the book i have to read for my math class surprised me in the best of ways and said

"Learn this lesson, that to be self-contented is to be vile and ignorant, and that to aspire is better than to be blindly and impotently happy. Now listen"

i was thinking today about all the times i learn;
about people, about the world, about myself, about how i slash others think about things, etc etc and i thought about the ways of how i learn them. listening to people, lectures, or stories. reading, or writing myself into a conclusion. observing, thinking, creating. and i thought about how all those ways listed are done in silence. and i usually have fun at parties but when everyone was shouting no one was listening to eachother and it was so loud, yet nothing was said, and nothing was learnt. and the things i remember most from that night are not any of the things shouted -meganfox-unspeakablethings-haaaaaha-youwont- . what i remember are the looks i saw when i everyone was watching the movie and i turned around and everyone's faces was duly aglow; half with purple-tinted flickering light from the shifting tv screen, half with the various shifts of consciousnesses and sparks of realizations, laughter, or confusion. i learnt from those. i learnt from the things that werent said, and from touches and hugs and crazed dancing. and i learned a lot, i cant quite say what it was because it was never said and im not adequate with words


if memory serves

im addicted to words

and theyre useless

to you who made me my Wintery Mix From One Emily to another Emily seedee i would just like to say that i thought it might make a me cry a bit, and want to curl warmly into sweaters and books and thoughts like sadish music usually does. but some strange chemical reaction occured between my HSO5 and CH4 and ClO- and 5H2Cl+ and everything else ive learned the past week thats inside me. and its made me okay with everything id previously held faulted in my life. truly, its okay. more than okay. not everything is spectacular and gleaming as that first moment you set eyes upon it. but after the flight and crash and burn or any extended period of static... the world is fine. you are fine. i am fine, this is balance. not indifferent balance, or limited scared balance anymore either. thank god.

and i want to thank you for being who you are because you are an enabler. and those types of people make differences in the world.

in fact that goes for both girlz who made me cds in the past week, the other being the most open thing i know i want to talk to you for hours, i want you to know that the things you do are great just becuase of the nature you do them in, the people you are with are great merely by your presence, you dont realize how greatgreatgreat you are. and how greatness is contagious.

i wish you guys werent yourselves sometimes... i mean so you could look at yourselves as someone else. and have yourself enabled by yourself. to feel the belief you instill in people, and be moved by it. and also- to you who does the announcements that never fail to remind me to laugh in my day. i wish you could step outside that tall body, and sit in a first period classroom chair instead for a day. and see how your day would be brightened.

And one day, I am gonna grow wings

I wonder when is that critical moment; that steady, inevitable drift as i always imagined-- or maybe its the at first imperceptible, and then all-consuming fall-- from what ive always been into what i hope to be. i wonder when the "when im older" happens, or how. im older now. im older than i was when i started writing this entry.

A chemical reaction

today i wanted to scream during F block because I was very very happy and wondered why i wouldnt just shout out if i wanted to so bad. i wanted to so much it tickled the top of my throat but i thought that. 1. it would cause mayhem in my classroom, or maybe a frigid pool of glaring silence. (either one would be excruitatingly awkward and funny) 2. it would probably cause a more dramatic effect than beneficial outcome 3. people just dont do that. and i was a little upset at myself to have to weigh all my options before doing them. are all my actions measured? is nothing i do that completely spontaneous and raw impulse we all have.. do we make those settle? are our actions the addition of our impulse - percieved societal expectations - percieved social image - self-assurance limitations = diluted action? i beat my urges down and leash them up. its a good thing i guess that i dont completely destroy them. but because they are kept so near, i can hear them whining and barking.

Hysterical and useless

and i was thinking about all the petty things i said at lunch to people whom i dont know very well, and i wondered why people even bother with that small talk. if the only thing these people know me by are these "omg. ya. wow. huh. really?" conversations we have during sporadic lunches, they must find me so utterly boring. maybe i shouldve shouted out loud then, which wouldve been much more interesting than my feigned interest. "your mom made you a salad? yum. no i dont have that teacher. school sucks" and honestly i dont think school sucks in the slightest

i wish i could create music because when my fingers used to be able to fly over the piano keys like the long, spindly spiders theyd matured into, i would sit at that piano bench for hours. my piano sounds like crushing bone, people chewing with their mouths open, or some other horrific noise. it hasnt been tuned since even before we bought it, over 9 years ago. but to me, it sounded perfect because i could only hear what i heard in my head, supplemented a bit by the awareness of pounding keys and sounds, but those hardly mattered. every thought i had shot from my fingertips throught this vast organ, like a heart pumping out beats expelled out and its was what i had inside of me.. except out of me. i could listen to it. so could others! and then my piano lessons were over because we couldnt afford them, and i taught myself one refrain of one song and i can still play it for an hour at a time, past annoying others and my dogs beginning to howl, past even when up to my shoulder becomes sore, because its all i have left of that

i miss creating

sometimes i feel like turning to the person next to me and just validating the fact that this does exist, the types of people ive admired my whole life, to be living breathing and thrashing in front of me. and if their as amazed to be a part of that too.

shoutoutz to mah franz :) ;) LOL LOL <3

whose DPs can make the chandelier shake, can YES! harder than anyone I know, peel clementines in one whole peel, talk to me in my driveway until very very late, flash track teams, throw down fresh beats and carol of the bells harmonizings and still be the most thoughtful intelligent and interesting people there is. I love you babes, but you just cant make me smile

These phantom pains in my right ankle yawn and stretch and awaken with this stricken grin, an anticipatory snicker. Wrapping their coiled, scaly fingers around my stretched and feeble tendons, leafing through those supple and flexible ligaments that now give way at their touch. A new soccer season, but the beginning. And I can already feel my looming surrender. Those pains like ghosts that shoot, and cut, and pull. Its like their unraveling the strings that tie my foot to my leg. If they hurt you ever after this, its time for surgery.
Stop it.

"An oxymoron. You know two things that contradict themselves. Like jumbo-shrimp. Or military intelligence"

I dont even know. Today was, scintillating. And buoyant. And relative. Cool stupid insane weird are all so relative. Like, so entirely multi-faceted and relative they dont even exist. And we had personal conversations with teachers and acted fine, I was fine today. The world is fine.

People keep me hopeful because always there is this light in them. Like lighted things like flashlights, or streetlights. Or the flash on a camera. They pan light all around them, not just what theyre pointed at. You are like that. The people who I meet who are scared and strangely distant in conversation, the ones who could never multitask by talking and being vulnerable at the same time.. The perversion, the fakeness, either way. Its slightly hollowed out. The ones who put down others and elevate themselves, theyre pointing their own light at themselves, and its like holding the flashlight up to your own eyes. Blinding. Its the challenge of staring into it, but what are you challenging, what are you defying except yourself?

