30 December 2007
when the courtesan sang
it seems like it doesn't matter what we say, what intentions we have, even whatever efforts we make in the same direction. there's still this dead air that's hanging between us. regardless of how much we would wish it any other way. doesn't mean i don't miss you (more than ever, perhaps). it's just...my, how distant you feel.
25 December 2007
when i ran dry
my words have outrun me. once again this silly blog feels useless. like an ancient riverbed, my orthographic mind is parched and dry. so for now i think i'll let this blog lie silent. what a funeral.
18 December 2007
15 December 2007
when i was a postman
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loveing me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
-neruda
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loveing me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
-neruda
14 December 2007
when i was hopelessly poor
you called me earlier, a bit drunk, and told me you miss me.
the idea just struck me to ask you if it was okay for me to come and see you wherever you were. i didn't ask you, though.
to tell the truth, i really wish you wanted to see me. i really do. even if we just sit in a coffee shop and not say anything to each other, except maybe some passing chatter.
"i was alone and freezing still trying hard to understand you..."
and looking at pictures of you only reminds me of every curve of your body, every whim of your fingers, the rhythm of your breathing, feeling you beneath me. i miss you a lot, y'know.
i' be lying if i said it didn't hurt a bit.
the idea just struck me to ask you if it was okay for me to come and see you wherever you were. i didn't ask you, though.
to tell the truth, i really wish you wanted to see me. i really do. even if we just sit in a coffee shop and not say anything to each other, except maybe some passing chatter.
"i was alone and freezing still trying hard to understand you..."
and looking at pictures of you only reminds me of every curve of your body, every whim of your fingers, the rhythm of your breathing, feeling you beneath me. i miss you a lot, y'know.
i' be lying if i said it didn't hurt a bit.
09 December 2007
when we were laughing in the bitter face of death
this was kind of a free association/stream of consciousness thing i wrote a little while ago.
--
Death was in the air and we were laughing. Can you believe that? Laughing! But it’s okay because you see we’re on this train and as far as I can tell it’s not going anywhere so I turn to Palomino and ask him what time it is and he leans over and sticks his wrist in my face, showing me his watch. It had no hands and was filled with sand and said TIME IS NOW and I called it his Zen watch but right now I wanted the time, not now. Now I have. Now I will always have. But what I always seem to lack is time; the ruin of seconds past; I see the trail I’ve left behind me but I can only look back if I’m moving forward, no? So I ask him again, “What time is it?” and again he shows me “TIME IS NOW” which got me wondering, if now is now what is the past but a pre-now?
What is then but post-now? So then I realized life is a three-stage process: pre-now, now, post-now. And I felt heavy and insightful and figured that everything really turns in to everything, so I thought about Lila and when she left and I realized that my now was here and she was just a fossil, a fermented, hung and dried pre-now. And I thought about how Pal and I, we’re so young and death seems so daunting: we’ve got so much shit left to do! And I said to myself death is just post-now meaning it is not yet come and that, hey, we’re still breathing and laughing, right? So when I asked Palomino what time is it? and he presented me with TIME IS NOW he was really just saying this is what it is – there is no ruin in the present. Lila was gone already and death was lingering somewhere off in the apocalyptic distance and now…now I guess it’s time to let as many nows pass, putting an immeasurable amount of distance between here and where I came from.
So when Pal turned to me and said “Time to get off the train,” I though “Now” and stepped off onto the platform, crossed the street, and was met full-on by a Dodge mini-van bursting with family, and the last word I remember saying before I met death was “Now” because really, nothing, neither the ruin of love nor the beauty of laughter nor the full impact of death can come at any other time but Now. And hey, it even hurt a little.
--
Death was in the air and we were laughing. Can you believe that? Laughing! But it’s okay because you see we’re on this train and as far as I can tell it’s not going anywhere so I turn to Palomino and ask him what time it is and he leans over and sticks his wrist in my face, showing me his watch. It had no hands and was filled with sand and said TIME IS NOW and I called it his Zen watch but right now I wanted the time, not now. Now I have. Now I will always have. But what I always seem to lack is time; the ruin of seconds past; I see the trail I’ve left behind me but I can only look back if I’m moving forward, no? So I ask him again, “What time is it?” and again he shows me “TIME IS NOW” which got me wondering, if now is now what is the past but a pre-now?
What is then but post-now? So then I realized life is a three-stage process: pre-now, now, post-now. And I felt heavy and insightful and figured that everything really turns in to everything, so I thought about Lila and when she left and I realized that my now was here and she was just a fossil, a fermented, hung and dried pre-now. And I thought about how Pal and I, we’re so young and death seems so daunting: we’ve got so much shit left to do! And I said to myself death is just post-now meaning it is not yet come and that, hey, we’re still breathing and laughing, right? So when I asked Palomino what time is it? and he presented me with TIME IS NOW he was really just saying this is what it is – there is no ruin in the present. Lila was gone already and death was lingering somewhere off in the apocalyptic distance and now…now I guess it’s time to let as many nows pass, putting an immeasurable amount of distance between here and where I came from.
So when Pal turned to me and said “Time to get off the train,” I though “Now” and stepped off onto the platform, crossed the street, and was met full-on by a Dodge mini-van bursting with family, and the last word I remember saying before I met death was “Now” because really, nothing, neither the ruin of love nor the beauty of laughter nor the full impact of death can come at any other time but Now. And hey, it even hurt a little.
04 December 2007
when i wanted to um, hm
i say something. you roll your eyes. i giggle. you laugh.
you know what i mean.
you know what i mean.
02 December 2007
when i had a dream, crispy crispy benjamin franklin
i had this dream last night and you were in it and i don't remember much of it, only segments, but i remember there being a dance or lip-sync competition and i was really jealous of the guy who won so i kept saying he was bad and then you and i were somewhere with someone and i was really upset and i just wanted to hug you and have you assure me i had no reason to be jealous about this guy, even though he entered the contest on a fluke and beat out all the competition. i don't know, there was something about him and i think i felt threatened by him or something or other. and Greek was in the dream for some reason. whether you were speaking or it what, i can't remember. but i know it was there. and then you got in my car with my family and we all went to nordstroms but you stayed in the car and i went in with my dad and i was looking at coats and hats and i wanted to try the hats on and i felt silly because i hadn't asked you to come inside with me; i wanted you to see me trying them, even though i know you would have just laughed at me relentlessly (which is okay because i know you love me).
and then i woke up.
and then i woke up.
26 November 2007
when i wrote a poem on a coffee cup
i play rhymes like the Volga
in the heart
of musical winter -
sweet little sunshine,
can you show me the way
to Elboa?
in the heart
of musical winter -
sweet little sunshine,
can you show me the way
to Elboa?
19 November 2007
when the rain had laughter
selected excerpts from a recent story i wrote:
--
My first thought earlier was what if the rain had laughter? What if every drop of water that fell from the sky was giggling or guffawing, chuckling or chortling, hee-hawing or howling, snickering or snorting, tittering or tee-heeing, cachinnating or cackling? Then the clouds would be more like mouths and the sky would be more like a face and the sun and moon would be funny-looking moles than appear at different times on your face depending on what you ate for breakfast or lunch or dinner and fog or smoke or smog would be what happens when you don't shave for varying lengths of time - only if you're a guy, of course. Or a woman of ethnic origins which I won't say in case it makes me seems racy. I mean racist. Though being racist is racy nowadays, isn't it?...
...[W]hat if we held our friends over our heads like umbrellas when it rained laughter? When we needed them, of course. And they could do the same thing with us when they needed us. Laughter rains from everywhere and I hold my friend Anna above my head and she absorbs all the laughter and it makes her clothes all wet and hilarious and drips everywhere. But then, you see, the whole idea of an umbrella would be reversed, which is exactly my point. Let's say my friend James is sad because he's an attractive gay man but doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, much like a bush baby is happy because it thinks it's a cute little tree-climber when in fact it is quite hideous, or an author who is confused because he keeps having these thoughts that make sense but he thinks they don't and he just rambles on and on about his ideas and friends, like his friend James, who is sad because he doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, which he in fact is. So it starts to rain laughter outside and I say "James get your attractive gay person over here!" and he says "I'm not attractive. Though I am gay." which then proves my point that he needs to have buckets of laughter fall upon him from the heavens, so I lift him up and swing him over my head and it rains and rains and rains and I hear laughter everywhere - this time the laughter of two ridiculously flamboyant gay men sitting at a bar overusing the word "fabulous" - and James becomes soaked in it and he is then effectively wearing laughter, he showered in laughter, laughter going everywhere, and since laughter in inherently equal to happiness and happiness is inherently equal to thinking better of yourself than you do when you're unhappy, I can put James down when the brief storm is over (for laughter always comes in brief storms), confident that he now knows - or at least temporarily believes, rightly - that he is an attractive gay man. Gay in both senses, too! How punny. And let's say my friend Anna, who has large breasts and curly brown hair that she had straightened when she went off to college and pierced her belly button and lost her virginity is feeling rather gloomy because she hates everyone around her except her friends (which doesn't make much sense, because if she liked everyone else, wouldn't she call them friends, too?). So it begins to thunder chuckles and rain canals of cacchination and I whip her up over my head, which is rather easy, because she's rather thin, and, as proven earlier, she'll feel buckets better once the storm is gone.
