do you think i only love you because you sleep with other boys?
so. l. cohen. beautiful losers. in class on thursday, this girl completely ripped the novel to pieces. she ranted and raved about the self-absorbed "f." and the complete and utter bullshit that she found the 260 pages to be. i sat there against the wall... staring at her while she flustered about how she felt the book was a waste of her time. she held up her copy of the book in her right hand with disgust... and trailed off angrily.

i held on. i'm holding on. to the characters. to their flustering. to their self-absorbtion. to their dreams. to their belief in transcendence. to their individual failures. because i too fail. because i too dream of transcendence. of glory. of sainthood and sensuality. and i too am failing. i liked reading about them trying. to dream the dreams i can't bear to write down. cohen could. he could think them up and scribble them out. and his characters are horrid. they are self-involved. they are contradictory. they are chaos.

and we all know what this means. i embrace them. i hold them dear. i want to exist in their self-absorbed chaotic worlds. because i spend so much time in my own. my own feeble attempts at being something worthwhile. at being something i can feel but can't understand.

i had a date last night. we watched before sunrise and before sunset. i know. believe me i know. but you know what? the most important line of either movie was when ethan hawke said something about just being so completely bored of himself. and he put to words something i often feel but never understand. i am always there.

i am often bored with myself. and those are the times i wish i was edith. or f. i need these characters to exist. so i can live through their minds for a few hundred pages. live through their lives. so i can forget mine.