unseen

Edwin Arlington Robinson

WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

There was this special, singular moment in Lucy’s life, that probably has a corresponding time in everyone’s life, she reasoned, that she realized with much anticipation and fear, that she would not make it out of this life alive.
For others, such as her parents, middling in every possible way- middle class, middle-aged, placid and resigned with the bland middle-ness of their lives, assuming an apathetic, middle-of-the-spectrum-of-emotions stance on the mildly interesting things that happened in their lives- this was called a mid-life crisis. That moment in bed, when Mrs. Tiffany Coleman’s spoon lathered in soggy oatmeal hit the floor with a half-congealed smack, her glass of skim milk left raised, trembling before her prepared and pursed lips- that momentous moment when she sat there and her brain began to explode, crying out, “I do not want this oatmeal! I want a warm, crisp-on-the-outside, melty-on-the-inside, spicy-in-a-sweet-sugary-way, cinnamon bun that may add pounds to my already loaded love handles, but I want one anyway! James!” James I used to call you bun, like cinnamon bun honey, oh where has the sweetness gone? It was that moment when Mr. James Coleman raced into the room, his tennis polo crisp and raised, aloof, around his neck, his muscular legs rippling in the joy it took from the physical activity of rushing from their bathroom where he had been combing his hair to the room down the hall where his wife enjoyed breakfast every morning- it was this moment while staring at her pink lips crusted with off-white oatmeal, breasts spilling lopsidedly and unrestrained beneath her ratty pajama tee, that his epiphany tied his shoe-laces to each other and tripped him up altogether- I do not love her, he thought. What a car-wreck of an ex-debutante. How would her high-school cheer outfit fit those mountains and caves of a body now ?I feel pity and sympathy toward her, yes, but there is no passion because there is no mystery. .I who have maintained my form… I am a great man of a husband., I cannot love what is beneath me.
For others, such as her neighbors, they had their own realizations as well. Owen, the boy from the window lit in the third-story left-most window every night until every morning, realized his life was busy-work, and the track his life had been following was comparable to a treadmill track.. around around around around and going no where, until one’s sneakers were not only worn through but so was the track. Owen jumped out this third story window the moment he realized this, half out of exhaustion, depression, and absolute self-defeat of this realization, half out of the hope he had kept kindling inside him that someday he would fly. He did not fly, and instead landed in his sister’s new sleek and red Audi A4 convertible, and because she had left the top open, his unfortunate landing got blood on the seats. Owen survived, and lived to see the day when he would be forced to buy his sister a new convertible for the blood he had so stupidly shed on it. No one knew he had jumped out the window. No one saw but Lucy.
For others, such as her classmates, there were other types of epiphanies. Gazing in the mirror for her fifty-first minute that morning, Kara realized not only that she had the most perfect bone structure she had ever seen, was so lucky to have straight hair unlike her ugly twin, and was graced with teeth that would never need railroad tracks-I mean, braces, she thought, giggling to herself at her twin’s misfortune- but also that her habits in front of the mirror were the reason she was mysteriously late to school every morning. Who woulda thought, hehe! Standing outside of the locked door waiting to grab the special floss her dentist had given her to reach around her difficult oral-wiring, curling a frizzy tendril around her finger, Sarah the twin thought whimsically of the deep, mysterious, suicidal boy who now walked her home every day from school, and realized how if there was one thing others should think about the relationship between her and her twin, it would be that Sarah should be jealous of perfect Kara. Yet Sarah also realized there was no rhyme or reason to their relationship, for it was Kara who was the unlucky one. There is no such thing as anger, meanness, or cruelty coming from a happy place within someone, she thought to herself. Kara is so mean because she must be so jealous of me and Owen, hehe!
There was the epiphany of the eye-doctor who lived in the next town over as he peered into the big round ovals of his thirteenth patient that day. He loved his job, for who wouldn’t love to peer into the windows of the soul for forty hours a week? He loved the varying shades of irises, the timidity of some blinks or the piercing brightness of some people’s stares. He loved his control over them too…I CAN MAKE YOUR PUPIL OPEN WIDER OR CLOSE, MY PRETTY, WITH THESE LIGHTS OF MINE I HAVE COMPLETE POWER OVER YOUR PUPIL, LENSE, AND RETINA!! Staring into the soul of one particularly beautiful patient, he had a realization inside a realization. He realized first he was staring into her soul, and he liked it. Then he realized, conversely, she could stare into his. For as many hours as he soul-sifted through patient after patient’s windows, I mean eyes, they had a clear view into his. Oh, how frightful! The optometrist also realized that he would never, ever, never ever have the chance to see out of anyone’s eyes but his own. He grasped his head in his hands, shook with sobs, and gave the office his two-weeks notice.
All over the soggy, drizzling streets of Greenwich, London, a thousand unique and brilliant epiphanies lit up like sparks and wrought searing flares upon the lives of the city and its inhabitants. Realized the elderly owner of Royal Teas- Some of my young customers will never be as rich as they imagine, and instead find their dreams crushed, owning a small, dinky café like mine. They will be infinitely happier than their previous plans for life. Realized the kitten curled in the window of Royal Teas- meoooow! Mow mew REEow. Realized the wasted girl at the downtown nightclub as she threw up for her sixth time onto the corner of the sidewalk outside- I truly know none of these friends that I came with. Our foundation, our relationship is built off of drunken heart-to-hearts. Where is the vulnerability of humans locked away when they are not under the influence? Realized the candle-stick maker- My candle scents of Christmas Cookie, Warm Vanilla, Vanilla Cupcake, French Vanilla, and Buttercream all smell exactly alike! Realized the aspiring mathematician in his office- E=mc squared! Realized the anxious, pacing patient inside his psychologist’s office- My psychologist is absolutely psycho! Realized the psychologist- My patient is one helpless psycho… Realized the writer, reading the latest news of the outcome of the Mai Lai massacre and the nearing end of the Vietnam war, with his feet up on his wooden-dinner table and the tea he just gulped in surprise scorching a streak down his gullet- We are all psychotics.
All of these moments of divinity, flashing before a thousand eyes of a thousand different lives, occurred simultaneously with Lucy’s shattering realization. She shivered, slipped off her slippers, and padded in a gentle and self-possessed manner to her front door. The handle was cold to the touch, and then she bolted away into the city’s infinite cloud of newly-grasped insights.

