Why didn't anyone tell me it was so beautiful out here?
I didn't know I would meet up with him, the baffalo with the blocked out eyes. One for each socket and it made them look like they were on fire and it made him look real, and it made him look blind. He was carved out of blue and I could see the fingers still pressing on the stone that transformed him to that. SUch luck I should find him when there were so many others just like him lined up against the wall. But he found me, the one with the expressions jammed into his eyes.
- Location:On the tip of someone's tongue
- Mood:
annoyed
I said crazy and you reinterpreted it as dead. Funny how those things turn out.
Every day I get more and more excited to leave. I would do almost anything for it at this point.
I have my happy times here. But I need to be there.
Sometimes when I'm drunk I laugh about my own little private moments. I laugh at what means nothing to anyone else. I see myself on a crowded street or in a salon or in that room and it fills me with a joy. Fills me like moonlight fills up the ocean in spring.
I think I lost a little part of you last night, something into thin air. I still know what to say to you and I still know what you're thinking, but it begins to matter less. You sat there and everyone flowed around you, melting light forms, distorting you and absorbing you until you fell into their gloss and curls, yellows and red and blues mixing and rising and churning. You knew what to say to make you feel important and something opened between us as your desire took over. Where are the days of our universe?
California, Australia, the backside of your eyeballs, the dark side of the moon. What kind of footprints have they left back there?
Last night was a replay from before, it was a replay of the future. When you go out I hope you come back with more. When you go out I hope you come back with a ghost, I hope you come back with the little building blocks of you. When you come back I hope you do with more than just names. When you go out I hope you get lost and never come back as who you are today.
I hope it rains today over suburbia and we all forget.
- Mood:Merh
- Music:Death In Vegas: Contino Sessions
The day you told me we rode the train around for about an hour, just to ride it. I felt my heart turn to lead and could feel bricks tumbling around in my head like a city was falling down slowly. At some point we started bringing up what we were, displayed right before us but so long ago. At some point I started crying, but I tried crying into your shoulder because I couldn't stand to embarrass myself in public like that. No one looks at each other on the train anyways.
At some point you got off to go home. I rode back by myself, letting little pieces of myself flow out through the window into the city lights. When I got back to my car, at some point I was sitting at a green light but was too drowned inside to know it. They honked at me, and I realized I had left something with you.
We met back up at a station, half way between you and I. I tried so damn hard to smile, I really really did. The train lights, horns and sirens and smoke and flattened gum and buzzing tracks and gasoline. I didn't need what I went to get. I got back on the train alone and you thought everything was ok.
The day I told you that you were loosing this rib we sat in the grass next to the train tracks. Elapsed over time we lay and we turned and we pressed against one another and we sat and our legs folded and unfolded and hands nervously twitched. Trains passed by at high speeds and everyone else went somewhere. My heels dug into the earth and the sun went down and the lights all came on and we left. I cried on the train again, and so did you. We were a mess. We kissed and then you were outside the windows, out of the door, waving to me, your nose red and I was speeding away in a lite compartment with strangers watching this intimate surgery unfold. I checked myself in my compact and I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I clicked all the way to the laughing liquor cabinet of my friends and forgot about you for then as I fell into someone else's arms.
The morning of the first day I stole a few more swallows before getting on the train alone again. Then it hit me like a tidal wave and in the soft early glow I was bawling with no one to listen but that damn window. I couldn't hear a thing. I couldn't stop. The train was shaking back and forth on the tracks and I was in a strange land heading towards the sun. The conductor came over to ask if I was alright; what was I supposed to say?
The day I realized I was free I sat on the steps inside the speeding car. The sun set red and I dreamed I was seeing it from South Africa, perched atop an exotic tree. I would travel the world by myself, and no one could ever decide what I would do. I would always be alone, but never lonely. I would have control over myself, and I smiled at me through the reflection of the city lights.
Then there you were that night. I came outside and there were throngs of people, seas of them, galaxies, they were all swimming inside my head and I was swimming in them, but as they flowed by in blurs you stayed still from across the street. Your face was like ash on concrete, like the dead eyes of a bird. I didn't want to, but I found myself next to you, and then leading you, and then we were on a bus together. I don't know how we got there. I don't know when I fell back into the seat besides you, when I fell onto you, or what was said. At some point we looked at each other and everything else was gone. Nothing existed besides your eyes. You said you were sure, and at some point I found myself on a deserted street holding your hand and overcome by a familiar embrace.
