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.

forecast: Squalls

Claws of snow latch onto our arms, those light and limber arms, already worn to the bone. These squalls have no patience for your coats, for those layers, for your skin, for those layers. It rips and claws and grips and I come away in tendrils. This is an unraveling. This is a revealing. This is the torn off limbs, and the threadbare clothes that have done nothing all along. This is the whipping snow. Its not sweet and plush anymore. Its cold and austere, these derisive howling winds. Its the sterility of planning and the plans, its the wake for the un-awake, its the times and the scheduling and the clothing that needs to be washed. Its the clothing. The threadbare clothing we've wrapped ourselves in. And its these icy claws that rip it away, that could rip anything away. That ripped him away. That are ripping us away, so much i need to cling to you, and bunch your hand in my fist. Im so much more fragile upon realizing that all this life I have is not solid entitlement, but brief and completely fickle luck. That face in that fucking section of the newspaper where no familiar faces are supposed to go.

just give me time

oh baby

the chai

In this drawn out blank slate state of denial, I ate the popcorn my mom bought. Ive been asking her for popcorn for months. Some junk food, once please. So she buys a solitary bag. Im not complaining. But I was distracting myself, and it tasted so good, and its almost gone already. I thought about how Im going to want popcorn tomorrow too. Stop eating now or youll run out. Just make this last the week.

Just last the week. Today was a sickening day. Today was clasping hands and throwing myself against the wall, my head pounding against your knees. Today was hugs when I could feel you trembling, and jello-legs. Today was lying on your bed all in a huddle, breathes in tandem, the whoosh of relief. Safe on this island of a bed, holding you on with my arms. My arms that were so crushed underneath your legs I could feel my heart pounding in them. Or maybe it was your heart. Clinging to the sheets, and to the bed, and to your legs so hard I couldnt tell your heart from mine. Your breathes from mine. The aching cave inside your stomach from mine. Today was the relief of your bright voice, the only one I could hear, clawing tightly to the phone as waves and undulations of people and sound rushed by. Today was the forgetting, and the phantom stabs in the heart of remembering. The rushing to the bathroom to throw up, but Im so empty. Today was being on the bed, and picturing the face, his white face and now just his impression in the pillow. A concave hollow into the pillow. The concave hollow into your heart. The what ifs and the what nows and the final realization that truth trumps even the most stubborn denial. It was the face, and the hole, it was those hands and those breathes, it was my heart beat and yours and his wasnt there. It was the passion and the fading and the falling and the breathing and the holes and the caves and the throwing myself against the wall. It was clinging to your hand until I could feel you there, it was mixing up your heartbeat with mine. It was those fluid blue eyes, it was those green, it was the pure tones, the white skin, the white breath, the white frost, it bit me and I turned white and he turned ghostly and then there was running to the bathroom to throw up, there was no more bed of safety, there was no more denial and there even is no more hollow impression in the pillow.

I put the popcorn back and reached for the chai we have in the fridge. Just last the week. I swished the contents of the bottle and there was none. We had run out of chai. We had run out of time. I ran to the bathroom to throw up

Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here

Fun Fact 101

Did you know? You are infectious to this world. Please don't underestimate the consequences of your existence, because there are some people who need you, and there are some people who dont, but to every person you've touched youve left a finger print. A searing and angry welt of a fingerprint. Or an unconscious, accidental unintended stroke of a fingerprint. Or a hole, or maybe you filled in a concavity... but any of these ways, youre contagious, and youre spreading. Youre spilling over the edges of youth and into i don't know what yet.

writing hiatus

All the stress that is exploding in painful pinpricks on my brain and behind my eyes at irregular intervals has sucked up all creative manifestation or ability to think coherently. Im going to be on a writing hiatus until I begin to exalt in small, beautiful things again, or until I can fully articulate how a cold and solitary letter grade could possibly encompass all the passion I feel towards my subjects. The D I am going to get on my APUSH midterm does not reflect at all how inspiring I find the subject. Mental conundrum. Conflicted loyalties. The growling, threatening, hiss of stress.

Eyeless in the morning sun you were
Pale and mild, a modern girl
Taken with thought still prone to care
Making tea in your underwear

passionate manifestation

i constantly try hardest for (and go after, and crave for, and stress about,) validation and belonging to the things that hurt me most. im so weak this way.