"When ego is lost, limit is lost. You become infinite, kind, beautiful"

so much ego. books are lost. tea was lost. curly was lost. beaming was lost. alone time was lost. individuality was lost. one on one was lost. decisions were lost.

little things shine out throughout the day like pinpricks, and I just need to collect them all to see their light its just so hard to keep them from spilling

stay grounded stay groundedstay groundedstay groundedstay groundedstay grounded stay with me

party, two days straight

its called wasted for a reason

life starts last second ago..and the next

my twinnies, and sisters, and everything family-iar

getfuckedup getfuckedup getfuckedup getfuckedup getfuckedup getfuckedup getfuckedup getfuckedup

i cant get no satisfaction

Falling out of touch with all my friends

are somewhere getting wasted,

i am an octopus with too many arms

i need and need and need

and i either need you, consistent hand holder

or enough different hand holders to turn to at any moment

i dont wanna be that person for myself, holding all these hands

i dont wanna be tied up in myself

but right now ive got all these empty arms, all these loose ends

hope theyre staying glued together,

I have arms for them.

its a distinct lack of emptiness, its just way way way too much

"Wherever you are, whatever you do, be in love"

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin

You tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in

And now you're outside me

i feel everything,

in waves and pulses ricocheting and turning over and turning around and circling, tickling all over my insides

this is never good or bad, but is

There's one thing I have to say so I'll be brave

You were what I wanted

I gave what I gave

I'm not sorry I met you

honestly, its rough for me to be honest but when internal hurricanes subside at least im now on solid rock.. although i wish you were the rock, not the sweeping away

Friendzy Frenzy

Falling out of touch with all my

friends are somewhere getting wasted,

hope theyre staying glued together,

I have arms for them.

my close, close loves i love

and really i still feel uncomfortable knowing this, but i am so done with a lot of things

including... competition, edge,

im so peaceful on the necessity of acceptance and arms, a thousand different intertwines and webs and talks talks talks talks

except not yet, cause we go on pretending

its like Everyone wants Everyone to stop pretending first. But when no one is brave enough, even I am fooled, and then I am the only one pretending, he is the only one pretending, and she is the only one pretending. And we are all pretending alone.

I am pretending!

Now I hardly know them

and Ill take my time Ill carry them over, and Ill make them mine.

"Life, that gorgeous quality of life, is not accomplished by following another man's rules. It is true we have the same hungers and same thirsts, but they are for different things and in different ways and in different seasons.. Lay down your own day, follow it to its noon, your own noon, or you will sit in an outer hall listening to the chimes but never reaching high enough to strike your own."

amelie

its not floating yet but its definitely my head above the waves, im thankful for the people towards whom my feelings are pure, and vice versa

my face is burnt and my body wants to collapse but theres something so poetic about a straight shot and they way guys play sports

you are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first , I loved you first

beneath the stars came falling on our heads

i oh beauCOUP !

