Touching myself to the wrong boy. 
Because he's the only one who I know is grooving on me. 

Well, I guess there's another who I've slept with.
But I just. 
Am only. 
When we face to face. 
I don't dream of our interactions. 

Not that I dream of wrong boy, really. 
I had one dream when I found out he was sweet up on this Noog. 
He's just so nice. 
That I.
Feel like. 
It means. 
I'm a good person if such a good person is into me. 
Like he sees more than the secrets I've told him. 

Studio project at 9, I'm still drunk after the five drinks I've had periodically through the day. 
I go to the bathroom and touch myself thinking of him. 
I have no one to think about. 
But I want to cum, so imma cummin'. 


I also.
Don't like.
How when I tried.
To address what happened.
At Wreck Room.
Those who were present.
Don't care to hear.
So there was a party last night.
And I wanted to put in my work with Joe.
But it has come to me that he may have lost interest.
Because I made out with wrong boy.
At the party, I lured around the outside of his room.
He was distant and didn't give me much attention at all.
But I gave him attention. I saw him downstairs, Ethan came with me.
I saw him against the wall, and I started to talk to him.
I asked him if it was overwhelming to have so many parties and having the house trashed.
And he kept twitching and twitching and couldn't hear me.
i interrupted and asked him why he was twitching.
he told me he has tourettes, didn't I know?
I was surprised, oh okay, whatever.
Is it overwhelming to have so many parties?
I carried on casually as not to make him uncomfortable.
Also because it's not a big deal.
And he said no it's always like this.
And hey, I'm going to go...over there.
Left me there.
And I went into another room with Ethan.
Joe was there talking to others.
Left soon after.
I think that I'm overthinking he was running from me.
It shouldn't be such a big deal.
He shouldn't have such a reaction if so.
I looked beautiful last night.
And I should be forgiven for one night of tom foolery.
I don't truly bother.
That is the one thing I am grateful for when it comes to my soullessness and only desire for skin and no desire for love.

I spent the night talking to Lissette, and we bonded over the objectification of men, objectifying them, and the lust for but high standards when it comes to sex.
I slipped to her knowing that she was a virgin.
She asked me how I knew.
I bullshitted that she told me the other time she was drunk.

I saw the other Joe, and the past few times I've seen him, he has been so happy to see me and really likes to talk to me and laughs so generously at my jokes.
I think that over time that group of boys has learned to become attracted to me because I didn't put in effort for their acceptance.
They see my individual strength, I guess.
I talked to the boy who I tried to torture by breaking his plastic chair with a baseball bat.
We talked about it once we saw each other.
And he said,  you know, this is the only thing we ever talk about.
I said, you're right, and we carried on talking about other things.
I've got millions of stories to tell in order to hold a conversation.
And if you're into me, you'll listen and laugh.

Caylah was supposed to come with me to the party, but she just walked me and continued home when we arrived.
It bugged me, I didn't want to show up alone.
But there were a lot of friends waiting for me inside.
Ah, and I'm definitely okay alone.
We talked about bulimia.
I confessed to her that I made myself throw up,
And she confessed to me that she wanted to that day.
Telling my friends makes me feel like I'm owning up to what I've done.

I looked David in the face while he was talking to me.
And I reminded myself that I touched myself to him.
And I looked at how beautiful he is.
But I don't want him like that.
And I don't know that he wants me like that.
Just because Kim told me,
Because her boyfriend told her.
Well, that's what gossip does.
To be honest, I'll continue telling myself he's attracted to me because it leaves me flattered.
But I'll also maintain the reality that we are platonic.

Also, Lissette told me her side of her experience with David and how he was actually really mean to her, and that's so weird to hear.
She told me he's a hypocrite because he's a feminist, be she felt very used and objectified by him.
I feel like now that I'm crawling inside these groups of friends, I hear them talk about each other.
And I have to take these tales and be aware of others but not necessarily believe what I hear.
Because everyone has their perceptions of what happened.
And you never know what the other is going through or why they did what they did.
I saw Marci at the party, and she really loves me.
She told me that I'm always the happiest most positive girl in the world when she sees me.
And it is something that people see of me from the outside.
I am that girl.
But I am an extremist.
I am the happiest boop da looper.
But the most evil creature with the devil inside of me here to suck up all of the bliss anyone contains I want to destroy and destroy I want blood and death and I want to fucking take my hand and pull out everyone's intestines and throw them on the floor and break their skulls bash their brains into goop I want to swoon them and make them fall in love with me only to leave them psychologically destroyed.

You see my twist?

Met a girl, Claire.
I told her she looked so familiar, I see her at parties.
She told me she came to my party.
With Cody.
I heard his name, fell to the floor.
My heart is broken over his absence, and it gets worse.
Matve, a Russian boy will be in Moscow when I'm in Russia, and I'm going to drink and destroy with him, that cutie boots.