Today when I came into work I was told there were two cards to sign. A co-worker had had a baby. I looked the card over, then wrote "Congratulations. Enjoy the best gift of your life." I wonder what kind of father he will be. He rides a motorcycle and is pro-brute force. And now he has a little girl.
The other was for one of our clients whose wife had passed away. She was diagnosed with cancer about 2 months ago. No one knew she would be gone so soon. I looked the card over; everyone had written the exact same thing, "So sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you." They didn't even bother to try and re-word it. I thought a moment and then copied down what everyone else had put.
[He always writes with several colors of chalk. He wears black pants and wipes his hands on them so that he has dusty fingers grabbing at his legs. The sound the chalk makes as he writes is a comforting click, glass upon glass. His fingertips must be dry as hell. I often imagine his lungs filled with yellow chalk dust, flowing in like sand into an hour glass. He laughs nervously and re-explains himself. He sees that everyone else is sleeping or off in space - their space, not his - and trails off pathetically, rescuing himself with a new diagram of the same thing. He brings a zipp-lock bag of double-bubble to class - the sound of him chewing it is like whispering in a library, like seeing a fast-food commercial. He says it again. He reminds me so much of my father; there are really only 5 people in the world. I want to hug him and listen to his life, I want him to matter to someone, I want someone to understand him, but I fear he is lost forever.]
You often make me feel like a bull dog. Ugly, wrinkly. Those things aren't even meant to live, they can't even physically give birth. Their heart doesn't work right and they can barely breathe. Waddling around with their faces smashed in, they see the world, a life that was never meant to live.
- Location:The Moon
I washed your cum off my sheets.
I stacked the painting you did and our prom pictures in the closet.
After sleeping in I skipped my second class as well to go shopping. I bought all the pretty dresses that you would have told me that you liked "except for the buttons" or "the cut of the sleeve". It was always about criticizing a little something on them.
The other night I went out with an old friend from high school who literally has a heart made of pure gold. He bought me dinner and we watched an old movie, but really he tickled me through the whole thing and kept getting closer. I wanted to collapse into him like a beaten puppy and have him hold me like you used to. There is no one left to feel safe with like that.
I threw out your tooth brush and razor.
I toy with the idea in my head of falling into such an emotional coma I don't eat for weeks. In my state I become like those Vogue ladies, but then in my weakened condition catch swine flu and die. It's a lovely progression really.
I can't even look at those Vogue ladies. I can't look at any girl without wondering if you would pick her to fuck. I don't know who it is that's making you hard these days and the feeling is something like a moving crew put my stomach where my brain should be and left without me signing the receipt.
I watched the water and soap bubbles swirl around the drain for a good three minutes. They morphed from the glassy milky way to a lacy ballarina to an angry tornado.
After mankind had been destroyed I washed the conditioner out of my hair.
You would have liked the movie we watched. I've been having conversations I want to tell you about, you would think that they were funny.
I'm deleting all the god damn Beatles off my iPod.
I toyed with the idea of burning your letters, but I don't hate you. I just can't think about you.
Except that's all I think about.
I'm wearing fishnets the next time I see you and I hope it makes you crazy.
In my nervous wreck I went into buy some cigarettes, but realized I had no idea where my ID was. I had tucked it into my bra that night at the club and started to freak out when I imagined it lost on the dance floor. Then I realized you had ripped my bra off in passion in the back seat of my car. That was the night before we broke up. I found my ID buried underneth seat with old beers cans, crinkled papers and decaying debris.
You said you'd still text me good morning and good night. I haven't heard from you since the morning after. Guess you're having fun already.
I was told today that I was an 11, on a scale to 10. I was told I was beautiful. I got stares. But they were from strangers. What does that matter if it's not you?
I have a fuck-buddy date already. I wish the thought of me with him made you sick, but I asked, you don't care.
Oh baby, aren't we so in love.
I'm so glad I don't have to cough up some noise called laughter when I'm with you and your friends. I didn't like a single one of them.
I went to my bank once with you and I went to that club with you three times and we once got drunk in the back yard and I've shown you all my favorite movies but one and once we stopped at the gas station down the street and once we fucked in a campus parking lot and I drove on I-25 a million times, from Paris to New York, my house to yours, and once we went to Target after I got back from Japan, we once went to the zoo and we once pick-nicked in the mall and you camped with me and you were in the city with me. I can't run to anywhere that's somewhere we haven't been.
