Thursday, December 11, 2003

Sing Me A Song

My first language these days is jibberish, secondary to English and all these "I know what you mean" 's delayed way after the message has any merit or meaning.

I am struggling with things when I dont want to but other times I could be in the middle of the Indian Ocena, not knowing or thinking it. I bob on the ebb and tide of this Civil War between myself and myself, and try not to think about how much friction is happening.

I try to disappear into it for the ten hours and reappear afterwards. This whole language thing is no use to me for days at a time.

These days, falling in love again with everyone again. It's so hard to keep from getting confused if you understand what I mean from that.

Someday we can ride kerosene dirtbikes in Paraguay until we run out of fuel and hitch a ride. Or maybe drink from tiny cups libation in the Tunisia night. And you can whisper everything you'd like to into my ear in a loud room... and I'll hear whatever I'd like with your breath happy enough and warm.

And jazz we will.

Tuesday, December 9, 2003

I'm Flailing

These past few days have been busy. Extremely busy. But not in the fulfilling, productive way. Rather, I feel as if I just went through a whole day just flailing my arms about. I have the semblance of looking really occupied, but in the end, I have accomplished nothing.

Sleep late. Wake up early. Clean. Then pay my daily visits to the internet. Then read. And return to the cycle, not smarter, not happier, unchanged but worn down.

Last month I was utterly inactive and unoccupied, this month I am pursuing just the opposite, yet both are resulting in the same consequence. How do I quench this pain of utter and absolute disappointment. Or of leashing it on others, rather.

It wasn't that long ago that I had the hope of finding something in someone. Now that notion is out. The phone call friendship has dissipated. I have little to sustain myself with. Never before have thoughts of suicide plagued me so often. While thinking of drawing up a bath this morning, I stared up at the high tile walls above the bathtub and thought of how nice it would be to have my life-force draining from the wrists, until I feel nothing but the simple warmth of the water, and eventually, nothing.

Life is so hard. If it is not utterly comatising in its mundaneity, it continuously deceives you with roaring highs, only to rape you with abysmal lows. Either way, it is utterly devastating in its greyness and ambiguity. Perhaps I am just too idealistic. And maybe just a little insane. I should just accept that I'm never to find a definitive answer to why these things happen. Maybe I should just take the tedious monotony for what it is, and live as if I were an ant.

But to certain friends, don't worry about me, I would never commit suicide. I have too much of a curious and masochistic nature. And I would never devastate the people I love like that.

I guess life is like that. You eventually end up living for others that are living for you. We just define ourselves through others, which have no intrinsic value of their own neither. Just a series of empty shells placing their faith in other empty shells.

All right, enough torture for one day.

Friday, December 5, 2003

Jump Start

I hate these people who don't know the difference between Sam Cooke and Otis Redding and Ben E. King.

Otis Redding died just four days after recording "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay."

Wednesday, December 3, 2003

You've Hung Up the Phone

Stop what you're doing
And look around
I seem to have lost

Saturday, November 29, 2003


A burst of clarity like thunder. It cracks open the stale shell of false conceptions, and understanding flows out like ambrosia and milk, healing me, completing me.

I've always been a believer that if one steps back far enough, the crackling disoriented pixels will form a picture. It seems like I was right this time. Those things that frustrated and frightened are pacified permanently. I feel connected to everyone and everything around me. I understand my own motivations. I am connected to myself. I am lucid.

Or maybe I'm just exhausted and I needed a few words to satisfy the likes of Brain *points to head* once again. Never have I, or will I be connected to myself. I am unfathomable. I am myself this way.

Thursday, November 27, 2003

Still Here

Nostalgia has its place but sentimentality must never be trusted. Looking back and feeling sorry that things aren't how they used to be just gets you stuck. The past can only be lived but once. Once it is gone, the only thing to do is move on and experience the now. Sentiment is what should be striven for. Present feelings, not an indulgence of memories of emotions.

It's like that song, "I loved you yesterday and yesterday's gone."

Tuesday, November 25, 2003


I waver manically between sheer marvel for the kaleidoscope and utter disgust for its splintered shards.

In other words, I am bedazzled by the varied texture and multiple facets of the physical world, and yet, at the same time, these textures and facets breed such contradictions and corruptness that I feel physically nauseous.