..... mmmmmmmmadadgggsdfgragejadhrg

i noticed the way you laughed harder than anyone else in class when you made that joke. actually, no one else really laughed. except the teacher, whose sudden yelp of giggles was so abrupt and high pitched that it smacked us all in the face. annoyed, awoken leers at you both. i could sense how pleased you were at this humorous comment youd spouted. but there was no response from our drowsy classmates..so you smothered it. i watched you swallow your laugh down... first the sound gets devoured in an akward self-realization. the pleasure solidifies into a smirk under your cheeks. then the hard swallowing of the joy itself. silent and dignified composure. it made me really sick. joy should never be embarassing, no matter how violent or passionate its manifestation

there are powerlines
in our bloodlines
and if you dont love me let me go

kaleidoscope

Today my mom asked me if I wanted to go for a walk in the woods with her? And then mumbled under her breath in a sarcastic whiny typical teenage voice "nooooooooo mom" ..so I had to say yes.

At first it was sort of a disaster. Knowing that nature is a beautiful thing, I commanded myself to notice everything. With my head up, I was faced with a kaleidoscope of shifting images, shadows like mirages criss-crossing the path. I couldnt tell tree from outline from shadow from space; it was all zebra-striped and glimmering white fluff, insubstantial but solid in its frosted sting. Cold feels so sharp. But it was like a dusted layer of glitter, and surprisingly soft. I tried to make sense of this overcrowded scenery that I was so unnaccustomed to, and in these efforts I tripped. Multiple times. Over ditches and clawing roots that werent there anymore as soon as I looked down in scorn. I decided on concentrating on being able to walk without falling from now on, so I kept my gaze to the ground. Tree branches raked at my unaware face and pulled at my sweater. Either way, I was being massacred. I kept shivering and sneezing, this winter didnt want me here, it was exiling me from the inside out. It was so still and placated and eerily watching as I walked through and around its inner peace. But I couldnt get into it, I was too bustling and clumsy and removed from my natural self.

I wished it was summer, and lush. I wished it was green, and I could be barefoot. My flat and wide snow-boots werent really made for outdoors-- theyre made to keep away cold, but what part of them fits into the many crevices of forest? Maybe the toe section, although even that was too large too fit into the tiny dents and impressions that made up the path. I decided to take pictures of things and dissect them later. My camera died. I angrily questioned myself as to why my mind couldnt settle, why the harder I worked to belong here, the more my fit was skewed? I was trying too hard. Honestly it must be called nature because its supposed to come naturally.

So I'm not really sure what changed after that, but I played the part better. I didnt merely walk, I skipped or jumped when the urge came and probably looked weird but I didnt trip once. I stopped a lot of times, one time was listening to the stream as it undulated under the raised layers of ice. It gurgled like a contented baby. It also sounded a little like pleasure. The rivers having sex! crossed my mind and I knew media and popculture had found itself way too far into my brain. I think I need to go outside more often. It struck me how open the earth was- how its so hard for humans to be open and honest , yet here was the earth, vulnerable even to perfect strangers to this path. And here I was trampling on it. So I tried to be more gentle, and go unnoticed. But its like walking in late to a room of many people.. everyone goes still and watches you. That was how I felt. But then I realized it probably hasnt even noticed me. It possibly does not give a shit about me. I felt like a child in its immense mystery and knowledge. I thought about how the earth was so swift, yet immovable, so finite and infinite. How arrogant my assumptions were that it was here for me, rather than the direct opposite of that.Such a vast and unconquerable thing this earth, for upon enslaving it we enslave ourselves, ruining it will be our ruin. How resignedly Earth allows itself to be so closely connected to such ignorant and brutal things as humans, how much faith it must have, or how much lukewarm and still patience. I dont know what else I'm trying to say here. I think we all need to be a bit more conscious.

It's time to be so brutally honest about

The way we know we long for something fine

When we pine for higher ceilings

And bourgeois happy feelings

intimacy

A couple days ago, I become strangely aware of being alive. Not in the mental sense- I realize I must be an emotional (vs. scientific) person because I've always been fascinated at what being alive means in thoughts and interactions. In personality and love and fear and vulnerability and joy. In the sense of being aware of what it means to be human, on an intellectual or emotional level. I forgot about the scientific one. I forgot about what it means to be physically and chemically alive. I found my pulse in my brittle wrist and held my thumb to it for many minutes. The slight pulsing push of life beneath my translucent skin. The throb of blue blood through those spindly veins just under the surface. Constant and contiuous and in sync. Undeniably alive. It felt so foreign to me; a new kind of being personal. I saw my peers around me, their stomachs heaving breathes and rising and falling, in-out-in-out-in, and became aware of the incredible intimacy there was to witness this. The unconscious blinking. The tiny ticks or nervous reactions, from bodies I'd previously assumed were still. Static. But there is life in our infintesimal and constant movement.

