February 24, 1999


A house full of people, strangers mostly. Strangers that will forever remain strangers. I know how I must come off but you must understand that this is not how I am. The spirit inside me is so lively and charming, but how could you ever know from my drab appearance and dead stare into nothing, my reluctance to talk or even show face? Although it is not evident, a personality does exists, just not openly. Sometimes I would rather be anyone besides me. I don’t know what happened, I used to be able to make friends left and right. Nowadays any new face sends me into a state of shell shock. I would love to be beautiful. I know physical appearances mean nothing but I’m sick of going unnoticed. In the midst of a crowd I am left behind as they mingle into the next room carrying VIP’s in hand. Conversation never includes me and when I do speak up and throw in my two cents it goes unnoticed anyway. When I do decide to follow the crowd, they’re already somewhere else as I make my arrival. It’s never been my thing anyway. What do I care about the latest local punk band, or raves, or clubs? Coffee houses, arenas, bars, body piercing, tattoos, 6th street, Westheimer, Montrose, Fitzgerald’s, Instant Karma, Numbers. I will find my own kind beyond the city.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist