"Sitting outside of a bar and watching people walk down the street, listening to the grunts of cars passing by, eavesdropping on conversations that don't belong to you. These are things you can do anywhere. Feeling at home while you do it is not."
--Christopher Watkins.
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Sunday, November 17, 2013
little
we were so close, weren't we?
once.
close enough to taste and breathe happy.
our little dreams tied together, christmas bows and knotted rings of twine.
our little faults made peace and became something nice, i think. something neat.
and you held me as i held you as we held onto fleeting faith.
we coalesced there in dawn, convalesced and came together once more each eve, turning the world to a suspended broken mirror.
our little whispers made a grand symphony, didn't they, in between unsure sighs and cigarette puffs?
little broken bells struggling to the surface.
and on nights like this, when all i can see is our little home inside each-other, our little freckles suspended midair, little constellations among tiny little clouds of stars, your voice keeps me awake, a little shout on distant horizon and
it's the little things that hurt the most.
once.
close enough to taste and breathe happy.
our little dreams tied together, christmas bows and knotted rings of twine.
our little faults made peace and became something nice, i think. something neat.
and you held me as i held you as we held onto fleeting faith.
we coalesced there in dawn, convalesced and came together once more each eve, turning the world to a suspended broken mirror.
our little whispers made a grand symphony, didn't they, in between unsure sighs and cigarette puffs?
little broken bells struggling to the surface.
and on nights like this, when all i can see is our little home inside each-other, our little freckles suspended midair, little constellations among tiny little clouds of stars, your voice keeps me awake, a little shout on distant horizon and
it's the little things that hurt the most.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Smoke slowly spiraled up to oblivion as I sat on the curb that night. My third cigarette, and it was time to go back to work, back to wishing and wondering and waiting for day's end. I clung to my phone as the bitter wind nudged my mind down the street and around the corner and to your door. Wanted to call you. Didn't. Wanted to tell you everything. Couldn't.
It had been a while since I'd been able to see the beauty in my life. I was used to chronic happiness, used to nothing being able to bring me down. But for some reason, lately, tiny little unrealistic daydreams had been creeping like relentless picnic ants into my ears and through to my brain and stopping my smiles dead in their toothy tracks, and mentholated inhalations seemed the only way to temporarily ward them off. I was stuck. I wanted so many things, and for the first time, I felt I couldn't have any of them, no matter how many shooting stars passed overhead, no matter how many ladybugs decided to grace my lapels. I wanted somebody to hold my hand and guide me through the labyrinth of secrets and crushed dreams I'd found myself in, past the drunken tattoos in unfinished basements and bathroom sink hair color experiments and sad songs on repeat, to a field of sunflowers, towering over my head. I wanted to wander aimlessly, to play in the shadows cast through the swaying petals, to be carefree, to be weightless. I wanted to lay in the grass and watch the flowers vibrate against the sky, the greens and yellows and blues all unnaturally oversaturated. But at 18, I was taller than any sunflower I'd ever seen.
I lit another cigarette in a fiery fuck you to corporate time constraints and tried to figure out what exactly I felt I was missing in my life. And truth be told, the only thing I could come up with was home. I hadn't really felt at home nearly anywhere for years-- not at my parents' house, or friends' houses, or in college. So I yearned for some imaginary place, some city where it was always the magic hour and the sun reflected off of sky-high windowpanes of vaguely different buildings and cast a cantaloupe glow on the dirty streets below. Somewhere I could dance through the streets and sing Imagine and hand people peace signs made of daisies and nobody would think twice, and dandelions grew in the cracks of the sidewalk, and everything smelled vaguely of honeydew. And nobody would ever end their lives. Nobody would ever have to gather the frayed ends of their existence into a final knotted sigh. And I could think on paper. And I would never, ever have days like I was having then, days in which I was the last piece to be placed in the center of a jigsaw puzzle, but somebody's toddler had chewed on the edges, and a little piece of me was missing, so the puzzle could never be finished.
I rose from the curb, brushing away tiny pebbles and bits of dried leaves that clung to the fabric of my skirt.. As I turned towards the door, I saw a middle-aged man in a smart suit and subtly patterned tie hurtling out of the store, the produce and loaves of bread in his cart jumping and jostling with every elongated step. A few peaches made their way from a bag struggling to contain bananas and artichokes and kiwis and rolled freely around the cart, but the man kept running. I thought, is his wife going into labor? Did his stocks just crash? Is there a baseball game on tonight? He neared the steep part of the parking lot, the section that was absolute hell in the winter, when scrawny teenaged boys struggled against the icy incline to push snow-covered metal contraptions to create dangerous puddles on the floor inside. But he didn't slow; in fact, he picked up speed, until at the cusp of the hill, he jumped onto the bar supporting the bottom rack of the cart and rode it like a chariot down the incline, tie thrown over his shoulder, carefree, weightless. Alive.
We talked once about how we were as children. I didn't have much to say-- I lied a lot, screamed a lot, manipulated people beyond the capabilities of the average youngster. You told me about how you wanted to be a vampire, so you could live forever. You'd hang upside-down in trees, swinging by your knees, until a hapless victim ambled past, at which time you'd swoop down and bite them. "Not too hard," you told me. "Just hard enough to feel powerful. Freak people out a bit. I didn't need their friendship to be okay," you laughed. "I just needed their blood." And you told me your skinned knees and shrunken sweaters and mudpie experiments and dusks and summers. And I told you we should get married. I wasn't surprised when you laughed, but a tiny part of me hoped you wouldn't. A tiny part of me wanted you to find me a field of six and a half foot tall sunflowers. I wanted you to find me that imaginary city with the perpetually setting sun. I wanted you to show me how to finally just breathe, because everything was just as great as it ever had been or would be, because I was alive and my heart was beating in time to the rhythm of the pulsing planet. And I didn't need anything else, there in that moment, than the thought that you'd never stop looking at me like you were just then.
It had been a while since I'd been able to see the beauty in my life. I was used to chronic happiness, used to nothing being able to bring me down. But for some reason, lately, tiny little unrealistic daydreams had been creeping like relentless picnic ants into my ears and through to my brain and stopping my smiles dead in their toothy tracks, and mentholated inhalations seemed the only way to temporarily ward them off. I was stuck. I wanted so many things, and for the first time, I felt I couldn't have any of them, no matter how many shooting stars passed overhead, no matter how many ladybugs decided to grace my lapels. I wanted somebody to hold my hand and guide me through the labyrinth of secrets and crushed dreams I'd found myself in, past the drunken tattoos in unfinished basements and bathroom sink hair color experiments and sad songs on repeat, to a field of sunflowers, towering over my head. I wanted to wander aimlessly, to play in the shadows cast through the swaying petals, to be carefree, to be weightless. I wanted to lay in the grass and watch the flowers vibrate against the sky, the greens and yellows and blues all unnaturally oversaturated. But at 18, I was taller than any sunflower I'd ever seen.
I lit another cigarette in a fiery fuck you to corporate time constraints and tried to figure out what exactly I felt I was missing in my life. And truth be told, the only thing I could come up with was home. I hadn't really felt at home nearly anywhere for years-- not at my parents' house, or friends' houses, or in college. So I yearned for some imaginary place, some city where it was always the magic hour and the sun reflected off of sky-high windowpanes of vaguely different buildings and cast a cantaloupe glow on the dirty streets below. Somewhere I could dance through the streets and sing Imagine and hand people peace signs made of daisies and nobody would think twice, and dandelions grew in the cracks of the sidewalk, and everything smelled vaguely of honeydew. And nobody would ever end their lives. Nobody would ever have to gather the frayed ends of their existence into a final knotted sigh. And I could think on paper. And I would never, ever have days like I was having then, days in which I was the last piece to be placed in the center of a jigsaw puzzle, but somebody's toddler had chewed on the edges, and a little piece of me was missing, so the puzzle could never be finished.
I rose from the curb, brushing away tiny pebbles and bits of dried leaves that clung to the fabric of my skirt.. As I turned towards the door, I saw a middle-aged man in a smart suit and subtly patterned tie hurtling out of the store, the produce and loaves of bread in his cart jumping and jostling with every elongated step. A few peaches made their way from a bag struggling to contain bananas and artichokes and kiwis and rolled freely around the cart, but the man kept running. I thought, is his wife going into labor? Did his stocks just crash? Is there a baseball game on tonight? He neared the steep part of the parking lot, the section that was absolute hell in the winter, when scrawny teenaged boys struggled against the icy incline to push snow-covered metal contraptions to create dangerous puddles on the floor inside. But he didn't slow; in fact, he picked up speed, until at the cusp of the hill, he jumped onto the bar supporting the bottom rack of the cart and rode it like a chariot down the incline, tie thrown over his shoulder, carefree, weightless. Alive.
We talked once about how we were as children. I didn't have much to say-- I lied a lot, screamed a lot, manipulated people beyond the capabilities of the average youngster. You told me about how you wanted to be a vampire, so you could live forever. You'd hang upside-down in trees, swinging by your knees, until a hapless victim ambled past, at which time you'd swoop down and bite them. "Not too hard," you told me. "Just hard enough to feel powerful. Freak people out a bit. I didn't need their friendship to be okay," you laughed. "I just needed their blood." And you told me your skinned knees and shrunken sweaters and mudpie experiments and dusks and summers. And I told you we should get married. I wasn't surprised when you laughed, but a tiny part of me hoped you wouldn't. A tiny part of me wanted you to find me a field of six and a half foot tall sunflowers. I wanted you to find me that imaginary city with the perpetually setting sun. I wanted you to show me how to finally just breathe, because everything was just as great as it ever had been or would be, because I was alive and my heart was beating in time to the rhythm of the pulsing planet. And I didn't need anything else, there in that moment, than the thought that you'd never stop looking at me like you were just then.
Myspace Blogs shut down, and I thought I had lost my old shorts forever, but they e-mailed them to me. And for that, I am grateful.
They told me that you may have been able to hear me, even if you couldn't respond. I didn't believe them. If you could hear me, you would be incapable of keeping that straight face, incapable of keeping those blue-sky eyes comfortably shut. If you could hear me crying like that, you would sit up. You would take me in your arms and you'd tell me in that low, steady voice that everything was going to be alright, even though we both knew nothing was alright, nothing ever would be alright again. Because without you beside me, nothing could be real.
I sat beside that electronic contraption of a bed and traced your veins with my fingertips, pretending they were a blueprint for our life and that if I could just memorize every twist and curve, then I could rebuild what we'd had. What we should have now. What was taken away by the Chiclet-square teeth and quick tongue of some million-dollar doctor who couldn't wrench his eyes from his shiny black shoes to tell me that the only man I'd ever love was going to die, and that there was nothing anybody could do, and that I should probably just go home and get some sleep because you weren't going to wake up anyhow, and that he was sorry, sir, but he had other patients to see.
I was kept from your body by a web of wires and tubes and beeps and tears and memories. And all I could think was what Sarah said. That love is watching someone die. And I thought, then this should be easier, shouldn't it? This should be the most natural thing in the world. But instead, I held my breath, because I felt that I'd already taken too many today and you hadn't taken enough, and I watched as each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me. And I thought of everything that we were supposed to do. We were supposed to buy that little car, you know, the one with some ridiculous 30 miles to the gallon? And we were supposed to get married in a backyard somewhere, and we were supposed to honeymoon on that little stretch of rocks and sand on the edge of Lake Huron, in that cottage we'd fallen in love with one summer. And we were supposed to have a puppy and a house and maybe a kid or two, eventually. Eventually. But every plan we'd ever made was just a tiny prayer to father time, wasn't it? And now eventually would never come.
I traced your shape with my eyes, storing you in my memory, trying to form a lasting image. And it stung like a violent wind to realize that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds, and that no matter how hard I tried to hold on, you would fade. And as the TV entertained itself in the corner, the beeps and whirs and the rushing of air through that tube in your nose came to a halt, and I prepared to speak a final word in that place where we only say goodbye. But it didn't happen like in the movies. You didn't slowly exhale, admit defeat, fade quickly and give way to the orderlies waiting anxiously with a stretcher, wondering how I was going to take it, if I was going to be one of those crazy guys that screamed and threw things and tore the curtains down as his lover died. You kept on breathing, even without the assistance. But you looked increasingly haggard and your breaths came in uneven jolts, like someone was shoving the air down your throat against your will. Maybe God. Maybe me. After an hour, it slowed. Your muscles relaxed, and you were gone. And Sarah's words still rang through my head, almost annoyingly, like a fight song at a college football game; yeah, yeah, it's that song again, lah-dee-dah, go fight roar, it was fun the first time, but enough already. Love is watching someone die. Right. But who was going to watch me die?
As I drifted through the waiting room, everyone lifted their heads from the linoleum, briefly, almost unnoticeably. Nobody really looked at me. I wondered if it was because I was gay and they didn't know how to relate to me, or if they just didn't want to see the truth in my eyes, the blatant evidence of extreme loss that they were soon to experience for themselves. In either case, I pitied them. I moved stoically forward.
I made my way downstairs and into the gargantuan parking structure, realizing that I had no idea where I had parked. I wandered the rows and rows of vehicles, remembering... remembering. You would have laughed at how silly this was, me, lost in this sea of impersonal SUVs and Hummers and pickups, emotionless. Like Pacman. Just doing my job, navigating these corridors.
I retained the stone façade I had held since you'd gone until finally I found the car. I slid into the front seat and just sat, staring ahead at the glare of my headlights on the dimmed bulbs of the car parked in the spot in front of me, facing mine. My lights were giving life to those dead lamps, it seemed. I almost laughed at the futility of the thought that immediately ran through my head: that I wished I could somehow restore your life, just like that. One headlight to another. A simple turn of the key.
I needed a smoke. I never smoked. You always did. Somehow it felt appropriate. I rifled through the CD pamphlets and discarded takeout menus in the center console with no luck. I moved on to the glove compartment, hoping to find your stash. Id always thought that the glove compartment was inaccurately named, because behind its door was nothing to keep my fingers warm. Except this time, I was wrong. There lay the intricately knit gloves I'd thought I'd lost two winters ago, the ones you'd bought me for Christmas the year I'd bought you that Espresso machine. You said you felt like a shitty boyfriend, but I said it was okay, because I would drink your espresso and I wouldn't let you wear my gloves. I pulled the gloves from their no-bigger-than-a-breadbox prison and ran my fingers across them. I brought them to my face and inhaled. The grey knit smelled like cigarettes, because you had insisted on warming my trembling fingers with your tainted breath. And I hated you for insisting and I hated you for making me feel like I needed you and I hated you for leaving always the faint scent of tobacco embedded in the wool and I loved you for being the only person I had to find such trivial reasons to hate.
It wasn't cold out. It was hardly autumn. But I slipped the gloves over my shaking fingers anyway, adding a smell to my sensory portrait of you. And I could swear, as I pulled them on, I heard your voice in my ear. "Are you crying?" you asked. "No," I replied, voice stale and thin in the empty car. A single tear carved its way through my stony exterior. And it came to me then that you were a truth I would rather have lost than to have never lain beside at all. You asked: "Why not?"
I sat beside that electronic contraption of a bed and traced your veins with my fingertips, pretending they were a blueprint for our life and that if I could just memorize every twist and curve, then I could rebuild what we'd had. What we should have now. What was taken away by the Chiclet-square teeth and quick tongue of some million-dollar doctor who couldn't wrench his eyes from his shiny black shoes to tell me that the only man I'd ever love was going to die, and that there was nothing anybody could do, and that I should probably just go home and get some sleep because you weren't going to wake up anyhow, and that he was sorry, sir, but he had other patients to see.
I was kept from your body by a web of wires and tubes and beeps and tears and memories. And all I could think was what Sarah said. That love is watching someone die. And I thought, then this should be easier, shouldn't it? This should be the most natural thing in the world. But instead, I held my breath, because I felt that I'd already taken too many today and you hadn't taken enough, and I watched as each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me. And I thought of everything that we were supposed to do. We were supposed to buy that little car, you know, the one with some ridiculous 30 miles to the gallon? And we were supposed to get married in a backyard somewhere, and we were supposed to honeymoon on that little stretch of rocks and sand on the edge of Lake Huron, in that cottage we'd fallen in love with one summer. And we were supposed to have a puppy and a house and maybe a kid or two, eventually. Eventually. But every plan we'd ever made was just a tiny prayer to father time, wasn't it? And now eventually would never come.
I traced your shape with my eyes, storing you in my memory, trying to form a lasting image. And it stung like a violent wind to realize that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds, and that no matter how hard I tried to hold on, you would fade. And as the TV entertained itself in the corner, the beeps and whirs and the rushing of air through that tube in your nose came to a halt, and I prepared to speak a final word in that place where we only say goodbye. But it didn't happen like in the movies. You didn't slowly exhale, admit defeat, fade quickly and give way to the orderlies waiting anxiously with a stretcher, wondering how I was going to take it, if I was going to be one of those crazy guys that screamed and threw things and tore the curtains down as his lover died. You kept on breathing, even without the assistance. But you looked increasingly haggard and your breaths came in uneven jolts, like someone was shoving the air down your throat against your will. Maybe God. Maybe me. After an hour, it slowed. Your muscles relaxed, and you were gone. And Sarah's words still rang through my head, almost annoyingly, like a fight song at a college football game; yeah, yeah, it's that song again, lah-dee-dah, go fight roar, it was fun the first time, but enough already. Love is watching someone die. Right. But who was going to watch me die?
As I drifted through the waiting room, everyone lifted their heads from the linoleum, briefly, almost unnoticeably. Nobody really looked at me. I wondered if it was because I was gay and they didn't know how to relate to me, or if they just didn't want to see the truth in my eyes, the blatant evidence of extreme loss that they were soon to experience for themselves. In either case, I pitied them. I moved stoically forward.
I made my way downstairs and into the gargantuan parking structure, realizing that I had no idea where I had parked. I wandered the rows and rows of vehicles, remembering... remembering. You would have laughed at how silly this was, me, lost in this sea of impersonal SUVs and Hummers and pickups, emotionless. Like Pacman. Just doing my job, navigating these corridors.
I retained the stone façade I had held since you'd gone until finally I found the car. I slid into the front seat and just sat, staring ahead at the glare of my headlights on the dimmed bulbs of the car parked in the spot in front of me, facing mine. My lights were giving life to those dead lamps, it seemed. I almost laughed at the futility of the thought that immediately ran through my head: that I wished I could somehow restore your life, just like that. One headlight to another. A simple turn of the key.
I needed a smoke. I never smoked. You always did. Somehow it felt appropriate. I rifled through the CD pamphlets and discarded takeout menus in the center console with no luck. I moved on to the glove compartment, hoping to find your stash. Id always thought that the glove compartment was inaccurately named, because behind its door was nothing to keep my fingers warm. Except this time, I was wrong. There lay the intricately knit gloves I'd thought I'd lost two winters ago, the ones you'd bought me for Christmas the year I'd bought you that Espresso machine. You said you felt like a shitty boyfriend, but I said it was okay, because I would drink your espresso and I wouldn't let you wear my gloves. I pulled the gloves from their no-bigger-than-a-breadbox prison and ran my fingers across them. I brought them to my face and inhaled. The grey knit smelled like cigarettes, because you had insisted on warming my trembling fingers with your tainted breath. And I hated you for insisting and I hated you for making me feel like I needed you and I hated you for leaving always the faint scent of tobacco embedded in the wool and I loved you for being the only person I had to find such trivial reasons to hate.
It wasn't cold out. It was hardly autumn. But I slipped the gloves over my shaking fingers anyway, adding a smell to my sensory portrait of you. And I could swear, as I pulled them on, I heard your voice in my ear. "Are you crying?" you asked. "No," I replied, voice stale and thin in the empty car. A single tear carved its way through my stony exterior. And it came to me then that you were a truth I would rather have lost than to have never lain beside at all. You asked: "Why not?"
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
that time
a poet cries for no one and everyone at once
and she hadn't seen him there, but
he'd seen her and
he couldn't pass by any longer
she had nothing to say, not sorry-hello-
and he couldn't just wait anymore
leaves are rain in the winds of june
strange breeze brings things for what they're worth
upside out and inside down the world spins oddly tilted
for what it's worth, i would have stayed forever
would have lived a lie if it was you
uncomfortable was easy in your bed and
me was we in the context of your embrace
you know i miss you, yeah?
like before-blooms too deep to drink
my fears like wildfires quenched in your eyes
and to think i was surprised at the time
that i wanted to leave
under covers sinking ships are saved in the night
to sail another dawn, just one more moment
before becoming lost at sea
and moonlight pretends it's permanent while
seeping its way irreversibly into your skin
blood runs concealed under present, past and
we must take cover from impending future's flesh
each day that you rescue me from myself brings
me-- at once further and closer to truth
i'll take my time
to hide from you and watch you slowly fade
watercolor too thin to stay bold
my secrets like bruises stain my bare skin
and i know you mean well and the world
but i still won't let you see all of me.
it's hard to stop loving when i'm not sure
if i still do, ever did, maybe will...
and she hadn't seen him there, but
he'd seen her and
he couldn't pass by any longer
she had nothing to say, not sorry-hello-
and he couldn't just wait anymore
leaves are rain in the winds of june
strange breeze brings things for what they're worth
upside out and inside down the world spins oddly tilted
for what it's worth, i would have stayed forever
would have lived a lie if it was you
uncomfortable was easy in your bed and
me was we in the context of your embrace
you know i miss you, yeah?
like before-blooms too deep to drink
my fears like wildfires quenched in your eyes
and to think i was surprised at the time
that i wanted to leave
under covers sinking ships are saved in the night
to sail another dawn, just one more moment
before becoming lost at sea
and moonlight pretends it's permanent while
seeping its way irreversibly into your skin
blood runs concealed under present, past and
we must take cover from impending future's flesh
each day that you rescue me from myself brings
me-- at once further and closer to truth
i'll take my time
to hide from you and watch you slowly fade
watercolor too thin to stay bold
my secrets like bruises stain my bare skin
and i know you mean well and the world
but i still won't let you see all of me.
it's hard to stop loving when i'm not sure
if i still do, ever did, maybe will...
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
been a while.
just found a bunch of old writing in random notebooks and such while packing to move. probably nothing worth remembering, but I'd rather have them on here than on random pieces of paper.
1)
I go to Salvation Army to buy things I don't need,
things no one ever needed and that's why they're there in the first place.
Sometimes they play decent songs and I'll bop along to the music
through rows of apple-printed teacher's vests and
century-old prom dresses and
suspenders too tiny or too huge for any normal-shaped person.
And these plants, are they plastic?
No, alive-ish, and dying, and so am I,
but aren't we all,
and I move on to the electric gadgets,
some working, some long dead,
first the large (why would I pay $700 for a moldy fridge when
i can get a fresh one and
a smile with more than two teeth in it
for less at Lowe's)
then the small (what the hell is this amalgamation,
hot-air hair curlers and jumper cables and a lamp had a baby?)
and then I see something I could maybe actually use,
a griddle, but it's dirty,
and the rest on this shelf,
the twin quesadilla makers and the George Foreman grill,
caked with greasy cheese residue, make me wonder
why people don't wash things before giving them away,
why people don't just use a fucking frying pan.
2)
love tumors in my brain,
and tomatoes in the garden,
grow slow and keep me sane--
but i hate them, beg your pardon.
up by veins and through by blood,
you creep slowly inside.
slice me open, organ flood;
inhibitions forced untied.
various kitchen utensils:
forks and spoons and knives,
force us to live in these stencils
leading our samehouseseperate lives.
set me free set me free set me free--
no, hold on tight, don't let me be me.
3)
you spoke like my never-had mother
you made me
want to write
want to write more
and look into eyes and
play with the dirt and
faint.
you made me feel.
made me want to wrap myself in
your metal skies and
taste your sweet silverglowing sweat
and dew
and damp
and bloom.
you made me.