But You are very light.

And things that you care about dont always make you have joy, because caring is so much more than that flimsy, unsure happiness that always makes me shaky. And giggly. And caring is always fufilling, I think. So far.

Because we separate like
Ripples on a blank shore



December is the time when the earth doesn’t want us. December is the time of cold. Of that musky, wintry smell that isn’t a powder pouffe of snow dabbed onto the grinning cheeks of our Mother, it’s the rigid scabbing of her cracked and splitting skin. Dry. Drly humorous, the frost that smells like derisive laughter, and the pristine sky that’s less transparent than it looks. And the frost that creeps up our steps, and the frost that bites hard into trees and leaves, and they surrender in a hurry.. how those previously green leaves that blank spiral down, that heave of exhaustion, that curling at the corners and drift into sleep. They lay down with the ghost kisses, those flakes like dandruff that ripple from the heavens. Snow flakes, their biting freeze on your blushing cheek. Burrowed into your face, a shot, then numb. This is the tranquil, this is the tranquilized. The comatose stillness, the indifferent placidity.It’s the staying up late at night, lighting my candles and not focusing because my mind is full with frozen, crystal thoughts until I’m holding my pen over the candle flame and its melting and I’m wondering why I’m not fluid like that, why I don’t melt at your touch, until I realize I’m lighting my pen on fire. And my white paper sheets, unfilled with critiques and assignments, stare blankly back. They always win those staring contests. December is that month. That month when we go back to our childhood, our pre-childhood, when its safest in the abundance of blankets in our beds that mimick Mother’s womb, when safety is what we look for. Because December is that month, that time when the earth’s demise is spelled clearly in the fleeing deer tracks, the fish frozen right beneath the surface—of lakes, gaping and bug eyed as they watch this spectacle- the earth. The stretch and the shiver and the shudder. Collapsing into itself. Its not the puffy yawny-eyed sunrise of rose, it’s the glaring reflection of blinding white light off the snickering black ice in the road. It’s the scabbed earth. It’s the fleeing deer. And the fleeing raccoons. And the dead squirrel you ran over, and the frozen, gaping fish. Its the life thats fleeing from the reflection of its unrecognizable self. How we became this. And the retreat. The retreat back into safety. The cavernous womb. The shields of underarmor we layer our brittle and dry skin with, so we don’t crack. The cracks in the road. The unfinished homework, the underlying current that pulls us all back in. Like how even in winter the ocean waves pull steadily at the shore, they never freeze. This is December. This is the unraveling. This is when the earth doesn’t want us.



Reckoner
Take me with you
Dedicated to all you
All human beings

shut UP emily, gahd. youre so annoying. shut up. put that hoe on a leash. Youre so stupid. do you know that. youre dumb shit. no shit. alright bye. i want to punch you in the face. youre so ugly. youre fat. you need to lose some weight. i hate you. youre annoying. pussy. control your bitch. fuck you shut up fat ugly youre a whore. why are you wearing that. wear your hair curly. wear it curly. curly. curly or im not gonna talk to you. maybe you shouldve been doing your ankle exercises all along. selflish. selfish. selfish. selfish bitch. give me all the answers to that. lie to your parents. so dumb so fucking dumb. ew. JUUUST KIDDING. but gross. seriously. yuck. why are you even talking to me. slut. hoe. youre not funny emily. shut the fuck up i dont want to hear it from you! get some. youre so weird. blow some. I bet emily wants my dick. she wants me. we fucked. yah you want it emily dont you?

HAHAHAHAHA YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ! ;)

Today when I drove by that house astrung with flickering christmas lights like pinpricks in the black-drop of falling night, i wondered if you knew that ive always wished i lived in your house. And I wanted to stand outside the window throw rocks at it and tell you. Youre living in my dream house.

You are living someones dream.

And then I had this weird epiphony, that no one makes it out of their lives alive.

And today was a spectacular day. Even though my grades are sliding down the drain, into that disguisting place mom always asks me to clean but i refuse when doing my chores. I think im going to have to restrain this pride. Or, according to the demon i mean guidance counselor who came into my chem class today, apparently ill never ever go to college.

Brother, see, we are one and the same

And you left with your head filled with flames

And you watched as your brains

Fell out through your teeth, push the pieces in place

One thing you dont realize is how much my mind is a mad scientist, and by this i mean that I take everything you say and slice it open with pristine, cleansed scalpels and pick it apart with tongs and boil it over those rusty bunsen burners that belch clawing smoke, and I choke on this smoke that I breathe and forget about it-- once I come back its all burnt to ashes and thats all i have left to observe for meaning

Make your smile sweet to see, don't you take this away

I'm still wanting my face on your cheek

Tell them your list of bad words Zara! Let them know so they'll never say them again

stupid, bozo, gosh darn, hate.

People say that your dreams

are the only things that save ya.

Come on baby in our dreams,we can live on misbehavior.

Every time you close your eyes

Lies, lies! Every time you close your eyes

I read a book and found out it takes years and years and (light?)years for humans to notice that a star has gone out. extinguished. cave in and crumbled. is it a neat packing up and drift away, or an instantaneuos combustion that sends ripples undulating under the dark vieling of nice night sky? i dont know. mine was a drift.

but we never notice these things. and how can we, so far removed from the sky? its merely a matter of our nature, we are humans, this earth our domain. those foreign things, those things outside ourselves, are unreachable. The fact that they exist could even be a further extension of our imagination, some promise to ourselves that there are some burning, passionate things above us; when in truth they could have fizzled out like those Emergen-C! vitamin drops mom makes me put in my drinks when im sick. It spits and growls and yellow blemishes into the water, spreading like an oil spill. Anyways, they could all be out.

I dont know if its a reingnation, or just a toddler coloring the picture back in, scribbling outside the lines but to him, it looks fine. I dont know if its a spark of flame or a seeping of sunlit rays between the bark-laden arms of trees. But either way, we come back. Before anyone knows somethings been gone. It feels good to be hungry yum yum for something i know ill never get. Becuase it keeps me reaching.

stretching feels nice

people are refreshing. like the ones I have no expectations for. yet. i think ill stop having expectations. becuase when you smiled at me today i knew i existed. Once I asked Mr. Farrel how could i could ever hope to write beautiful things and passionate stories if i had no pain in my life. Becuase all these moving things evoke sadness, and this sense of injustice or longing. And I interpreted my lack of upset for indifference. But I realized loving things and feeling things is just as painful because

I dont know why, but feeling things is this sharp, satisfying pain right between my temples that makes me appreciate the little things that when I'm upset, I numb out. I'm going to stop now before I write myself in circles.

