AmaMe Alia

i'm tired of complaining and making excuses... so of course i do just that.

2012-02-23T20:33:00.002-05:00

i sort of don't know what to say anymore.
i can't force myself to write...
well i force myself, but nothing happens...
well i'm not really trying.
not trying,
at anything.
floating

it'll all come to me sometime.
just need to be a little patient.
or a little more aggressive.
it'll come.

i'm sadly waiting

when i should be doing
something,
at least.

broken record,
that's all i'm becoming.

1/24

2012-01-24T17:56:00.003-05:00

my beer warms and i wonder where you are today
how you carry around the baggage of sweet skin and careless pain
smoke can't fix everything
though we try and try and
collapse under the weight of winter...

hi new

2012-01-06T23:22:00.002-05:00

it's a new year
so i guess it's time for a new post
although i
feel like i have nothing to
say
i'm becoming boring
and it's sort of
okay
routine is boring
i want to fight routine
i want to fight my job
and all the time i
don't get
to spend
with my boyfriend or
friends or
rediscovering my passions or
or
or
or

it's a new year but not much has
changed
nothing ever
changes
much

even the seasons
blend into one

spring in winter

i want something new
but i don't know what it is
yet

not the year
but something else

i want something new

closed

2011-12-13T13:39:00.000-05:00

i wish i knew how to let myself be open again.

thanks & giving

2011-11-25T20:54:00.003-05:00

oh no. haven't updated or written on here in about a month.
sigh.
who's reading anyway?
it's been a busy time, strangely.
losing jobs, looking for jobs, holidays, leaves changing, weather changing - always.
i fall in love every day
and every night i lie down to mystery.
i'm content, i'm confused, i'm excited,
everything's jumbled up in my head
and i think i'm happy with it.
i'm watching a documentary about a new york fashion photographer.
my biggest decision at this moment is what color i'm going to paint my nails next.
i'm missing my boyfriend's touch.
i'm full from spinach alfredo pizza.
these things won't matter tomorrow.
or maybe they will, who knows.
soon it will be december and winter.
i don't know if i'm ready.
well, of course i'm ready.
i know deep down i can't live in the past.
i've been living there too long.
maybe i'll look ahead with... enthusiasm? without fear?
i'm full of shit, but tomorrow will still come.
and i'll be here to soak in the light through windows, through cracks, through chill air, through snowflakes... reflected in lovers' eyes, absorbed directly in tangled hair.
i'll sleep soundly in the gentle flow of life.

pumpkin donuts

2011-10-31T22:54:00.003-04:00

it's been a while
it's almost [it is] november and i can't believe it
where have all my seasons gone?
my inspiration's lying somewhere in golden leaves...
time is playing tricks on me and all the other confused souls
where to go, what to do, who to be
when to let go and when to keep close
hold tightly
snuggle into new flannel sheets
and wait for winter
holidays approach
and i'm not ready to let more time go
lightly between my fingers, slip and fall into place
and we let things change
because that's the only way
to live
a forever goodbye
forever awkward greeting
after awkward greeting
a whisper to soothe
i'm here, you'll be okay,
you'll fall in love with me and never want me to leave
whispers are lovely sometimes
like a lover's lips grazing an ear
or a whisper felt in a look of longing
sandwiched between two bodies
stopped by a finger pressed against lip
shhh shhh i'm here, it's all okay
i'm listening and waiting
meanwhile...

this is ridiculous and i don't want to finish it.

2011-10-15T13:47:00.003-04:00

hello lonely one
it's me
i saw you yesterday with gummy bears
and a crazy will to live and lounge
in beds we made with
lanky limbs to cover our mistake
of falling in love falling in pillow
soft reckless energy
spinning down down
down carried into clouds
dropped into waffle house and tv shows
into a vacuum of space
where time is just a dream
an afterthought we miss
look at me look the other way look
at our shaking souls
shivering before winter
and times unspeakable
silent vows to
dead weighted air
a promise to tomorrow
we can't keep
but we'll try and fail and forget
the invisible shields
carry me again forever
to couch to cigarette to hungry passion to home
in piles of autumn leaves pumpkin pudding cakes sleeping in and inhaling the world

september

2011-10-07T14:18:00.002-04:00

came and went so quickly.
does it feel that way to anyone else?

"i missed you."

2011-09-08T20:57:00.006-04:00

there we were
face to face again
his blue reflecting my brown
and he uttered
the most important sentence
of my life
or at least
the evening
post-orgasm post-loneliness post-
pillow soft dancing fingers
eyelectricity
circuited
down
down
to magnetic mouths
charged friction
they burst into flames
and sent our bodies to
another universe, truth
waves sent the message
in a touch a caress on face
hidden in semi-
dark glinting
new noises for new existence
simple words that are said too often and
not said enough
i bathed in the sounds and
let them transport me
into the openings of heart, his
i was again we
sank into sleepy slumber
and the words hung in the air
suspended our souls on display
mechanical magic hidden beneath blanket
stretches for reassurance
testing the limits of loneliness
making sure the bonds were broken
we're no longer trapped, said the limbs,
we can piece ourselves together again into the
shabby puzzle we started with
said the limbs...
but enough of that
bodies tell better stories than me
so simple, really
who needs anything more than
those three honest words

life

2011-08-26T20:08:00.002-04:00

funny how it can suck, yet be completely harmonious. i won't say things are falling into place, but they're falling somewhere.

a wandering thing

2011-08-17T12:50:00.003-04:00

i drive and drive and still can't see the road
a focus only inches from blind eyes
the world sinks to blur
and it takes my heart with it
babble to remind me that
i can't speak
and the voices echo echo echo that
i'm not alright
bus to train to feet to train to bus
and i'm not alright...

unfinished

sigh.

2011-08-03T09:31:00.004-04:00

i'm back to being very, very worried about myself.
sigh.
i didn't mean for this blog to become a whiny mope fest, but i'm at a really strange place right now.
i just need to go out and do it...
do something
do everything.
why do i always torture myself?
what am i afraid of?
will i ever be functional again?
bleh...
noon edit: i'm too hard on myself. things aren't hopeless. i'm not hopeless. i'm just grumpy in the morning sometimes.

another saturday

2011-07-30T10:58:00.003-04:00

and i'm feeling better.
probably because my birthday is on monday
and i'll be 21.
i feel old
but at the same time
this feels like an
opportunity
to really
grow
challenge myself
and
get my life back in motion.
my birthday gifts to myself were
moleskine notebooks and film.
hopefully i'll use them well
and begin to feel like
myself
again.

saturday morning ramblings

2011-07-23T08:51:00.006-04:00

8am saturday morning lemon tea
i didn't sleep well
and i don't know if it's because i miss him
or i miss me

i cried last night reading my book
because i kept reliving similar moments we shared
how we met, how we acted, conversations we had, the uncertainty
each page left me more and more nostalgic
for what, i'm not sure

lounging around the apartment in nothing but comfort
trapping ourselves in a cage of limbs, or cigarettes, or cups of tea
shooing away the world in 5am smoke, darkness and quiet belonging to us
and us only
holding hands just to make sure we're still there, he's still there, still mine
avoiding serious questions, fragile
balancing a glass vase of emotions, fears, doubts, plans
and watching it gracefully fall
examining the shattered pieces, wondering if it will ever be the same
wondering if it'll ever be the same, if we can just glue it back together
and resigning to the purchase of a new vase, smaller but it still holds everything we need
still holds the same amount of love, stem by stem, each flower plucked when ready

9am and i'm not making sense
of these feelings and thoughts
never wanting to let go or leave the house
stagnant
waiting in vain for things to move themselves
reality
facing it to balance our lives, to welcome the future, to understand the ease with which we can protect vases and the truth that there will be other vases, infinite vases that may break or stay intact
and understanding that a book is a book, my life is not a book

i'm getting tired of vases
and i'm tired of the bland day to day motions of life i endure
i'm tired of sleeping alone
and waking up
alone
of feeling constantly alone even when i'm not

[i miss being alive.]

2011-07-17T17:11:00.002-04:00

i am lonely.
i am falling apart.
i am dull
aging blade.
i am forgetting how to speak, walk, live
wake up.

i am drinking lemonade and feeling sad.

