sup

1. I am feeling better. Kiley and I have been watching TV for hours so I can postpone studying for finals. We are now watching the "he's just not that into you" sex and the city episode, do you know that this started to ruin my life? I mean do you remember when I read that book? Jackson would say to me "I cannot talk to you after you've been reading that book" I read it from cover to cover in a bath and then dating became extra difficult because I knew all the tricks. craziness!!

2. earlier we watched an episode of King of the Hill, that is how much I want to learn about FDR. I watched two FDR documentaries in two days. Mr.Truman is next

3. lindsay (new partner in crime), gregg, kiley &myself ventured to the Bust Craftacular today. I purchased a gorgeous bag, a gorgeous sweater, four pieces of art, body lotion &perfume, two light switch covers-- i havent taken photos yet but I will later when things are up. I also got to meet Susanne from FreeDanger for the first time which was awesome as I have never met her in person and I wrote an essay for her magazine about amputees &orgasms. I also purchased lovely, lovely products (pictured below) that I then lost or left on the train. I am sooo sad about that but other than that it felt great buying products right from the artists and I really, really want to start doing this more often. Seriousllllly


4. Going away pot luck holiday party at my tiny brooklyn apartment tuesday night. aweeeee. bbs.

5. Okay, to everyone that is been asking me I get to Florida this Thursday (the 18th) early in the morning. Bailey Jo Leiter will be picking me up from the airport. and thennnn I want to go see Cameron, and Tim also and maybe sit around awkwardly and feel nostalgic or even sad? And Christmas Eve I am going to have people over to my parents house for dinner party. I will be free all the time!!! If you don't have my New York number contact me via internets and I will provide you with it or get in touch with you when I am in town. I will answer all 727 calls also, I promise. Even ex-boyfriends. Bring it guys. We're cleaning out the closets. I promise, promise not to go into recluse mode and be social for the extent of time I am there which most likely be through New Years as I do not like New Years or New Years parties or the ball dropping. I do like the New Year but I kind of want to watch TV with my mom. Unless you're having a party Joshua Greenberg? I would like you to have a party! Two weeks after New Years day (and one month from today) I will turn 24. twenty-fourrrrrr. I want my birthday party to be Terminator themed

6. About Terminators, I am really into terminators. Despite the fact that I get Terminator 2 confused with Kindergarten Cop, tell me everything you know about terminatros &sky net &all of that!!! I need answers. I also want to join one of those online role playing sites where I can be a terminator. I also am not joking. And isnt it easy to confuse Terminator 2 and Kindergarten Cop? You know because Arnold protecting all the little boys? Kindergarten is th best. Dun da dun

7. Do you want to hear about man folk? I have so much to say. Well I will start with Jackson Davis. Thanksgiving we had a huge, huge fight like an insane hour long fight where I swore I would not talk to him again. We had one of those dramatic "am I allowed to e-mail you?" "what if there is an emergency?" type endings with me bawling and Jackson telling me everything will be fine. I don't know if Jackson really thinks everything will be fine and I don't know what I think either. But we have talked since then, not much but a little back and forth. Which is not a clean break, which is not "this is the last time"

It's just like, what do you do? You know when you know this person who you have loved and who has helped you grow intellectually, and emotionally and changed your taste in music and opened you to literature and got you to write when you felt like you were dead? What do you do with that? No one has inspired me like Jackson has to put pen to paper or look at the world in a certain way, but no one has made me cry half helpless for that long either. It's just gotten to the point where I take it as an insult, or it hurts my feelings, and I get upset and Jackson says he is sick of walking on egg shells and then I say "egg shells what do you know about egg shells?" and it goes on and then it's like God, is this worth it for anyone? When anything can turn into a war? I don't know the answer to that. I wouldn't take back any of it for a minute but man, it's hard sometimes. It is really hard. Loving people is hard and right now I don't really love anyone and it's easier this way. Why is it easier not to love anyone? To feel like you are floating away from people through space and time and history. This all feels like time travel done wrong or backwards or like we didn't try hard enough. It feels like loops of metal and all the wrong pieces of paper and it feels like I shouldnt make this dramatic, but my God, my whole life, I've just always loved everybody. I've loved you if I've met you, I have always loved everyone so intensely since I was a very little girl and now I don't feel like I love anyone, and I really don't. There is fog between people and I. There is space between humans and myself and where the love used to be there is kind of a memory of that or of what love was like or what people feel like, but the love and the realness and the wholeness and the aching and the adoring, well, it's just gone. I don't feel that anymore. I kind of feel blank like you do at a funeral, after you've delivered a eulogy. Like you should be crying more than you are or what happens to people when they die, or can I believe in heaven now? Or can you hear me even though you are dead? Or why is anyone looking at my face? Why is anyone looking at my face ?

