09.23.04
I can't believe it has been five years.
[subversion into submission]

... to hell with you.

& thank you.

Cindy Sherman was the first photographer to show me that is okay to shoot myself.

The result wasn't messy.

-Alanna

I am so tired of people stealing my identity. My pictures, my words, all of the shit of the past and displaying it on myspace and facebook and every other journal/blog site that you can name. (For example: [link]) really? 7/11 slurpies? I'm supposed to be 20 not 14.

I do not live in New York, Atlanta, Maine, Belgium, Europe... I've never been! I am nearly 21 years old, and I hate people. I do not venture out of California often and I'm a loner, totally uncool.

I am from Orland, California. I live in San Diego. I've lived two places my entire life. I DO NOT have a myspace. Okay, that's a lie. I have ONE but I use it for concert updates and to keep in touch with a few people. I do not have a picture of myself on there. MY PICTURES SHOULD NOT BE DISPLAYED ON MYSPACE or anywhere other than my stupid facebook! If you see a pic of me on myspace with a profile; in fact, if you see pictures or a profile of me anywhere other than here and facebook, it's a fake. End. of. fucking. story.

See a therapist for your personality disorder and quit using my face and old friends for attention. You're fucking annoying!

I no longer live in Northern California. I live in a city with few friends and few family. I look out my window at a distorted tv. I threw up a peace sign on 32; once I hit the 5, I gave Orland a big fuck you... I held my middle finger out the window for a while, driving. A good 12 minutes. I've been here two weeks... the ocean breathes salty. I've already met the director from Grease, shot stills for a short film (brooks institute project) at Randal Kleiser's house... and pulled through with a photoshoot at Big Doom in Malibu for Humanity Ink (which is getting huge)! My room is decorated with a life size Radiohead poster, a Gonzo movie poster, circa survive show posters, Modest Mouse, & of course... Coheed. There is a cat named Cammy. She's my roomate's. I love her because she's a bitch, and she only let's me rub her fat belly.
Paying rent is such a bitch, but I'm pulling through. I'm going to school. Taking nearly a full-load, and I'm damn well dedicated. Things are looking up. I am adjusting, adapting... and I promise you... I don't miss a fucking thing! Okay, I lied. I miss a select few and Izzy and the Pageant theatre. Fuck.
The ocean is kicking my ass. $15 body boards will wreck you on a big wave. A fucking wave ate me and I flipped a good 12 times as it digested me into its unravel by shore. I'm looking for a job and copious amounts of Aderal.

Warning: this is an effortless entry for someone with nothing to write about.














I hate being stuck in realization. I don't do anything. I don't go anywhere. I have no friends. Lie: I have one friend; a best friend. Michael. I drag on with work and fake cheesy greetings while pushing it all with a shitload of insincerity. Betrayal is always sad, right girls? Hahahah, I need to die soon. Make sure those cunts aren't at my funeral, Buster.