Because I am a young Brian Kinney.
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Below are the 4 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Vanessa" journal:
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12:26 am
[Link] | Women are so beautiful.
If I ever have doubts as to whether or not I'm truly attracted to women, I should just pop in an episode of Xena: Warrior Princess. It's amazing looking back on my childhood years, watching the show, and now being able to place certain feelings that at the time were not quite clear.
So Angie and I went to see Alexander. Sure, we heard from our friends that it was a bad movie. But did we listen? Obviously not.
How could we have known....how could we have known how terrible....how....TERRIBLE..............
So to make up for it we watched an episode of Xena. The first episode with Callisto in it. First season. Vintage Xena. Best fight scene, ever.
An now I long for a girl much like Renee O'Connor to cuddle with.
Never going to happen, but we don't necessarily dream only that it may become reality.
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12:33 pm
[Link] | She's so beautiful. Usually when I fall for a girl, a part of me is jealous of her. I admire her and wish for her qualities to be my own.
So there is this girl, and she is brilliant. She knows four languages. She never touches or styles her long, brown hair. She knows what she wants, and gets it. She is a wonderful actress.
I asked her once what time it was. She looked at me, almost disgusted, and said, "What do you care? Just live your life."
So instead of going to Japanese class, I sat on the steps with her, smoking cigarettes and talking about sex and lust.
It's just that at the Halloween party, she dove into the jacuzzi with her costume on. She waded over to me with her wet black skirt clinging to her legs like flower petals. She starred up at me with her big brown eyes. She doesn't wear makeup, though she had spread glitter over her face and body. She glowed ... like an elf. The kind in Lord of the Rings, that live in trees and have moonlight in their eyes and never make a sound, except to sing the most beautiful, mournful songs.
We looked into each other's eyes in that way. You know the way. The one where your face starts to burn because your eyes - are - stuck - to - each other's. And you fear to let your intentions shine entirely through your damned honest eyes, yet you can't bring yourself to pull away, because hers look so inviting. So safe.
I am hesitant however. I know that I like her. And if she were a man, I could tell by her eyes that she liked me. But she's not a man, she's a woman. Women are strange creatures, with naturally seductive eyes. Could she be tricking me??? I am afraid.
"What are you telling me with your eyes?" she asks me.
She has discovered me.
I deny everything. "What do you think I'm saying?"
"What are you telling me you want?"
"I'm just watching your eyes" --(I'm such a fucking pussy)-- "Just watching you."
Could she want me!? Could this girl who pulls up her skirt to reveal her little pink panties and her perfect underparts really want me??
It is true, the night before, when we were dancing together, she said, "You're so sexy" without any prompt. It is true, when she has me give her a massage she tells me how hot I get her, that I have great hands, that I'm so tender. It is true, perhaps that she has had a girlfriend before and that she talks to me abuot masturbation and that she offered me a strawberry from her mouth.
And yet I am afraid.
O desire. Thou art a tormentor!!
I'm a pussy.
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09:56 am
[Link] |
Just so you know, Jake Mann, whenever I write an entry that isn't friend's only it's so you can see.
I was dancing when I was eight
I was dancing when I was eight
Is it strange to dance so late?
Is it strange to dance so late?
I danced myself right out the womb
I danced myself right out the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon?
Is it strange to dance so soon?
It's funfny how I wait for dreams all during the day. How dreams are the most real and valid things to me. It is such a disappointment to wake up from dreams.
I'll admit that I think about Daniel a lot. I can't figure out why I love him, and love him so strongly. (Is this what we call being madly in love?) But I read his livejournal and think and think and think and I hate it.
You know that I'm really very fragile ("Because, Celine, I'm a dreamer") and ("Times are hard for dreamers"), but then again, havne't times always been hard for dreamers?
Yes I am a dreamer foremost. I dream of beautiful things that don't exist, and I convince myself that they do. I wait for them, and smile. Or weep. I live in my own world because I can't function normally in the real one.
I have anxiety attacks quite a bit. I had one at work yesterday. I think the only time I'm guaranteed not to have them is when I'm in a play. I don't know why.
I'm very sad because of how alone I feel. Lonely is the primary word I would use to discribe me right now. And by right now, I mean this period, how ever many months this is going to lapse. I know it won't last forever, but that's no solice to me now. What if I die? Death and being Alone are two of my biggest fears; so what if I were to die alone??
Glam rock suits me right now. I should do my make up and put on that wig Matt V. bought me and sing tragic things while wearing furs and glitter.
Just a little love. I just want a little love.
All I want in life's a little bit of love to take the pain away...
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm floating is space.
I danced myself right out the womb
I danced myself right out the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon?
Is it strange to dance so soon?
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10:54 pm
[Link] |
My dream.
Mostly I live pretending to have never known this fellow named Matt Kellegrew. But every so often he appears in my dream just as he ever was, and I feel just as profoundly as ever my love for him. He was my first love and he shaped me incredibly.
Let me introduce you to my love:
Some of you know Matt Kellegrew and some of you don't. I will tell you how I know him.
It's true that at many points I have found myself regretting that I love him. Because he can be an asshole. A big asshole. A huge asshole. A big, huge asshole. But look:
He was my reason for opening up, my reason for learning my sexuality, my reason for going to SSIC rehersals, my reason for reading and wanting to learn and walking around barefoot and writing poetry and going to writer's club and sitting under the tree at lunch.
At one time, he wanted me. He came up to me first. He courted me. It was lovely. But I was incredibly naive. Pity, because soon thereafter he caught the disease known as Aimee Mastrolonardo. Soon he told me things like, "I can't look into your eyes anymore, I have a girlfriend." When we did look into each other's eyes at that time, it was the most magnetic and electric feeling I've ever felt. Gone.
It would not be until September my Sophomore year that I would hold his hand in the movie theater, he would tell me while shaking and avoiding my eye contact that he "really like you, I don't know what to do" and he would tell Aimee that he felt like seeing other people.
This did result in the eventual breakup of the two of them, though it was by no means the only factor. However, Matt and I would never be. We never even kissed.
Well, we kissed once. Softly. On the lips. And he tasted like nicotine. And it was probably the most tender kiss either one of us has ever really partaken in. It was just before he left on his trip to Canada.
I would see him again and again. But we would never be. Sometimes he would look at me in a way reminiscent of how he used to. Sometimes he would not look at me at all.
I always assume that I'll see him again, as if it's inevitable. As if he remembers me. Which he probably doesn't, and all these things that I hold onto dearly mean absolutely nothing to him, other than he wanted to fuck me at one point (and would have too, but for my naivity).
Thus, I will conclude the entry with my memory of him as we used to paint the girl's lockerroom. Lance will remember this too.
It's strange how I can return so easily at the thought of him to that very same freshman girl. How much I miss it.
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