Two sides of the same coin. Glass half full or half empty. What side you see depends on what kind of blinders you have on. But are these the blinders that you wear so to rest on down-filled pillows without disturbance, or are they those that horses are condemned with, so they will trudge through the streets that are not of their own making, whipped by an unseen driver, dragging the black carriage of responsibility and heaviness behind them?

Who's to say which is which?

On this weather-worn fence, I teeter madly.

I've always suspected that I was slightly insane.

Sunday, November 23, 2003

Am I?

Did you know that if you stick fruit into liquid nitrogen that it will shatter? And if it shatters you can then eat it and enjoy the frozen fruitiness in all its novel, scientifically-induced glory? Well you can. I had a dream in which I was in an astrophysics lab, our cool ass chick of a teacher let us mess with liquid nitrogen. Brett, my lab partner, and I stuck balloons, tennis balls, Peeps, an orange, and a banana into a mad-scientist-esque tank of nitrogen cooled to the temp of -200 degree Celcius. We then ate the frozen confections (with the exception of the balloon and tennis balls, which we just smashed). I felt as if I was attending a surreal space picnic. And also, did you know that since the confections are so cold, that eating it is like licking a frozen pole? Well it is, and Brett was little too voracious in eating and ended up tearing off the top layer of his tongue. It was oddly endearing. Boys are cute when they're bleeding - not that Brett isn't cute normally, but he was definitely more so when he was smearing blood all over a frozen orange. Hm... maybe I am a sadist.

Anyway, that's what I get for watching the Discovery Channel.

Monday, November 17, 2003


Sometimes you whisper words that are more heat than sense into the roundness of my ear so full, breathe, and then I know what you mean. A shoulder down. A cheek flush. Coolness enters my ear canal with keen silence that curls as it recoils somewhere in the dark, smooth of my head.

Saturday, November 15, 2003

A Moment

For a moment, it all makes sense. In this moment, there are no thoughts of the mundane dirty stretch that will follow - though one should probably be more pragmatic than to ignore it. But that's what makes this moment so great, so pure, if you will. So I live my life like this, sustaining myself with one moment whilst dreaming of the next. I guess it's always been this way. So shall it be.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

An Image

Crack open and eat me, like a coconut, satiating and propagating in the same stroke, with too thick nectar and slippery flesh.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003


Life can never be fully conveyed through writing. Experiences has to be pared down, and little objects focused upon in order for Life to fit into twelve point font. Perhaps in writing, one loses the mundane, murky routines of daily life, and tries to grasp the solid ropes of meaning and action. Its like the cries of "Revolution!" in a dying country.

I realize this because the last few days has been such a tangle of emotion that any attempt to commit it to paper has sounded two-dimensional and shallow. Such a tangle, such a stale mess. The only accurate description I can give is that of my optimistic conviction, that with a few well placed tugs, this tangle of anxiety, hurt, apprehension, boredom, and anger would turn into a tapestry - granted not necessarily a beautiful one.

Monday, November 10, 2003


who knew that this would hurt so much. i'm stalked by a deep, bewildering sense of loss. i miss you. i miss you.

Friday, November 7, 2003

Off Thoughts

Thoughts- both profound and vacuous- bubble forth, translucent and airy, never forming a definitive statement. And thus, my thoughts and myself drift along, never to solidify, forever abstract. Drifting in slew of incoherence.

I am vital yet morbid. Like inhale and exhale. I dream about immortality one moment, and contemplate suicide the next. Yes, like inhale and exhale. Or is it exhale and inhale? Morbid yet vital?

I am impacted too much by what I read. Yes I tend to withdraw. I tend to enter into a different world. One less mundane. One where there is vitality. One that is studded with brillance, where each singular moment possesses a unique, transcendental beauty. Translucent and airy.

All I want is for you to just fight me and break through to me and hold me down and scream your life into my face. I shall refrain from writing any more today.

Wednesday, October 22, 2003


I've grown so damn detached. My ambition instructs me to rage. My body insists upon discipline. My heart is mired in indifference. So here I am at a standoff. After all, movement can't be created out of nothing. It's a law of thermodynamics. My inner flame needs to be stoked by something outside of myself. Gritting my teeth and clenching my fists won't get it done, not anymore. I need a love reaction, a hate reaction, something. But the price of elicitation has gone up. And there's a hole in my pocket.