i think its worth trying too hard when its for something you have a good feeling about

i think i want to stay up until 4 am with you every night

and i think i want to be a bro

i think i want to care too much and learn how to think when im alone

i think i need to be honest about my downs and i still dont know what to do with my ups because

i think i need to get over my fear of being alone

i think there are so many different worlds people belong to and my eyes were just opened up to one more. my ring finger fits in it and thats about it.

my favorite part of any person is the human side. people are worth taking risks on. i like interactions. i like families. i like intimacy. i like bodies and long hair and the pads of fingers. i like posiedon on those rocks.

i like love that is both craving and contented, equal and generous.

i dont like

i think i need to like myself

i feel self-centered/cocky even saying that. but oneself has to be a valuable personal investment, true?

i am very contentedly at peace

is this bliss trip supposed to last so long?

and i feel so crispy clean, salt cusps my skin, and bleaches white in waves

my skin is so thin i can feel everything

i get hurt easily but i dont bruise

and being outside

Used to be the one of the rotten ones

And I liked you for that

Now you're all gone, got your make-up on

And you're not coming back

the moon was a bright and honest eyeball that won every single staring contest with me stumbling and the wind

i got diamonds on the souls of my shoes

blissssssss !

can i tell you you're the purple in me?

I've got a big, big, big, big heartbeat, yeah
I think you are the sweetest thing
I wear a coat of feelings and they are loud
I've been having good days
Think we are the right age
To start out own peculiar ways

And my dear, dear, dear Khalana

I talk too much about you

Their ears are getting tired of me singing all the night through

Lets just talk together

You and me and me and you

Can I tell you that you are the purple in me?

Can I call you just to hear you, would you care?

When I saw you put your purple finger on me

There's a feeling in your bottle

Found your bottle, found your heart

Gives a feeling from your bottled little part

you love i forwards and backwards

oh, death

and that virtue of humankind i thought could keep people from turning against each other in weakness

id rather be an idealist than realist, unless reality keeps slapping me like this

but, death how merciless and consequently merciful your sweeping hands are, to shut those eyes lingering in vague and moistened washes of dark and pain.

im getting lost in your curls

id like to watch this heat lightning from a rooftop, that is so like all of us, it gets hot and then it cracks.

id like to feel the ease and sinking and cool, serene and swish of blueish strands of grassy, dirty ground and not wear shoes, not wear society anymore and not have to say a thing

id like to take you the stream; to curl up in those cold, hard cylinders; those underground tunnels underwhich the crisp river and scampering water insects, bug-eyed (extend gangly limbs), fly by. where no one from the road sees, except the mosquitoes

id like to sing with horrible, honest voices and boyish laughter and snarky history jokes

id like to not shatter, but float

i didnt take the picture above but im using it to demonstrate... dandelions? is that what those are? ive been told numerous times those are that. but i always thought they were yellow, and you didnt wish on them.

i was driving by the field going up the hill and my mom commented on how early they had reaped the fields for hay already. this was fairly upsetting to me because i had wanted to take pictures in it. the field had previously been super saturated with these wishful puffballs- dandelions?- like the soft like fontanelle and all as infants' fuzzy craniums peeping out in time for spring. but then i thought about those huge mowers plowing into the grass, and those dandelions launching their whispy petals- petals? im not sure they look more like parachuters- fleeing, positively fleeing in anarchistic chaos. from their mother, from earth, from the green naivete of what they knew and the brown soil of something dirty- flung into the blue abyss and subject to a bitter fall to beneath tractor wheels, or to continue their luminescent curve upon the ribs of the wind under glimmering sun.

and i hope im one of those who can float.

and i gotta get a move on before the sun

i hear my baby callin my name

and i know that shes the only one

and if i die in Raleigh

at least i will die free

my first thought about hearing the words "has passed away" were a patronizing growl at whatever forces govern this universe, why is life so cruel.

i thought about your love. i thought about my family as a whole- how much my papa loved gram. and in one word, she was taken away- Huntingtons. how my papa took care of his love, his companion through the throws of illness, through the trials of disease, and picked up the wretched pieces of a woman he no longer recognized. And he loved them. He had his wretched, remaining pieces and he loved them and he had his cooking and he loved it. Papa was born both a cook and an engineer; in artist of opposing mediums. Of the cold touch of steel, of bombs and nuclears and an artist too of aromas and fine spices and golden-roasted christmas hams. He could make something beautiful out of these cold metals, these fleshy and slimy slabs of bloody meat. He made something beautiful of what remained of his wife; cooked her disease-ridden shards into the most delicious and satisfying love.

so too did this other grandmother of sorts i didnt know too well. their love was a bit crazy, following the art they loved; puppets. He loved puppets. He knew everything about them, and painstakingly devoted a life to creation. He got his own puppetry institute in Connecticut. I remember walking around there and being scared of those lifeless, yet recognizably human, faces. And in one word all this was stolen away; Parkinsons. Those intricately painted puppets which required unnerved patience and the steadiest of hands were left with a master of the unshakable trembles of Parkinsons. To see him not even able to hold his puppets anymore. What wooden and stringed people used to move with fluid motions and vivacious voices now left cold behind glass. And he shook in hunger for them. They were the grandparents that remembered to send me birthday cards every year, without fail.