Except to say i really know nothing :) and that if you love something, make sure it knows that, at the very least

Often I just get in a mood that feels like sitting in a very still pool of lukewarm water and I feel like watching people. And I watch the interactions that they pass to eachother, insults pass flinches like internal tremors across the table, an offended blink, a casual grimace. No big deal. I dont care. Whatever. Fuck you. Pussy. Bitch. And I dont understand it at all. There is nothing of myself I'm afraid to be anymore (it makes me nervous, but not so much legitimate frightening) and I am not scared of the things I dont understand. I havent found myself threatened by much, I have no need to be threatening. everything I observe seeps into my bloodstream until I'm full and Im so full so full full full of emotion that even though I tell people my day was good and I'm not lying sometimes I have to cry because I just feel things and I wonder if they are real because they are untouchable by anyone but me, its so sad to me that we can only feel our own feelings, that we cant reach out and touch and hold and embrace those precious and fragile thoughts that flap and fall from the nests of people's minds. I cant feel them. We are so limited, and inept as humans, to be trapped in such a trivial thing as ourselves. The confines of my pliable skin.

And then that question, that EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT OHEMHAWD.

It's the way I see
everything I need
it's no way to be

as if fun was burst from seeds, the leaves of contentment. As if that swirling high could be born upon a flame. As if that thing, the very thing that makes life so fascinating, (that makes one see the twist and the turn of the fire, licking the air in pained strokes; the glow that imitates warmth by merely encompassing cold, the dulled luminoscity behind bulbous irises. The searing touch,) of heightened senses? As if experience, wonder, or imagination could be ziplocked in a little baggie and burnt. As if the putrid stench, both weedy and black as rich dirt, that acquired taste, was what made things so easy, lucky, free.

As if feeling, as if passion, was something so dense and and intense to be overwhelming for humans, that it must be merely the smoke, those shadowy remains, of it that we inhale. Feelings invoked or feelings evaded? I'd rather find this strength within myself. Why are we so inadequate as to not have all this bottled within us?

I do i do i do believe we have it. whats so wrong with finding it?
But I'm still curious to try?

But I feel alive and I feel it in me
up and up I keep on climbing
higher and higher and higher
higher and higher and higher

i think its really great when people can be honest and i think its really sad that [almost] everyone in highschool grinds.

thats like the highschool dance.

and i mean dance in two ways.

we grind into eachother with judgements and insecurities and lash out when we are feeling hurt or threatened or worthless, and get ground into a pulp by our crushing self-doubt and the weight of what we percieve others expectations to be.

And its logical to be attracted to those who seem more whole, who have this thing figured out. They arent grinding they really are dancing, dancing around the mere immaturity of it all, becuase pure pure happiness is untouchable, this joy dance where you are following your own path, own footsteps, and we all dance around eachother without pain or interference, because at this point who gives a fuck what other people do. whats the point? who really knows what they are doing right now. what youth truly knows who they are. yet how many pretend to?

and then you perfect your own dance and can reach out to others, because you no longer need to look where you are going. and then you both can dance while holding hands and touching and not hurt eachother. and that is being close and being friends and that is the type of love that i think everyone needs. the kind that lifts you out of whatever hurt youve encountered. lifts you out so much you are high enough to see how low it was down there, making fun of others. when you had no idea of yourself either. then the dance twirls you around cause its okay

what?

http://www.youtube.com/user/joeyhersh10#p/a/u/0/tPKWEb_-Z6E

Joey and i made this but you probably wont understand it unless youre in my english class

I want two cats, named Lulu and Evelyn.

Grinding your teeth in the middle of the night

With the sadness of those molars

Spend all your spare time trying to escape

With crosswords and sudoku

I havent climbed too many metaphorical trees lately. I remember being younger, and I made a written pact with my childhood soulmate (friend) that we wanted to live in trees. We mapped their scaly, sinuous arms with our relatively-infintesimal and breakable fingers, our unblemished palms so sensitive and prying, our faces scared to theirs, scarred. Cold and trembling, we decided to come back next year, when things were alive again. Though they didnt have goosebumps, the trees stood and clung in their breathes from the frost-bitten air. But we didnt hold our breath through the winter, and never visited again. And we were told those berries were poisonous by parents so i didnt eat them-- but just a couple weeks ago I found out they tasted like apples.

If I could do it again

I'd make more mistakes

I'd not be so scared of falling

If I could do it again,

I'd climb more trees

I'd pick and I'd eat more wildblackberries

I miss you

Conor Oberst: Well the fever is basically whatever ails you or oppresses you, it could be anything. In my case its my neurosis, my depression, but I dont want to be limited to that. Its certainly different for different people. Its whatever keeps you up at night

--
Radio: It is, it is. How about this Arienette, how does she fit in to all of this?
Conor: Id prefer not talk about it, in case shes listening
Radio: Oh, Im sorry, I didnt realize she was a real person
Conor: Shes not, but I made her up
Radio: Oh, so shes not real?
Conor: Just as real as you or I
Radio: I dont think I understand
Conor: Neither do I, but after I grow up I will. I mean, you know what, a lot of things are really unclear for me right now
Radio: Thats interesting. Now you mentioned your depression
Conor: No I didnt

---
Conor: Well I did have a brother who died in a bathtub . . . he drowned. Well actually I had five brothers that drowned
Radio: (Chuckle)
Conor: No, Im serious. My mother drowned one every year for five consecutive years. They were all named Padraic, and thats why they only got one song. Its kind of like walking out a door and discovering that it's a window

I really just want to be this warm yellow light that pours over everyone that I love

skyboxx '09

something about seeing the entire circumference of the world around you, that ring of boundaries and being above it, on top of plaster and plastic fenced-in, stepping on lights and hopping chain fences. why is it that doing things we aren't supposed to feels liberating? what kicks rationality in the face until we are screaming and cartwheeling, spraying up flecked beads of turf-dirt?

the prominent smell of frost tastes a little like some derisive, yet austere excitement

Think less but see it grow

Like a riot, like a riot,

I'm not easily offended

It's not hard to let it go

From a mess to the masses

why i wish i was called emma

this is pouring rain

this is paralyzed

all my love was down

in a frozen ground

this is not the sound of a new man

or a crispy realization

its the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

your love will be

safe with me

i am so in love; with you (a collective and singular you), and with this half realization of things. the tenuous, the endearing, enduring frailty. like blinking, trusting that its too bright but youll be that bright too, once acclimated. and when I took a chance on someone unexpected to give out one love unit, I got back two. Now I have two more to give out

its a start and its sometimes all we can do?

(vague, oops. )

something I read for english said it was not in human nature to expose oneself.

id like to create an army of inhumans-- humanitarians who reach inside themselves, slicing into the pulsing breaths, the veils of flaking skin, the moist and supple organs and the coiled scaly tendons and pull out their hearts for everyone to see :)

im in such a weird mood. i got my first C, in a class about what it means to be human

i dont mind being a grade C human if someday I could be something better in the kind that exposes themselves.