I cried when my dad told me I could maybe get an SLR in the next few days. The possibility of being able to take an art class next year, and having an excuse to read lots and lots of books. Lunch today, kicking you under the table, and nice surprises. But wishing I could articulate more of my teeming mind, in such short time. Imparting my feeling of awe to you. How to do that when my voice just comes out so high and pitchy.. eye contact? Joey's fresh january CD that i played really loudly when my mom got out of the car. That incredible moment before recognizing someone that gives way to comfort and thankfullness at their familiarity. Crazed looks in passing. Mr. Keddy's pure excitement in art, his encouragement (its nice to be believed in) and description of running from ghosts. The worst part of my day feels like eternity, my mind goes numb and its horrific, and cold. The worst part of my day is usually is walking up my driveway from the bus. And I'm still grateful for the fact that its cold, giving me the chance to feel how lucky it is to be warm, and wrapped in copious amount of bedsheets. Crying with you in the car this morning, for my luck and for your strength and this fragile, inconsistent aspect to life. Taking things for granted is such disillisionment, such arrogant sense of entitlement. I'm so happy these weeks I might drift away

And if you ever wonder

how we keep from going under

It’s because we find another reason not to give in

oh my darling clementine

today my tea said:

When ego is lost,

limit is lost. You

become infinite,

kind, beautiful.

i think its a nice thing to aspire. i wonder if there is a particular process to lose ones ego, or if thats what the complications, ditches, pit-falls, and trials in high school are for?

im trying to write everyday so that everyday i will be forced to notice one awe-inspiring thing because there are trillions in every 24 hour cycle and often we worry too much about ourselves and trivial things to notice small treasures. like people who you dont know who smile at you.. shoutouts to bees knees monkey tease kamikaze derexces for being so sympatico after school today. when i go through all day (especially certain long blocks) doubting and self-worrying the whole time, its nice to feel worthy of maybe being "discovered", rather than limited or embarassingly stupid, and boi you notice small things often. i dont know how your such a bright intriguing and passionate kid with such a small esophagus. its loco

im ahead on homework. i know things will come down eventually but by then ill hopefully have something else pulling me up. but for right now i want to thank everyone who said hi to me in the hallway today, especially the slaps in the face, stomach, side, the trips and hugs that lifted me off the ground, kisses, giggles, glares, and akward smiles. high school is fascinating. its teeming with interaction. i dont know how to savour one thousand different tastes at the same time

but right now life tastes kind of like a fruit. i like the sound of peeling clementines, and biting into their raw and plush insides. the slow tear of their flimsy, gauze layers, vibrant orange tears that condense into beads from tooth punctures. i feel like eating fruit is like biting into life. i feel like people are like this too. peel away layers and their exceedingly bright, full and buoyant.

and running up my frosted driveway to be smacked in the face with still and warm house-air. clawed up and down the legs with paws like knives. an example of a no longer baby/puppy who hasnt lost that distinctive vivacious and unconditionally loving spirit. its as refreshing as the frost, and the constant lift in the corners of my dads hardy handlebar mustachio. why do a display of teeth convey such contentment? smiles mean a lot to me i guess

darling, im lost

everything i have loved has turned to stone

Odwallalala

id have to say listening to jack johnson in the swept roads, trailing tendrils of grayish snow so tenderly die into the ditches, muddied with snow those sides of the roads. seeing you in Big Y and being able to look back on last year with fondness. drinking Odwalla which will forever remain my favorite. how you offered your silver discount coin to the man ahead of you and his face and entire body language blushed with unchecked gratitude. and not being behind in work... yet. study long and did i mention every single person i texted or talked to on the phone today made me smile? im so lucky