And I drove through the rain with my father and couldnt help thinking what one word would take him away from me, and all he loves of this world. I thought that inevitably, for everyone, this universal word to steal everything away-- Death. I know that it is not that life is cruel, but Death. Cruel because life is so insatiably beautiful. Cruel only in comparison to his glorious life. Cruel because it takes us away from life. But its so necessary. Just as happiness isnt quite as deep without the hollows of sadness, so too would life be ignorant bliss without something to check us all. Is this cruelty?

OHAMSCO

supposedly the textbooks one reads on the history of America are censored by the government? and this is the best possible way we could put our hypocritical tendencies:

"..the CIA helped to overthrow the elected government of Iran..to get favorable oil prices"

"In Guatemala, in 1954, the CIA overthrew a leftist government that threatened American business interests. US opposition to communism seemed to drive Washington to support corrupt and often ruthless dictators."

As one of the most powerful champions of democracy in the world, who brazenly involve ourselves in the affairs of other nations in order to promote the growth of democracy, I'm glad we've been consistently supporting the right things for the right reasons. yeaaaahhhhhhhh.

I also drove past many signs on the road and began noticing their messages. Billboards depicted copious amounts of Coca-Cola, encouraging "Share Happiness!". A woman up to her eyes in money throwing her hands up in joy- "Whats not to love!". I dont understand consumer culture anymore. And being previously immersed in it, I never found the joy those people on the billboards had. Which is probably what makes people keep searching, keep sacrificing all for green money. They are the green ones. Oh naivete, those joyous people do not exist. They drive by the billboards of themselves in their luxury car and wonder where that joy is as well.

Reckoner, take me with you

We took the laundry from the gaping, steamy mouth of the dryer. Reached into its circling, emotionless black depths to pull out our coverings, our precious clothes, moistly hot and sighing tepid heaves of steam. The basement floor was like ice. The basement floor was like rock. We stood together on an icy rock as the long blanket-comforter was pulled slowly from the depths of the steamy, gaping dryer. Out from its circling back mouth we hauled the heavy with moist-heat comforter. Together we pulled. Together we wrapped it around our chilled bodies, and it hugged tightly to our bones. Breathing into your shoulder, breathing into your hair. The mother I’m most close to in my life, yet we are tangibly different. We are strangers by nature of our position. We are strangers by the nature of our tough, impenetrable skins. We are strangers by the nature of our physical limitations- I will never be one with you, no matter how connected I feel. Wrapped together in this warmly moist shell. Wrapped together in warmth, breathing into your hair. Our sighs rising and falling, and legs subtlety swaying. It sounded like the ocean, breathing into your hair. I could feel the waves, and hear their untroubled and sleepy sighing. The blanket wrapped around us like the moist warmth of a beach day. I breathed into you and you breathed life into me- even though we were still separate by the nature of our condemning physical limitations (are you a stranger?) – wrapped up in ourselves, wrapped up in each other, breathing and swaying like waves. Tugging and gripping each other like waves pulling the ever-unravelling hem of the shore. And then we separate like ripples on a blank shore

Reckoner, take me with you

Im too fragile to be anywhere but an embrace or my books. Im too restless to stay there.

i love love, i love being in love, i dont care what it does to me

I usually don't publicize my strong opinion about things for fear of offending someone. I really wouldnt say this personally to any of my friends who might be against this. Because there are people who disagree that I really respect, and Id rather discuss with them rather than rant. I would accept their own opinion. So this is mine. That I really just get infuriated when i talk to people about gay marriage. All you heterosexuals who want this marriage right exclusively owned to you can say your vows, sweating in the anticipation of lust and furthering of your race and greedy for all things holy and "natural". I dont find anything more natural than love for another. If love is blind it cares not whether its children are physically whole, or whether they are figuratively alive, a melding of passions. Honestly, I think discrimination against homosexuals is comparative to racism, and born out of fear. To those against it, I really dont feel like it has anything to do with you, and your present 50% divorce rates. And I think those opening-minds for some equal institution that isnt called marriage, is like defending the justice of "separate but equal" water fountains for non-whites. So far, the only difference I see between a homo or heterosexual relationship is sex for the creation of children. If marriage's utmost importance is sex, rather than love, I want nothing to do with it.