--
My first thought earlier was what if the rain had laughter? What if every drop of water that fell from the sky was giggling or guffawing, chuckling or chortling, hee-hawing or howling, snickering or snorting, tittering or tee-heeing, cachinnating or cackling? Then the clouds would be more like mouths and the sky would be more like a face and the sun and moon would be funny-looking moles than appear at different times on your face depending on what you ate for breakfast or lunch or dinner and fog or smoke or smog would be what happens when you don't shave for varying lengths of time - only if you're a guy, of course. Or a woman of ethnic origins which I won't say in case it makes me seems racy. I mean racist. Though being racist is racy nowadays, isn't it?...
...[W]hat if we held our friends over our heads like umbrellas when it rained laughter? When we needed them, of course. And they could do the same thing with us when they needed us. Laughter rains from everywhere and I hold my friend Anna above my head and she absorbs all the laughter and it makes her clothes all wet and hilarious and drips everywhere. But then, you see, the whole idea of an umbrella would be reversed, which is exactly my point. Let's say my friend James is sad because he's an attractive gay man but doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, much like a bush baby is happy because it thinks it's a cute little tree-climber when in fact it is quite hideous, or an author who is confused because he keeps having these thoughts that make sense but he thinks they don't and he just rambles on and on about his ideas and friends, like his friend James, who is sad because he doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, which he in fact is. So it starts to rain laughter outside and I say "James get your attractive gay person over here!" and he says "I'm not attractive. Though I am gay." which then proves my point that he needs to have buckets of laughter fall upon him from the heavens, so I lift him up and swing him over my head and it rains and rains and rains and I hear laughter everywhere - this time the laughter of two ridiculously flamboyant gay men sitting at a bar overusing the word "fabulous" - and James becomes soaked in it and he is then effectively wearing laughter, he showered in laughter, laughter going everywhere, and since laughter in inherently equal to happiness and happiness is inherently equal to thinking better of yourself than you do when you're unhappy, I can put James down when the brief storm is over (for laughter always comes in brief storms), confident that he now knows - or at least temporarily believes, rightly - that he is an attractive gay man. Gay in both senses, too! How punny. And let's say my friend Anna, who has large breasts and curly brown hair that she had straightened when she went off to college and pierced her belly button and lost her virginity is feeling rather gloomy because she hates everyone around her except her friends (which doesn't make much sense, because if she liked everyone else, wouldn't she call them friends, too?). So it begins to thunder chuckles and rain canals of cacchination and I whip her up over my head, which is rather easy, because she's rather thin, and, as proven earlier, she'll feel buckets better once the storm is gone.
12 November 2007
when i was so much more than something
my darling here,
i ask you:
can we explode
(bedridden - not
and rose drenched)
into nothingness?
pretty your eyes parting
and your cool lips
aflutter
you do but say
naught and
in great stead,
unbreakable like a diamond,
you prefer
to kiss me
as an answer that
sings Yes and
screams No
and electrifies
all in between
(why nothingness
perhaps you ponder?
why because new
when i hold you
there is nothing else
but the hum of your body,
so beautiful and new a thing
every time).
i ask you:
can we explode
(bedridden - not
and rose drenched)
into nothingness?
pretty your eyes parting
and your cool lips
aflutter
you do but say
naught and
in great stead,
unbreakable like a diamond,
you prefer
to kiss me
as an answer that
sings Yes and
screams No
and electrifies
all in between
(why nothingness
perhaps you ponder?
why because new
when i hold you
there is nothing else
but the hum of your body,
so beautiful and new a thing
every time).
04 November 2007
when i was timeless
how is that i seem to have hours upon end to fill with nothingness, yet in the end of the day i feel like i have no time at all, like the list of things i want to read and need to write just slowly add their weight to my eyes and hands? i've been barely making it through reading Amerika, a fairly easy read; it's been 2 weeks and i'm only about half way done. i'm neglecting my thucydides reading more than i should, i have to write my humanities paper (contrasting homer and herodotus' respective views on how the gods play a role in war in ancient greece and thus how herodotus ultimately sees the truth and reality in human agency), i have tons of books i want to read for fun, i have to come up with an extended bibliography for my spanish research paper (mercifully, i am allowed to write it in english) comparing the trichotomy of heaven/earth/hell to that of the three levels of existence of Comala in Pedro Paramo, i (feel like i) have to constantly be writing and working on some story i've got going or other...
but when it comes down to having time to do these things, i throw a blanket over my head and pretend like almost nothing exists. i just look at the clock and wonder what would really happen if it just stopped.
but when it comes down to having time to do these things, i throw a blanket over my head and pretend like almost nothing exists. i just look at the clock and wonder what would really happen if it just stopped.