2011-07-12T15:10:00.004-04:00

it's funny how so much can change in a week, a day, a weekend...
and funnier still how so much hasn't changed at all.
still can sip beer together on a couch, get high and make a trip for falafel, talk and watch nonsense over cigarettes...
but then again, it's only been a few days. who knows what will happen.
---
the loneliness i always feel has gently increased.
i feel i have nowhere to go, nothing to do.
i'm taking up space, becoming furniture.
furniture in no one's home,
the sort of furniture you see on the curb, in someone's front yard, forgotten in the back of a thrift store.
i'm not meant for jobs or school or any sort of success or motivation.
i'm meant for people to forget about until i'm proven useful, like a chair.
i'm driving myself insane
because there's nothing else to do.

glue

2011-06-29T12:45:00.003-04:00

and the world crashes like a wave on every particle of my body
i've forgotten ocean communication
something about speaking to the salt
drinking tea blood
cherry atop a sad sunday
---------------------------
i painted my nails the sky
clouds and blue
white and atmosphere
---------------------------
i leave notes for him in the morning
when he's left for work and i have the apartment to myself
yesterday a bath of milky fiber
and emerged dripping my brain onto paper
poetic nonsense inhaled like the rectangle scrap i sprayed with cannabis rose
leave part of me for him in the evening
---------------------------
the elements have been kind to me lately
lovely nature greetings
zoom through my eyes
corrupt my brain and
flee to necessary limbs and joints
---------------------------
this doesn't make sense but
how can i explain that
my hands are the eternity in every cloud that hangs in the sky
that tea invigorates my veins fills cavities with history and hope
a taste touches tongue spreads and expands to the remaining blandness
spewing truth
trees whisper birds twitter their mysterious simplicity
an ocean within and without apply pressure to my body to keep it from
falling apart
from crumbling
and from dying without ever knowing the beauty in momentary crashes
the life in shifting twisting twirling
until pain subsides
and you cry just to cry just because you can because rivers and streams and lakes need an escape just like every other molecule in the universe
that in every chaotic second there is union
a kiss exchange meeting
a familiar face skeleton
harmony transferred from brain to hand to paper to hand to eye to heart

a drain to what

2011-06-21T12:17:00.003-04:00

i feel dead
like someone sucked the life out of me
i can barely smoke the cigarette he slipped into my pack
i am melting
beneath summer heat and summer obligations
i am shrinking
and crying
and wailing
anguish sounds in every message
look
burning incense stick
every cup of tea
shattered mugs in the imagination
a wind that won't carry me away
punctuated rain
sleepytime allthetime
i told my soul to wake up
shaken beaten chastised
and still it slumbers
until some second coming
a second season or
a second fuck or
a second life
a third a fourth
a century wasted
on cheap wine and television
cheap people and stories
a skeleton ready to buckle
be assembled anew
replaced
instructed
in the proper ways of growing up
and growing boring
growing dead and dissatisfied
i can't do it
lift my arm
it's deteriorating
ruin flowing through veins
leaden weight keeping me immobile
lies churning brain whirlpool
a drain to what

his hair in my hair

2011-06-06T18:32:00.003-04:00

strands descend like light through
curtained windows
to the bathroom for a long walk to work
forget the sunset
dream in daylight
and swaying smile to bedsheets
hide between layers under pillows
drift in and out of smoky universes
but always return home
to the golden waves
cerulean outposts
to guide the lost to safety

short and sweet. trying to get back in the rhythm of writing, the habit of twisting my perception just so so that it's readable, consumable.

trying to figure out what to do with my life

2011-05-27T12:18:00.001-04:00

and i'm feeling stuck

may flowers

2011-05-19T13:52:00.005-04:00

not writing, not good
spring gray with a chance of shower-kisses
i don't know what to tell you, i keep drifting away in the wind
some photos:

kangaroo hugs

2011-04-30T19:40:00.002-04:00

and i want a cat to cuddle with when he's not here
kangaroo hugs ignite star fire displacement sadness
leave me still lonely
too much ice cream
a few too many dollars spent on past window displays
silly meandering
car rides full of air and all the breaths we forgot to take during the week
every gust of wind carrying the tunes of our souls to far reaches of city sprawl
a few cylinders of smoke and squinting timewatch
heavy moviewatch droopy lids to eventual nap
and a song unfurls to narrate the inescapable truth of union
when development arrested lies in spectator spotlight
and our legs motion to dance to keep crowds appeased
when all else is muffled dispatched shredded
and reveals greenblack patterns and enormous cuffs
lemon ginger tea and upset stomaches
to remember what it feels like to not love
i don't care to
and they only care to hear frail floral shouts and sighs of dying fabric species
and we'll laugh our feline laughs howl to companions and moon mother
limbs entwine breathe as one munch on hairstring envision lemonade
create summer a few too many times before summer
kiss ourselves to sleep in the day's lull
and wait wait wait for the next for the passing for

if this is treatment

2011-04-26T20:34:00.002-04:00

how is emotionless gray
different, better than
streams of whiteblue droplets
ribbons of crimson
brilliant sparks quickly fading
short half-lives
i ask because i don't know which way to go
which is best
i'm hated either way
seasons change and nature laughs
at me every time
every day different but identically horrible
it only takes the weight sustained in a second
a hesitant word, an ill-phrased message, a forced greeting
the endless eternities suspended
between kisses, glazed eyes, vehicles, generations
if this is getting better i think i want my illness back
if this isn't i think i want my illness back
i want my illness back
ill back to back plunged into pillow softness
stretched for angles
liberated ribs hands bodypart bodypart
and a rigid spine complaining about things the heart can't say
things that make the mind cower surrender relapse
moisture outside walls outside lids
inside canyon lies
what to fit into these spaces
flinging bottles bouncing surface to surface echo
voices of tomorrow warning of yesterday
plastic universes shatter the inhabitants dissolve in lava
godzilla dances donuts create cartoons sigh size up the gods
fling everything to hell to gutters to treetops to abyss of coatpocket
scatter and gather and throw into a pile with all articles of bullshit
molded television shows and pills and cigarettes and gummy nonsense we occasionally call food
preservation for whatwho
why did the blank cross the blank
why does everyone ever blank and blank and blank
a blink
and then it's all gone
a world crafted constructed erected manually disappeared destroyed silent
hissing fade slowing heartbeat vibrating memories
tears emerge from the coaxing city and feet respond
pitterpatter of truth sidewalk rhythm
the distant being strains to ignore
wraps up in blankets nestles into boy
ignorance isn't bliss...
i could go on forever
the problem is i could go on forever

update thing

2011-04-19T17:27:00.005-04:00

though i can count the number of readers of this blog on my hand, i suppose a bit of an update is necessary. especially because i don't feel like sharing any writing right now.
i've spent the greater part of a week in the fetal position flooding myself in my own tears.
i keep contemplating cutting, suicide, running away.
i need to stop blaming myself, stop hating myself. i'm not weak.
i haven't showered since saturday.
i think i'm falling in love with a boy. or perhaps i'm already there. i don't know.
i don't remember the last time i had a full, uninterrupted night of sleep.
i'm on new medication.
i'm getting fat. (sort of. my perception is sort of fucked up.)
instead of driving to nowhereforever this afternoon, i went to my appointment with my therapist and had a bit of a breakthrough. i feel okay for right now.
but also anxious anxious anxious. i need to get out.
my journal is an absolute mess of sad thoughts, strange dreams, words to people i'll never utter out loud.
i lay in bed and watch movies, drink tea... but today i saw a glimpse of the future i had once dreamed a long time ago. it may not mean much, but at least i'm starting to see it again.
that means a lot to me. to someone like me. with disorders like mine that make even the next few hours impossible to imagine, see, trust, believe in.
i haven't had a sudden epiphany, and everything isn't magically in place, but i feel okay for right now.
this will probably change soon.
but that's okay.

we

2011-04-05T22:42:00.002-04:00

weaved through aisles of food
rows of fruit, sweets, bread
he paused for a moment in the floral section
his eyes searched and his fingers plucked a single red rose
from the rows of roses
i smiled as he smiled as he handed the long piece of love to me
and we were off, weaving again
the cart grew less empty
every few suspended breaths lost in a sea of
plastic red green rosysmell
hungry fluorescent giggle limbs
rattling cart, judging eyes - teas and lasagnas and colanders on trial
breads hummus mozzarella, we ate a lot
nodded off to sleep as air played in the background and a mug cooled in a hand
cuddling isn't the worst way to spend all night and all morning
rib hello cat stretch
earl grey cigarettes silent nudges
inaudible roarous growling meowing licking animal yawns
comfortable and funny, bare and layered
wild wolves

i feel much better today, to say the least.

2011-04-03T21:33:00.009-04:00

my boy drinking tea. his smile/expression/everything makes me smile.

