

I was meant for the stage,
I was meant for the curtain.
I was meant to tread these boards,
Of this much I am certain.

I was meant for the crowd,
I was meant for the shouting.
I was meant to raise these hands
With quiet all about me.
Oh, Oh.

Mother, please be proud.
Father, be forgiving.
Even though you told me
'Son, you'll never make a living.'
Oh, oh.

From the floorboards to the flies,
Here I was fated to reside.
And as I take my final bow,
Was there ever any doubt?
And as the spotlights fade away,
And you're escorted through the foyer,
You will resume your callow ways,
But I was meant for the stage.

The heavens at my birth
Intended me for stardom,
Rays of light shone down on me
And all my sins were pardoned.

I was meant for applause.
I was meant for derision.
Nothing short of fate itself
Has affected my decision.
Oh, oh.

And from the floorboards to the flies,
Here I was fated to reside.
And as I take my final bow,
Was there ever any doubt?
And as the spotlights fade away,
And you're escorted through the foyer,
You will resume your callow ways,
But I was meant for the stage.
 
     

(Violate me.)