30 October 2007
when i had an idea
Directions
1: Start out going EAST on ******* ST toward ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
2: Turn LEFT onto ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
3: Turn RIGHT onto CHATSWORTH ST. 0.7 miles
4: Turn LEFT onto RESEDA BLVD. 0.6 miles
5: Merge onto CA-118 E. 3.4 miles
6: Merge onto I-405 N toward SACRAMENTO. 3.0 miles
7: Merge onto I-5 N (Crossing into OREGON). 938.7 miles
8: Take the OR-43 / MACADAM AVE. exit- EXIT 299A- toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR.. 0.1 miles
9: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SW MACADAM AVE / OR-43 N. Continue to follow OR-43 N. 0.4 miles
10: Turn SLIGHT LEFT onto SW HOOD AVE. 0.2 miles
11: Turn RIGHT onto SW WHITAKER ST. <0.1 miles
12: Turn RIGHT onto SW KELLY AVE. <0.1 miles
13: Turn SLIGHT LEFT to take the ramp toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR. / MT. HOOD. <0.1 miles
14: Turn SLIGHT RIGHT onto US-26. 0.6 miles
15: Merge onto SE MCLOUGHLIN BLVD / OR-99E S / PACIFIC HWY E. 2.2 miles
16: Turn RIGHT onto SE 23RD AVE. <0.1 miles
17: Turn RIGHT onto SE BYBEE BLVD. 0.2 miles
18: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE TOLMAN ST. <0.1 miles
19: SE TOLMAN ST becomes SE 28TH AVE. 0.3 miles
20: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE WOODSTOCK BLVD. 0.2 miles
21: End at 3203 Se Woodstock Blvd, Portland, OR 97202-8138, US
Total Est. Time: 14 hours, 37 minutes
Total Est. Distance: 951.71 miles
i'll see you here. :)
1: Start out going EAST on ******* ST toward ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
2: Turn LEFT onto ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
3: Turn RIGHT onto CHATSWORTH ST. 0.7 miles
4: Turn LEFT onto RESEDA BLVD. 0.6 miles
5: Merge onto CA-118 E. 3.4 miles
6: Merge onto I-405 N toward SACRAMENTO. 3.0 miles
7: Merge onto I-5 N (Crossing into OREGON). 938.7 miles
8: Take the OR-43 / MACADAM AVE. exit- EXIT 299A- toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR.. 0.1 miles
9: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SW MACADAM AVE / OR-43 N. Continue to follow OR-43 N. 0.4 miles
10: Turn SLIGHT LEFT onto SW HOOD AVE. 0.2 miles
11: Turn RIGHT onto SW WHITAKER ST. <0.1 miles
12: Turn RIGHT onto SW KELLY AVE. <0.1 miles
13: Turn SLIGHT LEFT to take the ramp toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR. / MT. HOOD. <0.1 miles
14: Turn SLIGHT RIGHT onto US-26. 0.6 miles
15: Merge onto SE MCLOUGHLIN BLVD / OR-99E S / PACIFIC HWY E. 2.2 miles
16: Turn RIGHT onto SE 23RD AVE. <0.1 miles
17: Turn RIGHT onto SE BYBEE BLVD. 0.2 miles
18: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE TOLMAN ST. <0.1 miles
19: SE TOLMAN ST becomes SE 28TH AVE. 0.3 miles
20: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE WOODSTOCK BLVD. 0.2 miles
21: End at 3203 Se Woodstock Blvd, Portland, OR 97202-8138, US
Total Est. Time: 14 hours, 37 minutes
Total Est. Distance: 951.71 miles
i'll see you here. :)
24 October 2007
when i was hopelessly poor
lord.
i miss you/her so much.
to me, every day and every minute and every hour and every span of time is merely marked by how long it is until i see you again. two weeks from friday i will see you. yes, if i had a choice i would never leave your arms (i speak grandly; practically, of course, we'd have to be separate for some things. showers, working, to cool down because of the intense intense heat). but i do not care that it is only for two days, effectively, that i will see you. that fact that your reality will be reaffirmed again and again for me until we will be together for good keeps me going.
