Selcouth Utterings

She

2011-04-06T04:09:00.000-07:00

with the softened hips of a woman made to love
was always at a loss.

CLEAN GETAWAY

2011-04-06T03:26:00.000-07:00

: what was had.

I just want to be a Bond Girl.
Brosnan's a fox, but Connery is far classier.
I am so torn. :C

Either way, Donnie kicks my ass at golden-gun,
and slappers-only is only ever a good idea in theory.

The sound of floorboards in a state of unrest convinces me that everyone will suddenly discover my secrets.

It's usually cats, though.
It's always usually cats.

Away

2010-09-22T19:32:00.000-07:00

Vodka and Kool-Aid and Trampolines.
Summer behavior in a strictly winter town,
but when you're dreaming about the people you've never met
I don't think you should feel at home.
Bruises from purgatory and
the only thing keeping you warm are the moccasins you stole.

Nothing compares,
I am sick and I love you.

Get me out, get me out, get me away.

But, oh, how we love to feel it spin!

Binary

2010-08-26T20:11:00.001-07:00

Sirius and the black hole were swimming in the sky
when Sirius tripped, and she started to cry.

She said,
"Someday all that will remain of me are
the atoms you stole and your memories,
but you always forget what really means most
and you treat the now like it's some kind of
ghost of the past,
NOTHING CAN LAST
(but you always forget),
and you'll lose me, too, someday all too soon."

The lights started dimming and her atoms all stretched,
and the black hole watched her as she took her last breath and he stood helpless;

he knew what he was doing
but he never could stop
and he had to keep moving.

I am not a poet, but sometimes I feel.

2010-08-24T04:04:00.000-07:00

He proposed to me with his coffee ring
and said, "I can't promise you anything, but I love you for now."
And when I asked him how,
he held me close to his heart
and I felt the black hole start to pull me apart.
He gave me a smoke, and he joked while I choked that--

"We're all dying, anyway,

so today the best we could do is to

stay together or lay together

and say that we'll never obey

someone other than the sun,

and even then we'll run from

anyone who calls us out for feeling

numb, and you, my lovely, will

finally see the horrible monsters

that occupy me and my bones and my brain;

that make me insane.

I'm in love, but this life is only inane.

I am only a name

and you're trapped in my dreams.

We must tear this reality down at the seams

and finally prove all is not as it seems."

And he kissed me and laughed,

but it broke him in half and

the two-headed boy finally dropped his last mask.

(In other news, je ne sais pas si c'est vous ou moi.)
Disassociate.

Incoherent

2010-07-30T11:51:00.000-07:00

and inarticulate
and incapable
and insomniatic.

olderthanthenight.

2010-07-30T09:19:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it is like I am in love with the sea,
and when I am away I am just empty, and longing, and tragic.
Nothing could compare to the draw to fall to the tides like ichor,
and nothing could ever be the same.
I am always pulled toward melancholy and troubled thoughts,
distance.
Like maybe if we hold tight enough, I will feel whole again.
Like maybe if I hold my breath a little longer.
Like maybe if I am the one who answers your questions.

But if we are living in our heads, when are we real?

It is like we are a binary system: just two black holes.

Us and Them

2010-07-25T03:21:00.000-07:00

I just need you to know that I am steeped in emotion and I can't take much more.
Everything continues to fall together around me, but nothing is clear.
This doesn't matter, nothing I am thinking matters.

If the Universe were yelling any louder, I might cease to exist.
What does it mean?

Us and them. And after all, we're only ordinary men.

I wish I slept through the night, the windows are becoming more and more ominous.
But hey, who am I to be affected?
These are your decisions.
I am an outsider projecting emotions and memories onto you, and that isn't fair.

No worries.
I'm just going to keep thinking.
Maybe someday you'll hear them honestly!
(Listen.)

I forget how to breathe.

2010-07-16T04:13:00.000-07:00

I am ambiguous, but you are a noun and
our grammar is everything to me.
Nothing tastes as sweet as your thoughts.