School has overwhelmed me and sucked me dry.
I fell, but I rose and fought back.
Making art.
Making art.
I thrive, and I feel again.
Had to read my artist statement to the class.
Had to describe Young Little.
Now everyone knows what happened to me.

Young Little has returned quietly and passively inside of me.
Because of the black out make out.
She is sad that I disrupted my morals.
She is crying that sexual interactions are still something of a mess for me.
Never positive.
Never positive.
I want respectful skin.
My patience is dead.
I'm a prowless.

Jo was here, she came with the flu and the anniversary.
She possessed me like she hasn't in years the night I blacked out.
I was a sad girl walking home from school one day, and I was becoming heavier and heavier with my stride.
I was thinking of the institutions.
But I reminded myself that I longed for freedom.
And here I am!!!!!
I AM FREE!!!!!
From that moment, I've been happy and alive.

I talk so much when I'm drunk.
With my ever growing accent.
It's shaming.
But that is me.
Take it.

I want to have sex so bad.
I miss male skin.
I want a brotha lova.
I want someone to share the need to get done ummmmalummz.

I've been playing guitar every day, it has regained my power.

I was sad that Gabe and Minz weren't in drawing class yesterday.
But during lunch break, I walk down the stairs.
And Gabe was waiting for me.
I started screaming and flying.
And bouncing and screaming
We flew all the way to Maggie Browns.
Where I had three Bloody Marias.
We talked about sex and sex and sex.
And we screamed and screamed and screamed.
Everyone knew.
i told him the story of San Francisco.
He told me his story that is similar to mine.
When it comes to your mother beating you up, choking you.
Running from the cops.
And being told you deserve it.

Applied to SVA gotta know gotta know.
Am I in.
Must be.

Aleck offered me neuro pain killers.
I considered it,
But I reminded myself that prescriptions make me feel dusty.
I also just don't really like drugs right now.
But a bumpalump of coke never comes without me coming along.
But that hasn't been for a while.

Drank two flasks of tequila to myself last night.
I'm back.

Murphy isn't coming.
I think he broke his sobriety and is scared to come to NY.

I want to leave this hoodlum home and most to East Village.
Especially since my dad is down.


Ordered pizza and cookies because I had to study, and that was my excuse.
Remember that this boy I want to play with is having a show the next night.
So I made myself throw everything up.
It was morbid.
I haven't done that in so long.
I just choked and choked on my fingers.
And would cough up vomit rather than simply releasing it because I was choking.
I'm not good at this anymore.
I'm too hasty.
It's no longer ritualistic.
And man, it would get stuck in my nose.
Such an uncomfortable feeling.
And I just knew before I even started what a fuck shit idea this was.
I don't know if it was staying up until 2:30 studying.
Or if it was the bile drenched action.
Probably both.
But waking up was so difficult.
I had a dream I was always hitch hiking.
And these men who were my friends would pick me up.
And I kept flirting with them and being touchy.
But I didn't want to sleep with them.
So I was much of a tease.
But I was drunk and wanted skin.

I have been thinking this morning.
I am lascivious, and I want it.
I talked to David about blacking out yesterday.
And he told me that I really have problems with sexual encounters.
Everyone has found it so funny about how I ams o upset for making out with a boy I don't know and not remembering it.
I feel like I have ruined my purity.
I feel like I have betrayed myself.
I have always been able to trust myself to uphold sexual morals despite any amount of inebriation.
It has scared the shit out of me that I broke that and that I didn't even know it happened until someone told me.

The boy was visiting a friend from Minnesota or something.
He said that we were talking, but he couldn't understand me because my accent was so thick.

It threw me into a spiral of darkness and evil.
But walking home from school the other day,
I reminded myself that happiness is in my power.
And I have been happy ever since.
I am disappointed in my vile.
But I must move forth.
I hope I'm skinny enough for the show today.
I don't think I am.
What do I do with this robust stomach.

I am finding motivation in art again.
I have been playing the guitar every day.
And partially devoting myself to Consistency of Carcasses.
And I am proud of them work.

I want to get laid, for fucks sake.
I also have been journaling a lot in a note book.
And want to type it up onto here.
So that I have good documentation of my life.
So that I can come back to this and understand these times that I am going through now.


Drafts 3

4:00 am anti sleep
About as dried up as the pigeon corpse in between the bodega and my front doors. 

Make no art, only a tequila whore. 

Aching muscles and bruises to chew on. 
Maybe bad news is some kind of hard on. 

Promising fuck up sucked up too much evil slip up. 

Turned into dirty oil gets stuck and stained underneath your fingernails can’t get rid of it, scrub till ya skin raw, now you dirty, too. 