THEN MY parents said it was time for bed. and I asked them if me and my husband could not go to bed right now, we could go to the meadow by the golding's house, outside of nina's road and have a picnic. and then jump in that pond even though we werent supposed to. and they no its gross. and I said okay how about the pond down our road, we could ride bikes and they consented. and i asked if we could come home and eat chocolate and wine. and vivacious, utopian fruit. and they nodded. and read lots and lots and lots of books? and go out dancing? and travel? paint and paint and laugh and never stop caring, and never come to a halt?

and they laughed, but i wasnt kidding

ive been listening to too much bon iver

As of 7:22, November 6, 2009 I am officially done competing with people.

Everyone is at White Hot DEE PEE and I am locked in at home. Complain. Its weird, time passing but not really. I stayed home today and I walked outside and absolutely everything was this placid stillness. It was cold but I liked it because it wasnt a cruel cold that drills into my bones and sucks in my insides.. it was an honest cold, that burrowed into my hollows and froze thoughts into tangible and distinct ideas. Frost tastes like numb absense. The rippling wind caressed undulating leaves that threw themselves in some suicide attempt from branches and I ran around trying to catch them. But no cars drove by and I shouldve been sleeping or in school- this felt like stolen time, frozen, cold stolen time that I'd stumbled upon. I leaped into this hidden, still world and played in it and it was unresponsive, unmoved, and unchanged. When i went back inside there was clocks and time moved again and there were other animals breathing, but when I was outside.. I was the only one in the world. A burning ember amidst the frozen glacier of life, I expelled clenched fists of steam into the air with every exhale that stretched into the sky, a wispy claw. I almost ran awayayaya

my parents are cracking down. "Less blogging, more work!"

So lets get out of here

past the atmosphere...

dont cool off, i like your warmth

my insides are humming!

actually, also they are whistling like Andrew Bird's Oh No

Today could maybe be described as picking a fruit off of what looks like a grape tree but finding out it tastes like apple.

When I saw you in the hallway and you said how are you and i said good you? and you said good the next thing I said was "we are both liars." but that never actually made it out of my mouth. i kind of hate that formal kind of thing. I do actually want to know how you are doing.

My whole recent life has been consumed by filtering away my time with idleness, like slowly scraping away at the hours with a cheese grater until they lie in pieces by my feet. Then I have nothing left to scrape away so I do work until very early, by the time I think that what is it that matters in the long run? The fact that my subjects intrigue me, or if I can take a test on them? And then I go to sleep and its the most delicious thing to swim in covers and languid wave-pulses of darkness and drowsiness. But waking up in the morning is like leaving a huge pit of my head back on the pillow, and its missing all school day. my focus is alksdj

It feels like my time has recently been spent on that, and various insignificant things that dont generally inspire/pain/awe me. Indifferent. I hate that. Thats why I went a little !NS@N3 for thrifting oh'9 but seriously I needed to run really fast with no shoes on, and sing and make strange noises. And spontaneuity (sp?!) and to meet new people again, and be filled up and light-headed at the same time- because honestly I havent been doing anything lately, anything that I'm going to want to write stories about or tell my children later in life. Maybe if I wanted to sit in a grand, palatial house with sweeping halls and immaculate lawn fences, with two angel twins who bathe in wealth and advantage( They arent un-curious, they just have no reason to question.) --would I feel like I am doing anything of importance.

But I'd like to have kids who are wild things

I really wish I was called something other than Emily

Mmmmmmmmmm i think youre really great. all of you

You slide down the stairs to the eager street

And the sun is left with slippery feet

And I want to walk around with you

am still alive in love and

wide eyed in my time

I feel like throwing my cat, Stress is her name, out the window but she hissssssssssses(stresssssses) at me from behind her impenetrable bars of Powerschool.

Today I drove and listended to loud Casimir Pulaski Day. Lithe, past winds littered with mosiac leaf shards and dashing flecks of crimson and sunlight gold, the glimmering sheen of heat upon the newly frosted feilds, the eerie translucence of the flimsy, curious milkweed, growing up and losing its green. The world is no longer green, as neither are we, we were naive and young and alive and now progressed into bright hot passion pit piles of ember leaves and crinkled skin. My veins are a visible mapping on my broad palm's back. I crack when stepped on. And I am blown by large gusts of wind. But I am glowing red. And feel warmth. Slightly singed by it too.

I wish I could go to school tomorrow and take notes on everybody. I think I'd learn 329842834 more than staying up doing my homework right now.

My insides surfacing, thats what it feels like to be raw.
RAW AWE

raw gaping skeletons of people around me; I see their build and size and structure and realize we are all wired of the same veins, the same true blue blood, the same tick-tock heart and all. we just all wear different glasses

i'm lucky to be underthis same sky that held

the exhale from your first breath

like a ring on a pillow of clouds

by you my tongue may stutter

but my gift heart screams clear and swells

to burst between the wrapped lengths

of its bowed ribbon cell

little things count.

Today I had gym class long and since crutches are B!TCH3$ i had to sit out the whole time. At first I decided to observe the freshman gym class- scene unfolding before me. I feel so different from two years ago, like my life was neatly severed and now I can look back with detachment. Its weird how I'm no longer touched by the same things.

I dont know if anyone else knows what I mean, but there is something oddly akward and embarassing about stumbling upon someone who didnt know they were being watched. Not even that, but someone absorbed so intently on what they are doing, struck by some frenzied passion that they dont even realize the world around them. I noticed one girl was running around frantically with her feild hockey stick, with some wild energy in comparison with the other sluggish lumps of freshmen oozing gym-class hate. She spiraled and leaped and lips curled in a snarl in her own dance. And I saw the way other kids looked at her, and in my mind I urged stop it. Theyll tear you apart. And I saw a couple boys point and laugh and then they began to ignore her, and all throughout their hockey game she ran with bounding skips in her step and her mouth mumuring a thousand unheard words. And one time she looked up after a particular moan of frustration at missing a shot, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights when our eyes met. And she sunk back into a shell of shyness and stopped acting so crazy. The world around her came rushing up and over her head.

She was embarassed and since I had been the one watching, it was as though I was the one who woke her up, exposed her, and I felt it too. I felt ashamed for her embarassment though. I wondered when things changed- at what age does it become embarassing to feel and depict raw, pure emotion? To laugh to loudly or to dance because you really love feild hockey-- to giggle and hum to yourself when playing because youre filled up with something others cant feel. What part of society made us supress that? I hate whatever tells her that it is strange and ugly to act like that, I hate what it is that makes her feel ashamed.