:) :) :)

the sanctuary is a place to take your breath away. the dead ..trees? the scattering of stumps that looked like tiny teeth protruding out of the horizon. our smoky breathes and the fiery sunshine that lit your whisping hair. the..cattails? (i dont even know what they were) looked more like dead rats on a stick. but everything was ablaze and beautiful. my skin awoke to the sun for the first time in what felt like yeeeeeears.. the receptors in my cell registering a natural warmth. they began to buzz and i could feel my hand being awake again. i think subconsciously or not, most animals hibernate in some way in death. i mean winter

i understand why people want to go out to lunch with emily so often and tell her their entire lives and problems and worries. the largest variety of people even. i understand because i didnt want to get out of her car and because she has this unique warmth that never dies, even in the winter. even in sadness, or anything. the most warm and enlightening inner glow, and weaker creatures (those weakened with troubles) all gather like the moths i mentioned in my last post. people are drawn to a light and shes absolutely radiant.

c-c-c-cicadas

i know what i need! other than a bigger mattress, because my feet hang off the edge, and that is part of the reason i am awake right now. i need to keep reading books and never stop. just like the author said. i need to leave parties early to read a novel, because thats honestly what i want to do.

right now i want the blazen and proud heat wave of Summer, or maybe even the slight and tepid breathes of life of Spring. i need the glory of a husky hide of golden skin, crawling with dirt and sweat and mostly life that arises in heat. Rises out of every pore of the earth, like the cascading thrilling trill of crickets that never ceases by the Golding's house. If they stopped i feel as though the whole town might awake, mistaking the sudden absense of ever-present sound for a loud and obnoxious new noise. i want to lay on the uneven layers of wood of my deck, the loose nail lightly digging into my heel as a reminder into the realm of awake. the pages of my book that shield my eyes from the sun- so lazy and surrendering, they stick to my legs and hands these wrinkly and moist pages. Bending gracefully like the serene curve of the moth wings that latch onto my screen door, collectively amassing to the porch-light. i want to be awake and alive again in a suffocating heat

we were so tired of being mild

I ORDERED A BACKPACK TODAY YAAYAYAA finally. shoutouts to brandon sills for his inspirational backpack. im sorry i tell everyone about it! it really is fantastic though

i also think ill try to be a vegetarian again. i mean a 29-days-per-month vegetarian. meaning not everyday but as often as possible. i read more today than i have in so long and it is bliss and i am brimming. i spent the day in the hospital visiting a friend. his enormous gratitude at even our silent presence was humbling. hes someone id seen as formerly invincible, yet today vulnerable. my book i finished also ended in "timshel" or however you spell it.... thou mayest. Thou mayest anything. I want to stop being so meek and mild and actually use that. if my heart has its way, ill cut down facebook to once a week, and i guess that'll include all online drama llama.

my cousin is a beautifully sweet and uncorrupted being.

permanently blue for, you

Bruises are sometimes cool looking. Like, sometimes I am proud of them and feel tough. But there is also the yellowing greenish kind, the kind everyone averts their eyes from when they look at, the kind you try to cover up with clothes. You can live with bruises, live breathe and exist with bruises, and they’ll never kill you. They will just rot there. And no one feels bad for anyone with a bruise; it’s even kind of laughable. But they are very sensitive. They rot in one place. They get smaller until they cease to exist. They are tentative and rotten. They turn gross colors and no one wants to look at them. No one wants to touch them. And eventually no one shows them to anyone else. Sometimes you get bruises and you have no idea where they came from, but sometimes you can remember every single little thing that added to all the bruises on your body, and you don’t want to look at them anymore because you’re not proud of this bruise because its not pretty. Its something ugly about you. And no one wants to see it. No one thinks its pretty colors. It can become the same color of those gross linoleum tiles, where you feel like it'll blend in. On the floor, on linoleum tiles, whose entire existence revolves around being stepped on.

And she said losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you're blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow

there are days when tea fills you up, and there are days when a smile fills you up. like the elvin grin of those piercingly white incisors. there are days when you laugh so hard you make weird noises you didnt know you were capable of making and when your guilt lays split, shattered, and left behind on the floor once you confess it. there are days when you walk out of your math room and have the sudden urge to hug someone becuase emily looked so pretty. and there are days when you beep at people who walk by your car who looks cool. there are days when you tear up over the ferocity that claws itself out of human hearts and manifests itself in a fist pounding into fleshy cheeks. and there are days when you look at people and want to take pictures of them. there are days when i do want to talk to you, and there are days when i dont. today was a day when i wanted to, but i never did. there are days when you want to take a chance on someone and dont because youre too scared, and will "later" when youre older and more mature, and youre not exactly sure when that day will come but it has too come otherwise youre life will be sad and pathetic and mushy. there are days when youre in this denial. there are days when you go slightly coockoo, and charge at eachother like rhinos. it is these days that you lay on the gym floor, laughter ricocheting off the hollow walls of such a grand gymnasium. it was empty without your laughter. we collapsed to the floor a lot, with the grand stupor of happiness that comes with pulled butt-muscles and victory. there are days when you take a nap and wakeup to feel a hole has been bored into your heart and its sucked up all your breath and will and you feel like youre going to throw up. there are days when you worry and miss people and there are days when you hug someone and its warmer than anything you felt. its warm because you just scurried from the blustering and cold outside, that trails its frosty grip way inside with you until you find those arms. those arms that follow us the rest of the day, poking our mind. reminding us. you hugged me with warmth. the tea filled me up. and you looked cool so we beeped at you. and youre smile was the most beautiful thing ive seen in days.

today was all of those kinds of days.

oh and days like this that you havent started studying for history yet

T stands for Typical Teenager

i feel undermined and left behind. there is such an abundance of intense beauty around me, yet i cannot find my own place in it. powerschool is not included in this surrounding beauty. the chocolate milk i drank at lunch today was, and your widening of eyes and giggle. and the memory of the man at six flags who made a loud procession of beeping sounds before launching you on the ride. a lot of kids made fun of him, flipped their pristine hair and gave mean looks. my cousins and i beeped back lovingly, and he absolutely brightened up. im so lucky to have friends so close to me that i can feel them within me wherever i am; im speaking of Aylee and Catriona. I miss lush grass and shorts and the small traces of white salt that formed on skin after days at the ocean, i miss the ice cream that drips out of the hole in the bottom of waffle cones, and I miss laying flat on my porch in the golden shimmering heat reading for hours, as well as stripping down and leaping into your neighbors pool in sticky heated summer nights. Today I was looking at myself in the small, foundation mirror and applying makeup after gym and you walked by and told me i looked beautiful. THANK YOU and i really never want to be that girl doing that again. Not like I'm judging people who put on makeup in class. But personally, when I do it, it is a surrender to my insecurities, which is a sad collapse to witness.

gooo highschool!

its alright, we told you what to dream

for full effect, read this while listening to Welcome to the Machine by Pink Floyd.

You'll go in soon, and I want to tell you so you wont be surprised.

They'll first strip you of your clothes, but they'll go deeper than that. They'll shuck off any little dignity you have-- you'll lose what you think of as your decent right to live and to be let alone to live. They'll make you live and eat and sleep and shit close to other men. And when they dress you up again you'll not be able to tell yourself from the others. You cant even wear a scrap or pin a note on your breast to say 'this is me, separate from the rest'. After a while, you'll think no thought the others do not think. You'll know no word the others cant say. And you'll do things because the others do them. You'll feel the danger in any difference whatsoever-- a danger to the whole crowd of like-thinking, like-acting men.

Once in a while, there is a man who wont do what is demanded of him, and do you know what happens? The whole machine devotes itself coldly to the destruction of his difference. They'll beat your spirit and your nerves, your body and your mind, with iron rods until the dangerous difference goes out of you. And if you cant finally give in, they'll vomit you up and leave you stinking outside-- neither part of themselves nor yet free.

Its better to fall in with them. They do it only to protect themselves. A thing so triumphantly illogical, so beautifully senseless as an army cant allow a question to weaken it.

- John Steinbeck

i wonder who "they" is, and i wonder if this fear is of a tangible threat, or merely a disquiet, unsatisfied regiment within oneself that they pose as an external threat.

an eye for an eye makes..

i cant help but think its a sign when my history test multiple choice answers spell out "D-E-A-D" and "B-A-D"

this conversation also stuck out to me today

Why dont you like her?

I dont actually know. She used to give me death glares all the time, so I would just give them back.

GOOD FOR YOU GIRL! you should!

A Romantic Ism

I tried to convey this to you, Max, when I asked you to say "screw that" to the drama you said you hated, and break your phone in two. I said "do it because I wont, and because someone has too". Someone has too. And im a coward.