Sometimes the breeze feels like you, and I wonder if I could just evaporate if things would be clearer.

I never did feel as at home as when we were nowhere together.

I am dizzy and falling fast.

Tendrils

2010-07-11T03:14:00.000-07:00

I am a dancer, but only when everyone is asleep and the only company I keep are shadows and the memories I have stolen.

I feel so weightless, sometimes.
Like I am synonymous with the smoke I am breathing, and I could just curl into the sky and find myself in the wake of novas and feel the skeletal hands of the stars.

Maybe if I could wash my hands in fire.
Maybe tonight I will make it over the fence.

I want to run away, but every time the wind talks me out of it.

But we can sing while we are here.
Intimacy is just another kind of addiction.

I follow the night.
I just can't stand the honesty that comes with sunlight.

Plagiarist by Trade:

2010-07-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

...but these days we call them remixes.

Somebody told me that this planet was small.
Everybody finds somebody someplace.

"That's life." That's what all the people say.

If something's on your chest then let it be known.

I've thought of quitting, baby. All of this thinking? I've tried to stop.
But my heart wouldn't buy it.
And if I didn't think it wasn't worth a try? Well.

The rain was falling, and I couldn't see the season changing.
I could feel it, though. I am a polar being, I change with the seasons.

When it comes down to this, I'm neither sorry, nor cross, nor unfit.

But, wait, no.

She's got eyes comparable to sunrise, and it doesn't stop there. Man, I swear, she's got porcelain skin; of course she's a ten, and what am I? From what evil mixture was I compounded?

Are you listening?
(What are we talking about here?)

Listen to my past lives.

We missed each other by a century.

I can say it backwards in my sleep, "It's dangerous to dream."
I can feel it in my bones, in my bones, in my bones--

--the odds of havin' you are none.
(Haven't had a dream in a long time.)

I deal with the real so if this is artificial, let it be.

Oh.

2010-06-27T04:50:00.000-07:00

So, maybe I have finally figured out what I want.

And that is supposed to be good.

Why isn't it yet?

Leopard Tears

2010-06-18T22:46:00.000-07:00

Who the fuck are you to leave me behind?
I'm so mad at you for being older.

But my face is bright red and splotchy, and it's important to say that I am so, so happy for you.

I just feel too much like Charlie.

And you've got to find me soon, because I have things to tell to you.

Well.

Daydreamin'

2010-06-14T02:29:00.000-07:00

But not too loud, cause the baby is sleepin'--
I wonder if it knows what the world is keepin'
up both sleeves while he lay there dreamin'.

Someday I will learn to censor myself. I will learn the importance of doing what you are told, acting how you are told, being what you are told. I am all too good at getting lost in what I am thinking and forgetting the rest.

Reality is becoming less and less real to me.

I don't know what I am thinking ever.
There's a disconnect between myself and I.
Tyler Durden, meet Jack's broken heart.

The first rule of Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club.

I don't know what I'm doing.

It is like living your entire life knowing a person and realizing at their wake that you never got their name.

Well.
Not really, but that is how I am thinking right now.

I don't think humans are supposed to be nocturnal.
I must be an owl.

Maybe I love you, but maybe you're immune.

7. The fights go on as long as they have to.

So I will... what.
Wait?

I will fight.

Because I think after all of this time, I have figured myself out.
So here I go.

_______, the Terrible

2010-06-12T23:11:00.000-07:00

Maybe I love you, but maybe you're immune.
Unkempt and secret and so tragically preoccupied.
I am caught between your eyes and the wall,
suspended in time like formaldehyde in your head.

Everything all the time,
but it races through my veins faster than you ever did.

Thursday.

2010-06-10T17:48:00.000-07:00

What a mess am I.

I look for omens in skinned knees and spilled coffee, but forget it all when I see you.
What does it take to stay convinced?
I am always, always, always catching myself and trying to figure it out.