4)
i'm not daughter
after four years of college, i know the difference between drunk and high
invaluable education
she and i aren't close
some letters to write
formal goodbyes
she said, "i didn't mean to ignore you."
5)
i can see the stars shifting west,
and you're here but i'm there and
we're everywhere but each other.
and my tablecloth shoes want to go back to the desert,
but the graves and the spaceships
and the half-done cigarettes and
i love you because.
6)
the what ifs are killing me
sinking their teeth into my
ams and ares and will be-s
and tearing the flesh off my is-s
they yesterday their way into my tomorrows
and they keep me from living today.
my heart used to beat, once.
what-next. what-next.
but it's slowed to a dull what-if.
7)
my thumbs have fallen off
but i am not worried.
when the first to go are the most important,
you do not bother yourself with the rest.
it will be easy when my mouth and
my knees and my eyebrows are gone.
easy when my everything follows suit
and finds somewhere easier to be.
8)
a room full of mirrors and i can't see myself.
air glows incandescent and i breathe neon.
a bullet could come through these walls,
any one of these walls.
i can't press this button.
bows and curtsies and i'm still alone.
my lungs are bleeding.
a bullet could shatter this glass.
i spin and i spin and i knock shit down and blow shit up and
sew my mouth open and
a bullet will come through these walls,
any one of these walls,
any one of these upsidedown days.
9)
there is a bird who sits on my shoulder
he pecks my eyes and my teeth
he won't go away
he has my face and he sits on my shoulder and
he won't go away
my neck is bare. my thoughts are glowing.
he won't go away
he am I and I are him and
I won't go away anymore
Sunday, March 27, 2011
and to see the fire in your eyes
like the rocky mountains spinning overhead--
great lake swimmers, oceanless, lovelocked,
kept here, our bodies as maps
guiding us to nowhere.
i see what moves beneath them, there:
hidden, shattering, no resolve, no remorse,
just the wind raging through my hair and
sweeping me off of my feet and into your arms.
i want to feel again what you feel.
i want to see again what you see, or
what you saw, maybe, in me, once,
before the world spun too fast, or
perhaps just tilted slightly further into oblivion.
i thought i was over, thought you were under.
thought i was gone, thought you had stayed.
but tumbling and spinning and splayed, i fell
faster than i'd ever been able to build myself up.
i didn't know, had really no idea
how destructible, invisible, broken i could be
until i was face down and drowning
in a shallow pool of someone i no longer knew.
like the rocky mountains spinning overhead--
great lake swimmers, oceanless, lovelocked,
kept here, our bodies as maps
guiding us to nowhere.
i see what moves beneath them, there:
hidden, shattering, no resolve, no remorse,
just the wind raging through my hair and
sweeping me off of my feet and into your arms.
i want to feel again what you feel.
i want to see again what you see, or
what you saw, maybe, in me, once,
before the world spun too fast, or
perhaps just tilted slightly further into oblivion.
i thought i was over, thought you were under.
thought i was gone, thought you had stayed.
but tumbling and spinning and splayed, i fell
faster than i'd ever been able to build myself up.
i didn't know, had really no idea
how destructible, invisible, broken i could be
until i was face down and drowning
in a shallow pool of someone i no longer knew.
Friday, August 27, 2010
i had to write something.
Sometimes I focus so hard that the glass disappears and I'm between the leaves.
Strange, how I only like them when there's a filter.
They're dying, and so am I, but aren't we all,
and then the sky's this color blue like steel in a storm
and I'm the horizon and I can't ever stop.
Hello? I can't talk now. Not to you.
Because we're not we, we're you and --- me,
and I'm in the trees, just trying
to find my pulse.
Strange, how I only like them when there's a filter.
They're dying, and so am I, but aren't we all,
and then the sky's this color blue like steel in a storm
and I'm the horizon and I can't ever stop.
Hello? I can't talk now. Not to you.
Because we're not we, we're you and --- me,
and I'm in the trees, just trying
to find my pulse.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
i try and i try and i try and i try
until
it's okay,
i don't have a heart anymore.
and the songs on repeat don't sound the same.
they morph and they bloom and they bleed into me,
and i care for a minute or two
and i wear down all my erasers
and my words become permanent.
but it's okay,
i don't have a heart anymore.
but then the sky's this color blue like
steel in a storm and
you see me and
i see you and
we swirl and we sing and we sink but
i don't have a heart anymore.
until
it's okay,
i don't have a heart anymore.
and the songs on repeat don't sound the same.
they morph and they bloom and they bleed into me,
and i care for a minute or two
and i wear down all my erasers
and my words become permanent.
but it's okay,
i don't have a heart anymore.
but then the sky's this color blue like
steel in a storm and
you see me and
i see you and
we swirl and we sing and we sink but
i don't have a heart anymore.
there are these days.
days where I want to take every song that ever made me cry
and every person that ever made me doubt myself
and every more and every no and every you're not good enough
and i want to put them all in a box
and climb inside.
today is not that day,
tomorrow will not be that day.
maybe the next day,
maybe the day after that.
maybe the day i wake up and you're gone
and i wait and wait and wait and wait
but you never come back.
and i'll get up and i'll go to work and i'll drive my car and i'll smoke my cigarettes and i'll write my stupid nothings.
and i'll tell myself to be strong.
i need to be stronger.
i need to be strongest.
but i'll never be strong enough
to keep from losing you.
if you say a word over and over it loses its meaning.
strong is a funny string of letters.
so are you.
days where I want to take every song that ever made me cry
and every person that ever made me doubt myself
and every more and every no and every you're not good enough
and i want to put them all in a box
and climb inside.
today is not that day,
tomorrow will not be that day.
maybe the next day,
maybe the day after that.
maybe the day i wake up and you're gone
and i wait and wait and wait and wait
but you never come back.
and i'll get up and i'll go to work and i'll drive my car and i'll smoke my cigarettes and i'll write my stupid nothings.
and i'll tell myself to be strong.
i need to be stronger.
i need to be strongest.
but i'll never be strong enough
to keep from losing you.
if you say a word over and over it loses its meaning.
strong is a funny string of letters.
so are you.
Monday, September 14, 2009
cannibal queen
I love you the same I love kitten’s claw deep in cephalic
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts
It hurts
But it’s just so damned cute.
Cute but something moves behind the eyes.
Something viscous. Odious.
Thirsty.
And it tells me it’s sappy and makes me melt.
But sappy is comparing a girl to a flower, or
Telling her that being able to look into her eyes is like having jesus on speed dial.
You are sappy if a thesaurus is the baby dinosaur
That grows up to make your ideas as close to perfect as they can ever be,
coming from such vicious headwater.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts
It hurts
But it’s just so damned cute.
Cute but something moves behind the eyes.
Something viscous. Odious.
Thirsty.
And it tells me it’s sappy and makes me melt.
But sappy is comparing a girl to a flower, or
Telling her that being able to look into her eyes is like having jesus on speed dial.
You are sappy if a thesaurus is the baby dinosaur
That grows up to make your ideas as close to perfect as they can ever be,
coming from such vicious headwater.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Why should i feel sad for what i never had? Nothing equals nothing.
Every night, I drive until I am the horizon.
I try to get lost. I try to lose myself.
The open road like an open book tells me its secrets as i hurtle into oblivion.
But I always manage to end up where I began.
Each night, I try harder not to come back. I'm getting better at it, getting further and further into the dark before I turn around.
I'm terrified that some night, I'll succeed. Some night, I'll find a new place to simultaneously love and hate. To always feel as if there's somewhere else I'm supposed to be.
One night, I'm going to vanish.
It's silly to be terrified of such a wonderful prospect.
I try to get lost. I try to lose myself.
The open road like an open book tells me its secrets as i hurtle into oblivion.
But I always manage to end up where I began.
Each night, I try harder not to come back. I'm getting better at it, getting further and further into the dark before I turn around.
I'm terrified that some night, I'll succeed. Some night, I'll find a new place to simultaneously love and hate. To always feel as if there's somewhere else I'm supposed to be.
One night, I'm going to vanish.