Oh we're so proud of ourselves when we impose self-denial, particularly when there's no good reason to go without. "How altruistic of me to deprive myself of love, happiness, and redemption! I shouldn't take what I don't deserve, anyhow." What a cheap way to ennoble oneself. Although we'd like to think so, suffering needlessly doesn't guarantee anything in the future. Privation it is not altruism. It's fear, idealized fear.

The room is getting cold but that means something else is heating up. I can hear the potential energy whispering in my ear. "You can't keep starting over. This is where it ends. Norma, finish what you've started."

I'm Right Fucking Here

open your eyes.

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

How Novel

I just realized my life befits a bad paperback.

Monday, October 20, 2003

Passion Transfusion

There's something bad wallowing in my blood, spreading with every heartbeat. Every day I wake up with a sick feeling inside. I want to purge myself of this feeling but I don't know how. I used to get through by ignoring yesterday but that's just a quick fix. I can't start from zero every morning.

No wonder I can't get things done. Castles in the air can't be reached when you keep smashing up the foundation. Fucking perfectionism. Yeah, I'm a perfectionist. How I hate that word. This is the one and only time I'll ever call myself that. But it's true. Things are never good enough for me. I don't think that writers are ever through with the stories they dream up. It's neverending destruction and reconstruction. The binding of paper that gets put on the shelf is just one version of the story, the one that was given up on.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

Same Old Evening Jazz

Superstitions and rituals starting to set in again. I want to have a schedule where I rotate around the city sitting on different park benches. I want to feel myself move in every which way I want to from the living room to the bathroom to all over everywhere.

I don't know how I get myself in these fixes. I am such a sucker but so interested at first until challenge ceases. It's so hateful of me.

I am tired ( s o t i r e d) of all the everything on constant repeat; angularly from everywhere. And of me being tired, whine. I need a change. Change of heart. Change of perspective. I need a someone, to help me move in all the right ways.

So it has been that I have been throwing out and giving away everything that feels too heavy to think about. Anything too attached. If I can't throw it away at the moment, I keep it, and throw it away next week when the mood strikes again.

I make sure I get rid of all the waste paper that goes in and comes out here. I feel so manipulated by my own moods.

I do feel better when I see women pushing their carts slowly in the grocery store mouthing "Strawberry Wine" in secret unison with other worn looking women. I want to introduce them to each other, to push in a small formation. It's the women I havent met, and will never meet, that I become friends with. Keep in mind, this isnt a mutual arrangement.

I feel better flipping through the dictionary or reading outloud to the children my mother babysits from time to time. Thinking of those oddly placed beautiful brick buildings in the middle of the Gaslamp Quarter. Of a soon anniversary in Merced. Of how Nina Simone has been dragging and dropping my heart but putting it back gently in its cage when she's done. Of the lots of love that I can sense when I haven't shut myself off completely. And of the lots of love I have to give away.

Wednesday, October 15, 2003


A wave of fear just passed through my body, settled in my stomach and frolicked in my head for awhile.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe I'll ask for somebody.

Something has to give. Because my eyes wont stop shaking for just anything.

Dear World,
I know you don't stop for anybody or anything, but could you please give me just five minutes to breath ???

Yours Truly.

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

What I Live For

I live for those moments where nothing is spoken, yet
everything is said.

Monday, October 6, 2003


Sometimes I try to be cute and come across as horny.


Please don't call me
a star.

I'm a street light.

Seen from a plane.

Saturday, September 27, 2003

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

I'm A Sap

"I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do...they're really saying...I love you."

Thursday, September 18, 2003

Anthrax , Fungi and Flowers

I had a dream last night I was exposed to Anthrax.

I had to go to the hospital to find out if I had been infected or not.

For some reason they had to do a throat culture to test me for infection.

Whatever they scraped out of my throat grew in the petri dish.

And it grew into some weird looking fungi... and a beautiful red flower.

I had no idea I was such an optimist.

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Mussels Are Funny, Jock Jams Is Funnier

I had a lovely outing and dinner with my younger brother in the Downtown San Diego area today..

