Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Citrus and Cinnamon

My Chicka,

I do remember those fucked-up times when you were off in Vancouver with your horrendous aunt. I've been having my own funky little family problems of late. I'm rather pissed at just about all of them: Keenan, my grandparents, my mother, and my dad especially. I've almost completely ignored him for the last few weeks. Why does he have to be so bloody useless? He spends the majority of his time meditating and fasting and being an all over dumbshit. I'd love to believe that I could do just fine without all of them, but we both know that's not quite true yet. I have this insane urge to rent a bunch of tearjerkers and sit in my room and cry. The old people I live with are started to really aggravate me- in fact, it's just Walter, the old man, who is outrageously pleasant all the time. He's dumb, racist, and can't stop forcing food on me, which pisses me off even more.
If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.
I need to take flight at some point. I want more than anything to be in San Fran with a few good friends and some nice drugs. What?
I love watching rhythm infect innocent bystanders. I'm in the computer lab with my dim-witted French class listening to Global Deejays, who aren't really half bad. I'm listening to this strange 60's pop remix soak into their muscles and noting a few of them twitch to the tune. A few of them are crazy ravers like me, and understand the influence of some good bass. Stella baby, I know you'd love to rave. It's a soul-bursting experience. There's just so many good people (and a few necessary bad ones)
and they make my world go round. I didn't make it to the starter rave this season, I decided to stay home in CBay and sleep, a decision I ultimately regretted. Sound like most everyone had a blast.
There's a few people here who spark my interest. Sadly I just don't feel quite safe enough on here to tell you all about them, in case they read this in some freak turn of fate. Highly unlikely, I know, but I'm a cautious one when it comes to self-preservation. But suffice it to say they're all sweethearts. There's one who is especially fantastic- and I think therefore all the more unattainable. Then again, humans have always been a bit tricky to grab onto. Even you've managed to slip out of my grasp.
...Remember when we dated? It makes me smile.
By the way, I hope you know that I smoked one of Bridget's joints out on the deck that night. I can't remember if I told you that or not.
On another note, I barely ever smoke weed anymore, with the exception of when I'm drunk and having too much fun not to. You proud?
I sliced my leg last night in the tub, and it bled for twenty minutes straight. I started to think about why people cut, as it wasn't the most pleasent of experiences, but I supposed I could see the attraction. The thing is, today it's all neat and puss-filled and I'm enjoying my wound. I'm going to go ahead and rent those tearjerkers tonight, as soon as I finish Gone With The Wind. What a dumb, badly acted, racist movie.
And that's it, that's all. I have a poem I wrote entitled "Citrus and Cinnamon" that I'll put up as soon as I find it.
Love,
Cinnamon







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