I want my books back.
I'm gunna learn piano on my own.
And everyone else wants me but you.
I'm gunna go far babe, and I'll blow you a ruby red kiss from the other side of the world under an aching sky, under a crimson umbrella, I'll remember you fondly.
- Mood:
blank - Music:The Jesus and Mary Chain
On the other side of the world, someone is taking a bus. Someone is crossing the street. Someone is buying a drink. Someone is driving and someone is sleeping and someone is talking and someone is dying.
If you breathe out the softness of our skin
If you break the softness of our words
Hard enough to be swimming
Inside the currents of what you don't know
We might be lost
We might be someone else
We might be each other
We might travel space and time together
Wasting years
But we would never really be together
If you wishper in my ear
If you press up against me
Hard enough to make me fall
Inside of myself
We might spend a moment
We might think of each other
We might think of the ocean and the clouds and the horizon
Wasting time
But you would think we were together
There is no mystery left, my dear splinter in my eye, my dear broken glass in the sun,
I hate everyone you like and I can't laugh at what they say when I want to so you can smile too
I can't pretend that I'm having fun and I can't make you stop thinking that I'm not
I can't swallow fast enough
I can't suck enough tears in to exude life
In the perpetual motion of a snake
In the perpetual motion of a worm
Well, what have you got to say?
What have you got to do?
And where will I be when you stop playing
And look up to see I am ten years older
To see I have peeled away feeling
I'll have to try the real thing
And hope I don't choke
I'll have to try telling the truth
And being me
I'll have to hide behind a mask
And hope you don't notice the fee
I just don't care
I don't care
If that is the only moment we are alone
I want it now because it's all I have
I don't want it ever because it's all I'll ever have
I don't know who I fell in love with anymore and you don't know me
Keep on swimming
Keep on smiling till it fills my mouth
Keep kicking as I'm pinned down
Keep speaking till my lungs turn black
And you know you don't know me anymore
Someday I'll be back crossing the street with strangers
and eating my meals with nervouse looks
I'll be calling out the names of all the faces that looks likes ones I know
But they're not.....there are really only 5 differnt people in this world.
And you're not one of them.
It is entirely possible.
Not hard at all.
I can see it now, blinking on the side of the road as you come down I-70.
Oh the places you'll see, kid.
I think I'll do it.
I really think I'll do it.
It's the trip I want, with an actual purpose, and instead of needing finances, I'm making money.
3 million Americans do it.
Driving School.
Tests.
And a hat.
I need a hat.
6 to 8 weeks after you get your certification of living on the road with someone.
And then you're on your own, to think about whatever you want for 2,000 miles of uncharted territory - to you it is at least. Everything is new. It's like filling in blank spaces with colored pencils; all that area was perviously blank in your mind, but now it means something.
I would eat sandwiches and french fries off the dashboard.
I would write in hotel rooms.
I would write so much. I would write about the people and the signs and the climate and the universe.
I would listen to every album I never had time to before.
My fingernails would be short and unpainted and black underneath. My knuckles would freeze as I put chains on the tires.
My hair would grow a beard since my chin can't.
I wouldn't wear mascara for weeks and I would all of a sudden have muscles.
I could drive around and not care where it was that I was headed to (although the company would....)
Everyone I met would be another cardboard figure moving down the rail, they would smile or hit me or ignore me, it wouldn't really matter, because the next morning I would be drinking bad coffee as the sun rose all misty orange and pink as I checked the wheels and the breaks.
I would become part of a culture that I don't belong to.
And god would I take a lot of pictures. Somanypictures.
What else am I going to tell my children I did?
- Location:Not in that truck yet
- Mood:Exuberant
They still don't know anything more about the Bermuda Triangle.
Atlantis probably never existed.
Betty Davis, Bette Davis, and the nervous one with the big red smile.
Whipped creme and apricot jelly are a quest on crutches.
When I dream, I dream in Japanese.
Although the night before last someone tried to kill me there. It was rainy and everything was blue and grey and it got all bloody at the end when someone lost a hand climbing through the window.