Our new-to-the-job-waiter Brad stumbled through his opening speech then went on to recommend the mussels as an appetizer "because," as he claimed "they are my favorite."

As opposed to you know, the more honest "because they are the most expensive appetizer on the menu."

Hey, I don't want to be a jerk, but it was painfully obvious Brad had never had a mussel in his entire life. No, Brad enjoys listening to Jock Jams on repeat while doing body shots off the halter-top wearing girls.

Brad's a chips and salsa guy, not a mussels guy. And I'm okay with that. I don't like mussels either.

So, in the end, we did not have the mussels, but we did leave Brad a healthy tip.

And even more bizarre, on our way out of the restaurant, in the front by the hostess stand, I noticed a young woman about my age standing with an elderly lady with a tube in her nose, pushing around an oxygen tank in front of her.

Of course this started me thinking about how awful it would to be to have to tote one of those tanks around everywhere you go and seeing that kinda thing really made me glad I dont do the cigarette thing and so then I was consumed with my thoughts about how horrible that would be all the while I watched the younger woman and the elderly woman - oxygen tank in tow - approach the hostess to inquire about a table and not missing a beat the hostess said with a big smile:

"Sure do! The wait's about 15 minutes. Do you have a smoking preference?"

Apparently, she goes by the book, that hostess does.

Also, at one point, I was desperately in the mood for a virgin margarita - strawberry style, but the man who brought it forgot my strawberry on the side. At the end of the meal, he stopped by with a glass full of strawberries apologizing for leaving me empty-handed the first time. Kudos to him, really.

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

Short Bus Express To Hell

... If my grasp of grammar were to be listed on the list of the worst places to live in the U.S. based on weather, I would so be Quillayute, Washington *


Anyway, after a quick reassessment, I decided it was time I cut myself a little slack because yesterday a lady online asked me to help her write a press release because, as she said, "I am really not good at writing, it's not my thing. I don't know anything about those adverbs and proverbs or anything like that."

Proverbs, guys.

You know, like, "the early bird catches the worm," or "an apple a day keeps the doctor away," or "When in Rome, do as the Romans do" and must I go on?

Yeah, I know.

Move over Quilayute, Washington! We have a new winner!

Yeah, so, other than mocking the ignorant, I've been stealing bills from the church collection baskets, dabbling in kicking stray puppies and futzing around with stealing pencils from the blind.

Which apparently makes me way too busy to sleep.

Also in news, I will be out of town with a couple of friends this weekend! So there are fun ways to spend time in the works including a Saturday Night Rock Show! I haven't been keeping up with many shows lately, but how can you resist the John Wilkes Kissing Booth?

And we have an extra ticket!

So, I was thinking, perhaps in order to repent for my previously mentioned wicked wrongdoings, I have decided that maybe before the show, I shall give away my extra ticket outside the venue to some unsuspecting fourteen year old super fan-girl who snuck out of her home all rock and roll-like to go to the show!

Wait, you mean the show's 18 and over?

Well, in that case you 18-and-overs, make that check out to CASH!

Wait a second, wait a second - you smell that?

That's normajean's flesh searing in the fire and brimstone.

Have a good weekend, muffins.

* because who doesn't enjoy a gratuitous Farmer's Almanac mention?

Tuesday, September 9, 2003

The Jar Is Open

Spearmint leaves steeping in hot water. Only start to loosen joint from ball point after sun down. Ending the study with Sylvia Plath. Somehow never crossed upon in school, but time enough and hopefully mind enough now.

Hoping for everyday things used in different ways. The simple declaratives that rebound quickly back to you after it's too late to reply.

You've just gotten it, but three steps behind when your off by yourself again.

"That's how it goes, I suppose."

Friday, May 16, 2003


today i had to pretend that my shower was more symbolic than it should have been, just because yesterday felt too much on me. and i am so ready to trade the metaphor in for a bit a of metonymy. only, maybe tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 14, 2003

A Peach, Not So Peachy


i am a peach. a soft fleshy outside with my heart serving as a pit that can't be pried from invisible ribs. and choking ensues.