It's silly to be terrified of such a wonderful prospect.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
what a day to be alive, and what a day to realize im not
you know how you have those friends that you're proud of, and then when you make new friends, you want them to meet those other people because you're just so sure that they're amazing, and that nobody could ever not think so, and that maybe you'll look even more awesome to your new friends because your other friends are such fantastically wonderful people?
well maybe that's the longest sentence since the dawn of time, and maybe that's exactly how i feel about all of my friends right now.
:]
i just watched win a date with tad hamilton. and the whole time, i just go god DAMN IT kate bosworth, topher is right fucking there!
i would pick topher.
and then at one part, the bartender says something like, your chances are a whole lot better if you turn in an application. like, if you don't go for it, there's a 0% chance you'll get it. but if you at least put it out there, then there's a 50% chance. and that's a pretty substantial statistical increase, yeah?
but she doesn't say anything about how fucked up and awkward things get if that 50% isn't good enough.
so i'll keep my 0%, thank you very much. and i'll appreciate what i've got and never ask for more.
i just wonder how much of that choice is logical thought and simplicity and gratefulness and how much is just plain fear. and fuck if i don't know that a choice made in fear is rarely a sound one.
well maybe that's the longest sentence since the dawn of time, and maybe that's exactly how i feel about all of my friends right now.
:]
i just watched win a date with tad hamilton. and the whole time, i just go god DAMN IT kate bosworth, topher is right fucking there!
i would pick topher.
and then at one part, the bartender says something like, your chances are a whole lot better if you turn in an application. like, if you don't go for it, there's a 0% chance you'll get it. but if you at least put it out there, then there's a 50% chance. and that's a pretty substantial statistical increase, yeah?
but she doesn't say anything about how fucked up and awkward things get if that 50% isn't good enough.
so i'll keep my 0%, thank you very much. and i'll appreciate what i've got and never ask for more.
i just wonder how much of that choice is logical thought and simplicity and gratefulness and how much is just plain fear. and fuck if i don't know that a choice made in fear is rarely a sound one.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
in the cold light of day, you can't always see what's true
i found some stuff i wrote for the creative writing class i took back when i was actually forcing myself to go to school. there were a few things i dont even remember writing. how weird is that? it's like, writing becomes such an organic process for me that shit just flows out of me and i don't even think about it.
here's one poem i don't remember. it's called Incite Insight. apparently.
These plans are ink
flowing freely, like gutter torrents in April storms,
through flaked picket fences and cracked front doors,
climbing up carnation stems, disturbing plain white suburban delusion,
infecting the petals with urban turmoil,
seeping through the veins of the weak, the poor, the tired, the hungry,
creeping into the off-whites of their searching eyes,
turning them granite black,
cold and solid and unmoving and unfeeling and
capable of great things.
hm. wtf.
oh, and then there was this weird scene-from-a-play thing:
(Setting: library. BOY sits alone at table with loads of books piled on it, taking notes. Empty chair is across the table from him.
(BOY should be wearing plain white oxford shirt, black pants, black tie, nice black shoes. GIRL should be wearing colorful tank top, checkered pants or a tutu or something. Unnatural colored wig. Crazy looking.)
GIRL
(Spinning the empty chair around and sitting on it backwards) Well, what’s a guy like you doing in a library like this, hm? (He ignores her) You looked lonely. And possibly dead. Except your hand was still taking notes. So I thought, hey, if this is some crazy medical miracle, and you died of boredom and your hand just kept on going, writing down line after line of meaningless shit, I better go check it out. I mean, I couldn’t just pass up the opportunity to witness what could quite possibly be the greatest medical anomaly ever to occur in--
BOY
(Glances briefly up at her, and then goes back to scanning a book and taking notes)(cutting her off) God, not now, okay? I’ve got a lot to do. (GIRL picks a book off of one of the stacks, flips through a few pages, tosses it onto another stack with a loud bang) Wait, what are you…? Gah… (She takes another book from a stack and starts to flip through it) Can you maybe not? I’ve got kind of a system going on…
GIRL
Ohhhh, a system! (She keeps flipping through the book. He stares at her, exasperated. She closes the book, looks up at him) Oh, you’ll figure it out. (She tosses the book onto another random stack).
BOY
Okay, really? (sigh) Did you need something? Or are you just trying to sabotage me?
GIRL
I’ll take C, none of the above. You should really consider more open ended questions, you know. You can never really know anybody’s full motives, and trying to condense them into two measly little choices is really kind of--
BOY
(interrupting her) Okay, whatever. Can you go, then?
GIRL
Nahhh. I’m still hoping to witness a medical anomaly. Maybe your brain will implode or something. (picks up another book from the stack) What is all this, anyways?
BOY
I have an accounting final tomorrow.
GIRL
Hm. Looks like a whole lot of bullshit to me.
BOY
Well then stop reading it (tries to take the book out of her hands across the table)
GIRL
(scoots her chair back so she’s out of his reach, reads aloud) “Big Firm seeks soulless, lifeless 20-something with college degree. Must love corporate america…”
BOY
It doesn’t say that…
GIRL
(sarcastic) Oooo, you got me… (tosses the book onto the table) What makes you want to do this shit anyways?
BOY
I don’t know. There’s pretty good money in it I guess.
GIRL
(Raising an eyebrow) Oh, reeeeeeally…. Well, how fantastic for you. (starts flipping through another book) What are you gonna by first, happiness or a Cadillac? (flips through the book for a while) So. Tell me the best day of your life.
BOY
What?
GIRL
The best day of your life in no less than 5 sentences. Go.
BOY
What? No…
GIRL
Why not?
BOY
Be--because… what the hell…
GIRL
Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. Like story time. Wait, your best day involved aliens or secret government projects or something and you’re sworn to secrecy, in which case, you should probably just make something up, ‘cause I wanna hear a stor--
BOY
No, no. I just…I don’t really think I have a best day ever. My whole life’s been the same.
GIRL
…wowwwww. That sucks.
BOY
(long pause, he stares at her while she flips through the book) What is it that you’re looking for, exactly?
GIRL
I don’t know. I don’t… know... (Scans a few pages of the book) Not this. (Adds the book to another stack)
BOY
No, I mean… here. In college. You’ve already seen what success brings… if that‘s not good enough for you, then--.
GIRL
What?
BOY
Well… you’re well off. You’ve got money. You’re rich. Shouldn’t that be enough?
GIRL
(growing angry/flustered) No, no, I‘m not rich. My parents are. For fuck’s sake, man. I am more than a byproduct of my parents’ poor reproductive choices. I am a living being. I have a heart and I breathe and I think. And money isn’t everything to me, okay? Maybe there’s more to life than a picket fence.
BOY
…well, I’m just saying.
GIRL
Saying what?!
BOY
…never mind.
GIRL
(pause)(under breath/aside)Fuck. (longer pause.) What do you want to do with your life?
BOY
Like a job?
GIRL
No. what is your purpose. Your higher calling.
BOY
….so, like a career?
GIRL
(frustrated) No. Fuck, no. your career is not your life. Forget about money and cars and all of this (sweeping gesture to audience). What do you want out of your life. Think.
BOY
(Pause)To be better than my dad.
GIRL
Why?
BOY
I donno. Just gotta prove it I guess.
GIRL
Prove what? That you’re good enough?
BOY
Yeah…well, I mean--
GIRL
(growing more and more animated/angry) Oh, god, jesus, th- (sigh) there you go again, with your, (exasperated sigh)…. Prove it to who?! To them (pointing gesture to audience)?! To these ignorant, superficial assholes?! They don’t give a shit what you do, man! They’re all focused on their dollars and fucking cents! Why are you trynna impress these shapeless faces, these tired SHEEPle!! They’re in their own god damned worlds. Why the hell are you trying to be like that? Like them? (yelling by this point) Just formless in a fucking crowd? You’re like an amoeba, like a fucking slide under a microscope, man, but nobody gives a shit what phase of osmosis you’re in, you’re just… fucking… (quieter) fuck, man, why do you have to prove it to them? Why do you have to prove anything?