I have trouble saying what I mean to, but I can use up all of everything trying to get it across.

What do I mean by anything ever?

He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out!

Why am I attracted to dangerous situations?
Why is it so hard to remind myself not to jump?
Why can't I accept things at face value?

Oh well, oh well, oh well.
Someday I'll work it out, maybe.

I think I just think too much.

{Hey, listen!}

Oops!

2010-06-07T01:54:00.000-07:00

I once kissed a boy because he was pretending to be the red Power Ranger, and I was pretending to be the pink one.

I once kissed a boy because he was pretending to be Batman, and I was pretending to be Poison Ivy.

I once kissed a boy because he was pretending to be in love with me, and I was pretending to be in love with him, too.

I once kissed a girl because she was really sad, and I promised I could make her feel better.
(It worked, too.)

I mean to say that I've kissed a lot of people in my day. I can't remember why that was significant, but it made me laugh.

Good morning, Monday.
I'm not ready for you yet. There is so much I should be doing, and even more I could be doing, and frankly I do not know where this night is heading. Someday I will learn how to accomplish the things I am supposed to when I am supposed to. Until then, happy after hours.

What is one to do when you can't remember if the dream you are having is familiar because it is actually a movie or if it's just becoming a recurring dream? I am growing tired of having deja vu while asleep. It just makes me feel uneasy and even more unsure whether reality is only happening in my head.

Oh, hello, Emergency Alert System. We meet again. The night owls of the living room. It is always a pleasure when our paths cross and you scream at me.

That's it. I'm not operating at full capacity.
I am loading up on cough drops and pulling a not-quite-all-nighter because procrastination is second nature.

Can this count as my reccomended daily dose of articulacy, Thinh?

But, baby, take a bow: my heart is going "Oops!" right now!

Creature of Habit

2010-06-06T02:01:00.000-07:00

...and creature of forgetfulness, apathy, envy, confusion.

The Reigning Queen of Mixed Messages.

But, hey, it's alright! It's okay. I just keep it to myself.

Who am I to say anything about anyone, let alone me? A vast majority of the time, I have no idea what I am thinking, what I am feeling. I keep myself from falling asleep at night trying so desperately to figure out how one would tie a necktie out of paper. I wonder if you will marry her and if I will marry him or if marriage is even a thought I would like to entertain.

All too frequently, I am not in control of my thoughts.

Schizophrenia is only 50% inheritable after all, Sam.

Did you know that I was born with a heart murmur?
Yeah, me neither.

Oh well, though.

I am a professional at moving on and changing my mind and who knows when it will finally stop? And then I think about it,

...and I realize I don't want my mind to stop changing. I don't mind tying up loose ends every time my heart forgets to close the door. I don't mind spending weeks thinking up a storm and pulling the rug out from under myself. (and yet I still can't do cartwheels.) I don't mind floating. That is what I am good at.

Floating and lion-yawning and falling.
{I am very good at falling.}

I am just scared that I will always look before I jump.
That I will never really ask advice for the advice, just permission to do what I knew I should've.

There is always something.

Right?
Right you are!

For now, ambiguity is all that I can muster, but I am brimming with specifics.

Someday,
I will find another something stupid to say, and I will scream it with all of everything I have ever known behind it.

I just don't know yet.
I'm just sitting on the shelf.

(angst!)

This is it.

2009-09-08T22:09:00.000-07:00

This is how my brain works at ten o'clock at night.

This is proof that I should learn to go to bed earlier, wake up earlier, work on my insomnia.

This is only a halfhearted post; the Office is on.

This is a reference to the things we've all forgotten, the things we'll come to love.

This is a memory of seventh grade, when Mr. Jeffers' stapler was Jello'd.

This is a reminder to finish playing Portal, if only so I can say that
the cake is a lie!

This is the commercial I love.

This is a hangnail, a scratch, a bruise, and a stained shirt from where I fell on my bike out of the blue. (I think the ghost of Ayn Rand is after me.)