Thursday, May 8, 2003

More Details

behind my eyes overloaded sensory doodling of images creating themselves because they can, moving because they can. octagons of blues that multiple. a tiptoeing pair of bananas. a proscenium that recognizes itself and expands as far as it can until it recognizes again it is still a proscenium of black.
my head's way of recoiling from logic. from structural analysis of daysgoneby. from minimalism. from math tests. decode.
and for now it's alright. dreams of beige diners that creakingly tilt. And not so dreams of dead ends and a man i know treading the end of my life/the fence that i hop over. he cries, i dies.
details register. little stories, the stories people choose to tell me when they meet me. that story. stories of bricks running one direction, feet another. i rub my eye. someone calls my name and grounds me for a second more. sometimes, i'm so thankful for that.

Thursday, May 1, 2003

Sunshine Smiling At Night

things are so good sometimes when i'm convinced humanity has clapped regressive backwards on itself again. i go to retreat to the cave of shadows that is my (E is so generously - and very much out of nowhere - letting me take over his room while he is not particularly living at home)room to read books for company. and then i turn around. there you are. all of you.

Monday, April 28, 2003

I Know A Girl From Rhode Island

me: What makes you say that?

her: Because... you're beautiful and you don't know it. Because you're smart and you don't believe it. You're the kind of girl that guys never get over. Norm, you're the kind of girl that other girls get compared to.

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

Say Hi To God For Me, Guys

my sneakers have gotten the funk.

which means, the time has come to finally send them to the big Shoe Rack in the sky.

it’s sad, really. no! shut up! it is!

they’re my Purcell's. i have had them many, many months. we’ve gone to many, many shows together. we’ve tooled the streets of many great Southern San Diegan streets.

and as any good converse-wearing person, it’s mandated you wear them ‘til they are so torn and worn so thin you can feel the hot, tarred pavement through the bottom of the soles on a sultry spring day. that and well, you wear ‘em ‘til they develop their own odor personality.

i know. just say it.

you totally want to date me.

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

Phone Buddies, Huh?

sometimes, when you're sure you've lost a friend and everything is simply cordial, life throws you a lemon.

how does this work, E? secret friends? or frenemies (I recently heard this term on NPR...)? eitherway, bring on the lemonade.

Wednesday, April 9, 2003

Still Gone

"stop the bus! i want to be lonely. the seconds pass slowly and years go flying by. you gotta stop the bus, and get off here. enough's enough, and i'm leaving this factory..."

embarrassed by liking this sticky lyric by Ben Folds. just like 'skipping the light fantastic out of town,' it strikes me with blue collar poetry of a humming, dull head re-evaluating repetition over and over again.

and the same again, i need something to tap me on the corner, and lift the weight of the world off of my shoulders. invisible, yet brilliantly loud. i need that something.

Thursday, April 3, 2003


you bit your nails again,
you can't light matches anymore, you
complain about the weather and
how you are so sore, and
i hate you.
amazing, you're so well rehearsed
on every single verse, with
nothing but a metallic smile to
show me how you don't feel
at all.
you look so tired,
i spit caffeine into your veins
and try to help but
all my arteries are on the wrong
side of my skin

Wednesday, April 2, 2003

I need to write this word everywhere. Down the spine of the telephone handle. Inside my wrists. On the lens of my glasses.

I need to write this word everywhere. Down the spine of the telephone handle. Inside my wrists. On the lens of my glasses.

It's just that the other word, Forgiveness, isn't always sure to follow.

Somedays, I don't think anyone deserves any sort of human-to-human vulnerability.

These are the days I feel flattest.

Sunday, March 30, 2003

Summer Has not Yet Begun

I think that I ought not to be living in this age and time. Really. i should be existing in the late 1800's. I shared this with my mother over the phone earlier, and she said, "Yes, I've always thought that about you. Then, or the renaissance. But maybe you did.(in spanish)" Funny, I never took her to be the metaphysical, other life type. I was reading an article the other day; I don't remember from what magazine or paper. It was talking about time travel, parallel universes, space/time continuems, and earnestly saying that a majority of scientists see it as a definite possibility in the next 100 years or so. Seeing as we have the New York Times, Life, The World, and Seventeen all stacked in the school library, I can't vouch for it's validity, but that would be absolutely incredible. Except for the whole kill a butterfly, change history thing.

Saturday, March 29, 2003

Paper Thin

smile with your mouth closed.
don't open your lips and
stop crying,
less chance of illness in the end.
i can't stuff much more in my ribs
stretch and resist, this is your favorite part for a reason,
but i want to be someone else or i'll explode.
a total waste of time.
it's so cold where you're going
and you're still waiting for blood.
so maybe it's not pumping as fast as it should be,
i'm sorry i had to be the girl of your dreams.
i'm sorry it had to be me.
you'll stay up all night
and wait for your new year's kiss.
put your hands through the door
but my fingers are bleeding two years too late;
put a butterfly knife in your soft fleshy hands and be twelve again with me.
i hope we'll speak again before january.
so both hands now, crush another insect
and expose your teeth
you can't fight this.
but you know where it came from.

Thursday, March 27, 2003

Modest Enough

I'm in an exploding mood. You know, when you feel like you're really not big enough for yourself. And you try and stretch to release that squished down feeling but your arms would have to reach 10 feet above your head to stretch that much. I want to run and jump and yell but it's very quiet and I'm alone so that'd seem almost blasphemous. Breaking the calm that is a drizzly thursday morning.

Friday, March 21, 2003

Blind Spot

Always aware as my ego, transforming from one vague ink spot thought to another, blocking out the sun or making me invisible enough. Always somehow an obstruct. My personal investigation for now as I feel the ego sometimes surge right out, a sudden contracting correction with a mumble down in speech. "Quiet down...easy does it." The same old voice. The same old questioning of my indescribable, prude heritage roots. The inability to adjust the volume, twist the knob, just so. Which antennae is receiving right: a pinky, my left ear, the piece of hair always afloat, something different.

While trying to clap a fruit fly between my hands, the air pressure forced it out in some unknown direction, sparing it's life with chaotic air change. A small reminder, direct zen, without the ever quizzical paradox when trying to think: 'Out not in'.

Wednesday, March 19, 2003


Cashed out for now. Trying to learn something without forcing, without interrupting flow, without viewing normal day discombobulations from being disruptions. Writing somehow bends my thought back on itself in a way I'm uncomfortable with for now, but I've been feeling strangely anyways. An odd yearning for Joni Mitchell, Joni making more sense ever since the after-hours of home departation.

Still trying to gain my footing. Something human was soiled in me some time ago, at the same time that numbers were becoming more omnipotent in my life. Something I'm relearning since this year of my life is all of starting over, sometimes to those who haggle, demand, and sometimes beg.

It's hard. I never quite know what kind of situation I'm going to be in tomorrow. So much death and dying with so much adrenaline attached to it. Anxious. Over small stuff, mostly because slowed old time allows it. Hand wringers. Message leavers. Absent eyes and talkety talks.

Things aren't being marked by words, only feelings blotted among days, dog-earred with fatigue. But some things are so good. Putting together a large puzzle, meeting up with an alabama friend, and playing a game of chess with a 4th grader.

Practical. The practical application after so much time spent living in theory. Learning without the extensive note taking.

Set the brakes and still not stopped. just squealing. But something.

Tuesday, March 18, 2003


Many a day I can't find a face. There's nothing to look for in the mirror and nothing that I really wholeheartedly offer to anyone else. Just an odd half-dissonant glance while walking fast. I know I must seem so queer some days but the disappointment is on my heels.

I had a test in math followed by a lecture on discrete random variables and then a sharing of opinions next in english, language of the languages, about the lovely little war. I felt gut-expellingly ill half-way through it because I think I hold my breath while writing out essay answers and become dizzy and aphyxiated. Anxiety corrodes my stomach when prolonged. Too much testing. And now orange sherbet and the smell of chlorine fume me up.

Saturday, January 4, 2003


I need to ease back into flow instead of removing myself completely and watching the mess as it builds and buckles from a distance. Hollow faced me tracing the tracks with my fingertip in the air and the vectors' arrows can't fire way up here. Only smoke, residue, and eyes for mirrors...until I wipe away these reflectors.

Wednesday, January 1, 2003

Catching A Z

Sometimes I forget to breathe. I need a place to rest my head. I just want to lie down for a long time and dream.
And pretend that its real.

I don't feel tired. But I cut the logic out of my brain and I'm out of my mind.

It's like epileptic hell.