BOY
(stares at her and pauses for a long time) My best day ever. My best day ever smelled like tortilla soup and scotch whiskey and cigarettes. The day I left home to come here. My mom wouldn’t talk to me-- she wanted me to stay home forever. Wanted me to be her support. God knows her husband wasn‘t there for her. My dad was… he was drunk. Passed out on the couch with the tv blaring and an ashtray in his lap. My mom, she gave me this look, like, please don’t go. Or maybe it was more like take me with you. Get me out of here. And she looked like if I took one more step away from her, she’d literally fall to pieces. But I walked out that door, and I packed my shit into the car, and I left. And I never looked back.
(HE walks off stage into the audience, leaving HER alone on stage, staring into the crowd, unsure. SHE takes off her wig, turns it over and over in her hands, downcast eyes. SHE turns and exits stage right or left, doesn’t matter, just not into audience. Lights out.)
fuckin weird, man.
here's one poem i don't remember. it's called Incite Insight. apparently.
These plans are ink
flowing freely, like gutter torrents in April storms,
through flaked picket fences and cracked front doors,
climbing up carnation stems, disturbing plain white suburban delusion,
infecting the petals with urban turmoil,
seeping through the veins of the weak, the poor, the tired, the hungry,
creeping into the off-whites of their searching eyes,
turning them granite black,
cold and solid and unmoving and unfeeling and
capable of great things.
hm. wtf.
oh, and then there was this weird scene-from-a-play thing:
(Setting: library. BOY sits alone at table with loads of books piled on it, taking notes. Empty chair is across the table from him.
(BOY should be wearing plain white oxford shirt, black pants, black tie, nice black shoes. GIRL should be wearing colorful tank top, checkered pants or a tutu or something. Unnatural colored wig. Crazy looking.)
GIRL
(Spinning the empty chair around and sitting on it backwards) Well, what’s a guy like you doing in a library like this, hm? (He ignores her) You looked lonely. And possibly dead. Except your hand was still taking notes. So I thought, hey, if this is some crazy medical miracle, and you died of boredom and your hand just kept on going, writing down line after line of meaningless shit, I better go check it out. I mean, I couldn’t just pass up the opportunity to witness what could quite possibly be the greatest medical anomaly ever to occur in--
BOY
(Glances briefly up at her, and then goes back to scanning a book and taking notes)(cutting her off) God, not now, okay? I’ve got a lot to do. (GIRL picks a book off of one of the stacks, flips through a few pages, tosses it onto another stack with a loud bang) Wait, what are you…? Gah… (She takes another book from a stack and starts to flip through it) Can you maybe not? I’ve got kind of a system going on…
GIRL
Ohhhh, a system! (She keeps flipping through the book. He stares at her, exasperated. She closes the book, looks up at him) Oh, you’ll figure it out. (She tosses the book onto another random stack).
BOY
Okay, really? (sigh) Did you need something? Or are you just trying to sabotage me?
GIRL
I’ll take C, none of the above. You should really consider more open ended questions, you know. You can never really know anybody’s full motives, and trying to condense them into two measly little choices is really kind of--
BOY
(interrupting her) Okay, whatever. Can you go, then?
GIRL
Nahhh. I’m still hoping to witness a medical anomaly. Maybe your brain will implode or something. (picks up another book from the stack) What is all this, anyways?
BOY
I have an accounting final tomorrow.
GIRL
Hm. Looks like a whole lot of bullshit to me.
BOY
Well then stop reading it (tries to take the book out of her hands across the table)
GIRL
(scoots her chair back so she’s out of his reach, reads aloud) “Big Firm seeks soulless, lifeless 20-something with college degree. Must love corporate america…”
BOY
It doesn’t say that…
GIRL
(sarcastic) Oooo, you got me… (tosses the book onto the table) What makes you want to do this shit anyways?
BOY
I don’t know. There’s pretty good money in it I guess.
GIRL
(Raising an eyebrow) Oh, reeeeeeally…. Well, how fantastic for you. (starts flipping through another book) What are you gonna by first, happiness or a Cadillac? (flips through the book for a while) So. Tell me the best day of your life.
BOY
What?
GIRL
The best day of your life in no less than 5 sentences. Go.
BOY
What? No…
GIRL
Why not?
BOY
Be--because… what the hell…
GIRL
Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. Like story time. Wait, your best day involved aliens or secret government projects or something and you’re sworn to secrecy, in which case, you should probably just make something up, ‘cause I wanna hear a stor--
BOY
No, no. I just…I don’t really think I have a best day ever. My whole life’s been the same.
GIRL
…wowwwww. That sucks.
BOY
(long pause, he stares at her while she flips through the book) What is it that you’re looking for, exactly?
GIRL
I don’t know. I don’t… know... (Scans a few pages of the book) Not this. (Adds the book to another stack)
BOY
No, I mean… here. In college. You’ve already seen what success brings… if that‘s not good enough for you, then--.
GIRL
What?
BOY
Well… you’re well off. You’ve got money. You’re rich. Shouldn’t that be enough?
GIRL
(growing angry/flustered) No, no, I‘m not rich. My parents are. For fuck’s sake, man. I am more than a byproduct of my parents’ poor reproductive choices. I am a living being. I have a heart and I breathe and I think. And money isn’t everything to me, okay? Maybe there’s more to life than a picket fence.
BOY
…well, I’m just saying.
GIRL
Saying what?!
BOY
…never mind.
GIRL
(pause)(under breath/aside)Fuck. (longer pause.) What do you want to do with your life?
BOY
Like a job?
GIRL
No. what is your purpose. Your higher calling.
BOY
….so, like a career?
GIRL
(frustrated) No. Fuck, no. your career is not your life. Forget about money and cars and all of this (sweeping gesture to audience). What do you want out of your life. Think.
BOY
(Pause)To be better than my dad.
GIRL
Why?
BOY
I donno. Just gotta prove it I guess.
GIRL
Prove what? That you’re good enough?
BOY
Yeah…well, I mean--
GIRL
(growing more and more animated/angry) Oh, god, jesus, th- (sigh) there you go again, with your, (exasperated sigh)…. Prove it to who?! To them (pointing gesture to audience)?! To these ignorant, superficial assholes?! They don’t give a shit what you do, man! They’re all focused on their dollars and fucking cents! Why are you trynna impress these shapeless faces, these tired SHEEPle!! They’re in their own god damned worlds. Why the hell are you trying to be like that? Like them? (yelling by this point) Just formless in a fucking crowd? You’re like an amoeba, like a fucking slide under a microscope, man, but nobody gives a shit what phase of osmosis you’re in, you’re just… fucking… (quieter) fuck, man, why do you have to prove it to them? Why do you have to prove anything?
BOY
(stares at her and pauses for a long time) My best day ever. My best day ever smelled like tortilla soup and scotch whiskey and cigarettes. The day I left home to come here. My mom wouldn’t talk to me-- she wanted me to stay home forever. Wanted me to be her support. God knows her husband wasn‘t there for her. My dad was… he was drunk. Passed out on the couch with the tv blaring and an ashtray in his lap. My mom, she gave me this look, like, please don’t go. Or maybe it was more like take me with you. Get me out of here. And she looked like if I took one more step away from her, she’d literally fall to pieces. But I walked out that door, and I packed my shit into the car, and I left. And I never looked back.
(HE walks off stage into the audience, leaving HER alone on stage, staring into the crowd, unsure. SHE takes off her wig, turns it over and over in her hands, downcast eyes. SHE turns and exits stage right or left, doesn’t matter, just not into audience. Lights out.)
fuckin weird, man.
Friday, May 8, 2009
ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
A lot has happened.
I moved into my apartment. I now own the first actual key I have ever had in my entire life. It’s more powerful than it sounds.
I got demoted at work. Well, kind of. I get to keep my raise, but I’m moving back to service desk. I’ll be working 230-11 Sunday through Thursday. In other words, I make more money while basically keeping my old job and having a set schedule. I’m mad crazy excited.
Some people kind of convinced me that one of my best friends likes me. Hahaha awkwarddddd. But I love that kid to death. And I kind of liked him for a while there too, and I thought I was over it, but now that they’ve put this idea in my head, it’s back in full swing. Oh, the power of suggestion. Haha I wish people would just tell each other how they feel. Always.