Sometimes I remember that the stories are true. 

When Naukie was my only name, 
and I was only chasing bad bad for my veins. 

Go to sleep afternoon twelve wake up at evening eight. 

On so many drugs, I ask her what are the words that I usually say.

Laughing through a car crash,

Shaking under three heated blankets, bones got more fear than cold.

It’s like the times I’ve convulsed out of control. 

Can almost count my overdoses past my fingers shoved down my throat so that I can make it through the night.

Fifteen is a bullshit frame of mind.

His sweat smells like shit when he’s face to face with my drunk motherfucker breath.

But liquid courage, I grab you back, it won’t happen again.

And baby opens the door with sharp knife and crying words “get the fuck away from my sister.”

I tell the cop I’m just an asshole ‘cause you ain’t trust a government mister.
I tried to keep my mouth shut a long time ago. 

Cocaine, we sing the same.
You know my way back home.

Drafts 2

There is nothing inside of me that wants to scream. 

I feel as if art school has silenced me. 
Dried out this babytowner.
I hope that with the warmth comes something inside of me that wants to do more than drink. 

But to make art again.
I feel as if I’ve become this normal pile of a woman drowned in booze.
I get so boring when I’m not troubled. 
But I have worked so hard to solve myself.


I should not be so bummed about that panic attack.

But it is disappointing that those are the only moments in which I can cry. 

And those are the most unsatisfying tears.


I miss being anorexic. 
Said it. 


Did well for a while. 
Keep starving, baby. 
Do it. 

Met an interesting man

He told me he is going to write me a song, and I can sing it. 
Kookas showed him my music. 


Pathetic to say, but I was happiest when I was starving myself. 
And they weighed me at the doctors yesterday. 
This flu has brought on that feeling of hipbone a trying to rip out my skin. 
Though they really aren't, this is nothing. 
I want to still work out so that I have healthy tone. 
I won't starvy starve. 
I'll just avoid. 
I really want to. 
I really want to. 


It passed, the 11th.
I got the flu that day.
I slept with this boy I've been meaning to.
It was amazing, and oh my god morning sex!
But I hope he doesn't like me..

I've been thinking of Bryce.
He's who I think about when I groove still.
Kookas is living with me,
And though him and Tammi are broken up,
She fucking comes over.
I fucking don't fucking want to fucking hear her fucking laugh while I have the fucking flu, fuck you, Tammi.
How can she be comfortable in my home when she knows I hate her.
Ah, but she was comfortable leaving Elliot for his friend and moving across the country with him, okay.
She's too selfish to care for her shame.
Eating is hard with the flu.
But you know what!
I weigh 142, fucking kill my fucking self, I've worked hard.
I just have to starve to be okay, how sad.
How how sad.
It's so easy for everyone.

I just want to  be strong in beauty.


I thought the week would never end.
It's the weekend, I made it. 
No more going out to eat. 
If I have I drown myself in blue pills, so be it. 
Wake up early. 
Clean house. 
Don't eat don't eat don't eat. 
I am not thin enough to fuck. 


I got so lascivious during studio lighting that I had to go to the bathroom. 
I screamed, it was fucking amazing. 
I come back, and it's as break. 
What a euphoric cigarette I am having. 


Stop eating, Naukie. 
This was valentine's day

A Polaroid and it's negative by Aleck Venegas

A drunken rememba me

My dream, I come to Santa Cruz, and everyone in the crew is there. 
Hannah Rogers is the first one I see, I hug her, she's so thin. 
And she tells me, hey, so I did this out of empowerment, but I gave Bryan head. 
And I slapped her. 
I have never felt the need to really slap someone other than Bryan before. 
It was a soft slap, but I did it. 
And everyone clapped. 
BecauSe the situation was funny to everyone. 
I ran outside to smoke a cigarette.
And Bryce came out. 
He hugged me, and it just felt so sweet. 
We held each other and swayed back and forth and rubbed eachother's backs. 
And he picked me up, and we just hugged as I was suspended. 

I came back in and everything was fine, I got over it. 
I told Hannah that she shouldn't have given him head but made him giver her head because that's what he deserves. 

I leave, and I'm in East Village.
I see Rob, and I sit down at a bench and talk to him. 
He was so happy to see me and told me he missed me.
I talked with him about how we used to be such good friends. 
And he agreed, but said that everything happened so fast that he backed off. 
And knowing that, I realized not to come on too strong. 
We enjoyed our time, but a guy and two girls came, and Rob transferred his focus on them. 
That's okay. 
I left. 

I left,
And I woke up. 
I slept with a boy.
I didn't know his name for two days.
He already showed signs of jealousy.
Ah, I'll explain later.

I am not good for men.
Unless I'm in love.