This is me. And, most likely, this is you, too.

This is the last day of Summer Vacation.

This is the beginning of a very strange adventure.

This is my chance, and I am taking it.

This is my blog, and I feel terrible that it sits here growing dusty in this corner of the intertubes.

(That was a reference to an incorrect reference. Did you catch it?)

This is it, my friends.

This is high school.

This is the oldest we've ever been.

And this is going to be insane.

This is a warning: please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times, because it is not slowing down, and there is no getting off from here on out.

This is scary. But, still, this is really exciting.

This is the first blogpost by a freshman,

and that is a little bit wonderful.

I Don't Know Couplets

2009-07-29T22:55:00.000-07:00

It is too hot to think.
It is too hot to even consider thinking.

I wish you weren't at camp.
I wish you weren't at camp, either.

(Way to conspire against me, you guys.)

I feel like the only important things I have to say
really aren't that important.

First, The Office is coming to Fox.
Er, PDXTV, or whatever channel 13 actually is.

Second, the new Hobocation videos cracked me up.
Okay, so maybe that was rather important.

Also, it is too hot for eloquence, and my only deep thoughts come in the middle of my underwater treks.
Forgive me; I'll make it up when it's not 85 degrees and nearly midnight.

I promise.

Aquanaut!

2009-07-12T22:39:00.000-07:00

Stop.
Breathe; breathe; breathe; go.

Throw your arms out to keep your head from hitting.
Straight up and down; kick your feet up and over your head.
Tuck your knees in, curl them towards your chest.
Let gravity take over.
Pick up your hands, rotate them a whole circle.
Feel your stomach breach the water; arch your back.
Spin; spin; spin; stop.

Hold your head back, unclench your jaw, open your eyes as you come up for air.

Wait.
Wait for your lungs to realize that you can breathe again.
Wait for your head to stop spinning.
Wait for your eyes to readjust.
Wait.

Breathe; breathe; breathe; GO!

(I taught myself to do underwater somersaults yesterday. Forward and back. :D Let's go swimming.)

Before I Fall Asleep

2009-07-08T22:50:00.000-07:00

Wow, I don't know when I took up wringing my hands, but that's what I've been doing for the past three minutes.

It is officially late. And not "late" as in, the late Dentarthurdent, but in the more literal sense, as in, "well, I'll be. It's very nearly morning, now."

I am all over the place, right now. And, I just learned, there is a London based "indie-rock" band whose music "oozes raw passion and conviction" and is named REDINGER. I think their definition of indie-rock is a tad different than mine, 'cause their guitar riffs and gritty vocals aren't so much on the same wavelength as, say, this definition.

Why don't I feel as old as I am? Why am I so young? I swear that I was thirty-five seven years ago.

I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for everything that has ever happened to you, and everything that ever will happen to you. I hope you learn to regret nothing sooner or later, and please, please give up the idea of social norms. Wear your bunny slippers to school. Chug Sunny-D in front of your principal. Embrace embarrassment, because you will learn more in those moments of honest emotion and realizations that there is no way to get out of this mess than you will from the most highly recommended lecturer. Experience. Knowing what it's like to break the rules and get away with it, and do everything right and have it come crashing down on you.

That's what it's all about.

(for now.)

Juggernauts!

2009-05-31T17:07:00.000-07:00

Consistency is not a virtue I possess, apparently.
I suppose, though, that if you can still put up with me, it's alright.

On a different note:

Dear Lexi,

I don't really know how to tell you this, but you're a leprechaun, I'm joining the Convent, and the mafia wants you. I think I realized it [all] when I threw up in your sock drawer in your closet and I saw you sit on my kneecaps and your My Little Pony collection [at the same time]. I'm sure you're cowardly enough to understand how awful you are. I'm returning your toe-ring to you, but I'll keep your collection of butterflies as a memory. You should also know that I get sick when I think of your feet and the apartment building is on fire.