She tells me about the Perseid Showers. I can hear them twinkling through the atmosphere, hear the wool blanket rustle below her and the leaves sing as she lays there thinking, Wow, this kind of stuff must just be how it is out here, this stuff must happen all the time. She is young and there are still so many things to happen.
She is older and watches from the roof of her house with her husband of ten years. He didn't want to come up, but now they lay drinking champagne - I can hear the fizz and the grate of the tiles against their backs. This is special, this doesn't happen all the time, let's enjoy it sweetie.
Now she gets tired, now her new husband is sick, now other things come first and it gets pushed out of the way.
Now I am not much older when she thought that magic happened all the time out here, that the bells of the silver streaking the sky came every night. I can feel myself making the same memories, being in those situations and feeling the experiences are mine. But I felt as if her memories could have been mine. Anyone's could be.
I will go off and make the same memories as everyone else.
Maybe that's what makes a good novel. To write about stuff everyone knows about, that they all have a collective memory of.
Maybe that's why there are so many novels on the loss of innocence.
- Location:Infront of the tv
- Mood:awake
Her father passed away about two years ago. For generations her family line has lived on the same farm - in fact her father was born and died in that same house. They have been there since, some while back, someones great-great somebody imigrated from Germany. It was that kind of family, traditional, structured, well-kept behind walls, so it was never really an option to get a divorce when her mom and her dad realized they no longer loved each other. If they ever had. They stayed together and just tried to make the best of what they had. After he passed away, she didn't really know what to do, being now 81 and never having been without a man before. About 6 months later she was at her friends' 80th birthday party, and her friend introduced her to a man. They talked a while and it turned out they had dated when they were 17, but never really had closure because he had broken up with her when he want off to war. But apparently they hit it off great, and feel completly in love, and are both the happiest they have been since they were probablly about 25. To think, now, at the end of their lives they stumble upon the love of it. I just don't really know what to make of it all. I don't know if I should smile and appluade them for the whole matter, or if I should cry.
- Location:Inside your heart
- Mood:
calm - Music:|Pictures of You| The Last Goodnight
Little solace comes
to those who grieve
when thoughts keep drifting
as walls keep shifting
and this great blue world of ours
seems a house of leaves
moments before the wind
- Mood:
sick - Music:|Hold Me Down| Motion City Soundtrack
While talking with the jeweler, my Mom decided to get the synthetic emerald instead of the real one because it was more durable.
On the way home she felt the need to explain to me that she did not to that because she was cheep, but for other reasons. But the way she said it struck me funny.
"So you know what a synthetic one is, right?"
"It's fake."
"Basically....but not exactly. It is made of the same things as a real one. You see, man takes all of the elements that would make it up in nature and make the jewel themselves. It's much faster. When mother nature makes it, the stone comes with many imperfections. Things are buried inside of it that will shatter it apart. So, the fake ones are much better. They are perfect, they will hold up."
Maybe you had to be there...but it sounds a lot like...well, I don't even know how to put it. But when things are natural and real, they are not perfect. And things, lovers, friends, whatever, get under their skin with the potential to shatter them. But then there is man, trying to make this in a lab, and make it perfect. No imperfections.
And the idea of a gem - something to beautiful. But they are nothing really. A polished rock you could say, right? Something there just to look at. They need to be perfect. But can anything ever really be perfect like that?
It just seemed to apply to something else entirely different....
- Mood:
hopeful - Music:|Disease| Matchbox Twenty
Basically....we are doing satire in English. It's that simple. So we had to produce some kind there of over the weekend. And here is what I came up with. Just got done with it, but not because I was procrastonating it....
Me and my friend did something...creative. Out of bordom? Probablly.
We were on the phone earlier, and then I was like, "Oh crap, I gatta do my satire. I know I will satirize dieting and all that crap, but what kind of story will I have? I have no idea where it will go."
Five minutes later we had this - three conartists, Forty-two, Seventy-three, and Twelve. They run Le Doughnut Shoppe (spelled just like that), and are telling people that doughnuts will make them skinny. That's enough to go off for me, so I begin to write. And so does she. Why? How am I suppose to know? But it was still awesome. So we are both working off the same topic, with the same charecters, but I find it funny how they came out. We also started out with the same first few lines.
Personally, I like her's much better, especially how Twelve turned out for her.
I feel my ending was a little forced, but hell, it was only midnight.
Anyways, read if you want. Feed-back will mean nothing since I am turning it in tomorrw morning. But leave it if you want, because if you read it you might as well.
