11:10 p.m. - April 09, 2002
the kiss will kill you
I began 'writing' here one year ago yesterday. I use the quotes because at first it was just me posting bad poetry (and I do mean bad, go back to the beginning and read if you think you'd like to challenge me on that) out of the brown battered old poetry book I had then, when I still harbored illusions that I was a budding poet (or something).

My new shirt has bat sleeves, and my new shoes have three inch platforms. I decided if I'm going to be tall, and I am, I might as well be insanely tall and bang my head on doorframes and frighten normal-heighted people, assuming 'heighted' is word, but even if it isn't. The waiter at Dave's asked if we were from Northwestern, and when we said no, he clarified that the reason he'd asked was because he'd never seen any Northwestern kids in our 'style of dress'. I cracked a grin at that, though I was trying to keep with the faux-goth image I unwittingly portrayed, but as was pointed out to me; my black lace-up platform boots, my flared black leather pants, my black belt printed with marijuana leaves, my black velvet bat-wing shirt, and in my pocket a pack of clove cigarettes. Usually I can't find time to care about trying to fit any 'style'; rather I pull out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and a coat and maybe brush my hair or something and stumble out the door. But it was fun to be presumed to be part of a 'subculture', even mistakenly and briefly as it was. I suppose.

Rachel, Mike, Chelsea, anyone else who hasn't; you Need to See a Clockwork Orange. We'll get a big Clockwork Orange party and watch it together in a big heap. Got me? RSVP you know where.

----

Pretend the world's an ocean
Oh, I'm drowning
Pretend that I'm pollution
Oh, I'm dying
Pretend the steak's a cowboy
And the kiss will kill you

-Silverchair, 'Point of View'

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