I was so uncomfortable after that that I hobbled over to the mats in the corner of the gym, closer to my own class. Our class loves eachother. I drifted into throbbing waves of sleep in the comforting yells of my classmates, their shrieking laughter, and their strange chorus of moaning whenever they hit the volleyball, to a cacophony of giggles. This is how it should be



A couple mornings ago, I woke up to find my journal open by my bed and having no recollection of recording this in scratchy, nearly illegible writing, I read:

now I remembered why they shut windows-- couldnt keep the frost from her feet
when they kiss they spit white noise
sank into a sleeping pool of silence unshaved legs like razor slices beneath frothing ocean tide of azure covers
bareboned and raw, her eyes bled red skull = expose ourselves
"you complete me"
he sighed into her yawning and cavernous insides
footsteps, snoring, melodium, pondernative, indication
resilience, brilliance,
END OF THE WORLD



I am... not really sure what to make of that.

Then I wept with my face in your night shirt,

trying hard as hell to say"until death separates us,"

loosening the skin on your breastbone,

I painted your nails and you sleep

while I write all this down.

Grandmother. You were sick.

There was this premature stage that caught you before death; clasped your hand with assurance and played a while before shoving back into your planned grave. This apex when all was a grey, trinkling and tumbling through your insides and mind, a poison in those veins turning from blue to black. A bruise of existence. My most vivid memories are those of china clinking at dinner, and bright hazy lights of warm candels and the chandelier we almost knocked out of the ceiling when jumping on your bed above it. Underneath the warmth of family din there was the silence of what we dont talk about, frozen into our throats like preserved fossils, always the same thing. And when the vomit began was when we three scurried from the dinner table like mice from a threat, cousins like sisters tumbling from the chairs to huddle in the living room. We shut the doors and the shades on the door and pretended we couldnt hear you throwing up. The rasping wails and wretching and horrible splat of semi-congealed food smacking the floor. The croaking yells uttered at the man who married you for fifty some years. And here you had become the mere shadow of the one he promised a life.

Until death separates us.

I was scared to talk to you, because sometimes I couldnt understand what you said. The spittle that pooled in popping and light bubbles around the corners of your faded pink lips, your film of wrinkled chin. The rate of pulsation in your veins was the somber march of illness, the potent kind that runs itself into the ground. Your eyes held no luminoscity, cradled in the raw and tender sockets of your eyes, scooped from skull like perfect, symmetric spoonfuls; a transluncent blue hue, as though you tipped your head back to roiling clouds and filled up your eyes' iris with infinite, indifferent raindrops. When we were about to leave from our weekly visit, I snuck a small peck to your forehead and shut my eyes and held my breath. Usually I was interrupting a fight shut up Shut Up SHUT UP

I thought about those countless days when you must have been in love, you must have been love one day. You must have entwined legs in luxury of cashmere sheets, and the pictures spell the truth; you traveled with bright and fashionable scarves flapping around your neck like the news; I AM ALIVE. You were once pertinent and resilient, until

You were eaten up. The dominant gene, your parting gift to your womb's reguritation; your children's Christmas present long after youd turned a dark enough grey that the doctors decided this is black, this is death, its time to say goodbye. To what though? The thing that made you you had long ago succumb to the irritation, anxiety. The yelling and your soul didnt like what it made you so it slipped away. Out your eears, through the toes of your feet? Through the blood that seeped and accumulated beneath your flimsy sheath of skin, another bruise on the vacuumed skin on your hand? Where does it come from? Is it from The mind that thought and was and lived, with warmth and tenderness towards the three wailing and blood-soaked children you birthed, it found a love that blossomed and spanned years and years. I have proof! The gold locket I wear around my neck everyday, the sunken teeth marks from history. Does it come from that pumping and pulsating heart that stopped beating with youth, and instead began to exhale wearied and bated breaths, having lost their exhultance of vitality .. is that where this poison was made?

Huntingtons Disease. I am petrified, the kind that is paralyzing because where do you go;

where did she go?

You know my build.

You know my size.

The degree to which my eyes are astigmatic.

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

i feel like we are brittle human beings and there is this realm of emotion that is tangible and expected to us- we have the capacity for soaring joy and wallowing grief. but then there are these (not even feelings anymore- are they states?) when it goes past what "is fair" what "we should feel" it is this place so concave and hollow to be filled up with a thousand rain-storm tear drops but would forever stay vacant, there are no words you can put in it to close it up, and no words you could paste on it to even describe it. There is sadness, and that is common it is identifyable it is relatable. And then there are things like this that happen and they move into emptiness, this hollow void awash inside us with what- nothing? It is way past tears and im sorry's and its not anything easy to rationalize and it echoes and is lonely, this cavity eating away at the inside but its stomach never feels full, it turns feeling into nothing. how do you describe nothing?

but i dont mean it as I feel nothing, I mean that ..there is this real thing, neither above or below, but something INSIDE those feelings of sadness, its an excessive abundance of painhurtloss sucked into this super dense mass, a black-hole of ..

?

Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?

kid i dont know much about you

but i like you, cause youre true blue

GROUPS- haven of those, confused ?
often we are opaque and complex to ourselves, while others are so transparent to us. To place others in a group is to simplify them, to make tangible the lines we feel between ourselves and others. I hate it, really. Like highschool has this seemingly immaculate structure. We even group ourselves, but I believe this might be when we are at our weakest. Haven.

I dont think its possible to hurt others without hurting yourself

Why am I so intimidated by people in groups? What do they consist of? Insecurity, lost, complexity tied into this knot, this dense circle, this black hole that sucks up warmth to itself (untouchable, lonely!) inside this group. But look at the individual parts- you have humans, therefore you have love and beauty and vulnerability and warmth somewhere, and hurt and confusion and desires. Not so threatening. But once you become these individual units, you are no longer a group.