3/5/11 pieces of my journal

2011-04-02T14:41:00.001-04:00

home definitely brings out the suicide in me.

yesterday

2011-03-28T22:41:00.002-04:00

mock sleep, mock exercise, a few
flimsy stretches, shower and stefan at easton
sunlight to make amends for my cloudy eyes,
for the haze of smoke and regret and dark
displacement, my empty self
a cup too full of coffee, my stomach wants nothing
my head, pounding - not actually pounding, but i
feel the familiar ache
like every other familiar ache
silent sculpting and an opportunity for solidity
solidarity but i throw my invisible hands
up and wait for the inevitable power tsunami,
for the orange cup to empty itself
strings of hair and broken nerves
barb said my brain is broken - the fuck
i feel sick, my physical body finally catching
up to my in-repair workshop, my self-disintegrating
system
i decide to not take a pill and my world crumbles
insides knotted, guts in the back of my imagination
a short story and a short existence
he steadily working to create, me steadily working
against all creation, all self, all time

3/22/11 pieces of my journal

2011-03-24T09:30:00.003-04:00

3am, half naked smoking on Tomi's front door step,
welcome mat indeed, listening to and feeling the rain, a breeze,
a chill up my bare legs, thin braless tee, crouching and then standing
then crouching again, pushing air out of me,
breathing back in only to lose again
waiting for a stream of tears, for my meds to appear
or for me to appear
maybe in my bed or in someone's arms or maybe just appear to be
like the rest of them
not care about everyone not caring like the rest of them
my body is trapped somewhere...

a portion of my 3am scribbles on tues 3/22

stefan

2011-03-20T18:48:00.001-04:00

i wait i wake

2011-03-13T20:58:00.003-04:00

i wake up every day and think of ways to kill myself
reasons methods
wonder what i'd accomplish with an extra week, year, decade
i go back to sleep to ease the thoughts
i play music to mirror my sadness
reflect deflect
i twist stretch and twist my body
force myself to
feel monitor
my breathing
i wake up some days and decide to just dull the pain a bit
a pill a body a cup of tea a binge a purge
all
amplified repeated
throbbing death ebbing existence
confession crying
diminished understated
i smoke another cigarette for the burn
cough
i bring memories to surface for the pain
clenching
truth in the
strangeness distance meaninglessness
a long hallway paced by the sanely insane
doctors nurses pills meals groups
strange distant meaningless
a patient comes a patient goes
no contact information
maybe a facebook friend request another numbered blank face
i felt home
now i wake up see familiar faces go familiar places
i feel death creeping closer
though i meditate and re-energize
become lithe sway into feline instincts
i crawl into bed more frequently
pray to buddha i don't have to wake up again
i scribble the nothingness of days
i wait

born in an american apparel ad; hospital bracelet

2011-03-06T04:51:00.003-05:00

just realized a different version of this photo on tumblr makes me look like i only have one arm. hah.

nothing

2011-03-06T04:15:00.001-05:00

nothing about this is working.

bonjour

2011-02-26T10:44:00.003-05:00

i am currently on the 10th floor of nyu langone med center.
i had parfait and cheerios for breakfast today. i'm waiting to eat my banana until later.
i scanned through a book on dali just a bit ago.
i woke up at 5am and couldn't fall back asleep. i spent the quiet hours meditating, doing some yoga and pilates, having a peaceful shower, drinking tea, writing in my journal, and reading a book i found on one of the shelves in the day room (common area/kitchen).
i need to charge my ipod, or see if i have any missed calls or texts (phone is charging in the office).
i am sucking on some nicorette gum. i want my cigarettes.
i have a lovely roommate who brought me some of my things last night; and a lovely new boy zachary who visited, played ping pong, and cuddled with me.
i don't know when i'm leaving, what the plan is, but i'm adjusting, and i'm okay for now.
i want to nap.
smiley face breakfast ending: tea wink, unbalanced smile.

oh shit

2011-02-22T13:54:00.003-05:00

a friend texted me today and asked how i'm doing today.
i answered a mix between shitty and dead.
i texted someone else that i am falling apart.
she replied really? couldn't tell.
sarcasm.
racing taxis, filled tubs, deprived bodies, slit wrists, diseases,
this is all i'm thinking about today. forever.
i am falling apart.

i am dead inside

2011-02-14T16:03:00.002-05:00

my body is sore from yoga
my heart feels empty, the place where he last laid his head
doesn't seem like it exists anymore
he kissed my forehead, wanted me to stay another night
i couldn't fall asleep and then i slept too late
my therapist told me to start carrying my camera again
like a pack of cigarettes
replace death with eternity
it doesn't seem to be working, all my cameras grow dust
ash blows in the wind
the sun shines on my tired mind
i don't know what school is anymore
i only feel home in his earth-sculpted arms
different voices talk me to sleep
and i wake up always as lonely
books and words and oatmeal cookies
4am subway platforms
in treatment

blueberry scone and a nap through class

2011-02-07T19:05:00.003-05:00

my body is tired from too much life i think
anxious tapping body talking in arm chair
listening eyes and ears for the confession
listening but i'm quiet and tap tap tapping
stomach trained for beer, bacon, cum
nothing but a shadow of the eternities of
fuck swirling in pools of sidewalk slush
leather on concrete skin on skin lip on shoulder
death on bone sheet upon sheet of bleary dream
sequence, a steady heart motion hip movement
hand grabbing cigarette crushing
ceasing seizing ginger and grief
and staring bathroom walls
squared towels
unfinished plates of food and land
shifting constant
tomorrow isn't certain
and yesterday chloe felt like my best friend
feline companion from my past life
this, endless,
void
echoing he he he he
hello afternoon
supermarket fairytale
tell me how tomorrow goes

2/5/11

2011-02-07T13:55:00.001-05:00

all afternoon in bed is a nice hangover cure.

sweet

2011-01-28T16:40:00.002-05:00

her lips tasted faintly like mint, coffee, and mystery. sweet atypically, like a shot of rum or a piece of sour candy.

back in new york

2011-01-24T11:28:00.003-05:00

first day of the semester, but i don't have any monday classes. (for now at least before i decide to entirely rearrange my schedule, which has happened in the past.)
i do have an appointment with the psychiatrist, though. depression swag.
i feel like there is so much i should be doing - buying books, working to erase the incompletes from last semester, looking for a job - but all i seem capable of is sitting with a cup of tea and my favorite book. drinking and reading a thousand times over, waiting for the mystery of the universe to unfold or for the world to end in great combustion. waiting for something.
i'll eventually wait outside, but it will be cold.
the sun will shine, but it will be cold.
i'll face the sunlight with cigarette and scarf
and winter will greet me uninvited
overstayed its welcome.
it's almost noon
and i'm wondering if anything is different, if noon yesterday had the same meaning as noon today. if i have the same meaning, the same chemicals in my body, the same rotting and decaying feeling in my limbs. if noon today is noon last week, noon last month.
at around three yesterday, as i watched the city coming closer closer to my view, i thought i felt a lifting. as if the plane itself transferred some of its miraculous qualities and i could lift myself away into the clouds with my newfound or reappeared bliss. i thought i felt a lifting. will three pm yesterday be the same as three pm today.
i'm here in the city now, a speck from yesterday's view. invisible between the skyline. i'm the city now. there's nothing to approach when you're already there.
so i wonder.
i'll wonder and watch, anticipate and avoid,
drink and read and smoke
and smile and lie and lay and sleep,
until...
what.
so i wonder.

blah

2011-01-21T20:36:00.002-05:00

feeling strange. these last few days at home, these days anticipating city life again. dreading school again. i feel more suspended than usual. i don’t think i’ve ever felt this homeless, this confused. at a loss for words, wits, pleasures.

texts from earlier today
friend: u go back to ny next week?
me: sunday!
friend: o wow, cool beans?
me: i don’t know. not sure how i feel.

crippled by growing anxiety. kept awake by my failures and imminent short-comings. exhaustion through anticipation. an endless stare in the mirror to figure out if the same person i was when i arrived, left, was away, is here now. did it change at all, are they all one? or is the me lurking somewhere in my dark new york streets; is it yawning in my old bed; or hunched over a desk in some classroom, gasping for remaining breath; betraying life, leaving it with chalkboard scribbles, empty eyes attached to empty fingers? is it dead? am i dead?
is it dead? am i dead? is it dead? am i dead?
i’m growing tired of being a zombie...

wrote this on tumblr just a few minutes ago. it's the only thing that slightly captures my current state. words/thoughts/allthings just haven't been coming easy lately.

hello again

2011-01-18T20:16:00.003-05:00

today is my mother's birthday
i spent the morning cutting and pasting
like a child again
or even like the me of last year, two years ago, high school
how have i gotten so old so quickly, i thought
as i chose the correct shade of pencil, ripped pages from natgeo
it feels like i haven't done this in centuries, i realized,
was that another life question mark
what creature was i then
i carried the card and little bag to the classroom
greeted my first love with a happybirthday and a smiletoendallsmiles
her eyes lit, voice rose
i spent the afternoon in a little chair at a little table
in the classroom filled with little people, mini-humans
vivacious curious little people
i sat at the little table ripping pages, writing things,
listening to mrs. lattimore's stern but gentle voice,
loud at times silent at others
i shared some conversation with my new peers
waving and giggling and whispering
it felt like i hadn't done that in centuries
how have i gotten so old so quickly
i towered over my new friends
though still very much a child my mother's baby
as i extended hand or grin to new faces
my heart and limbs were curious
like a child's again
expectant eyes silently questioning, what shall i do next
laughter spilling out of my nervous throat
yelling, oh the hilarity of life
curious hands cutting simple bodies accepting orders
lining up saying prayers
me praying to never grow old
to stop where i am turn back time
be a child
feel like a child again
to sit at little tables with my little self for the remainder of my
little life

an endless cigarette...

2011-01-15T13:23:00.002-05:00

i am ignoring texts and calls
making promises i won't keep
sorry world,
until later

sleepy january, headaches, new yesterday

2011-01-11T19:31:00.004-05:00

every day i lay in bed, stare out the window,
see the snow fall, gather
make a prison of my home
and just a few moments ago i realized that
around this time last year
i felt sort of the same
i told my mom i wanted to go back to new york
and yet somehow i'm back here again
empty again
still waiting
for life and happiness and
other young, human things
but different because i
turned, and fell,
slipped somewhere...

i can't wait to be back in the city with more distractions.

1/4/11, pieces of my journal

2011-01-06T11:21:00.003-05:00

holed up in the closet like Margot Tenenbaum
cigarettes, underwear, choice of entertainment
Howl appetizer then on to Bukowski, a
mockingbird on fire
cigarettes tinged with candy cane sweetness
they begin to taste like food, this all
the meal i need
because my thighs are still fat - as I
made the blade remind me for the coming
days, successfully and unsuccessfully cutting
scraping and drawing closer to death
inching closer to strangers with mischievous
eyes and wonderful hearts but not watchful
enough as they're flung to the heavens
hoping to be caught by some curvy angel
some promiscuous frail soul to manipulate
in bed in streets in dark closets on floors in texts
and still hiding somewhere in stores on
couches in crowded rooms flooded by
poems of tomorrow and long lists of relationship
criteria for the masses dissolved in a
defeated ship
head aching for something the pills can't
cure water can't quench something
beyond cigarettes and transcending into
lucid dream world letters into hungry
ripping panties an ache further than caffeine
further than clouds' billowy sway trek
unrelenting in sleep and stained sheets
pounding pounding pounding away at the innards
of brain and stomach acid
music to drown out and clap away the rain
punch and pull the pain crash wave against
wave and fall asleep in the world's corner
grass dead and growing rising in vapor to
bring joy to others more deserving

yawn, why are you so silent?

2010-12-28T18:54:00.003-05:00

ankle-length skirts and oatmeal for dinner
yes i'm a very old woman
but where was my age in the sunrising arch
of floral stockings?
horrendous headache and a vague clinging past
wrap around my neck but don't keep away
the shiver of winter or
the steady draining blood from fingertips
yes i'm old and crippled
paralyzed on diner benches and in car seats
behind the wheel and behind life
yawn, why are you so silent?
white air but invisible life
much too quick for weak knees
and weary shoulders
strengthened by push-ups but tired from
pushing the earth back into place
the bed sinks under weight of exhaustion
and eyes remain open to greet slanted reflections
when will tomorrow arrive undisputed?
celexa shoveling through snow
mock bliss and empty sockets
a mouth to use
catch snowflakes
throat to burn
and the air passes silent from
body to body

until... [christmasy thoughts or something]

2010-12-25T23:10:00.003-05:00

a touch of red
and white wine
striped socks slid out of oldnew drawers, remembered
beneath vixen fingers glide thread and needle
wrapping paper candle
cookie pie, snow sunlight
loud phone calls with distant realms of the heart while
the table waits expectant turkey cools
books wait for ritual to subside diminish forget
and glasses of wine sit and reflect, watch elf with the rest
and glitter the secrets of sober mind
texts from strangers and those close
faraway lovers with invisible arms hugging stroking
lounging under weight of tomorrow's cares
pre-worry pre-plan new
year's resolution
beneath home lights in front of television swirled into
complexly simple conversation suspended
and then the week is over the year has turned and life reignites
turns crimson again at the fingertips black soon in an instant
bracelets cling to inches of skin, time greets the age
golden vanilla reaches cinnamon arm
shapes colors wrap beneath blankets
greet tomorrow with open limbs empty bags laden pockets
spend into oblivion fix for the fresh year
endless white until

even though

2010-12-18T22:24:00.002-05:00

some things feel like they're crashing around me, i feel okay. for now.
i like being drunk and waking up in strange beds.
sometimes i'm such a hot mess. sometimes i feel perfectly fine. sometimes i want to die. and sometimes i'm just happy to still be alive.
some days, like today, i'm just glad to be able to eat chick-fil-a and reminisce about the previous night's hilarity. suck on a candy cane, remember his freckles, and think about being home in less than a few days. think of snow and sleep. laugh at the bruises and soreness. laugh at imminent finals, and cartoons. wonder what tomorrow will be like and whether i'll fail this semester. wonder what tomorrow will be like. and smile because at least there's a tomorrow, at least i'm okay for now.

windy

2010-12-14T19:43:00.002-05:00

too windy to light a cigarette
and yet still hand becomes numb
holding
on

12/10/10, pieces of my journal

2010-12-10T21:43:00.002-05:00

I don't want to do this anymore. I can't do
this anymore. I can't sit and wait while
the world laughs at me, calls me stupid, watches me
self-destruct. I can't be what anyone wants me
to be. I can't pretend that everything's okay
when it's not. Every lie is multiplying and I'm
becoming too trapped to do anything. I am unfolding
on stage, but the curtains are drawn, the spotlight's
dimmed, the theatre half-empty.

in some ways [i am frankenstein]

2010-12-04T10:21:00.003-05:00

this feels like the funniest week of my life.
people are concerned about my well-being, as if i'll jump in front of any passing cab.
they said, "tell me about death. do you think about it often?"
well, yes, of course. doesn't everyone?
why do so many try so hard, every day, to ignore the reality that we all die someday.
i'm just trying to remind everyone: you will die.
and though i have no intention of meeting death cordially and so soon -
no, we don't have a lunch date, nor have we scheduled afternoon tea - it has
placed itself rather delicately and firmly at the front of my thoughts.
she's concerned about my safety - what safety? me, here, in my room,
writing and listening to music. who knew it could be so dangerous?
i walked home last night feeling no possible harm could meet me from the streets that
couldn't be worse than the monster or cavity or whatever inside of me. oh that horrid villain, it's alive, sparks of electricity shooting everywhere, illuminating wild eyes. that's how it goes in my head, mad scientists, probing, creation of a creature great and terrible. [but who is frankenstein?]
the greatest danger is myself, which makes me giggle and giggle,
for i'm powerless

12/1/10, pieces of my journal [and i became medicated]

2010-12-03T00:05:00.003-05:00

What will they find, after the tests? What if nothing is wrong? Am I crazy to think that nothing could be wrong? Is it ridiculous to assume there is?

The email only said that I was dead already, a shadow, dead Woolf and dead Dickinson. I only mentioned the way Time whispers in my ear every morning and each hour that all is futile, that all is death eventually.

What is happening? I suppose I really do only have my words now.

Oh, I don't want to be probed.

I fled like a madman, not unlike the mad woman I am.
What else is there to do but run for my life?

And I give up my last cigarette so easily.

How can I run from everything? Where does that leave me? Do I exist in some separate plane, an alternate reality? Am I a third world of myself?

I will run, but for how long? To what end? How long can the rain cover, shield, blend my tears?
Or maybe it can't.

A wet cigarette wasted in the rain,
tossed on cement, discarded - itself
slimy surfaces, slipping pen and running nose
walk with no intentions, she says
I'll do just that

my life is becoming empty...

2010-11-23T22:41:00.002-05:00

my life is becoming empty, reduced to nothing but anxious rooms filled with everything but voices, light shining on the bed and all the wrong places, every day asking my journal why i'm here, questioning what i am, wondering why thursdays feel like mondays (and why i had to discover that from eavesdropping on other people's conversation), writing things that don't make sense in places that mean nothing to me, surrounded by no one but blank tourist faces or sad silent admirers, wondering why i kiss stranger after stranger and feel surprised when they're not there the next day, only a pillow to keep me company beneath sheets and complex dreams, eating to fill some sort of space, cavities to fill cavities, sadness definitely populating - who needs the park, ancient things in museums and shadows of lives observing, consuming the very beauty of existence, consuming until gone and destroyed and forgotten, sucked dry, crying from too much love and not enough sex and outbursts and explosions and vegetables, dying every day from choking silence, trembling voice of time discarded, words and lines and shapes and it all meaning nothing to my hazy eyes and jittery hands and prancing legs, ignoring every voice saying i could be something other than sylvia's or virginia's echo, a bukowski dream and a wandering kerouac heart, a ginsberg howl, bare meals interrupting my sleep - rambling dreams and misplaced affection, kissing the homeless and smoking with the old, dancing with the dead, crying with bliss, smoking and dying with shame, penniless and yet still spending

whole half

2010-11-18T19:43:00.001-05:00

i don't feel like a whole person.
i feel more like a half-person.
maybe hollow, or with a poorly-developed outer shell.
half at most, dead at best.

11/16/10

2010-11-17T19:05:00.002-05:00

What is breathing anymore?

He was in my dream last night. Lots of other people were in other ones too, but I only care about him. Now I've spent the greater part of this morning wondering if his body looks the same, if he's a good kisser, if he's a good lover, if he would make love to me, if I really want it.

It's not a matter of time, but caring.
The words are mocking me. White blank screen.

What about Virginia Woolf's ghosts? What could I possibly say?

a few bits of nonsense from my journal.

11/14/10

2010-11-14T17:21:00.006-05:00

it's pretty funny/ridiculous that every time i buy cigarettes the person at the counter stares intently at my ID to see if it's both real and of me. and then skeptical resignation. seriously, you have that much doubt that i'm over 18? when will i stop looking so young? it also doesn't help that my hair is different and i've lost some weight. but still...
sorry if you were expecting some "real" writing from me. i've been trapped in a world of my thoughts and kerouac and other nonsense. i've been writing gibberish. i sit in parks for hours just reading, writing, smoking, drinking cheap coffee. that's all i've become. none of it is particularly good, but it's getting me by.
to be honest, i'm quite lonely. i've reached a roadblock. i ran into a friend today and [awkwardly?] ate lunch and walked home with him. i only say awkwardly because i know i can be so much better. i know i'm not supposed to be this distant.
i'm doing laundry now and slowly inching towards delayed homework. i want to be back in the park, though, listening to the man next to me playing guitar and singing folk songs. i want to hear his lonely, perfect story. i want someone to share stories with. and fuck. lately i've been imagining having sex with far too many people.
i think my classes are bullshit, i think my friends are bullshit. the only things that seem real, things i find myself clinging to, are momentary, like kisses and hot soup and smoke.
in summation, i feel ugly, lonely, and very lost in my own head. (i need drugs and some good music to dance to. and good people to dance with. i need too many things.)

summarizing my journal; fucking panic

2010-11-12T12:16:00.004-05:00

am i really reaching the conclusion? is this it? am i nothing more than this?

i want to murder someone/something/myself.

already [unfinished] 9/19/10

2010-11-10T18:48:00.001-05:00

already he was there, in front of me, half-naked.
i hadn't even thought of this in my dreams. even if i had, i had never admitted it to myself, never envisioned it fully.
we had suddenly passed the realm of friendship, liking, loving. we had jumped into the cold waters of half-nakedness.
we had jumped, and barely knew each other.
he invited me in and i didn't know whether to sit or not.
i looked at the couch, but it almost would have felt just as right on the bed.
he went away for a moment, presumably to put on a shirt, but he came back just as he had been.
he insisted i sit, and so i sat.
i noticed the tattoo, on his ribcage, exactly where i've been considering getting mine. i considered his, guessed at the words scrawled there because i was too afraid to stare intently. i couldn't bring myself to look at his smooth, tight torso.
he was there, next to me on the couch, and then suddenly he was beneath me, on the bed.
except not really.
i forced my imagination back to the couch, focused on the other empty couch, the blank walls, the brightness of the room. he asked me questions and i was only able to manage a yes or a no, and a smiling giggle.
he said he liked my laugh, and he giggled too.
he asked the questions and i answered and we giggled.
after a while i asked questions and he answered.

this has been saved in my drafts since september. i've been looking back at it every now and then, telling myself that someday i'll complete it. but not now, i've realized. the real-life situation that inspired this has become stagnant and i think only when that is, um, resolved or solidified (?) will i be able to finish... one of those clinging things, you know? okay, i need to stop rambling and ruining everything.

11/6/10

2010-11-08T16:09:00.000-05:00

an obsession with dying

monkey brain

2010-11-05T13:11:00.003-04:00

"quiet the monkey brain, or whatever's screaming at you"

my TA said this in class this morning, in relation to emerson or thoreau... and this crazy image began to form in my head. i sat down to write it and it became this beat, this rhythmic thing. it needs to be spoken. it excites me, but at the same time, it's sort of a mess. and it really reflects my new musical persona, or whatever has caused me to block out anything not related to dancing and party shit. i just don't know what's happening to me. so out of focus.

any guy will tell you you're beautiful to get into your costume and underneath the face paint [unfinished?]

2010-11-03T22:27:00.000-04:00

all we could do was laugh
our eyes met on the couch, in the elevator, on the dancefloor
we were just characters in that novel, i kept thinking
the different hims and yous blended too closely
and the lights strobed to the rhythm of
my hips moved with the knowledge of touch
and sweet talk
transformation incantations
in retrospect
i listened three too many times
let three too many pairs of lips whisper, breath, linger at my ear
too many hands
sideways glances to check if we were still okay
if the fantasy was still swirling, if my drink was still full, if my underwear was still on

all we can do is laugh
awake again in the fluorescence
remember the bags boys breads burning cigarettes bundles of clothes socks sweaters

a jumpsuit and leggings
midafternoon breakfast
who thinks i'm beautiful now just the
ringing phone, ears
the chai hand holding mine
orange kissing
my throat, juicy
laughing crying weeping the page

i'm starting to cringe about what i've done this weekend. i might as well change my middle name to Hot Mess. but i love my best friend tomi, and halloween, and new york.

all roads lead to daft punk

2010-10-22T22:07:00.003-04:00

or at least that's the only conclusion i could see at 3am this morning
even somewhere in my cold mug of coffee there was a lingering beat of digital love
or some desire for discovery
sorry shakespeare but the knocking within just can't beat the knocking without
the drum and pitterpatter of sleepy faces colliding in fluorescent sunday delight
i know it's not sunday or even the weekend really yet but
his face silhouettes the board in such a way
the calendar shifts itself to make sense of the terrain
terrain tearing hurricane came
and shame washed over me as the picture fell slid off the wall words melted and evaporated
in the stillness the heavy still pause between a sentence and an epiphany in that sturdy suffocating breath i found the road the path that bodhisattva couldn't even deny
yeah shantideva would feel fill crush in the thousands of pieces pierce the awakened womb one more time take buddha's seven steps againagainagain
againagain
until face to face with the ment light en light ning high life
after all we're all just electrons electriccellular bits of atomic bomb matter
after all we're human after all

clinging to empty windowsills

2010-10-16T16:16:00.002-04:00

where's your wing heart, love?
he whispered gently in my ear, sending individual hairs fluttering in the air.
i just looked out the window, silent as the light warmed the windowsill and spilled onto the floor, revealing the dancing dust particles.
he continued, you can't always cling to empty windowsills.
remember what you told me? he asked.
i tried to remember, and couldn't.
i remembered the words, but not why i said them, couldn't understand how they could have ever meant anything to me.
find your wing heart, he said and brushed his fingers against the back of my arm. i felt beard and lip lightly meet my shoulder.
i watched as the light dimmed, a momentary cloud existing somewhere overhead. i felt the storm without even needing to lift my head or open my heart eyes.

hair, sort of.

2010-10-14T18:50:00.004-04:00

my hair is either not photogenic, or this is indeed a shitty haircut? haha. i tried to take some decent photos, but they didn't turn out very well. it was a lovely distraction from my midterm essay, though.

9/15/10

2010-10-09T01:06:00.002-04:00

somewhat very tired of everything.
i'll take 2, 3 naps in one day,
and still never wake up.
nothing seems to shake this fatigue.

my journal scraps (too lazy to make a new one, too cheap to buy one) are full of depressing reflections/philosophy.

why the fuck did i come back?

2010-10-08T16:31:00.001-04:00

why the fuck did i come back?
why the fuck did i come back?
why the fuck did i come back?

not yet

2010-10-04T23:37:00.005-04:00

i've never felt so strange in my own body, she thinks.
she had let the shower get hotter than usual, maybe in an attempt to steam away the new problems.
now, face towards the tub floor, she feels the water hitting her skin, sliding down her body.
she looks at the curves and imagines them more pronounced,
wonders if the swelling has already begun.
but maybe there's nothing to swell, she reasons hopefully.
she wants to cry, but nothing comes out.
maybe they're being steamed away.
maybe it'll be steamed away.
she tries to picture the worst case scenario.
worst case scenario, isn't that what they say.
she scrunches up her face, her fingers scrub lighter than she wishes.
pain, shame, loneliness, it all flashes before her eyes,
images of her being that girl.
that girl, they'll say.
she had so much going for her, they'll say.
how did this even happen, they'll ask.
and she'll just stare because she won't have a better answer than anyone else.
she thinks this all now, standing still under the shower head, done with washing
but feeling like there's something more
like some dirt beneath the surface, something wrong flowing in her veins.
she imagines her next conversations, how they could be the worst of her life.
strained, awkward, full of heavy air, the kind she's used to but new in a sense.
they'll be new because this is new. she reasons that everyone must go through this sometime, yet even as she begins to think it, it doesn't feel true. she's alone.
she's been alone the last few days, walking under the burden of this new secret.
nothing has felt quite important. even now, in this bathroom, she wonders how this could possibly matter months from now. maybe years from now.
it'll matter, she admits, i guess. or maybe it won't. maybe this will all be nothing but an anecdote.
she tries to imagine retelling this story, in the other perspective, days and weeks from now. as she stretches and examines her arms in the mirror she tries to picture another man, more men, touching them. she tries to think this all funny, form words to fill letters to friends, oh i was so worried, she'll write, over nothing.
it wasn't possible really, she'll mockingly admit, as if she had been in on the joke all along, as if she knew this all wasn't a real threat.
but now, it is all very real. and as soon as these thoughts begin to take shape in the steam, they disappear at the sharp face in the mirror.
she's distracted, she can't help it, it's become a habit in the last few days, to steal a glance at her stomach in the mirror, to run a hand across her belly, poking skin and feeling the tension and muscles beneath.
she does that now, trying to detect any change.
no, she thinks, not yet.

9/30/10 4:53am

2010-10-04T00:46:00.001-04:00

"you wake up in the morning and nine times out of ten you don't know why you're living."

his eggs and my eggs

2010-09-29T20:35:00.006-04:00

i complained about the eggs
until i realized you weren't there this morning
it wasn't until i finished this cold pb&j sandwich
hoping i could wash it down with some milk or a little warmth
it wasn't until i shivered in my empty apartment
i nitpicked about how there was too much oil
but really those eggs were seasoned to perfection
i don't think i mentioned it but they were
now i resort to walking somewhere, anywhere, just because i'm lonely
i'm sitting here with an unsatisfied stomach
and a throbbing head and an unfinished essay
wondering why i don't just pick up the phone or open the door
or do something to keep me from sitting here at this desk
praying for death
literally waiting for that moment
with all the flashing and the nostalgia and the screams of lost opportunities
and the smiling rejection and the irony
it was you who started this all
maybe it was before the eggs or after
i'm not sure though it doesn't really matter
but you became just another person who didn't understand
another who mocked my silence and commented on my hair criticized my actions and made my eggs wrong
just another to make life laughably unbearable
incredibly silly and useless
i'll lie in bed tonight and cry and think of the cleverly cute things i always forget to say to you to him to them
and i'll analyze the bits of dumpling and orange juice swirling in my stomach
feel the acid grasping my insides clinging to make it through the erosion explosion
i'll imagine the new boy i've fallen in love with
the way he wears tshirts and hats and polite interest and slight concern
the way he knows nothing at all about my shivering skeletons in bed
about my peanut butter jelly existence within a lonely breadcrumb world
but soon he'll be just another sunday morning
another plate of cooling breakfast

when it doesn't exist

2010-09-27T23:47:00.004-04:00

he says i sit in silence
but how can he know of the constant ramblings of my soul
the overpouring of my mind into this and that and that
i don't say anything because i've already lied so much
to him, something i'm not quite
but something wholly incorrect in all the right ways
he says i sit in silence
but he doesn't know how i've spent my entire life making noise
being so loud in all the wrong ways
a rumbling gurgling being that needed a timeout
he says all this
because he doesn't know how i've become an old, old woman
the weighted life of a ventriloquist
becoming so tired, aged in strange ways
he says i sit in silence
but i don't even understand what silence is
for how can i
when it doesn't exist
and he fills my head with lies and bad jokes
a misinformation of a generation
he says and i look of the window at the grass
and the houses and the trees and his words get lost in mine

shitty mood. i am frustrated. i am everything. i need to get out of this fucking city. i need to get off this planet.

9/24/10

2010-09-25T17:47:00.001-04:00

it's like i don't know how to be me anymore.

9/20

2010-09-24T19:01:00.000-04:00

primal in every sense of the word
no thinking
logic completely misplaced
i was an animal
having an instinct of food and reproduction
except i didn't really want to eat
and i sure as hell didn't want to reproduce
but there was a gnawing
like the way a beast savors raw flesh
a simple and mechanical aspect to what we were doing
like mathematics

decided to stop here before it just becomes like this ("geometry"). will maybe come back to it later.

jsf

2010-09-17T01:13:00.004-04:00

his voice perfect, not soft or high or anything strange, maybe quiet but firm and clear. what he was saying was truth. simple and deep. he made me laugh, and want to cry, and pick up pen and paper, or open a word document. his intentions were pure, i could tell, and his stance neutral. not too neutral, though. his opinions were clear like his voice and beautiful wording, but not patronizing or judging. it was simple curiosity, and it was genius. he told us that there's no such thing as an aspiring writer, just writers. and i knew it was true because i've felt that tugging at my heart, making me drum my fingers, for years and years. being a writer, he said, is the most vulnerable of professions. and it's so true. just think about it for a minute, i couldn't possibly explain it as fluidly as he did. just as he described the nature of novels, their uselessness and superfluousness to society that makes them that much more necessary. it's about freedom and imagination, and the beauty of art. i don't have money, or else i would have bought the book, and one for my mother, and another for someone else. and i would have had him sign it, and made small-talk, momentarily bond when i mentioned i'm a vegetarian too. i listened to the poetry in his words, and couldn't believe i hadn't read any of his books yet, ashamed that he kept being pushed into the Will Read Soon or Eventually pile. he was hilarious and real and brilliant. he introduced me to the world again, the simplicity connecting all things. those moments, oddly, reassured me that i may not be royally fucking up my life or everything around me. for the first time in days, i didn't worry about the future. not exactly, directly, at least. i felt calm, i was enraptured in calm and the literature of life, and it felt nice.

jonathan safran foer did a reading of his new book eating animals, and a q & a session followed. he really is wonderful. earlier i was inclined to describe him as "magical." obviously i enjoyed what he was saying, but there was/is something else going on in my head and it intrigues me. even in "depressed" times like this i'm grateful for the city and nyu, if only for the unique life-affirming and/or eye-opening experiences...

twinkling

2010-09-14T21:05:00.004-04:00

she would have called it a quiet sadness
but it was really more of a resignation
an accepting of the unfortunate way of the world
she determinedly put one foot in front of the other
marched in a rhythmic and fast sort of way
only because she wasn't ready to die
in headlights or beneath tires
or hear the thud of her body and bag
as one hitting the cold pavement
or warm depending on who was last there and when
it was loneliness of course
but not the usual kind that ruined lives
and ended friendships and began tears
but the unrelenting kind that lingered
between sentences and behind retinas
it was a twinkling a low burning
like a flame about to be extinguished
others saw the twinkling but said nothing
or she would try to share it and someone would
just brush it off without much of anything
though resigned and dying it was real nonetheless
so real it was imaginary to almost everyone
she was consumed by it so
she thought it was just ordinary sadness
a touch of melancholy to balance out
the overjoyed therapy obsessed plasticity
the dwindling twinkling could have been prevented of course
or at least delayed a bit
if only someone had been aware of the way
her muscles seized up and prevented her from
moving and turning her head
paralyzed so much so that opening her mouth
uttering a few greetings were nearly impossible
she only felt connected to the earth
a sort of pulsing she couldn't feel from her peers
she only kept walking because standing still
just meant still being and being wasn't something she understood
she gave herself away to the way of the world
unfortunate as it is
and she left having spoken millions of words
walked thousand of miles
all swirling lost in the twinkling

=( i hate to summarize my current state of being in an emoticon, but there you have it. my life is all sorts of unfortunate.

what the fuck am i even doing?

2010-09-12T18:45:00.001-04:00

what the fuck am i even doing?

feed yourself to the tigress

2010-09-11T22:35:00.004-04:00

with a new semester of classes comes a new set of ideas
so excuse me for a bit while i sort out my thoughts
i've been having some lovely experiences
last night i felt free and joyous, anonymous and needed
today, i'm not sure
tomorrow, who knows
for now i'll sip my mint tea, let rioux shock and sway and ease me to sleep...

thin your herd

2010-09-05T21:02:00.002-04:00

i was walking through brooklyn the other day and i saw this line
scrawled across a wall
i kept walking but suddenly
maybe a block or two away
it all made sense
everything, life,
it all made sense
everything, it all
came down to those three words
thin your herd
later i was sitting on a curb
lonely and smoking a cigarette
listening to a band and watching some people
i was sitting but also thinking
about all the thinning my life needed
and somehow it all made sense
my bag, my waist, my thighs,
all of my other herds,
the ones here in new york,
and the ones back home,
the parts of my herd i don't need,
the parts making me lag
and it was wonderful
to float while sitting
to feel lifted while walking
down an empty street
i was existing and it felt nice
i was walking and didn't need anything else
it all made sense
that maybe just
being is enough
suddenly it all makes sense
that maybe you're not wrong
but your herd is just
too thick
that maybe you just need some thin white lines
on a wall in williamsburg for a warning
a reminder and a reassurance
that maybe everything is going fine
and your head in the clouds is
in the right place
that walking and existing
and floating and sitting
and smoking and drinking and crying
all made sense
that some sheep just need
to be let loose
and that some,
some but not many,
some sheep are here to stay

graffiti is basically the best wisdom. i spent most of yesterday alone, thinking and wandering. i reached a strange point between feeling sad and feeling complete.

so what do we do with this? we make it sing.

2010-09-02T19:43:00.005-04:00

i guess i should just be thankful that this is all i have to worry about,
whether i choose english literature or creative writing or art or cinema studies or
whatever.
i go to bed at night crying because i don't know myself,
after i realized that no one else could possibly know me until
i do.
yeah it's just college and i'm just 20 and it's just another day,
but not really.
not really because while i'm sitting in a classroom in a recently renovated building thanks to some generous, rich, asshole patron,
sitting and complaining about how my clothes fit,
someone is laying sprawled on the sidewalk because
it's just their only option.
and don't get me wrong,
i'm not an advocate for the homeless or a mother teresa
or anything that is outside of myself, really.
but it's made me think,
wrenched my eyes open as if they were clamped shut in cacophony.
it's not just a day, it's not just an option, and it's not
just life.
because if anything was ever just just
the world would cease to exist.
i realized the universe is composed of uncertainties,
of mistakes and unfulfilled experiences, of doubts and disaster,
failure.
options and hope squeezed in the spaces between disappointment and stagnant dreams,
they're there.
so while my life turns to shit and the world turns to shit and people act like shit,
the shit makes more sense.
and everything is revealed to be bullshit,
but not really.
and everyone's dying,
but not quite
yet.

like new york city, my mood has its ups and downs, changes in the flash of a second. one moment is never the same. it's weird, being back and trying to sort of time myself, learn to move to the rhythm of the city again. in the chaos of this week, i've found moments of peace. i'm starting to remember why i wanted to come back to nyc: it's life. i'm certainly not ready for everything it'll throw at me, but i'm sure as hell ready to have things thrown at me if it means that i'll finally wake up.

2010-08-31T16:31:00.002-04:00

i'm just surrounded by all these people who know what they want, and everyone's growing up. and it's like my whole life is a mistake.

=/

2010-08-26T01:38:00.003-04:00

i keep having thoughts, either early in the morning or late at night, and i don't seem to be able to write them down
somewhere between sleep and life, i'm aware of the mysteries of the world for just a second
and then it all disappears
and i wake up with a sadness deeper than when i went to bed
the pieces i manage to scribble
feel false after the minutes, hours,
days it takes to stumble upon brilliance again
find home again
the rigid lines and the blank pages have lost their warmth,
don't beckon like they used to
and everything disappears in a moment's hesitation

today i learned

2010-08-23T21:11:00.002-04:00

that whole foods makes a decent guacamole
my dreams are feeble
and that there is such a thing as too much cream in tea
i learned sometimes four stamps on an envelope still isn't enough
and that even if the day starts gray
the sun in its full glory can bear down on you by 2pm
my heart skips to multiple beats, colliding
that it's silly to worry about the future
it will come anyway
that harry potter has taught me the majority of life lessons i may ever learn
and that sometimes it's okay not to know or understand
a good night's sleep is all we ever really need

untitled for now

2010-08-21T22:22:00.002-04:00

she has the limp arm of a writer, toned only for a few short and swift movements
constantly lifting a mug, cigarette, pen
pausing to watch the dreams
fall
maybe waiting until the motivation fades and the lies
drip
away
or possibly biding its time until another limb finds
and captures, tip-
toes along thin bone and transparent memories
until it creates a new territory of
fingers, filtered sunlight, gasps, smooth whispers
of shared pots of tea and shared packs of cigarettes
jointly making the ink run dry
shaking
shaking
reaching for a new one

huh. didn't/don't know where i was going with this, but it's reached an interesting point. maybe will make something more of this.

head horse hit [unfinished]

2010-08-18T23:05:00.002-04:00

i never noticed how much meanings change
how words when we're five aren't the same words when we're twenty
didn't notice until the deep purple of the sharpie bled into my retina
familiar shapes, unpleasant memories
i thought back, wondered what i knew then
that i may know now
i left the classroom wishing i could be five again
hoping those words would transform again
we could be children again, maybe
maybe not, never

insufficient lighting

2010-08-16T23:00:00.002-04:00

insufficient lighting,
it makes it difficult to read.
more difficult to sleep
than engineer dreams

the emptiness burns bright
in a world so dim

scribbles scribbles
illegible.
silent parties
for the failures

missing links
ancient

ancient sorrows
overlooked.
yes, we'll need another lamp.

this is nonsense. i was just tired of not posting anything new on here. blah blah stressing about a lot of things blah blah blaaaaaaaaaaaah.

8/11/10

2010-08-11T18:45:00.002-04:00

she was the type of person who was far more impressive when she didn't say anything. not that she said stupid things. she just had a presence.
she once said that all she wanted to do in life was drive an ambulance.
i want that kind of power, she once said.

less than fabulous

2010-08-04T19:52:00.004-04:00

he walked over the piles of clothes and the crumpled photos, shaking his head in disapproval
no, no, no, he was saying
darling, you never let anyone see the room you breakdown in
and definitely not the mess you create
no, we don't do that
he sat down at the edge of my bed, leaning in to get a closer look at my tear-stained, ugly, sad face
you never, ever let the world think you are anything less than fabulous
he looked back at the floor, his eyes hovered over the bare walls
no, love, i shouldn't even be in here
without looking back at me, he stood, straightened himself
without turning his head he said, 30 minutes and we're leaving
i am leaving with the most marvelous girl in the world, and there's nothing this room can do to stop us
as the door was closing, he said, wake up, darling, you've lost at least four pounds and will look wonderful in that little navy dress, don't keep me waiting

birthday breakdown

2010-08-01T20:07:00.003-04:00

my insides burn
and i was kicking and screaming and
i was crying
blind eyes tearing photos from the wall
ripping the only pieces of my existence
a collage in its separate pieces,
hours later i look at the damage i've done and i mourn for
hours later and my mom doesn't know a thing
a new plant to keep me company a new plant to freshen a new plant to kill
i was crying and grasping,
never enough hair to pull or tissues to use
acid mocks the throat
pancakes are funny, the way they go down so easy
and then scheme with the eggs and hashbrown to fight their way up back to daylight
up and back to normalcy, back to lies, back to disappointing reality
there's never anything to do but lay in bed and recognize the ugly laying with me
there is only ever these moments, this bed, the world outside with you with them over there there far away, that world doesn't exist
just as i don't exist
so tempted to text him, let him know that i'm going to die alone that i'm dying alone and he was right
sobs so loud i wonder how my ears hold such pressure, a heaving silence, always grasping rasping
one day i'll die in this bed i know it, maybe not today but someday
and my stomach will churn in emptiness and medicine
laying paralyzed in the days of
hours later and no one knows
hours and days and months
waiting to

most of this isn't good, but i'm too afraid to write the words, not ready to write the things i want/need to say.

mixed up [?]