Greetings to Sir Reginald,
Sam

A majority of the content in that letter was pulled from an outline-survey-like thing.
I kind of dig it, though.
(Sorry it's a little scathing, Lexi, m'dear.)

Can I ask you a favor?
Tell me something monumentally important to you that other people may see as inconsequential. That, or write me a brief letter explaining about something that reminds you of something else.
(It's not vague, it's open-ended. :D)
In turn, I'll promise to write sometimes.

--Samrrr.

(PS, I know this is a sorry excuse for a blog post. It's May 31st, is all, and I wanted to get something down for May.)

(PPS, did you ever figure out the second anagram?)

Bawdiest, Timely Hope; I'm Steel With...

2009-03-24T19:16:00.001-07:00

Man, I feel like I'm breaking a record, writing three times in one month like this.

My mom is in the ER right now.
It's nothing too serious.
Isn't that a horrible phrase? It's like, So because I'm not dying because of it, it's not to be taken seriously? My injury's just kidding around with us?
Her pinky got twisted. She didn't tell anyone else that she was going to the ER. I had to explain. Not only that, she never told me which hospital she was going to.

Quick thinking, Sam. Let's let her leave the house without knowing exactly where she's going, injured.

Isn't it strange how other people's moods become your own when you're around them?

I worry sometimes. That's something you should know.

I worry about car wrecks, and improbability drives, and deep water, and suffocation. I worry about DKA, and all of those other sometimes-applicable acronyms. I worry about fires and floods and pollution. I worry about running out of time. I worry about not being able to give you your card back someday. I worry about emotions. I worry about people. I worry about you, sometimes. I worry about arsenic and carbon monoxide. I worry about the effect I've had on people before. I worry about poisonous spiders and moldering window frames. I worry about losing people, even though I know that's something I will have to come to terms with. I worry about teeth. I worry about dizziness and offense and eyes. Mine, yours, theirs.

I want to make a film. All I know is that there will be a piece of dialogue that goes like this:

"WATCH OUT FOR THE CRABS ON THE FLOOR!"
"On the floor?"
"Yes, on the floor! Keep your feet off of it."
"Wait.. wait a second. Isn't this the door we came in?"
"No, dear. We came in through the bathroom window. What do you think?"
"I think that this orchestra plucks their instruments in such a way that would make me think this was all planned."
"What do you think?"

Maybe I'll animate it, or something. (Did you catch that one? It was hard for me not to put that here. :D) I'm considering starfish on the ceiling. Who knows?

I have been forgetting things lately. That's something else I worry about, but I think you know that by now. I'm a little concerned. No, I'm more than a little concerned. I'll figure it out, though. I know I will.

How many times a day do I say the stupid word "I"?

Who is Gideon, Anyway?

2009-03-22T21:57:00.000-07:00

I really got old this last year.
I've realized quite how strange it is to feel yourself growing up, and changing.
Particularly in thoughts and analysis.
I don't find silence awkward.
I don't find many things awkward.
I think it is weird that we as a culture halt expression midway because we are uncomfortable with the way it sounds.

I'm not like that.

I hate it when people apologize for opening up to me.
What else am I here for, you guys?
Certainly not to criticize, demoralize, capsize, baptize, canonize, immunize, dehumanize, scrutinize, synthesize, nor solarize (because I trust you know where your Sun is).
I am here to listen, alright?
Don't apologize for letting me know about you.
And don't apologize for letting me remember.
All of life is memory, on occasion, and I'd rather not forget.

...I think that's it.

Paraskavedekatriaphobic?

2009-03-12T16:48:00.000-07:00

No, sir, I am not scared of Friday the 13th!

(In fact, I think of it as a holiday. That's just me, though.)

Lately, I have been thinking alot about self-analysis and the like.

Why is it alright to introduce yourself with singular words of candid value?

"Ladies, can you spare any change? Sixteen, pregnant, homeless."