In the less dramatic level I have crushes on dudes. An older dude, a younger dude and a dude who is a stranger. Everyone has soft hair. I want to stick my hands in everyone's hair and my fingers into people's mouths. I would really like to stick my finger in your mouth and move it around.

8. I need there to be a marathon of 17 Kids and Counting. My abstinence only television needs are increasing

9. I am learning the whole Beyonce "Single Ladies" dance &then I am going to perform it for all of you. I need 2 back up singers because I get to be Beyonce. If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it oooh ohhhh ohhh woahhh ohhh ohhhh ohhh o o o

10. &now I will go study. you know how I get, internet.





i bought 110 of her gorgeous clothing and left my bag on the train. i am straight up bummed out.


mitts!


gagagagaga




seriously delicious cupcakes




my brunch this morning: peppermint tea, cinnamon toast, fresh fruit w.mint @Roebling Tea Room


my mouth &beyonce hair


my week


cutie butt


my week part 2


new partner in crime(s)




mr.derek trainwreck in my ol' kitchen


i will weigh 1,000 pounds after 10 more jelly donut waffle breakfasts. and it's gonna be okay


"the chocolate cake"


thanksgivin pics i never posted












angel from heaven






getting prepped




super creepy, pals




































i don't know how my iphone took this picture of itself, do you?


http://flickr.com/photos/ohdanielascrima/

song against sex

On this lovely morning the jury is hung &the house echoes nothings , now everyone’s gone. It’s the coldest day I’ve seen in December thus far. I don’t want to stock up for the winter, So I’m calling for a hunger-strike. I’m cashing in coupons and saving up my change for salvation or a pack of cigarettes. You’ll be holding your daughter while the laundry dries in my backyard. I’ll marry a doctor after witnessing a message (not a murder) &from here on out I’ll invest in good men—not lost boys—and I’ll watch the skyline like a monument. I’ll watch the window for your silhouette &if you return I’ll shoot you down. We’ll call the troops &act on instinct. I will forget your stomach and your backbone and I will believe in day traders instead of night traitors so when the storm comes in it will all fall into place. There’s a place for you in everything, especially the scripture you read your daughter every night, wanting her so badly to believe in something, in something more than the man made lakes you try and drown in every single night.

And you know I’m not a good swimmer, that I’ve started drinking too much coffee again. That Blair gives me donuts while I sit at the counter of Jimmy’s Diner and write, like some version of a regular, or Perez Hilton. I want to tell the man lying naked next to me in my bed that when I go stay at my parent’s house it’s like wanting to play a piano that already plays itself. The man laying next to me in bed, I don’t think he really wants me to tell him anything at all. I go on anyway: I want to be a regular, but I don’t want my teeth to get stained in the process, so I am going to drink this coffee through a straw, I am going to wipe these crumbs from my mouth. I need to call Trade Secret in Clearwater, Florida, call the mall where I used to work and demand that Randy Phoenix fix my hair. Randy, everyone has ruined it, they’ve ravaged it. It’s everyone’s hands all up on my head, all up in my grill.