my body is restless inside because you are not sitting here next to me, because i cannot smell you in the air, because i cannot stretch my arm out and touch you, because i cannot hold your face and kiss you.
you are so truly in everything i see and touch, whether i mentally associate you with something or not. you are just there, almost as if part of you is constantly harboring inside my fingers and just behind my eyes.
but thinking about the ephemeral state of time makes things better because, honestly, life is so very long and now goes running fast into the past like wild horses over the hills at sunset until i am holding your hand and looking into your eyes and never having to let you go.
i miss you/her so much.
to me, every day and every minute and every hour and every span of time is merely marked by how long it is until i see you again. two weeks from friday i will see you. yes, if i had a choice i would never leave your arms (i speak grandly; practically, of course, we'd have to be separate for some things. showers, working, to cool down because of the intense intense heat). but i do not care that it is only for two days, effectively, that i will see you. that fact that your reality will be reaffirmed again and again for me until we will be together for good keeps me going.
my body is restless inside because you are not sitting here next to me, because i cannot smell you in the air, because i cannot stretch my arm out and touch you, because i cannot hold your face and kiss you.
you are so truly in everything i see and touch, whether i mentally associate you with something or not. you are just there, almost as if part of you is constantly harboring inside my fingers and just behind my eyes.
but thinking about the ephemeral state of time makes things better because, honestly, life is so very long and now goes running fast into the past like wild horses over the hills at sunset until i am holding your hand and looking into your eyes and never having to let you go.
22 October 2007
when you were a star falling down somewhere next to me
so here i am, returned or dropped back to where i was, but not really, no, not so much.
i find myself sitting here, no longer really existing within each day but merely doing what temporarily distracts me and makes me happy, merely whiling away the days until i see you again, until i am home again. currently, it is reading. i am just reading to read and reading to pass the time. in everything i read, you are there. i read amerika by kafka and picture you reading the same words; i read cortazar and imagine you smiling at the same, strange, enigmatic stories; i read hemingway and think of how much you love him and his books and stories. and hence, somehow unsurprisingly, you are not really as far away as i would think; you feel close, nearby, within arm's and ear's reach. i touch last week and there you are, still lying languidly on my bed, giving me those eyes i cannot say no to. and i realize we have reinvented anatomy and proven the credibility of metaphysics in that my heart can survive outside of my body because it is with you, and yours with me.
and when i look at someone or something or nowhere, even, i'm really looking for and into your eyes, you know.
and every time i write something down i think 'now how i can i put her into this'. not for the sake of the story, but just as a way of showing you my love as much as i can and assuring you that you are still everywhere with me.
and when there is nothing else or i am tired of reading or writing i look at my poster of the eiffel tower above my desk and see you and i standing there by the merry-go-round in its shadow, holding hands and looking up, blinking snow out of our eyes. and i turn to kiss you and you turn to me at the exact same time and then everything is wonderful and bright and, most important, okay. everything is okay.
i find myself sitting here, no longer really existing within each day but merely doing what temporarily distracts me and makes me happy, merely whiling away the days until i see you again, until i am home again. currently, it is reading. i am just reading to read and reading to pass the time. in everything i read, you are there. i read amerika by kafka and picture you reading the same words; i read cortazar and imagine you smiling at the same, strange, enigmatic stories; i read hemingway and think of how much you love him and his books and stories. and hence, somehow unsurprisingly, you are not really as far away as i would think; you feel close, nearby, within arm's and ear's reach. i touch last week and there you are, still lying languidly on my bed, giving me those eyes i cannot say no to. and i realize we have reinvented anatomy and proven the credibility of metaphysics in that my heart can survive outside of my body because it is with you, and yours with me.
and when i look at someone or something or nowhere, even, i'm really looking for and into your eyes, you know.
and every time i write something down i think 'now how i can i put her into this'. not for the sake of the story, but just as a way of showing you my love as much as i can and assuring you that you are still everywhere with me.
and when there is nothing else or i am tired of reading or writing i look at my poster of the eiffel tower above my desk and see you and i standing there by the merry-go-round in its shadow, holding hands and looking up, blinking snow out of our eyes. and i turn to kiss you and you turn to me at the exact same time and then everything is wonderful and bright and, most important, okay. everything is okay.
17 October 2007
when i found a reason
what comes is better than what came before.
i will always come to you.
i will always run to you.
poor and happy.
i will always come to you.
i will always run to you.
poor and happy.