It feels like you are allowing people to view you as a simplistic person and giving them the limits into which you'll fit. No one can understand your life story in three adjectives. People are complex, whether they acknowledge it or not! Individuality and lack thereof contributes to the content of our biographies. It is up to us to make sure that they are worth reading; twice, even!
Right now, it is 4:42 p.m., March 12, 2009.

Let it Be, by the Beatles is playing.

This is a snapshot of my existence,

and I am happy.

Why shouldn't I be?

Why shouldn't you be?

There is nothing holding anyone back but the limitations they place upon themselves.

Ban inhibition! No day but today.

January's Belligerence

2009-01-17T19:46:00.000-08:00

Great, young, female minds think too much alike, and it makes me wish I were more assertive. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired, to quote a very intelligent individual, and quite frankly I am finished with uncertainty. I say this so often, but I just can't express well enough how ready I am for clarity. Human compassion makes up for it, though. :) Psychology textbooks are exciting. I'll post something better soon, I promise. (I made this image on the right in MS Paint.)

Up, Up, Up With Those Thoughts of Yours!

2008-12-22T19:04:00.000-08:00

Your cat will sneeze, your father will have his plane cancelled and be stuck in Las Vegas for your birthday and Christmas, your mother will have you coming up with psychological philosophies to calm her frayed wits, your television will play the film Sinbad after your unexpected recollection of it not two days hence, you will finish The Phantom Tollbooth, finally, and not remember hardly a thing from when it was read to you in third or fourth grade, your blogs will start rambling like passages from Catch-22, and you will drink green tea while wondering about self image, and yet you still would not have figured out -completely- what it is you plan to do with yourself through the rest of your expected existence. Will you traverse the Alaskan wilderness, aspiring to some great fate by achieving what that young man couldn't, all the while publicizing and smashing all of his ideals to the ground? Well, let's hope you'll have more empathy and courtesy, not to mention common sense, than that. Will you spend your time with a sniffly nose, writing blog posts in the third person that sound oddly pretentious and curt? More likely, but not anymore. You will be the kind of being that learns from her stupid actions, dissects children's literature and applies it to great classics, who burns the journals full up of false angst and emotion that she truly believed was there, but realized, in a flurry of real, unusally grounded emotion, were not. You will sound nothing like anyone else, but surreally like everyone you have never known. You will read magazines, but will not take to heart everything you read. You will understand the limits on low self esteem, and remind yourself of the things you've been telling yourself since you can remember (oddly enough with no real prompting apparent) and believe them. You will vocalize your opinions, and keep to yourself. You will think your thoughts with confidence and clarity, and keep in mind those absurdly real and intelligent dreams you had as an infant, wondering why and how they came to be. You will sneeze. It will snow. You will wear one bright, fuzzy orange sock because the other was upstairs and you weren't. And you will not question the punctuation of that last sentence. You will stop having those really weird headaches, and will have with more frequency those epiphanies that make the rest of this world seem blurred. You will keep your vocabulary, and learn how to apologize and not sound insincere. You will say "and" much less, learning sentence structure a little better. Your cat will sleep next to you on a fairy blanket handmade by someone you are related to but never knew, and remember, hazily, the concerts at that college you took it to, back before the divorce. You will learn more about yourself than you ever thought you could learn. And you will remain consientiously spontaneous. You will look, leap, look once more, and laugh. You will watch Yo Gabba Gabba! and think of all of your favorite songs that you don't really recall. You will take theatre, and you will take visual art, and you will sing always. You will find someone who will always sing with you, and mean it. You will learn to let go. It will be tough, but they all believe in you, girl. So go now, writer. Go and get ready to turn fourteen. Because it very well may be the final time you ever get to do so while your middle name is Haley. Go do it, because you know you can.

Erinaceous:

2008-12-03T18:04:00.000-08:00

er•i•na•ceous [er-uh-ney-shuhs] a. like, or characteristic of, a hedgehog.

