you know,
sometimes all your subliminal messages are just too fucking much.


you got me into this and now i can't get out

i want to fucking sleep but i don't remember how


my ahh knee playlist is on shuffle and all the songs i want to listen to are all playing in the order in which i want to listen to them.
how often does that happen.
god. i am so high right now
i don't even feel high anymore.
i just feel sober.
the blackboard in my english classroom today
had math all over it and halfway through the seminar
i started doing algebra. seriously.
2x + 5 = 12
2x = 12 - 5
2x = 7
x = 7/2
x = 3.5
2(3.5) + 5 = 12
7 + 5 = 12
12 = 12
that kind of algebra.
and i thought, god, chelsea.
if you're doing MATH in this class right now, you must be really bored.
i don't recall feeling bored, but there's really no other explanation.
but here's a little secret
i may say i hate math
but i actually love algebra.
logarithms. the clean seamless
elimination of the unknown.
you don't find that anywhere else.
let's do another one.
3x + 25 = 70
3x = 70 - 25
3x = 45
x = 45 / 3
x = 15
3(15) + 25 = 70
45 + 25 = 70
70 = 70
god. i wish i could remember how to divide binomials.


it's one thirty in the morning,
you insomniac, you manic
depressive, pot addict.
here's an idea.
why don't you scrape the yolks of your eyes
off the picture of the falling flowers
with a spatula and eat them
for breakfast. you can take the whites too, if you're hungry enough.
why don't you get off the floor answer the door start acting poor
find the drawer with the hemp twine and kitchen shears.
carve out your nails and sew your fingers together so you can't
strike a match
pick the scabs later.
why don't you wash your hair
anymore. why don't you tell your body how
to unlearn twelve hundred cigarettes and remember
how you felt when you were still good.
why don't you try spending some time upstairs for a change.
you won't fall asleep on the carpet and you've long stopped sharing the bed
with your grief, a cold corpse beside you.
why don't you try listening.
avert your attention from the falling flowers.
it doesn't matter that they're rununculus
it doesn't matter that their fists are blooming fire
it doesn't matter what will happen when they hit the ground


it's the equinox and

i saw the constellations reveal themselves
one star at a time


this day kicked. my. ass. so hard.


it's raining. again. the brakes on my bike don't work in the rain. i want to take the rest of my zyprexa and sleep until all this cloud cover goes away and the sun comes out.
this morning i rode to campus and hung all the art for the big fine arts party on tuesday and smoked pot out back of the visual arts building with all the pretty people and ate chocolate and laughed and laughed when deb said the janitorial staff is terrified to clean up in there because they never know if all that stuff all over the studio floors is art or garbage. i'm getting close to the end but whenever i walk into that building i want to change my major. spend eight months out of the year painting and drawing and taking photographs and making things out of buttons and hemp twine. whenever i walk into that building i think it would be better for my soul. art is the only way i know how to recharge and right now there is just no time.
went to bean with janine and bought thirty-five dollars worth of produce and now i'm trying to scrounge up some kind of motivation to do the eight light years worth of work i need to be doing, but the sky is white and the pavement is wet and the sight of headlights reflected in the cement this early in the day just makes me want to read my tarot cards and hide under a blanket on my sofa and watch really sad movies and cry and cry even though i am so. tired. of crying.


i guess everything is timing, i guess everything's been said, so i'm coming home with an empty head
ok. reading week started one month ago. i don't know where this semester is going.
i realized today as i woke up that all of the things i have to do at any given time fit into a hierarchy and when i know i need to to do something, like, say, write my art history paper, and i really don't want to, i will instead do a bunch of little things, like work emailing, to make myself feel productive even though technically, i'm not.
and then i wonder if everyone's brain functions this way or if i'm just way farther gone than i thought.
today i have a meeting with the dean and after that i would like to find my launch dress because god knows i won't be writing my art history paper, and i'm not going to ride my bike to school even though taking the bus has started to make me feel lazy and gluttonous.
there is not enough energy, and there is not enough sun.
is march in this city always so overcast? why can't i remember? and why is it making me so sad.


i'm burning out.
today i hemmed a pair of pants and went to meetings and did catalogue inventory for three hours. i squished a cockroach into the carpet with my shoe. i'm gaining weight and if it's not the cake then it's all my secrets.


a small bonding conversation?

one of these days i will do my 462 readings before the day they are due and one day i'll actually do all my steve price homework early and one day i hope i'll be able to say that without lying and go to bed at ten o'clock etcetera etcetera.
i ate steamed vegetables on rice vermicelli for dinner and i have lots of delicious things to eat tomorrow and that's good because tomorrow is going to be
as the trains you spend a hundred and fifty cars counting while you're stopped at the crossing
see? a train.
almost ten oclock almost ten oclock train cars train cars
that keep on truckin' agh
today i rode my bike all the way to school and i know it sounds really lame but when i got there i looked around and saw everything anew, all that sweat
in my eyes.

this is your time, she said. and you deserve it.
yeah, i've been racking up some karma points, i said. i guess the universe is finally just like, ok, chelsea. it's your turn. it's your turn.
i almost don't like these first weeks of daylight savings because waking at seven means getting up in the dark. last night, though, was glorious. sunlight until 19.00. endless exclamations.
this weekend i was intensely productive but if the academy had to give me a grade on drinking double americano or riding my bike everywhere or plotting my publishing house which opens next month or sitting around all evening in a white cotton and lace slip and folding paper cranes to hang from my bathroom ceiling, the academy would have to give me an N.
this is why i'm starting to think that university and i aren't really friends.
summer. summer isn't going to know what hit it.


i'm in a room whose walls are made of doors and all the doors are open


she said don't i know you from the cinematographer's party?

tonight i spent a lot of time with the tarot and asked a lot of questions and the tarot gave me all the answers i thought i would get, but they are not the ones i wanted and now i'm a sad cat even though i'm listening to the say you love jesus cd, which is not a sad cad cd.
i really hope i'm racking up some serious karma points or something right now because this feels so icky and i will never get anything done if i just cry all the time.
i'm thinking hard about buying gauloises but i haven't owned cigarettes in months and the jury is out.
she looked me over and i guess she thought i was alright
alright in a sort of a limited way for an off night


chelsea, you are so fucked.
i know. i know.
i know you do. i'm just rubbing it in.


i am leaving i am leaving but the fire still remains


is everything alright in there?

dear aritzia,
i want to tell you that i'm sorry i had sex in your dressing room
but i'm not.