When I write, I delight in referring to myself as the third person. Here's one example, a journal entry written during the dead hour of siesta, in my locked bedroom, after my afternoon shower.

She was bored out of her skull, as usual, for the nth time in 24 years. So in the middle of noon, she decided to drive dull care away. She entertained herself by letting out a screech behind the maid, who was at that moment making the bed of her 23 year old "duce". The victim reacted with a rather overboard gesture of fright, which, put a temporary stop to the practical joker's boredom.

I am adding an excerpt from Caroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland", a brilliant piece of literature, I will always believe.

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat:"We're all mad here. I am mad, you're mad."
"How do you know I am mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."

The following, I gathered from my notebook, written sometime last year. I posted this entry upon request of my friend T---.



I befriended an odd girl, T--- from room 314. T--- brings me to complete contemplation sometimes. I wonder if she epitomizes the typical forlorn girl of my childhood novels (which I never finished writing). She had long, unbecoming tresses of a depressed, overworked housewife, the clothes of a financially challeged country girl and the facial expression of someone who had gone through a litany of emotional bancruptcy brought about by abortive romances and bad financial troubles. She posseses the beautiful and scholarly yet naive mind I claimed having during my years in college, with the hopes that I would trick people---pseudo-intellectuals or otherwise into reciprocating my friendship.

Her shoes were white, the thick soles smudged with road dirt and its velcro straps almost losing their grip around her pale ankles. I knew I have seen those white shoes before and when I forced myself to ponder deeply where I have seen them before, I recalled seeing them in my mother's wedding album--she was wearing the same, exact pair under her wedding gown.

T--- is the brown Fiona Apple of my youth.

The following "notes" were derived from Morissette's late 90's song entitled Unsent. I feel the need to acknowledge her genius because I am not a cold-blooded plagiarist. If she doesn't mind though, I replaced the names of the characters in this song with names of people familiar to me.

dear j---- I liked you too much. I used to be attracted to boys who would lie to me and think solely about themselves and
you were plenty self-destructive for my taste at the time. I used to say the more tragic the better. The truth is
whenever I think of the early 90's your face comes up with a vengeance like it was yesterday.

dear p--- I love you muchly. You've been nothing but open hearted and emotionally available and supportive
and nurturing and consummately there for me. I kept drawing you in and pushing you away. I remember
how beautiful it was to fall asleep on your couch and cry in front of you for the first time. You were the best platform from
which to jump beyond myself what was wrong with me.


dear s---- we learned so much. I realize we won't be able to talk for some time and I understand that as I do you. The long distance thing was the hardest and we did as well as we could. We were together during a very tumultuous time in our lives. I will always have your back and be curious about you and your career your whereabouts.

She scratches a letter into a wall made of stone
Maybe someday another child won't feel as alone as she does
It's been two years, and counting, since they put her in this place
She's been diagnosed by some stupid fuck, and mommy agrees,

She seems to be stronger, but what they want her to be is weak
She could play pretend, she could join the game, boy
She could be another clone...

~Why Go?, Pearl Jam



love it.