I thought you might enjoy that. I sometimes wonder if I'll get to tell someone that they look "very erinaceous today," and have them think that my nonchalant use of such an unheard of word was a compliment. But really, I'll be calling them a porcupine. :D I don't know, though, I'm usually not that mean. Out loud, anyway. You'll have to help me look for someone to say that to.

Do you know who Alexander Supertramp is? Are you sure?
Because his real name is Chris McCandless, and I really wish I could have known him. He was right around my neck of the woods, too- just the wrong decade entirely.

I wonder if his chosen pseudonym had anything to do with the UK band, Supertramp.

But seriously, if you haven't, and you have a fairly open mind, you should read Into the Wild, by John Krakauer.

Oh, boy. I love Christmas Music. Don't get me wrong: I'd probably love Kwanzaa music too if I heard any. It's all so cheery. Except for Do You Hear What I Hear?. The movie Gremlins kind of ruined that for me.

:D

The Movement You Need Is On Your Shoulders...

2008-11-16T15:44:00.000-08:00

And, no, I don't think he's talking about parrots. Did you know that Paul's mother was named Mary? It kind of makes you think more about the lyrics in Let it Be. Who would've thought that only two months after school started, life would change dramatically? In sixth grade, I never realized that the eighth graders were quite so young. But, they always seem to have drama, don't they? This year has been no exception. I'm just ready to be fourteen. I know that I can't slow down my aging, and so why not live in the moment? I sound a little incredulous, what with all of these rhetorical questions. :D I cannot believe quite how much I have changed as an individual since sixth grade. I don't even remember half of the things I found unbearably funny back then, and I know for a fact that so many of my mannerisms are different. How short were we? It seems like each year, the little guys get shorter and shorter.

How come my hands seem more elegant when they're cold?
Why does romance work the way it does?
Will you go on a midnight adventure with me?
Why do our freckles have to be perfectly alligned? That was not fair, universe.
What do you mean, things will work out?
What if we've already messed things up beyond repair?
Who is that poem really about?
Is it bad that I'm confused by myself?
Why do I remember the things that I do?

The Signifigance of Fogged Up Car Windows

2008-10-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

A couple days ago, I managed to come up with this fact- every time I write someones name on a foggy car window, the relationship just.. stops. Which really threw into perspective how entirely temporary everything is during adolescence. I wonder if this phenomenon has anything to say metaphorically, or if I've just created a jinx for myself. It's almost a pull- something in me is discomforted by that blank window. If I can't see out, why not replace the image with a familiar name? My comrade, Miss Jones, mentioned that my theory has a flaw. There is always the return of the characters upon the next steam-up. For me, though, that never happens. So, I suppose it can be said, in the case of this peculiar individual, that when the writing on the window doesn't return, prepare for something strange. How funny does that sound? Hmm.

"No, this is how it works

You peer inside yourself

You take the things you like

And try to love the things you took

And then you take that love you made

And stick it into some

Someone else's heart

Pumping someone else's blood

And walking arm in arm

You hope it don't get harmed

But even if it does

You'll just do it all again"

Thank you, Ms. Spektor.

Notes on Existence

2008-08-30T18:58:00.000-07:00

It has occured to me recently (being when I touched the keyboard to begin this post) that my life has been ingeniously thought out by whomever wrote the transcript. Kudos, anonymous author. These coincidences that keep popping up are starting to seem less and less like coincidences, and more like well written twists in the plot. And, if anyone would like to venture an answer, why do I notice the things I do? I feel like in particular moments I pay more attention to the universe than anyone else in this entire planetary mass! How absurd a notion, right? Oh well, that's the way my brain works. Someday, maybe in my last hour, I hope I will meet the author who made this all up, and have a long, clarifying conversation in which I'll pose questions like, "Why Christmas Eve? Was that supposed to tie in to my realistic views of and on religion?" and, "What was this all for, anyway?" For now, while we remain partial strangers, I have only this to say; please keep throwing in those clever little pieces of harmonics. I promise I'll do my best to keep trying and failing at disecting the whole meaning of my humanoid existence, so long as you promise to never lose your muse and keep your reader -and your protaganist- on their toes.