Let me explain!

shiiiiiiiat. i am on fire right now. really i am completely outraged. and im warning all readers to a possible rant that you might not feel like reading. whatever. im at this stage in my head where i have this innate need to write. ive had it since i was very young. maybe its just the mark of a finely practiced procrastinator. but id like to think that its the manifestation of when i become too incredibly passionate for my confined 5'9" space and need to burst out of my very pores. Words fit out of these small holes in my mesh of skin. Im becoming more and more aware of bodies. Im going to be so upset if i turn into a science person.

anyways im reading an article for english about how america needs a new reality. how we are so caught up in this American Dream of wealth for ourselves, and passing this accumulating wealth to our children who will be wealthier, and thus have better, more sucessful lives, than us. the article asks one to reconsider what it means to be rich. FINE. I WILL

material items have gotten us... where? it makes me happy to be able to take pictures, yes. Tangible representations of things that I find beautiful are nice. but I delight 39482 times more in that moment when I stumble upon something small and beautiful that deserves to be taken a picture of. My camera= $$$. but my eyes signaling to my brain delight = priceless. i love reading books. I want to read books forever. i have the most insatiable desire to learn. Learning by experience and observation does not cost you a thing $$$. And this is what the author of that article was talking about... we plan and plan and hope for wealth. we sacrifice small beauties for the larger picture- this picture of fufillment that will come with future wealth. where the hell has money gotten my family? obviously not far. only out of the east coast once. its the wrong thing to be fixating on.

So too is this perception of grades as a type of wealth. an A does not make me happy. Its that brilliant apex of tumbling into understanding a math problem that brings me happiness. Its this insatiable desire to know the world after hearing Mr. J talk for an hour that makes me joyful. And its not even school related things. There is also a world of intricate beauties in the simple interactions of getting to know someone. This high-school-centered teenage life i have fallen so helplessly into has made me feel like the only thing worth fighting for are tangible gains- like wealth, or good grades. I wont get graded on friendship. My grades do not reflect even partially the amount of inspiration I get from my classes. I shouldnt be working towards these grades. I play victim, and blame it on some corrupt system for why i care so much about the wrong things. I really want to get out of this. Somewhere there needs to be a tangible reward as well for following inspiration rather than dreams of future wealth. Maybe a tangible thing, such as a dollar, would ruin it. Maybe there just needs to be some tangible symbol to save us all. From crashing into this world of misplaced motivation.

I dont actually care if any of that made sense.

the difference between greatness and mediocrity:

"I believe when you come to the responsibility to make that decision, you are alone to make your choice. On one side you have warmth and companionship and sweet understanding, and on the other-- cold, lonely greatness. There you make your choice. Im glad I have chose mediocrity, but how am I to say what reward might have come with the other? But isnt it strange? A father want his son to be condemned to greatness! What selfishness that must be. But its nice for a mediocre man to know that greatness must be the loneliest state in the world"

Yeah. So I guess upon realizing the fragile futility of grades and wealth, I have peered into the window of a more enriching, fufilling life of expanding upon the possibilities of being human. Ive only peeked though. I am far too much of a coward to stray from my path. Itd be too much of a great leap. And in my selfish anti-independance, I want someone else to do it for me.

Or at least do it with me.

Anti-Independence

YAY for being moody! I think there is a cycle here. People said this weekend that my sobbing sounds like laughter. And that brought me back to how my mom started laughing hysterically at her grandfather's funeral and had to be slapped across the face. I think there is this point you tip across when you reach such sheer and out-of-control emotion that laughter and crying are indifferent. Both are this incredibe heaving and contraction of the body, both a wrenching escape of feelings torn from your throat, released into sound waves. They dont feel at all like waves they feel like stabbing. And the cold air clenches into my throat and claws it raw and pink. Im excited to take anatomy next year just to gross myself out. I dont know if Im going to be able to stay conscious while dissecting a fetal pig. But I would love to describe the supple and moistened organs, the tendons that stretch and snap one sheathed layer at a time. I hate the way this blog post is going but Im trying to not delete anything I write, which I've been doing a lot

And I know why Ive been doing it! I am anti-independent. I am the epitome of helpless. I will never be self-sufficient if I continue on this way. Im surrounded by the most supportive and loving and responsible people, thus I've never needed independence. I cant drive. I went driving for hours today and cant go more than 10 miles per hour without feeling completely out of control and like I'm falling. 10 mph is so fricken fast. I cant stick with sports unless its on a team. I cant stay home from school sick unless my parents make me, because I just feel guilty. I can make my own decisions, but only if someone validates them for me. I cant decide what to care about either-- I care about everything. Is this indecisive or is it a personality trait? I hate talking about myself. The point of this was that I dont even have my own, independent reserve of confidence. I dont need to believe Im smart with the support I have from my parents. I dont need to believe Im okay looking or kind with the loving and complimentary friends I have. I dont need to believe I'm athletic with this soccer team I'm on that has so much faith in me. Basically ...I dont need to hold opinions about myself because other people do. I dont think this is a good thing. ITS NOT A GOOD THING. there, decision made. asdlfkhaf

