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2001-01-13 || two twenty-two twenty-five || three rooms. || blue room: there are donkey tails pinned all over the donkey, but it still smiles like it doesn't know any better. the video camera in the corner was turned on the other night to record owen and michael and i sitting around on the couch, trying to figure out what to get the newlyweds from their gift registration. i was smoking. i was wearing a red sweater. green room: my handwriting has followed me to this room from three years ago, four years ago. it is pinned up on the walls with little red tacks, next to smudges from shoes and cracks in the plaster. that's my down comforter on the bed. there are photo booth pictures of me in one of the drawers, hastily put away when another girl started staying the night in this room. a dress i haven't worn in two years is in the closet. i have played trivial pursuit seventeen times on the linoleum floor, once with tequila dropping in sloppy splashes onto my gamepiece, crowned with the brown piece of pie. brown is arts and leisure. haunted closet: my coats smell funny from hanging in there too long. there are books i have never seen before, ghosts of syringes and baggies of drugs, a pixel camera brook found and has used to become a super star of the art school a few blocks away. there is a tiny man in there that opens the door when it is raining and windy and i am alone reading a book on my bed. sophie the cat would go in there until she realized how haunted it was. its dimensions change. the wood expands and contracts within it, collects spiderwebs and secrets and the sadness the attic room fills itself with. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |