last night

there was something intoxicating in the air last night.. it left my dreaming about laying in the grass/ankles crossed/gazing at the stars. i felt something i had been missing: excitement for being alive. not excitement for fast cars/fast boys/fast parties, but just enjoying the conversation, the music and the feeling of the pavement on the palms of my hands (and picking the gravel out when i stand up.)

i want to keep breathing the moment/the crisp air/the contentment and never exhale.

i'm going to see 'pedro the lion' tonite at sokol.

i've had two caramel machiattos today.

i've been listening to soul coughing religiously.

i just finished 'the virgin suicides' by jeffrey eugenides.

here's an excerpt:

we knew what it felt like to see a boy with his shirt off, and why it made lux write the name kevin in purple magic marker all over her three-ring binder and even on her bras and panties, and we understood her rage cming home one day to find that mrs. lisbon had soaked her things in clorox bleaching all the "kevins" out. we knew the pain of winter wind rushing up your skirt, and the ache of keeping your knees together in class, and how drab and infuriating it was to jump rope while the boys played baseball. we could never understand why the girls cared so much about being mature, or why they felt compelled to compliment eachother, but sometimes after one of us had read a large portion of the diary out loud, we had to fight the urge to tell eachother how pretty we were. we felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. we knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.