I’ve been living it out in bathtubs, touching necks that don’t remind me of yours. It’s not that it’s really different from what it used to be, you know? It’s just that my position has changed. I’m always eager in the kitchen, perched over the sink with my middle finger reaching further down my throat then you had ever even thought of going. Still you’re the one taunting my insides, begging my breasts to bring up the past and then watch it as it’s swept up with the sink and trembles down the drain. “You’ll never be a regular, Daniela Scrima, you don’t even have that in you, look, you’ve gotten crumbs all up in your hair.”
Failed attempts at just bein’ a human, like last week when I tried to take up smoking and couldnt decide on which hand would be held or which man would wake up naked next to me in bed—but I knew the lighting would be perfect, I knew the music would be queued, and the dogs would be shitting on the pristine tile floor. You were looking at me like you were the palm reader, like out of all of the women in the world , you could hold this deck of cards over me, telling me no man wants to play games during the first cold week of December.

A storm front was coming &the semen was damned. I told you that was my favorite television show but I don’t know why you believed me. The troops were lyin out in front of trenches, I was slathering on tanning lotion, massaging the bullet holes in your chest. Everyone’s laughing when I’m talking, except Nick, who knows I’ve never made a joke in my life, who knows he shares the same name as my father, and knows that to me, well names, mean everything. He asks for prawns to break my spirit. The troops call their estranged mother’s and their hot tempered daddies and they read the truth from index cards that I keep in my room. They laugh when you love me and they die when you declare that love is dead. You want to see my signature pose? My leg trick? It seems like I’ll do it for just about anyone, these days.

I go to my old apartment and sit with my old roommate who calls are old supplier while we sit on the old carpet. I say “when I first moved to New York City, I slept next to that radiator, right on the floor,” You round up my influence and you kiss their wrists and ankles like love is your middle name. Like love was my middle name. Cuts on lips will always remind me of you. God wouldn’t dare damn a boy like you. Not with the stars so soft and the view so clear. God couldn’t do that to us, no sir, no baby, no never. If God did he would have nowhere to showcase the New York City skyline—the one so obscured with structures that it would forever remind you of free men and dying women, the one so dark sans constellations that we wont even know when an old moon meets new. The God you believe in, well that God let me in on his big secret, kid, he warned me that boys will be boys until he sees a man where the moon should be.

On Monday, my stock broker broke down and bought a shotgun. It’s the market, it’s the times, it’s the collapse, don’t forget to do nothing when Wednesday comes, we got to prove were equal after all. You say, you say. Just like you did last week, telling me on Thanksgiving that you bought one too. You say all men have guns in Virginia, baby, don’t get so blue. This soups on the house. You tell me to stop pretend I am south of the Mason-Dixon line. You look at me with wide eyes and say “this is not a wise investment, see in New York City, we call boys like this a ‘throw-away,” you look around my bedrooms, noticing the bones &bruises. I tell one man that I am an individual and I tell another that I am made of metal, that they never gave me braces so my mouth and manners and movements are crooked. Let’s get Cotarded in here.. Let’s get Cotarded in here.

The jury is hung, the crumbs in my hair, the soups getting cold, you’re telling me to get the fuck away from the counter, you’re saying “put your clothes back on, this is my song &you’re not going to steal it”.
In bed naked, I don’t want to give a speech unless it’s a monologue. A monologue I learned a long time ago, and I’m gonna deliver it in any voice that I want to. Maybe I will become a regular, maybe I’ll sit at this counter every day instead of going to the library or sitting at my own desk, so I can keep saying that this is my job. Who am I kidding? I love everyone I’ve ever met. I may not remember their names, their faces or meeting them at all, but I’ll fucking love them anyway.

Anyway, I am drinking my coffee with a straw. I have finals next week. I scheduled a hair appointment with Randy from Trade Secret, my favorite drag queen &my favorite hair dresser. If I am going to put my head in anyone’s hands it will be that man. See, my heart is up for grabs, I’ll leave it on the counter with donut crumbs, but my hair, oh honey my hair, you’re going to have to wait more than a minute or a second or a year, you’re going to have run your fingers through it for the rest of my life. That is true love, that is what true love really is, you can feel it stop, you can’t wash it out, you cant wash it out, but you can knot it up, you can ravage it to all hell. The jury is hung and the house echoes now that they’ve gone. There’s a place for all of you in everything, especially the scripture that you read to your daughter every night, but baby, please, stop making these man made lakes, I can’t see the moon, and all I need the water for is washing a hunger-strike out of my hair, I know you think the time has come, but I’m not ready to let you watch me drown, God says he is going to stop building men with eyes that work that way.




