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.