"YOU CAN PLAY A SPY"

November 24, 2024

Sundays are weird for me and I can't help but feel impending somethings swirl within me. I spent all day with my mom. I think I'm very opposite from my mom. She's a confident, strong-willed, and outspoken woman. She lost both of her parents at a young age and in return I became her life for most of my own. She prides herself on being independent and detached because that's all she's had for the most part. Lately I've been putting off doing things until late at night when what I really should be doing is getting some sleep. I got out of my bed and figured I should clean some things before the piling of cleaning up pushes me into another meltdown. I brushed my hair. I wiped the kitchen counters. I scrubbed my toilet bowl down. I started crying as I lint-rolled the Balenciaga city bag that my mom had thrifted down Melrose years ago when it was still bearable to be around there. When the air could still be biting in April and people took photos perched in front of Alfred Coffee. She had offered it to me before and I declined, but I recently took it when I remembered 2010s Freja Beha Erichsen and how cool she was to me at the time. (Much like my mom, she still is. They both have cool tattoos, too.) I cried as I cleaned the bag of all its dust and debris. I had been meaning to do it. I've been meaning to do a lot of things. I couldn't help but think of it being my mom's bag. I've had things that were her's before -- most that were not to her knowledge of me taking. She once tried to hand me down her mother's silver cross necklace, but I didn't like wearing it knowing that it was passed down and no longer on her neck like it had always been. It was too much to bear and I gave it back hours later.

I cry and the lint I try hard to press and shake out disgusts me and then my heart aches thinking about how I was supposed to function without my mom coming to my rescue and soothing me without actually soothing me. But it would be okay. Because she was there.

I stopped to send her a text and I felt so much that I suddenly felt that I was so scared? numbed? from not having felt something so distinctly in quite some time.

I notice myself in the mirror and I notice how much better I've gotten. How much I've healed in these few months after so much, too much effort to do so. I feel like a lot of me has had to crumble into ruin this year, at least physically, to start from scratch somehow. Maybe, I'm hoping, it's reconstructing for the better. I'll keep telling myself that. 

Sometimes it's hard to distinguish whether what I say/think/feel is with conviction or whether it's with delusion.

January 12, 2025

Fuck, I get so emotional on Sundays. I can be such a crybaby. I'm thinking of everything and it all feels metaphysical and again I can't help but resonate with the fact that everything means so much to me. Everything has so much meaning. I used to be scared to journal because I obsess over what pen I use, how much ink it has, whether the tip of the pen has been pushed in too much or not, how my writing is, whether my hand feels to stiff to write the way I want to, how it aligns on the squares of the grid paper, and all of the spacing in between. It's true that I'm obsessive, but I have to remember that writing has always been there for me. I've had this blog since 2014. I've had a Tumblr for God knows how long now. If I don't make sense, I could care less. It all makes sense to me. I can thank writing for that. The way people get pretentious about music and how much it means to them.... that's how I feel about everything. I want to keep everything close to my heart. I want to deal the cards on my time and keep the good ones, the one that etch themselves ono my skin, close to my chest at all times. My obsessions are just passions that could be wrung of the pure-intentioned blood that they're drowned in, but I like it this way. As a matter of fact, I love it this way. I love mysticism because I can resonate in how it's used to connect and make sense of things. I lean into obscura and spirituality to feel close to something alongside everything else I obsess with. So it can blend in. I can camoflauge how much I feel and create something real beyond my own means for once. Something physical in the metaphysical. I need you to bring me back down to Earth again. I want to be an Earth angel just like you.

I studied your eyelashes again. They're long and kiss your undereyes. I'm jealous - of your lashes and the delicate skin they touch. I'm trying to grow my eyelashes out too. It feels like I have to convince myself that they're growing, but if that's what I need to do to feel aligned with you, with something I think is beautiful, pretty, then I will. 

My brother and I saw a photo of snow patterned and pressed onto a tree trunk. My brother called the spiral a swirl. I went back to the November 24th entry and changed "swim" in the first sentence to "swirl". It's so much prettier and kinder. Through his mind and how he processed the picture, I remembered what it was like to be that young again. How precious a sweet child can approach the world. It's something I think should never be forgotten.

I've been trying to smile to lift my spirits up. As the Los Angeles I love smokes and cascades away.  The beautiful people and warmth and cultures that have passed me and many others by so seamlessly like moments as a kid  staring out the car window. The same Los Angeles I envision through Eve Babitz's eyes... the Los Angeles I still yearn for when I daydream of the retro glamour and mystique romanticized for/by the city and how I would do it if I was there in those moments. I will have to etch this smile onto my face to keep hope cordial.

I was so stressed out the end of last year. I now know what I need to do. In December I made a deal at a cemetery. Something inside? beside? around? me told me to do so. I listened. I did it. Then I backtracked and soothed the burn of a promise by letting the Universe surrounding me know that I did it with pure intention. For the greatest good. Because I know my heart aches for miracles.

*°࿐ೃ‧₊›

** In reference to the title... Around the end of last year (again, this was a hateful period of time for me) I was feeling dead-ended with where I was. It told Jennie that I was considering applying to become an FBI. God knows why. Maybe to force myself away. I don't even want to do that. I would love to wear a beautifully tailored suit though. What I really want is to share beautiful things and moments with people. I've taught myself to find solace in not always feeling connected to myself, my physical self, the physical realm, those kinds of things. I want to take on those things in creative projects. I want to embody the things I find beautiful. Or maybe do a shampoo commercial if that's all there is to offer. Who knows. Anyways, back to Jennie and I's tête-à-tête. I told her this and she looked at me like I was crazy for saying that, because I was. And she turned and said to me, "You could play a spy."