2010-07-28T22:33:00.010-04:00

i put on a sweater because the a/c's too high, and it smells like winter
itches like cold breezes on bare branches
earlier i made banana nut bread, filled with aromas of autumn, cinnamon and things
caught in a vortex of inconvenient time, with the green fingers to prove it
nails short for working
the doctor said something about christmas and i nodded but i didn't want to think about that yet,
not ready for the lights and the snow and the ho ho h...
he brings home fresh berries, and i eat them up, suspended in sweet bitter bliss of purity
simple is all we're really looking for, things like a scoop of ice cream and airy vibrations from speakers, from throats
books shutter, fall in movement, take me back to years forgotten, aged ages,
youth caught in sweet bitter memories, flow of distorted life, the worn out greens changing to worn out golds to worn out nakedness to worn out birth
internalized lies, confused in the honest daylight and squished into beet burgers, a dark cold of summer, chill at beach
the transcending vanilla, drop dropping into the recipes of life, mixes of bread and things,
freezing bed on a starry humid night

letters

2010-07-26T20:48:00.003-04:00

the words, they're already there, before i even write them
we are one in the same, though different in so many ways
i'm here, she's there
east and west coast, miles apart
but these pages and these thoughts bind us so close
that it almost frightens me, to be wrapped in such
sameness
to smile at the reassurance, to know that my thoughts aren't always so
futile
the pondering of skype, road trips, escapes
thoughts to make our sentences and trinkets and cds stronger than they already are
stronger than they need to be
sturdier than they should
be in such a world, worlds of lists and complaints and bitching and human things
worlds of dysfunctional families and imperfect friends and awkward encounters
lines and lines of confession, tragedy, memory, happiness
i know what you mean, five words that flow out of my pen so easily
you're wonderful, words that lighten my eyes and fill my heart so quickly
all of the inbetween things, phrases, scribbles, that complement my soul just right
and complete my day just enough
the i love you written so honestly and simply

i got a letter today. have i mentioned how much i love sending and receiving mail? genevieve, you'll have to give me your address in arizona once you're settled in so we can start the penpal-ing.

cheap therapy

2010-07-21T02:18:00.004-04:00

their relationship was a bit complicated, always
but it worked magnificently
a cheap sort of therapy, a mellow neurosis
she would complain and he would ignore
he would despair and she would doubt
it was beautiful, really, the mess of it all
one day they woke up and just knew
they could feel it in the creased newspaper
and taste it in the bitter coffee
pause between forkfuls of egg, bites of banana
that morning they thought they knew
she said, we should break up
at the same time,
and i kid you not, the timing was perfect, we live in such a humorous universe,
at the same time he said, we should get married
the coffee was bitter indeed, the universe hilariously witty
they both said what and
in those days they were both trapped
something so horrible and perfect,
how do you let go
they would think that to themselves,
how can i let go, they thought
they eventually let go, of course,
days months years passed, who cares
the time doesn't really matter
does it
they moved on to other terrible, magnificent relationships
they moved on to other people with other problems
and their lives separately fell into chaos, beautiful messes
they never found happiness again

bummer. moment of depression. whatever.

2010-07-20T00:00:00.003-04:00

the professor of one of my favorite classes ever ever emailed us to tell us about the class she’ll be teaching in the fall. i’m momentarily depressed that i’ll be leaving. her class was honestly the only thing i really enjoyed while away from new york; and it was the only one that challenged, inspired, and “enlightened” me. i was able to look at literature in a completely new light, while at the same time focus more deeply on themes that already interested me. she’s absolutely wonderful, and since the end of the quarter in march i’ve been regretting not showing her my full potential. that class was the only thing that made me even consider that my life in ohio could work. the fact that this little email is making me question, almost regret, going back to nyu is blowing my fucking mind. how do you walk away from such talent, from the person who may be the greatest teacher of your lifetime? how do you walk away from a life that may turn out better, be more positive or successful, than the one you’ve so desperately dreamed about? shit, guys.
why do i always make horrible decisions?
i mean, i know the class is only 10 weeks and we're not going to be best friends and my professor isn't going to decide the rest of my life, but it's about what it symbolizes, you know? if i can find some happiness, some direction, some clarity here, then why the fuck do i need to search for it in new york? why follow a path i don't need, or maybe don't want, to go down?
again, why do i always make horrible decisions?

writer's block

2010-07-17T19:14:00.003-04:00

not fun.
i've been feeling so uninspired.
oh phewy.

BUT got a couple rolls of film developed.
c'est moi.

7/13/10

2010-07-13T23:22:00.002-04:00

this tshirt smells like skunk and
i've been writing the same reminders on my hand for a week
what happened to all the paper
kerouac last week, austen this
a skunk today
mom likes my favorite band, and
the way my new clothes fit
two sizes, two sizes
let's make it three or four
i've been dreaming about how cemeteries and boys can
fit into my complex convoluted world of storytelling
is it too simple, is it too forced
she ran her fingers through my hair as i drove and
i didn't feel a thing but it was wonderful
to know that you're something beautiful and special
i wear the same things and write the same words and
pretend to be someone else, every day

why do mugs

2010-07-10T21:24:00.002-04:00

why is it
that at times
only
tea
makes sense
there is something
so
comforting
about the
boiling water
and the
leaves
leaves dried
withered
why do mugs
hold such
mysteries
there is
a stillness
a quiet
whispering
in the steam
a
shouting quiet
in the warmth
why do mugs
hold such
mysteries

complacency or faded [working title for now]

2010-07-08T17:11:00.003-04:00

it was in the middle of that drab summer that she began to think about it
in between batches of cookies, in the midst of blueberry scones
she felt it may be her only contribution to society
the idea rose like dough, bittersweet
when did i become like this, she thought
my soul is too fragile for this, she thought
she tried to wash everything away with cups of tea and imaginary characters
figures dancing on screen
she grabbed her bags one afternoon, careful to remember the notebooks
things just don't make sense, she thought
what am i here for, she thought
she met a man in a diner
he was nice, with a faded hat and a faded tshirt to match a faded life
they were talking and he asked about the cookie she was eating
is it good, he said
i'm thinking about getting chocolate chip i figure chocolate chip is always good, he said
she wasn't aware of diner etiquette but she wanted to be honest
it's ok, she said
not to be rude but i make pretty good cookies, she said
oh, he said
he was quick to catch on
so it's not as good as your cookies huh
well maybe then you can make me some sometime
yeah maybe, she said
why am i still here, she thought
black coffee replaced tea, greasy eggs and truck drivers replaced whatever entertainment her life had known before
steamed away problems in the hot corners of the kitchen, sweating, pausing between batches
things are so easy here, she thought
when a few muffins brightened old norma's day or when faded hat bought her ice cream and insisted they watch the stars
it was in the middle of that drab summer that she began to think about it
and it was in the middle of that drab summer that she came to life, died, came to life, died

thinking i might make this into a short story.

last 4th of july poem, i swear.

2010-07-05T13:33:00.005-04:00

oh god and that face, he says, it lit up with the fireworks
and i swear, she glowed brighter than them
i listen patiently, nod and smile
and wait for the moment when i'll be magical enough for him

just a little something i thought of last night while watching some fireworks. it's like we look up at these things in the sky, but what about the fireworks within each of us? they light up the sky with this amazing glow, and i just sort of thought about how we do the same with each other.

declaration

2010-07-04T15:40:00.004-04:00

declare independence, don't let them do that to you
the words screamed at her
but i don't know how, don't know how, she thought
all i have is this red blood and these blue lips,
the white remainder of a burned flag
raise your flag, higher, higher
the woman told her
her arm hurt, but she lifted, lifted
until the flag was high enough
and the decorations were in order
she said, protect your language,
make your own flag,
ignore their patronizing
covered her ears, turned away from the boom boom crackle
go to the top of your highest mountain
she found the fridge, ice for the wound and beer for the memories

i don't know if this makes sense at all. i was listening to bjork's "declare independence." yeah i'm pretty certain this doesn't make sense.

4th of july

2010-07-02T22:25:00.003-04:00

all of this, she said, it just makes me want to make blueberry pie
what about everything else, he asks
what do you mean, ‘everything else,’ nothing else really matters
he shakes his head, straightens the tablecloth, well are you going to make another one
no, she’s shaking her head now, eyes hovering over the golden tops of the pies already dominating their tiny kitchen’s surfaces
she’s letting all the cool air out, he thinks, the way she’s standing in the doorway, she should move
but he doesn’t say anything
instead he thinks about apple pie and hot dogs and decorations
didn’t you love this time of year when you were a kid, he asks, you know, the fireworks and sparklers and food, he says, wasn’t there a parade
yeah i guess, but

feel free to tell me your interpretation of this. i want to know if it's too ambiguous and needs some "bridging." but you guys are smart and probably get it. but still. pretty please. i'll [try to] make you a blueberry pie.

thrift store, her summer.

2010-06-30T19:51:00.002-04:00

she liked to drown her sorrows in other people's trash,
walked between long rows, examined clothes on racks, dreamed of claiming those sandals
or those pants, the right fitting
ice cream and cigarettes, these were on her mind most days
the showstress of a generation
wrote the tragedies of her generation
flailed on empty streets, moonlight reflecting her tears, she still thought of the sweetness of watermelon and the completeness of a cup of tea,
the simplicity of a hug
pieces and holes in a performer's life
carried the weight of her generation in the pockets of baggy clothing, in dreams too horrible for camera,
sandwiched between television shows and car rides
the hum of another's heart, this was on her mind most days

i've been in a sort of depression coma for the past week or so. i guess i still am? part of me just wants cookies and ice cream. and drugs.

6/22/10

2010-06-22T06:15:00.001-04:00

sleep is a thing of the past, she said
it's 7am. i'm not tired, but i'll close my eyes anyway
she knew she'd wake up and nothing would be changed