Today I was walking through the grocery store with my mom and we bought a lot of Odwalla and chai concentrate that you mix with milk to make iced-chai-vanilla-tea. Its SO good. And so are these whole grain crackers and organic popcorn and humuus or humus or hummus and fruit and I was thinking about how i cant wait to be the adult myself- buying healthy food! Organic, and maybe a vegetarian if I ever meet my goal. Carrying it around in a Go-Green environmental bag! Wearing clothes because they are bright and fun. Hair like Ninas. That would be wonderful. Actually, the appearance has nothing to do with it. It would be the fact that I could sing in a grocery store and not care what people thought. And walk whimsically- there is this girl that I see all the time, and my freshman-immature mind used to think she was kind of weird. When she walks it looks like she is going to fall over. Now I wish I was like her. Okay anways, all of a sudden didnt want to be the adult. I dont want to get older. Emmy told me this quote about how fufillment ruins the dream and it scared me to death. I have so many dreams. I guess an anecdote to that is to keep fufilling yourself. Youll have a lot of ruined dreams. But then I guess you just have to keep dreaming. Whatever you do, do not stop. Do not let your mind idle, dont get stuck. Like my driving today, I couldnt get out of first gear because I was too scared. Do not get scared. Dont just go through the motions, never go numb. Dont limit yourself by your own impressionability, by your intimidation by others. Im talking to myself so you can disregard all this.

Heres another thing to myself. You called me all summer, and I avoided you. Its still on my mind. It wasnt because I didnt want to see you. I think youre the coolest person, I am in awe of you. And you were calling only ME, requiring me to independently pick up. Not my friends, who thought it was a little creepy you kept calling. And because of my goddamn anti-independence I didnt call back once. Actually, I called back once at 2 in the morning because I knew you wouldnt pick up so I could clear my name. I still see you everyday, in the safe setting of school. So scared I was of getting to know you alone, and disapointing you. And youve forgiven me, behind those smile lines and crinkled eyes. How can you still care to spend time on me? I need to get out of this rut. Im stuck in first gear. Thank you for your unconditional patience, and I owe it to you to let you know that its because you were too good for me that I never picked up. People say to stop idolizing people because youll just get dissapointed. Thats not the case for me at all. Not one of my targets for fixation have ever dissapointed me. I think I realize now that I should stop idolizing because it hurts them more than me. Not only does it trap them into a box of inhumanely high expectations. But it made me scared to get close to you because I was so intimidated. The fact that you werent some idol God means you were probably hurt and confused by this. All because youre an actual human. And I'm an actual human. And so is Theodore Roosevelt, and Jerry Garcia. So am I. So are you.

My mind is hyper extending itself I need to calm down and go eat some fruit. Fruit fills me up with so much vivacious, natural life. PS random shoutout, when I think of the word vivacious I think of Emily Glick. Anyways, fruit fills me up, just like the first chords of King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1 by NMH does when blasted loudly. Ive been listening to a lot of Grateful Dead and Paul Simon but its not the same when its not summer and you cant open the windows. Fuck that, I can open the windows. Next time I will.

One reason that growing up might be okay is because Ive always kind of had this notion that Erin would be there with me, because she represents this pure warmth that will always exist for me for as long as I know her. One reason growing up might not be okay is because- actually Im not going to think about growing up anymore. My dreams will extend into 24-hour segments. Im going to go get some chai.

numb and numb and numb

There are two things that really stick out in my mind. One would be on the way back to Ems house, when it was really cold. So what started out as an "im-cold" whimper turned into little high pitched squeals. Then you yelled and we were full out screaming, each different pitch of scream molding into one, mind-obliterating scream of utter anguish and wrath at the cold cruelty that sneaks up so quickly. My throat was torn raw for like a full minute. We could see our breathes in the car.

The other is being collapsed into that nook in your bed. The tremors we passed along through hands clutched in the others hair, dress, leg, I didnt even know who was who but all clung together in the fetal position. Ms. Fink told us that when people are upset they curl up into that position, that innate position that meant comfort even before you were born. Shrinking back into ourselves, except this time we brought each other with us. The grief that coursed through our interlocking fingers.

Oh and I also remember look at me and those icy blue eyes that drew me gasping right back to the surface. Go numb and numb and numb. Its little flashes in my head, little images and little clips of speeches. And how beautiful you looked. And dissolving into moans again in the car on the way home from soccer- that was when I drew the line to shut myself up. I stared at the streetlights that blurred into a flaring spectrum of light around each orb as it drew closer and past. My parents background chatter out of the corner of my ear. Trying to pronounce words in bostonian accents. Now New Yaawk accents. I shoved all thought out of my mind, which is a strangely foreign experience for me. I cant remember the last time I felt nothing. This is how we deal?

I hate writing about myself so much, but please forgive me and chalk it up to these last posts being a purging.