08 October 2007
when life was elsewhere
a poem i wrote last night
--
"life is elsewhere?"
elsewhere
is life? - but:
how can that be
when all that is
is here
and all that isn't
is nowhere
(tangently, then is all
that isn't, if nowhere,
somewhere?
thus, is it? - stale);
yet, scorn the here and praise there
if you must - yet
then, where are you
at the utter moment
of your poetic waxing?
how can you be here
(as clear a fact as
day and night) with
life, dancing,
not?
are you then
poetically lifeless
(a soldier unstirring
by a river?)
and then one subsequent question
we have yet to trip
on our tongues
(aside from such what then
is life nonsense -
save that
for the end of the
universe, i say! -
where we say "was"
ponderously instead of "is",
every semblance of
being gone - thus, is is was
at that point -):
if life is truly elsewhere,
what is here among us,
breathing and moving
dust creatures
that we propose
to be?
i answer you,
voodoo poetic,
two roses in my fist
and white blood running down
my arms - (so Apolline):
here is elsewhere
- and all distant oceans
in between.
--
"life is elsewhere?"
elsewhere
is life? - but:
how can that be
when all that is
is here
and all that isn't
is nowhere
(tangently, then is all
that isn't, if nowhere,
somewhere?
thus, is it? - stale);
yet, scorn the here and praise there
if you must - yet
then, where are you
at the utter moment
of your poetic waxing?
how can you be here
(as clear a fact as
day and night) with
life, dancing,
not?
are you then
poetically lifeless
(a soldier unstirring
by a river?)
and then one subsequent question
we have yet to trip
on our tongues
(aside from such what then
is life nonsense -
save that
for the end of the
universe, i say! -
where we say "was"
ponderously instead of "is",
every semblance of
being gone - thus, is is was
at that point -):
if life is truly elsewhere,
what is here among us,
breathing and moving
dust creatures
that we propose
to be?
i answer you,
voodoo poetic,
two roses in my fist
and white blood running down
my arms - (so Apolline):
here is elsewhere
- and all distant oceans
in between.
25 September 2007
13 September 2007
when things were clear
a story i wrote that is less fiction than it is simple breath:
"Can you just leave, Salem?"
(Like it mattered)
Those words hit me like paper bullets, honestly, barely making it through the air and bouncing right off my shirt, landing on the floor in a pathetic crumpled heap that reminded me vaguely of crushed lilies in the springtime. I know those words were supposed to be heavy and violent (there were accompanied by such a ferocious slamming down of books, lord, your aura was flying everywhere) but in reality, they were nothing and I frankly wasn't surprised. Not like I knew the brunt of your rage (I've only heard) but I just expected those words, I knew they carried so many different meanings. And I probably should have left your echoing house, your cold room, a while before, anyway. But I just couldn't bring myself to extract my presence from yours. Sitting on your floor, reading Cortazar (another one of "your" authors, as I still think of them - Klima, Marquez, and Eggers, too), I wasn't content but I knew I couldn't move. I was leaving in less than two days (something new, for I used to be forever in a perpetual state of latency) and I wanted to, in simple, lay language, spend as much of the remaining hours I had left with you. I forwent a going-away party of a friend I'd known since kindergarten and skirted spending time with my family to come to your house (on the behest of your father, but still) after you got off work (those long shifts just killed me: so many of our temporarily final hours lost) fuck well anyway this is no time to be mad to teach lessons i can't sacrifice another minute quite late for a school night, and what's more is that I knew full well that it wouldn't evolve into anything and that I'd just sit on your floor reading, wondering in the back of my skull if my silent and statue-like presence annoyed you at all, wondering if it would have annoyed me had it been the other way around, but what made me content to do just that (nothing I couldn't have done anywhere else) was that I was content in doing it. Time with you was richer, more golden, full of light and cool air and pulsing chests and a strange heaviness that began at my heart and spread exclusively to the tips of my fingers, allowing the rest of my body to be lighter than all summer air.
I knew what you were asking me and all the reasons why. That is what you had become to me: a solved puzzle. Let me:
a) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was Look I'm in a really shitty mood right now and you're the person I feel most comfortable with which is why in times of stress I let down my polities and you receive the south end of all my current negative emotions, which are usually in no way related to you at all. Which I accepted, because I understood her so thoroughly she might as well have been a nursery rhyme (but god she was so much more beautiful).
b) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was also How I have grown to feel about you in the last few years has been tumultuous. You have seen the everything of me and have been there for all and you are my best friend and grew to be far more than that, and I ended up - knowingly but almost begrudgingly - loving you more than anything in this entire world: your hands in mine, your fingers in my hair, your lips on my neck, your weight on my chest, your whisper in my ear and the fact that in a countable number of hours you will no longer be mine at the end of my hand but a thousand miles away (returning? will it be the same?) and I cannot bear that fact it is tearing me up inside and shattering the ocean inside of me and part of me thinks that there can be no pain greater than this, the pre-longing, the knowledge that though you are here now, you will not be soon, oh so soon, so very soon and I know the eyes of your heart were dripping with tears which is why I accepted and how I understood and why your words to me were like paper bullets because oh, my love, how I had never loved anyone in the subtle, all-engrossing way that I loved (and continue still to love) you; I am incapable of loving anyone else; your breath, your words, your eyes, your embrace is paralyzing.
"What are you doing?"
Your fingers were tracing my cheeks, my eyes, my ears. Your touch was illumination in my dark bedroom. The sheepskin rug tickled my naked back.
You closed your eyes and exhaled jaggedly through your nose (you had been crying) and I felt your warm breath and wished it was mine.
"If I try hard enough," you whispered through sparse tears in a rare moment of tenderness, "I can memorize your face."
"Oh my dear," I kissed you. "All I have to do is think of the one thing that I love the most and your face just appears."
"You're not supposed to say that!" And I could feel you crying just a little bit more and do you know what, my one and only true love thus far? Your tears fell into the soil of time and where our hands met grew this beautiful rose that I call the us and yes I know for now we cannot both hold it and admire it's pretty face but whatever wind and sea exists between will keep it as lovely as the day we pulled it from the earth and held it between us, carefully avoiding the thorns, knowing we'd soon share it again (but for now my dear you keep it, and I will return soon, soon, oh so soon).
So can I at last say that I love you, that I have fallen in love so deep and heavily that I fear death from this drop?
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes, yes. Goddamnit, yes.
--
"Can you just leave, Salem?"
(Like it mattered)
Those words hit me like paper bullets, honestly, barely making it through the air and bouncing right off my shirt, landing on the floor in a pathetic crumpled heap that reminded me vaguely of crushed lilies in the springtime. I know those words were supposed to be heavy and violent (there were accompanied by such a ferocious slamming down of books, lord, your aura was flying everywhere) but in reality, they were nothing and I frankly wasn't surprised. Not like I knew the brunt of your rage (I've only heard) but I just expected those words, I knew they carried so many different meanings. And I probably should have left your echoing house, your cold room, a while before, anyway. But I just couldn't bring myself to extract my presence from yours. Sitting on your floor, reading Cortazar (another one of "your" authors, as I still think of them - Klima, Marquez, and Eggers, too), I wasn't content but I knew I couldn't move. I was leaving in less than two days (something new, for I used to be forever in a perpetual state of latency) and I wanted to, in simple, lay language, spend as much of the remaining hours I had left with you. I forwent a going-away party of a friend I'd known since kindergarten and skirted spending time with my family to come to your house (on the behest of your father, but still) after you got off work (those long shifts just killed me: so many of our temporarily final hours lost) fuck well anyway this is no time to be mad to teach lessons i can't sacrifice another minute quite late for a school night, and what's more is that I knew full well that it wouldn't evolve into anything and that I'd just sit on your floor reading, wondering in the back of my skull if my silent and statue-like presence annoyed you at all, wondering if it would have annoyed me had it been the other way around, but what made me content to do just that (nothing I couldn't have done anywhere else) was that I was content in doing it. Time with you was richer, more golden, full of light and cool air and pulsing chests and a strange heaviness that began at my heart and spread exclusively to the tips of my fingers, allowing the rest of my body to be lighter than all summer air.
I knew what you were asking me and all the reasons why. That is what you had become to me: a solved puzzle. Let me:
a) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was Look I'm in a really shitty mood right now and you're the person I feel most comfortable with which is why in times of stress I let down my polities and you receive the south end of all my current negative emotions, which are usually in no way related to you at all. Which I accepted, because I understood her so thoroughly she might as well have been a nursery rhyme (but god she was so much more beautiful).
b) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was also How I have grown to feel about you in the last few years has been tumultuous. You have seen the everything of me and have been there for all and you are my best friend and grew to be far more than that, and I ended up - knowingly but almost begrudgingly - loving you more than anything in this entire world: your hands in mine, your fingers in my hair, your lips on my neck, your weight on my chest, your whisper in my ear and the fact that in a countable number of hours you will no longer be mine at the end of my hand but a thousand miles away (returning? will it be the same?) and I cannot bear that fact it is tearing me up inside and shattering the ocean inside of me and part of me thinks that there can be no pain greater than this, the pre-longing, the knowledge that though you are here now, you will not be soon, oh so soon, so very soon and I know the eyes of your heart were dripping with tears which is why I accepted and how I understood and why your words to me were like paper bullets because oh, my love, how I had never loved anyone in the subtle, all-engrossing way that I loved (and continue still to love) you; I am incapable of loving anyone else; your breath, your words, your eyes, your embrace is paralyzing.