To reach out to other people brings the most pure joy, partially becuase it surprises me. People surprise me everyday

Uplift everybody and uplift yourself

Thats what my tea quote was. And I read it as once you uplift everybody, the latter part will come naturally. I hope this is how they meant it

But restless is causeless and I cannot hide

So much of my mind that it spills outside

and I want to walk around with you

just you just you just you just you

P3OPLE @RE $O B3AUT!FUL!

seriously.

i was taken aback today by this full on rip-tide roar of emotion from Mr. Guerrin today and I appreciated it so much. He was in the middle of checking notes and casually drifted over to his laptop.. before anyone knew what was happening a yell tore from the gutter of his throat and flew around the room, slapping everyone in the face. He jumped high enough to clear his desk. And after this sudden excitement, and expaining why (his pellect stove= approved. YAAAAAA) he just kind of bobbed up and down a little, ran his hands over his hair over and over and over and laughed a bit. And we looked at eachother and luaghed, and looked at him and laughed, and my cheeks eventually turned to stone from smiling so long. And that emotion was still there though-- a brief spurt of it gushed out from every pore of his body, seemingly, when he was transformed with the suddenness, the spontaniety, of joy, that kind of non-diluted RAW joy that I love love love. Why must we always compose ourselves? Erin and I danced and waltzed in the first snow of the year today, exclaiming and screaming for no reason, kissed by multi-million flecks of glass shards, ice licks, stars that can melt. That is raw and real. Mr. Guerrin's first reaction was real. I really really wish that I could express my state of AWE at everything whenever I felt it, because people MUST know they, have to .. but maybe we dont know how to share it yet. This brings me to a point i am going to explain.. i want to transcend myself. I want to give you RAW FEELING and I want to feel yours, coursing through not just my BEING but my HUMAN.

in the secret gallery i witnessed something in someone that i didnt recognize. it was a wall, and it scared me. like everything ive assumed about people up until now is that they all feel these fundamental emotions that we all have-- especially the ones that isolate me. Does that seem backwards? Sometimes I feel alone, but so does everyone-- thats why I feel like my theory of giving away warmth = more warmth for yourself works I think! Because when all we do is look inside ourselves, we see the things that makes us feel disconected or lonely. But when you're looking around, its this wonderful opportunity to study others, and this is how I learnt most about myself. There are so many common things- love, and vulnerability, and things we are scared of and things we do out of selfishness and things that are genuine. By recognizing these in others, I found them in myself. I feel like always looking at oneself, maybe even self-reflection, can get far too one-dimensional, and this went along with an epiphony I had. It gave me huge headache, honestly, I had this sodden lump of emotion behind my eyes and clogging my ears and the world turned grey for a second. I will never look out of anyone's eyes, I will never think their thoughts. This huge, complicated, oh-pity-me life I live-- so INFINTESIMAL! I just want to see, not from my own perspective. I want a mind open enough to engulf others and to be englufed, I wonder how slash if it is possible to get close enough to someone else, to transcend your body (this futile, physical limit to the mind... what is a body in reality? these fleshy, glossy balls of color with an impenetrable black iris in the center- eyes? we put so much resting of eye-contact, but what makes them relatable? And smiles- this grin and baring of the closest you can get to seeing ones skull. Its someone's mind I want to get at, all these get in the way!)

... okay sorry for that brief sidetrack. to transcend the body and be more than oneself, to be others, to be everyone, to be not just a human BEING but a HUMAN, the very essence of human, the LIFE in us, not just the reincarnation of it.

eye donut think i make much cents.

Oh, and we won the biggest game of our soccer season today. Bi!i!iG DEAL

i really just want to paint a lot and learn to play the guitar sitting in my room

oh yeah and read because that opens my mind-walls and erases these assumptions (i hate my assumptions about life. because there is no way to be aware of having them until someone questions them. aka my love of books)

oh yes, and little things, make me s osososos happy. and maybe this is sosssssssosososo selfish, but to know that i occupy space in someones mind for at least an instant- thats something that continually amazes me. Do you know? Your beautiful, precious thoughts, most intimate place of you, I really want to be there once. I want to occupy space in the world, and deliberately.

Don't cool off, I like your warmth

im getting lost in your curls

I am very excited for the future, because

Today in my soccer game my body went through about 3 stages of freezing and thawing. The pelting rain that felt like pinpricks of iciles ran the length of my legs, contracting my muscles into a single, unyeilding mass. On the bench, wrapped in sodden blue blankets, my fingers curled like claws into sweatshirts and I hid behind my friends because I didnt want to go back in because soccer seems so trivial to me lately, I want I want but I just cant get my fingers wrapped around caring and I watched the clouds, booming and ominous and clumped masses of dark grey and crinkled wafts of lighter gray drifting across hazy white until they reached the space of sky behind the soccer bench, where they are sifted and filtered into a midnight blue. At nighttime, do the clouds go away or is it merely too dark to see them? This seemed so much more fascinating than the warrior girls, transformed by inhuman aggression, throwing insults around to undermine the other's play. ttttttttttttttrivial

I got home and underwent a straight half-hour of seizure-like shaking in which I was hot too hot but constantly in motion with tremulous (is this a word?) shivers. The steam from a hot shower felt amazing, and my new thrift store purchase was so wornly-warm, and forgiving, unlike the pulling on of stiff blue jeans straight from the wash, seemingly cold metal stilts clasped to my legs. I was struck with this hope-- that I was in a room with three tall walls of utter white, the color I want to be, pure pure pure pristine untouched , actually touched very much but untainted still and brilliant because one whole wall was window and light could pour in, and also somehow wind and it fluttered the sunflower-golden yellow curtains that trail their flimsy finger-sheets on the sand-colored hardwood floor, a brown honey color, brown sugar soft looking and delicious this room and I would paint in it, or write, or dance, and there is a large piano in the corner and I would only wear large flannel shirts and curly hair and actually be called Emma or Rose and have a child named Grace or Lucy or Will or something actually imaginative and would just create or learn all day.

Whoever left me that honestly box message on facebook (i forgot I even had that stupid pity-me box) absolutely made my day. I dont exactly believe whoever you are, but you defined a nice goal for me to strive for. Yes, I hope I can be that to you or to anyone someday. Thank you for believing! I guess you were stage -3 of my thawing process

If you think you are blue and the rest of the world thinks you are green, which one are you?

Its always so hard for me to say this because I dont like to acknowledge and therefore accept it. I dont like not being okay with things. I have irrational dislikes and annoyances just like everyone does but I really hate settling for them-- if im not okay with something someone does (ie. my mom LOVES to talk about chemistry when I'm busy reading or studying, etc.) then I should get over it myself. I AdJUsT. How can we get angry at other people who are incomplete as well as we are? I feel like getting over myself is becoming more complete personally. So I tend to hide how I feel about things because I know that eventually I'll get over it.. and usually I come to love it. This = more love in my life = good. But recently I havent been able to get over it all the time. This leads to more feelings of discontent and hatred toward things in my life = eats me away inside = holes = not complete = kind of lonely.

dear self, GET OVER YOURSELF. i adsfkjaksdjk;adsd I feel so petty to say this. im sorry

but if youre hurting someone, it must be because you are hurt yourself. If you are hurting me, it must be because I hurt you somehow. I have been trying to be good, be honest, be accepting, be open, I'm trying but i'm inadequate as well. Its so easy to break the cycle --you stop getting hurt and you stop hurting others. You stop hurting others then you stop getting hurt?

I just want to know how you want me need me to change, thats all

I think some people come off as this beacon of cool , like people I look at from afar they are good at things that I want to be good at, they dress how I feel like I want to want to dress like, they make jokes I want to be able to come up with they feel everything and take it in stride, they know who they are they question and still know who they are. They have this glow. Its all the warmth they have, but I D K it just seems like sometimes they keep it to themselves. self-preservation. Absorb it out of others. And thats why we get so close to them, and we crowd around, they look so warm but my fingers are still cold, they generate no heat. THey have all this love bundled up to themselves, it attracts us but only for so far.I got close and felt colder. To be untouchable looks great, looks special, set apart, but it must be horribly lonely. I forget where I was going with this

I just think the easiest way to be happy is to give your warmth away

from personal experience

I witnessed first hand the fight in the cafeteria today, and as other's human impulses to relate and tell others the excitement and unexpected-ness (is that a word?) of this recent event, I kind of just sank into myself and felt like crying. It was just the fleshy smack of fist against cheek, the swell of moisture just beneath his eyelid's brim.. the cruel mechanics of it, the way all eyes turned in wonder or some vindictive sense of amusement or I dont even know.

My yogi tea quote disappointed me for the first time, ever. It said "let things come to you". This may be an insightful lesson later on in my life, but at the moment, bubbling with the vivacity of youth and vitality I really feel like running after things myself. My godsister pointed out that maybe it means to accept the things that have been coming to me, and that I can accept. She also taught me some great new words, and made me wonder if someone can have cordate eyes. Probably not

I wonder when there is the point where honesty becomes futile in the face of how much hurt will be caused. I'd like to be more honest with people, and I'd also like them to like me. It is so easy for me to be vulnerable and open and honest, as long as they are first. There are so many things I want to tell everyone, to tell the world, to tell you. My foundation of assurance is so flimsy as of now, and young, and maybe as it matures I will take more risks. Increase my buoyancy. It is an acrid taste of emotions that I need to sort out

Today I had the awkward encounter of entering the girls bathroom at the same time as another freshman. Silence, mirror-looking, silence. A thought popped into my head that I should say something. I looked and the first thing I noticed about her was her hair, mussed and lightweight and floating freely from her face, yet she was putting a lot of grooming time into it. I told her I liked it, and I feel like lies like these are worth it when I passed her in the hallway at the end of the day and she absolutely beamed. LiT UP!

let this be our little secret

Being happy is this inalienable, absolute state that once I've been dipped in its lukewarm waters, I'll never dry. And I run around and shake and dance in hopes that some drops will land on those around me. It just seems like once I reached joy, it clung to me, unshakable and coloring everything I see. Its a parasite, without any of the negative connotations. Maybe there is no such thing as that

I want to be a pure color white, because it goes so well with every color and makes them all look better.

I lit candles and my room it is all aglow in vanilla and french vanilla teaaaaaaa

oh yeah i didnt take that picture. but one day i will

you can be N. E. thang.

Just remember

Lovers never lose

Cause they are

Free of thoughts unpure

And of thoughts unkind

Gentleness clears the soul

Love cleans the mind

And makes it Free.

Sometimes I play this game where I lock myself in a room, and turn out all the muted lights and shut all the windows, immersed in a settling, opaque and pitch-black silence. At first I would only sit on the floor and fumble with the rug, tracing sensitive and raw fingertips along cracks and faultlines in the wood panelling. But then I reached around me... I splayed my fingers and lightly touched objects within reach, only to quickly put them down and contemplate a while, my heart beating nervously. The first time I stood up, I walked straight into a wall that I didnt know had been there, and I lay back down on the floor and cried. The next time I got up, I leaned into a wall I believed to be there that no longer was, fell through and laughed. I paced the area of the room, snuggled into corners and grazed lightly all the objects and shapes in the interior.

Now, I run around the room. I grasp things with reassurance, and sometimes I drop them and they break. Sometimes they burn me, and sometimes they sear with ice cold. Sometimes they are soft and appealing, and new things burst out of their insides at the sign of my touch. I've found a thousand warm and beautiful things I didnt even know where in there, and have broken a lot of them. They still lie shattered on the ground, and cut my feet. Yesterday amid my rapid rush and searching, I ran into the lightswitch. And now I am back to sitting on the floor, where I used to close myself into for comfort, with things now tangible to me even through the darkness all around me, wondering if and when the room should be illuminated.

I dont actually play this game; I live it.
We all rush around in the dark, for that I'm sure. Ironically, right after I wrote this...
For english class, we had to read this excerpt about Plato's cave. It describes a cave that had people, shackled and chained in the dark so that they cannot move or turn their heads. All they can see is the shadow of some various puppet-like show going on behind them, that they can only see the shadows of. They can only hear the voices of others. Here in this cave, those who can recognize the most shadows and guess which will come next are leaders. They are praised and commended only because there is nothing else to be good at

One man was led out of the cave, into the blinding light. He withered and sheilded his eyes, for sudden sunlight is blinding. But eventually his eyes became accustomed to things, and he began to see animals, and other people, and things for what they really could be, in light. He was shown all the things that had been making the shadows in the caves, saw them for what they really were. And then he was made to go back down to the cave. And everyone called him blind because his eyes were not yet again accustomed to darkness. And he had to compete by the old rules, of identifying shadows, even though he knew them for what they truly were now. He knew all these things, from both light and dark, yet still others told him he had lost his eyesight when he left the cave, since he no longer percieved things the way they did

In past years, I've had horrible self-esteem. I was shackled in this cave where I doubted the shadows I saw, and could not see the people around me, just hear them.

Later, I became blinded by people, and this is the stage I think I ventured at least near to the light. I was in complete awe of the people I was meeting- I saw them as vastly unporportionate to what they actually are in standing- I saw him as loved by everyone, her as revered by other students, him as divinely good, and her as soley generous, him as king of the grade. I was amazed they even talked to me. Gradually, I became accustomed to their light, and my eyes adjusted and I could see people a little more clearly.

Sometimes I feel lonely because either some of the people I care about are still in that cave, or I am not yet accustomed to the light enough to see others, out here and free, around me.

But I feel like after seeing the brilliance of others, I want nothing more than to immerse myself in the shimmering divine beauty of pure, people. And when I express this AWEsome love, sometimes they think its ridiculous, youre crazy and its back to shes annoying, hes shallow, shes fake, they have no right to talk to us like that,
I just feel like its all petty. I've seen people in that way, and I see them differently now. In comparison to those I talk to about these matters to, I feel blind, or steralized or so blatantly neutral on issues, emotionally detatched.. apparently I can no longer see. But I swear I used to see people this way. And I do not see them better or worse as of now, just.. differently.

And it really gives me this pure, wholesome joy.