My phone finally gave up on life. I never realized how dependent on my phone I was. It’s retarded. So add that and the fact that I don’t have internet in my apartment yet, and you get yuckkkk. Life is so much more difficult without communication.
I talked to my mom for the first time in like a month and my dad for the first time since winter break. So that’s… fun…
And finally, I’ve had to try to help a friend deal with one of the most terrible things anybody can ever go through. And I’m really, really trying to help, but I feel like there’s not much I can do. All I want to do is knock some skulls. But I don’t think that’s really going to fix the situation. I wish I knew what more to say to her. I feel like a broken record trying to make her feel better. But I don’t know what else to do…all I can do is be there for her I guess. I just wish I could fix it.
Hm. I think that’s about it.
I guess “a lot” for me really means “shut the fuck up about your stupid life, Caitlin. Jesus.” haha
I’ve had some legit serious conversations with another friend lately, and I’m SO GLAD for it. He never tells me anything. And I know he needs to unload some of this shit onto somebody, and I feel like he really has nobody to talk to. I could be wrong, but whatever. I’m glad he opened up, even if it was for just a hot second.
On a semi-related note, I don’t know why anybody would want to be in love. I mean yeah, I guess just the pure feeling of being love would be great. But then you bring in human nature and drama and relationships and yada yada and shit gets complicated. I think I’d rather just live my life. Have good friends. Just BE, and not have to worry about when it’s going to end.
People are moving away soon, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without them. I hate losing people :[
Over the past few weeks, I’ve realized how little people tell their friends, family, whoever, that they appreciate them. That they love them. That they need them. So if you’re reading this, just know that I love you and I’m glad to have you in my life. Even if you think you’re not that important to me, you probably are. I appreciate everything you are to me :]
I moved into my apartment. I now own the first actual key I have ever had in my entire life. It’s more powerful than it sounds.
I got demoted at work. Well, kind of. I get to keep my raise, but I’m moving back to service desk. I’ll be working 230-11 Sunday through Thursday. In other words, I make more money while basically keeping my old job and having a set schedule. I’m mad crazy excited.
Some people kind of convinced me that one of my best friends likes me. Hahaha awkwarddddd. But I love that kid to death. And I kind of liked him for a while there too, and I thought I was over it, but now that they’ve put this idea in my head, it’s back in full swing. Oh, the power of suggestion. Haha I wish people would just tell each other how they feel. Always.
My phone finally gave up on life. I never realized how dependent on my phone I was. It’s retarded. So add that and the fact that I don’t have internet in my apartment yet, and you get yuckkkk. Life is so much more difficult without communication.
I talked to my mom for the first time in like a month and my dad for the first time since winter break. So that’s… fun…
And finally, I’ve had to try to help a friend deal with one of the most terrible things anybody can ever go through. And I’m really, really trying to help, but I feel like there’s not much I can do. All I want to do is knock some skulls. But I don’t think that’s really going to fix the situation. I wish I knew what more to say to her. I feel like a broken record trying to make her feel better. But I don’t know what else to do…all I can do is be there for her I guess. I just wish I could fix it.
Hm. I think that’s about it.
I guess “a lot” for me really means “shut the fuck up about your stupid life, Caitlin. Jesus.” haha
I’ve had some legit serious conversations with another friend lately, and I’m SO GLAD for it. He never tells me anything. And I know he needs to unload some of this shit onto somebody, and I feel like he really has nobody to talk to. I could be wrong, but whatever. I’m glad he opened up, even if it was for just a hot second.
On a semi-related note, I don’t know why anybody would want to be in love. I mean yeah, I guess just the pure feeling of being love would be great. But then you bring in human nature and drama and relationships and yada yada and shit gets complicated. I think I’d rather just live my life. Have good friends. Just BE, and not have to worry about when it’s going to end.
People are moving away soon, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without them. I hate losing people :[
Over the past few weeks, I’ve realized how little people tell their friends, family, whoever, that they appreciate them. That they love them. That they need them. So if you’re reading this, just know that I love you and I’m glad to have you in my life. Even if you think you’re not that important to me, you probably are. I appreciate everything you are to me :]
Saturday, April 25, 2009
a terrible start to a terrible story.
let's get drunk and lose discretion.
it's okay, i'm not in love with you anymore.
you'll tell me your problems
and i'll try
ttr,y
tr\ry
try. try
to solve them.
twist and tangle your lies into mine
and
we'll find the ends of our own ropes
and
go our separate ways.
see you on the other side
good night
good luck
good riddance
because there's nothing worse than knowing that you're more important to me than i'll ever be to you
and i'll never be her
and you'll never be him
and and
adn
ann//d
we're not we
we're you and -- me
but i'll pretend in the sunrise that that's fine,
just so the sun will keep climbing and not sink, blushing,
back below infinity.
it's okay, i'm not in love with you anymore.
you'll tell me your problems
and i'll try
ttr,y
tr\ry
try. try
to solve them.
twist and tangle your lies into mine
and
we'll find the ends of our own ropes
and
go our separate ways.
see you on the other side
good night
good luck
good riddance
because there's nothing worse than knowing that you're more important to me than i'll ever be to you
and i'll never be her
and you'll never be him
and and
adn
ann//d
we're not we
we're you and -- me
but i'll pretend in the sunrise that that's fine,
just so the sun will keep climbing and not sink, blushing,
back below infinity.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
we are so fragile... just breakable girls and boys
i got a new tattoo. it is the story of my life in one word.
indeed.
liam called me today to ask me some random question about a carnival in arizona. and then in the background my mom goes "ask her if she's coming home for easter or not." and i was just like...really woman? really? why the FUCK would i come home for easter? i haven't talked to my parents in a fucking month. my mother is convinced that the only reason i'm dropping out of school is to hurt her (because everything i do in my life is about my mother, of course). my dad is drunk and indifferent. why would i want to go home to that? srsly.
all we can do is keep breathing. [this song makes me cry every time]
did you know Kal Penn's character killed himself on House because Kal got a spot on the Obama administration? Assistant Director of the Public Liaison or some shit like that. crazy!!
indeed.
liam called me today to ask me some random question about a carnival in arizona. and then in the background my mom goes "ask her if she's coming home for easter or not." and i was just like...really woman? really? why the FUCK would i come home for easter? i haven't talked to my parents in a fucking month. my mother is convinced that the only reason i'm dropping out of school is to hurt her (because everything i do in my life is about my mother, of course). my dad is drunk and indifferent. why would i want to go home to that? srsly.
all we can do is keep breathing. [this song makes me cry every time]
did you know Kal Penn's character killed himself on House because Kal got a spot on the Obama administration? Assistant Director of the Public Liaison or some shit like that. crazy!!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
You know that i've waited all year for you
I came into this with no idea of what to write.
readysetgo, i suppose.
SO this past week has been kind of crazy. I drank a lot of rum, smoked a lot of hookah. Moved some people from the "acquaintance" to the "friend" column. Fun times.
I also got punched in the face by one of my best friends. And i keep making excuses and feeling stupid for being mad about it, even though i think i probably have every right to be mad. so that's been kind of tugging at the edges of my brain the past few days. and that's just made me really confused about a lot of things. so i took a closer look at a bunch of shit in my life, and made a bunch of realizations, and guess what? i decided i couldn't possibly know what love is, so i couldn't possibly be in love with anybody. so i'm feeling better about that now. but i still don't want him to leave in two weeks....
today i got so frustrated that i cried. i think that's happened to me maybe once before. it was ridiculous. i just straight up flipped shit because i couldn't put my goddamn bed together. what the fuck is that!? i think maybe it was just like a culmination of everything this week just hitting me all at once. lamesicles.
i just decided i'm going to break into the room across the hall and fucking trash this kid's sick speakers. i can't stand the walls vibrating anymore. fucing dick.
hmmmmmm what else.
oh i got promoted at work. finally. fuckin shit yo. so i'm super stoked about that. but super depressed that the service desk family's breaking up. i'm moving up front, fabian's leaving, chelsea's leaving soon, steven's leaving soon... :[ sad day.
i hung out with somebody and realized how much my life has changed over the past few years. like serious ups and downs. and i'm so happy with it now, it's ridiculous. i'm just finally settled. like i can have the shittiest day ever, and just go home and listen to a song and be okay with life again. i think dropping out of school, the first thing i've ever really done for ME, has been the greatest thing that's ever happened to me-- at least so far. we'll see, when in a couple of years i'm living in a box on colfax. but for now, i'm fucking high on life and i love it.
i think i know what i want for my next tattoo
indeed.
readysetgo, i suppose.
SO this past week has been kind of crazy. I drank a lot of rum, smoked a lot of hookah. Moved some people from the "acquaintance" to the "friend" column. Fun times.
I also got punched in the face by one of my best friends. And i keep making excuses and feeling stupid for being mad about it, even though i think i probably have every right to be mad. so that's been kind of tugging at the edges of my brain the past few days. and that's just made me really confused about a lot of things. so i took a closer look at a bunch of shit in my life, and made a bunch of realizations, and guess what? i decided i couldn't possibly know what love is, so i couldn't possibly be in love with anybody. so i'm feeling better about that now. but i still don't want him to leave in two weeks....
today i got so frustrated that i cried. i think that's happened to me maybe once before. it was ridiculous. i just straight up flipped shit because i couldn't put my goddamn bed together. what the fuck is that!? i think maybe it was just like a culmination of everything this week just hitting me all at once. lamesicles.
i just decided i'm going to break into the room across the hall and fucking trash this kid's sick speakers. i can't stand the walls vibrating anymore. fucing dick.
hmmmmmm what else.
oh i got promoted at work. finally. fuckin shit yo. so i'm super stoked about that. but super depressed that the service desk family's breaking up. i'm moving up front, fabian's leaving, chelsea's leaving soon, steven's leaving soon... :[ sad day.
i hung out with somebody and realized how much my life has changed over the past few years. like serious ups and downs. and i'm so happy with it now, it's ridiculous. i'm just finally settled. like i can have the shittiest day ever, and just go home and listen to a song and be okay with life again. i think dropping out of school, the first thing i've ever really done for ME, has been the greatest thing that's ever happened to me-- at least so far. we'll see, when in a couple of years i'm living in a box on colfax. but for now, i'm fucking high on life and i love it.
i think i know what i want for my next tattoo
indeed.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Sehnsucht.
remember that secret i posted about wanting to go "home" but not knowing where that was?
my whole life i've just wanted to leave. just fucking go. to tear apart what nearly everyone would recognize as a safe, reasonably sufficient way of life and be...something. anything. anywhere. and i feel like there's somewhere i'm supposed to be, somewhere i'm always trying to get away to. but i don't know what the fuck it is. this is like... the main issue in my life. always. and i've never been able to fully describe it to anyone or make them understand.
well guess what? apparently the Germans are fucking brilliant, because they have a word for this feeling i've had since i can remember.
Sehnsucht is a German word that literally means "longing" or in a wider sense a kind of "intensely missing". However, Sehnsucht is almost impossible to translate adequately and describes a deep emotional state. The stage director and author Georg Tabori called Sehnsucht one of those quasi-mystical terms in German for which there is no satisfactory corresponding term in another language.[1] It is this close relationship (encapsulated in one word) between ardent longing or yearning (das Sehnen) and addiction (die Sucht ) that lurks behind each longing, waiting to turn the feeling into a destructive, self-defeating force.
CS Lewis said that sehnsucht is "that unnameable something, desire for which pierces us like a rapier at the smell of bonfire, the sound of wild ducks flying overhead, the title of The Well at the World's End, the opening lines of "Kubla Khan", the morning cobwebs in late summer, or the noise of falling waves"
So at least i'm not alone. that's a start.
In other news, i've come to realize that everything i'm doing right now is incredibly stupid and will probably end in my demise. Well, that's what i get out of it all when i think within the bounds of normality and social expectation. But fuck that shit, right? Who needs more rules and boundaries and reasons to fit in. This is middle school anymore. I've had such a strong realization about life. ever. All i know now is that I am me and I am free. So i'm going to do what i want to do. I'm going to try and be happy for once in my life. I know I'm young. I know my pre-frontal cortex may not yet be fully formed and that this may lead me to draw hasty conclusions about things and to make bad decisions. The fact that I know all this and i'm still going through with this: does that make me insane? or just incredibly sane for the first time ever?
I just got a phone call an hour ago that tore me apart. Essentially, I am SO happy for someone. But at the same time, I am completely crushed. And that makes me selfish. And that makes me mad at myself. And then i remember how crushed I am and get really fucking melancholy. And then i tell myself I'm being selfish. and then i get mad again. and then sad. It's a vicious cycle.
I didn't think that this many emotions could be caused by one simple phone call. One happy phone call.
I'll get over it. I got over Brian leaving. kind of.
I get over everything.
eventually.
woooooo sad times.
yeah caitlin, great choice of music to invariably churn out a senseless, inexplicable, depressing fucking blog.
Snow Patrol-- Open your Eyes
Brand New-- the boy that blocked his own shot
Elliot Smith-- needle in the hay
Snow Patrol-- run
Sia-- breathe me
Damien Rice-- nine crimes
btw-- did you know Hugh Laurie (Dr. House) has a super posh-sounding English accent?
He's from Oxford. go figure.
my whole life i've just wanted to leave. just fucking go. to tear apart what nearly everyone would recognize as a safe, reasonably sufficient way of life and be...something. anything. anywhere. and i feel like there's somewhere i'm supposed to be, somewhere i'm always trying to get away to. but i don't know what the fuck it is. this is like... the main issue in my life. always. and i've never been able to fully describe it to anyone or make them understand.
well guess what? apparently the Germans are fucking brilliant, because they have a word for this feeling i've had since i can remember.
Sehnsucht is a German word that literally means "longing" or in a wider sense a kind of "intensely missing". However, Sehnsucht is almost impossible to translate adequately and describes a deep emotional state. The stage director and author Georg Tabori called Sehnsucht one of those quasi-mystical terms in German for which there is no satisfactory corresponding term in another language.[1] It is this close relationship (encapsulated in one word) between ardent longing or yearning (das Sehnen) and addiction (die Sucht ) that lurks behind each longing, waiting to turn the feeling into a destructive, self-defeating force.
CS Lewis said that sehnsucht is "that unnameable something, desire for which pierces us like a rapier at the smell of bonfire, the sound of wild ducks flying overhead, the title of The Well at the World's End, the opening lines of "Kubla Khan", the morning cobwebs in late summer, or the noise of falling waves"
So at least i'm not alone. that's a start.
In other news, i've come to realize that everything i'm doing right now is incredibly stupid and will probably end in my demise. Well, that's what i get out of it all when i think within the bounds of normality and social expectation. But fuck that shit, right? Who needs more rules and boundaries and reasons to fit in. This is middle school anymore. I've had such a strong realization about life. ever. All i know now is that I am me and I am free. So i'm going to do what i want to do. I'm going to try and be happy for once in my life. I know I'm young. I know my pre-frontal cortex may not yet be fully formed and that this may lead me to draw hasty conclusions about things and to make bad decisions. The fact that I know all this and i'm still going through with this: does that make me insane? or just incredibly sane for the first time ever?
I just got a phone call an hour ago that tore me apart. Essentially, I am SO happy for someone. But at the same time, I am completely crushed. And that makes me selfish. And that makes me mad at myself. And then i remember how crushed I am and get really fucking melancholy. And then i tell myself I'm being selfish. and then i get mad again. and then sad. It's a vicious cycle.
I didn't think that this many emotions could be caused by one simple phone call. One happy phone call.
I'll get over it. I got over Brian leaving. kind of.
I get over everything.
eventually.
woooooo sad times.
yeah caitlin, great choice of music to invariably churn out a senseless, inexplicable, depressing fucking blog.
Snow Patrol-- Open your Eyes
Brand New-- the boy that blocked his own shot
Elliot Smith-- needle in the hay
Snow Patrol-- run
Sia-- breathe me
Damien Rice-- nine crimes
btw-- did you know Hugh Laurie (Dr. House) has a super posh-sounding English accent?
He's from Oxford. go figure.
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