htttp://oh-snap.livejournal.com

you're not the only one

http://oh-snap.livejournal.com/

You need to understand, they were all worried about these very human things afterward and I was not. I could not face myself. They were worried if they would be able to heal themselves, if their bodies would recover. Would the sense of smell come back?
But these human things did not register to me. Photographs did, and this journal, and other things that were not right. And at the time, that was okay. At the time that felt normal. But now it does not, now I cant understand that anything really happened.
If someone brings it up I just ask "what do you mean? what do you mean?" Because to me that was already five lives ago. Maybe I never feel like anyone these days because I give myself a thousand clean breaks, hundred fresh starts.




Good morning. I am watching Jewel music videos on youtube. Wouldn't it be funny if I was kidding? My roommate (pictured above) may or may not be wondering why I am doing this. So I will tell you and her, who may, or may not be reading this.

Sometimes this thing happens where a certain song will plague all of my dreams, every dream all through the night. This started fairly recently, but I have no idea what the hell is bringing this on.

It all started with the song "Nightshift" by the Commadores. You must remember this song "jackie...jackie...how are you doin now? it seems like yesterdayy that we we were workinnnn out. Gonna be some sweet soundssss, goin downnnn, on the night shift (night shift, night shift)." And this song played through a series of dreams, me driving in a car, me in a gas station, me going to the laundromat and I just kept saying "man this is so weird, I havent heard this song in so long."


When I awoke the next morning my mind was completely blown. Everything kind of changed after that. My nights started compiling completely random soundtracks: The Lion King, Alanis Morissette, the song "punk rock girl", Elton John, that "I wanna fuck, I wanna fuck the dead," song we listened to freshman year of high school, "November Rain" and as of last night, Jewel.
It's not these songs just play in one dream one time, it is that I have a series of long dreams, none of them related and these songs happen to be playing. They are also always songs I havent heard about or thought about for a long time.

If I had a choice I would set my dreams to Beyonce singing "if you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it," because that song &ass shaking is just too good for away messages alone.


Anyway, I do have a quick question. What is the deal with the "November Rain" video? My best friend Ilana and I Have discussed this for years. We were both obsessed with watching it as children and trying to figure out what really goes down. How does the bride die? Why does it start to rain? What goes wrong, Axl Rose?
This subject even came up at brunch last week &several ladies in my age group agreed that when we were six years old this was the most beautiful and puzzling thing to watch.

My mom recorded it for me off of VH1, on vhs. I would sit on the carpet and consider 1)getting married 2)bleeding to death 3(if the other kids in the first grade would understand

This was the same year I got in trouble for telling everyone what sex was, for crossing to the boys side of the playground. When I was a kid I always insisted on changing my name. For two years I wanted to be called "Donna Pima" because I felt it was better than "Daniela Scrima." Wouldnt it be funny if this was a joke?

I am basically the same now.








TELL ME WHATS HAPPENING:

-pretty church
-orchestra
-long hair
-flower girl
-jesus bleeding from the eyes
-"oooooooo.....darlin when I hold you, don't you know I feel the same?"
-bride &sign that says "rainbow"
-everyone smokes cigarettes
-back to wedding where dude looks like guy from beauty &the beast
-"i'll just end up walking in the cold november rain"
-they kiss
-slash walks in lookin' real hot
-in desert in front of church
-leave wedding &have picture taken
-"everybody needs some time on their own"
-cutting the cake...everything is still normal
-IT STARTS RAINING AND THEN
-the wine bottle spills (bum bum bum bum bummmmm)
-now the bride is dead BUT HOW?!!??!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!!???!?!


Now you should see me at weddings, now you should see me at funerals

A small message from Jewel, Guns N Roses &myself "you're not the only one!"