Heather's High School

Goddamn. Winona Ryder is fucking skinny.

I'm watching Heathers now and remembering high school. Not the nightmare it could have been but it was like a prison. I was never close to being popular with the people that went to that school. I though maybe that if I had had more friends I would have been happier. Then I wouldn't want to still hurt all those little fucks who pulled out my hair or spit at me. I wouldn't have the idea that friends are just there to kick me in the head and run off. Or for me to run off first. I wish I knew what I know now.
I'd have ignored all those people and focused on myself. Taken myself out to movies and worked more and read more and slept in and learned to paint and sing. I would have kept dancing. I would have written more. I definitely would have ditched more class to have a little fun. (Cause in the end, it really didn't matter if I was sitting silently, doodling in my notebook in English class or not.)

I wouldn't have dated the same boy all through high school. I would have met a tall boy with glasses who would swim and run and make me laugh. He would make breakfast for dinner and he would never stop asking questions and talking about silly things. We would dance in Times Square and travel...straight to the Taj Mahal, down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and then up the Tokyo Tower. How...very.

Where do I come up with all this bull shit? Whatever. Time to get going or get left behind. Whatever, indeed.

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

Parallel Life

The new year comes and in some mirrored universe, 70 years ago, I know I am feeling hopeless.

I've been following the 70th anniversary of the 2nd world since 2009, when the war started. I started the war Sept 1, 2009. The fall of Paris. The "Jewish Solution" begins. The battle of Stalingrad and the uncountable dead.  Battle of the Bulge.

And now it's all coming to an end. There seems to be a light at the end of this tunnel. The Germans have started to retreat. Weeks from now, they start to evacuate/liquidate the concentration camps and move back towards Berlin. In mere months, Hitler will paint the bunker with his brains and that will be the final threads of fight left in the Germans. Old men and boys will try to hold the city with abandoned tanks and guns. The Russians will hoist their flag over the Reichstag dome and America will turn it's weary eyes to the Pacific theater and Japan. Roosevelt will make a decision. By August, it will all be over. For some more than others.  

But no one knows these things yet. I just listen to radio and sing in the new year. Our men are still gone, people still die and Hitler lives.

I wonder how I feel on this fresh, clear morning. I imagine I look up at the frozen sky, trying to remember what I know now.