The Nihilarian Speaks

2008-08-22T11:01:00.000-07:00

I cannot even believe how harmonically intune my life is to the universe. Forgive me for however prententious or obvious or even nonsensical that sounds; I happen to pay attention to more things than it's worth. And isn't it kind of silly that experiences people "clue you in on" are often much different than forewarned? But, wouldn't life be less of an adventure if you knew exactly what to expect, and where it's going to strike? Despite my slight eremiticism I enjoy spontaneity (and knowing how to spell it :D).

I'm so strange.

I've never died my hair; never left the continent; I've eaten a yogurt covered cricket; I have a strange affinity for stuffed animals; I love narwhals; I have a comic book collection; I will own all 20 of the care bears comics; I read more often than anyone probably should; I buy a bunch of fabric and tend to never use it; I've really only swam in one ocean, I'll let you guess which; (insert some more only halfway interesting things about me here) and I'm very good at guessing things.

"The only dream worth having is to dream that you will live while you are alive, and die only when you are dead. To love, to be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of the life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget." - Arundhati Roy

Procrastination..

2008-08-15T13:54:00.000-07:00

There's less than three weeks left before school begins, and I've yet to begin my summer assignment. This whole thing is quite silly, seeing as it's journaling prompts, which I enjoy. Yet for some strange reason (I'm thinking lack of motives, maybe.), I just can't even fathom my sitting down and doing them. With any luck, they will someday come up with an antidote to lethargy. For now, though, the impending due date and threatened GPA will have to suffice.

Dear You,

Let's have a metaphysical conversation, and work little smidgens of our growing knowledge of psychology in it. We can stay up all night discussing the concept of behind, and whether that rubber duckie really was eavesdropping on us, and in the morning, I'll make us french toast with nutella. Then, we'll have adventures walking along Burnt Bridge Creek, and laugh when we associate the seemingly deserted farmhouse with Beatrix Potter. I'll explain to you that place I remember being so long ago, and you'll tell me you thought you were somewhere similar one time when you didn't remember you were an infant. As the afternoon winds down, you can teach me how to ride a bike while listening to my collection of songs from bands neither of us have ever heard of. Next, I'll confide in you that most of my childhood memories seem like hallucinations, and we'll spend the rest of the night guessing why. Before the sun rises, though, we'll walk around my neighborhood eating Root Beer popsicles and converse on whether drugs should be legal, and alcohol illegal. We'll make our way back sometime around seven a.m., and just as we fall asleep, my polydactyl cat will come downstairs and fall asleep on your face. What do you say?

Sincerely, Me

One Spectacular Entrance!

2008-08-12T16:25:00.000-07:00

Sam has arrived on blogspot! And she's blaming this whole ordeal on you guys. I mean, really, it's not like I ever update, let alone visit my website, and what with you all cranking out blogs left and right-- I figured my blogs shouldn't stay confined to my myspace account. (Again, mostly because none of you have myspaces. Come on! And for those of you who do, that was -obviously- not directed at you. You know how things go, it's confusing when half of your people are on myspace and facebook, and the others are.. internet hermits, shall we say?) Hmm. Oh well, I'm here to stay now, so we might as well get used to it, eh? For those of you who -gasp!- don't know me, I'm a minor whose mind is going non-stop. I've had more life experiences then you would expect from most adolescents, and I have a growing journal of everything I want to do in my life. I swim alot, and like to run. I dislike participating in most sports, and find them quite unpractical, if rude. I'll go to your soccer/ basketball/ track meets, though, and cheer you on louder than anyone else on the entire field. I like art, in practically every sense of the word.

Now you know more about me-- tell me some things about you.