- Mood:
bored - Music:|The Reason| Hoobastank
I find Danielewski's work amazing. I find myself getting lost in his writting, not knowing a lot of the times what he is talking about any longer, but rather finding myself basking in a wonderful mental image, although of a million differnt things.
So I thought I would share two parts I found particuallarly beautiful.
( Two Passages )
- Mood: that my foot is asleep
- Music:|Bite the Hand That Feeds| Nine Inch Nails
I propped my hand against the window, gazing out at the cloud-dotted sky above.
Another long day had passed. I was exhausted, and could feel a headache coming on.
But it was OK, because I was almost home.
I heard the turn signal click on in front of me, and then the car came to a sudden stop, jerking me a little. I looked up to see a long line of cars spread out in front of us, and before them a glaring red light. But I was still very close to home. Just a few more turns.
The car sputtered and started moving once more, and I looked back out the window at the passing trees and drifting clouds that cast shadows on the earth.
A left turn and I changed songs on my iPod. A depressing song, now that I think about it. A haunting song with a soft background that played in my head as we finally pulled into the drive way.
"Bye. Have a good day! We'll see you tomorrow."
I gave a small, insincere smile and murmured my thanks to the driver, grabbing my bag in one hand and the heavy book in the other. I swung the door shut and the massively heavy bag onto my shoulder at the same time, and then started up the walk.
The wheels crunched gravel as the vehicle backed away, the gas roaring as they hurried back down the road, leaving me alone. As I ascended the steps I saw a thin brown package awaiting me at the top, right by the door.
As I got closer I read who it was addressed to; me. I picked it up, feeling the weight - unusually heavy. Curious, I wrenched open the front door and hurried inside, dropping my bag and shoes, along with the heavy textbook, near the welcome mat.
Grabbing a knife I seated my self at the table and proceeded to rip the package apart until the contents were revealed.
As I saw what lay inside my breath came up short. With weak hands I lifted it out of the cardboard massacre, holding it closer to the light.
A book.
Not just any book.
A simple cover and a fat spine. A very simple cover with but a few engraved spirals on it. And a few printed words, the first of them in blue.
My eyes hovered over them.
House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski.
As I flipped to the first page to begin my journey, I know, with a dreading feeling in my stomach, that I would never be the same. This work would change me, haunt me.
And so it begins.
Ok...
So, I don't know why I'm posting this. I guess I found it to be some interesting random stuff. So, if you feel like reading it, then cool. If not, that's OK, because it's just some educational stuff any how.
( Read on... )
- Mood: blank
- Music:Sunny Day - Asian Kung-Fu Generation
But seriously...
I have spent a lot of my life looking forward to High School. I always had this idea that when I got there, I would be so much older and cooler and what not.
And I am different...but I am still me. I'm not the totally different person I was expecting.
But...I am almost done with my first year of High School. That means only three more years. How fast it is all going by!
Just a few days ago it would seem I was moving here...saying good bye to all my old friends. And then making all these new ones. Starting in this weird new school with grades! (What a concept!) And then middle school already....making another new group of friends. And then all of a sudden I leave all that behind and go to High School. Finally. Where I have been waiting to go for some while now.
But it will all be gone. My life is slipping away like water from my hands. I can't control it, can't stop it.
I have had an awesome year, and couldn't have asked for better times with my friends. But this will all be so short. It will all be gone, soon only a memory in a distant photograph.
And then college, and then Japan. And then...my life. What do I plan on doing? I have no major I'm thinking about now...In just a few years I will be moving out. Out on my own. Damn. I'm not that independent.
And then what? Marriage? Already? And kids....I can't handle that thought of that. In a few years I will be old, and my youth slipped away.
No longer can I have good times. I won't be able to do stupid things any more and be excused for them.
It will just be me....and the life I have ahead. Just getting older, and going into the unknown.
This is my life...but what the hell am I doing with it?
I can't handle the thought that soon I will be out of High School, out of the house, out of college.
Right now I don't have to do anything. Just be me. But soon...a job, bills, kids...all this crap.
I'm too young to be worrying about all this. But it really isn't too far off. Considering how fast time goes...I can never get these years back. And I don't regret how I have spent them, I just wish that I could stay like this. I don't want anything to change, for people to change, for me to change.
- Mood:
nervous
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