You could watch it instead

From the comfort of your burning beds

…Or you can sleep through the static

re: a Cocoon

red is my favorite color

red like your mothers eyes,

after a while of crying about how you dont love her

My mother's glasses cling to the remnants of childhood that we never really shed. Childhood, being not a thick coat we finally toss to the floor. not even like the slinky dress we unzip and slip neatly into the closet. childhood isnt the nailpolish we scrub off and throw the wad of saturated tissue into the trash, a heavy moist smack. its not the hair we cut that plummets to the floor, swept and lost. its not the glass we finally break and cut ourselves on, its not the teddy bear we gradually outgrow and lose to dustballs under the bed. its not the sweater that suddenly the arms arent long enough, no matter how much we pretend it still fits. im not sure exactly what it is, but i can feel that it isnt any of those

for me at least, its more like the money i pull out of an unexpected jeans pocket and wonder how the hell it got there. its more like the curls of my hair that no matter how much i straighten will always be there the minute i dont work actively to repress. childhood is more like the glasses we put on our heads and forget where they are. but theyve been there the whole time. and when we put them on, it colors everything we see. maybe thats why i love my mothers glasses, or maybe its the fact that they belong to her.

her sand or maybe honey colored comforter always reminds me of warmth, of a cocoon. i used to wrap myself in it, and the inside was black like ink darkness, and pretend i was in an egg. poking at the supple membrane where holes thawed into the blanket. it was thick and hot and when id come out id pretend i was new and blinking in this unfamiliarly bright world. and when my parents would come talk to me id pretend i didnt know who they were

i watched Amelie with my mom under this same blanket, and it is my favorite movie to date- the artistic filming, attention to details, my lust to speak french and the message, and the person who was next to me

she still remembers your touch

and i know that its not much

but you still havent lost her

...and then what?

the ghost said, take off both your shoes
whatever chances you get
especially when they're wet


last night i got a visit from the ghost of corporate future reminding me that however much the world has changed and everything ive held as true has been swept clean from my fingers, leaving no crumbs behind, leaving no dirtballs in my pockets to cling to, that no matter how significant 2009 has been and how much meaning i can stuff in its every shelf; its not as though any of this is gone, but its reduced in magnitude and importance and urgency by such exponential size that it almost ceases to exist. and consequently i felt this sense of everlasting in my infinesimal state. and i got a little bit tired and sour of blogging about myself. i do that so very often in conversation to people, and afterwards feel a bit out of place. intrusive. and the same as when i started the conversation. i think sometimes i talk just to shade in silences that had been mellowing into that akward hue. so i scribble over it. im not really saying anything. why am i scared of silence

my new years resolutions were very personal things that were along the lines of stopping myself from hiding blindly (or rather, blinding myself) in the face of the unknown, and to anticipate and undermine this incredible sense of intimidation i get from others. when we counted down that night i didnt know what was going to happen. After the gleeful ten (9,8,7,6,5,4 of impatience) three, the anticipatory two, the prolonged one... and then what? a bloated pause, the inevitable burst, the exclamation and the joy. so much worth and symbolism that this one instant in eternity was decorated with, and yet Lifetime ahead hasnt even noticed

im trying not to leave the little things in my life unnoticed. im trying not to make the ones in my life ever feel little, or unnoticed. im trying to transcend this pit of thoughts and leave nothing unembraced.

so for a start on the less vague and overthought..
-->ive always hated wearing socks and shoes and sarcasm.
-->i really appreciated when Emily said it was like waking up in a cocoon, because it was warm and gauzy and a slow realization into the world of awake and how you hugged me and validated that i hadnt stolen the covers. such simple goodness. you started my day on the right foot
-->i also want to express never ending gratitude to people's "innate goodness" and that raw, blossoming laugh that speaks of joy as unfaked and unfazed as the person it emits from
-->oh yes, and to the very last 9 months of my life that made me feel a sense of belonging not only to a person, but in a structure of things. that this what that comforting mutual state of both being possessed and possession feels like. when an absense of those cold hands is actually an absense of warmth, and how im addicted to warmth, because this is what it feels like to love a person, and that love for anything is insatiable. and for helping me to be honest because usually i am not
-->also for the "hug it out bitch" tink sandwhiches which are the most delicious things ill ever be a part of because ill have them for the rest of my life, and there is nothing more everlasting and satisfying. (FAMisFAB)

people make you nervous
you'd think the world was ending
and everybody's features have somehow started blending
and everything is plastic
and everyone's sarcastic
and all your food is frozen, it needs to be defrosted
you'd think the world was ending