And this is the room One afternoon I knew I could love you
And from above you how I sank into your soul
Into that secret place where no one dares to go


I apologize for the fact that this was a cell phone picture, but it was such a beautiful day


I think you should always give someone the benefit of the doubt because even if you really are wrong in the beginning, i think youll be right by the end. Its easier to be something if someone believes in you.


I wonder whether its better to force oneself to forgive and accept, for the sake of getting along. Sometimes this means smothering your feelings. But they dont exactly go away- dead and steralized, these feelings no longer glow searing hot, but weigh heavily like dead corpses, cold and haunting. Ghosts of jealousy. They move through us and within us.

I also think as friends to eachother, we hold a lot of power. Being good friends i think means neither person abuses this power, not because they would feel badly but because they dont want to. We are all incomplete and searching and look for validation or salvation or even just fun or fufillment from others. Give and take. Sometimes it feels paralyzing to not be in control. I feel this surge of goodwill when i can givegivegive. But this is possibly because at the same time, i have been taking. In far excess to what I deserve. Wow i feel like its such a great feeling to give love and praise to people freely, just to see the light that illuminates inside their skin, but maybe I'm drawing this give by sapping my friends. Im sorry!

Sometimes I think we were all put here to hurt eachother, and it is this humane sense of prevailing good within everyone that keeps us from eating eachother alive.

Hope, please.
Also in Spanish class, we were told to write down a secret. I went into a minor mode of panic in searching for one, and felt a little dried and withered upon realizing i dont think I have any.
Actually, except one

"bleeep! time to check the scrambled tofu!"
apush, how i love you
my friends genuinely believe eachother to be beautiful, and i think that is beautiful and such a pure form of love.

i found my old project today, completed in sixth grade. we had to create a society we believed would be perfect to live in. i LOLed over and over at mine because i was seriously communist, naive, and a hippie. "peace, unity, and love" we what mine was all about and "there is no disease, zero crime, and no overweight people!" "all students get straight A's!" "there are NO cars, No planes, NO technology and NO money!"come to Fiori where EVERYONE LOVES EACHOTHER"

my mom laughed and said it was an emily utopian society. i reread it and saw my close-mindedness. by trying to accept only the best of every race, gender, or type of person, i rejected those who werent perfect. I even wrote somewhere in their that "why yes, we do strive for perfection"

utopia? i think not. there was no pain in mine, there was no feeling other than bliss. "ignorance is bliss" should have been my slogan for "this island far in the middle of the ocean of nowhere" would be completely untouched and ignorant of the world around it.
pain is real, like a helpless distraught youth, it needs to be embraced
sounds like a utopian hell (saying utopian tastes like fruit to my mouth)

My APUSH chapter study guide is on slavery, and as i studied for my presentation tomorrow, my mind wandered as it always does. Often i read in strange voices or attempted accents to keep myself focused. But nothing was settling the frenzied rush rush rush of activity inside my head. Its still bouncing off the walls, leaving numerous infintesimal dents

I thought a lot about how black people were enslaved, and how blatantly wrong this seems to us today. Back then, this might have been a radical thought. I thought about how they werent allowed to marry on the plantations, yet according to my textbook, "family ties were no less strong than those of whites, and many slave marriages lasted thoughout the course of long lifetimes".

The book also said that southern whites, whether they owned slaves or not, were united by the common factor that "however poor and miserable these white southerners were, they could still consider themselves members of a ruling race; they could still look down on the black population and feel a bond with their fellow whites born of a determination to maintain their racial supremacy"

I wonder when it will be that our textbooks will say

Gay marriages were not allowed in most states, yet in places that they were family ties were no less strong than those of heterosexuals, and many homosexual marriages lasted throughout the course of long lifetimes. However ostracized or poor straight citizens could be, they could still consider themselves members of a ruling race; they could still look down on the homosexual population and feel a bond with their fellow straights born of a determination to maintain their cultural supremacy"

I wonder when we will look back and not even see blacks as a separate race, since we are all part of the human race. I wonder when we will stop seeing gays, or other out of favor groups of people, as a separate "race" to this effect. I wonder when the human race as a whole will all have equal rights. Especially basic and fundamental ones to love.

I wonder if this will ever happen at all?

there is no life plan set, you just swallow the cold
and follow your breath until death.
now even if the will to sleep persists, I
can't 'cause a harsh cloth, it grazes my blisters.

This morning I woke up and I was overjoyed because mom had bought me french-vanilla creamer to put in my tea since i'm a baby and sometimes cant handle the full onslaught of India spice yogi tea. Therefore, I hadnt had this kind in months and was pining away because yogi tea is the only kind of tea we buy that has quotes on the bags and these always always always seem to be seamlessly and inarguably correct, to me at least, im sure some people would disagree but i would love to be a living, breathing manifestation of yogi tea quotes

anways today mine said

"share your strengths, not your weaknesses"

and i've actually gotten this shred of advice numerous times from my tea but i still shouted and danced around a little because its just so wise. and i decided to stop being all mopey-pity-me on my blog because that is not the part of me id like to share. i would like that side of me to shut up and go away. shoo

so yes, while i drank this tea i also cooked an indian breakfast for myself to supplement it (okay- it did come in an insta-cook plastic container, but it tasted spicy nonetheless.) and my mouth was contentedly ablaze and i looked out over my yard where the sporadic slants of sunlight lit up my green carpet lawn to be suited in stripes of white and golden sun and i began to feel like a middle-aged indian woman, plump and satiated with the fruits of life, wrapped in the placid, flowing sari of majestic hues, reminiscing on the days when i was a sun-tanned dark skinned skinny sinous child that flew beneath the heavy tree canopy and screamed the essential laughter of youth, skipping and kicking up dust under a full fledged and fiery-indian sun.

i have no idea if thats actually what it looks like in india. but i could feel it!

and im just so pleased that our feeling is mutual. thank you for reviving me

i love everything again!.. and only because (al)most everything is loveable.

silence is a lullaby too

i played thumb-war while driving today

CONNECTED

we expected something, something better than before

we expected something more

you were always weird but i

never had to hold you by the edges like i do now

walk away now, and youre gonna start a war

whatever went away, ill get it over now

ill get money ill get funny again

this is the song that my dad and i sat inside his car in the driveway, wrapped up in the suffocating, muffled heat that blasted unseen fire into the brisk night cold, listening to. It was so loud it filled all the recent cavities in my heart, I didnt exist besides for the thrumming bass, the coarse chords of dad's harmonica, and the faulty notes of my attempt at singing. But I love moments like this with my dad, especially when I feel too much and drown in it, there is something so inexpressible about an abundance of emotions that sometimes i cant say anything, anything at all to do it justice

but this works.

We find so many blatant faults in others.
Actually, I dont believe in faults.

and I find hope and life in the places and people I least expected.

recently i have just felt so incredibly DIS