"What are you doing?"
Your fingers were tracing my cheeks, my eyes, my ears. Your touch was illumination in my dark bedroom. The sheepskin rug tickled my naked back.
You closed your eyes and exhaled jaggedly through your nose (you had been crying) and I felt your warm breath and wished it was mine.
"If I try hard enough," you whispered through sparse tears in a rare moment of tenderness, "I can memorize your face."
"Oh my dear," I kissed you. "All I have to do is think of the one thing that I love the most and your face just appears."
"You're not supposed to say that!" And I could feel you crying just a little bit more and do you know what, my one and only true love thus far? Your tears fell into the soil of time and where our hands met grew this beautiful rose that I call the us and yes I know for now we cannot both hold it and admire it's pretty face but whatever wind and sea exists between will keep it as lovely as the day we pulled it from the earth and held it between us, carefully avoiding the thorns, knowing we'd soon share it again (but for now my dear you keep it, and I will return soon, soon, oh so soon).
So can I at last say that I love you, that I have fallen in love so deep and heavily that I fear death from this drop?
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes, yes. Goddamnit, yes.
--
19 August 2007
18 August 2007
when i was a writer (a follow-up)
for anyone interested in reading my latest story:
"don't say goodnight, a story in three parts"
dedicated to ******** and she knows why.
my sigh and heart are so heavy that i am surprised it does not shake the very ground we stand on, my dear.
can i say i love you?
most certainly, yes.
yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, goddamnit yes.
"don't say goodnight, a story in three parts"
dedicated to ******** and she knows why.
my sigh and heart are so heavy that i am surprised it does not shake the very ground we stand on, my dear.
can i say i love you?
most certainly, yes.
yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, goddamnit yes.
10 August 2007
when i was a writer and reader of fictions
i finished my new story called "don't say goodnight" and i ended up inserting a lot of other little rants and monologues i had previously written, which fits with the main character, because he's a writer, like me, so the story is split into metaphorical stream of consciousness narration and sections where it's what the main character "wrote". i'm kind of happy with it. it's way more poetic than "salem and palomino" (my other most recent story), which i like. i still have to edit it and make sure it actually all makes sense (it's highly probable that it doesn't).
anyway, i counted and realized i've read a whopping 13 books this summer. holy bejesus. recently added to the read list:
- mysteries of pittsburgh, by michael chabon (AWESOME AWESOME book. really really good. i liked it a lot)
- apathy, by ...i can't remember. really funny. read it in less than a day.
- galapagos, by vonnegut. very good. definitely one of my favorite vonneguts.
and now i'm reading evening, by susan minot, which i really like. it's really good.
and i was reading the beginning of everything is illuminated earlier and it made me remember how much i love that book.
just wanted to talk about that to the eternal darkness of no one.
anyway, i counted and realized i've read a whopping 13 books this summer. holy bejesus. recently added to the read list:
- mysteries of pittsburgh, by michael chabon (AWESOME AWESOME book. really really good. i liked it a lot)
- apathy, by ...i can't remember. really funny. read it in less than a day.
- galapagos, by vonnegut. very good. definitely one of my favorite vonneguts.
and now i'm reading evening, by susan minot, which i really like. it's really good.
and i was reading the beginning of everything is illuminated earlier and it made me remember how much i love that book.
just wanted to talk about that to the eternal darkness of no one.
24 July 2007
when i was the pinnacle of everything i have ever experienced AND when i was a bookophile
[part one]
things have never been more poignantly beautiful for me. i don't know how else to say it, really. never before have i felt so simply reassured just by the mere existence of someone like i do now. it runs so much deeper than love or lust; it's a river that we both drowned in, long ago; and now we lie on the bottom of the clay-like riverbed, embracing and sharing our visions of the afterlife, whispering "ask me to stay" and "i'll see you on the other side" because what we have today soon will be yesterday but could so easily be tomorrow, mountain of my beating heart, my dear. [i take a bow] and yes we are just scraping the bottom of the bowl of time (going by so slowly, and time can do so much: are you still mine?) but it feels like an eternal ocean in front of us. maybe i am just blind to land? but i know that though i may surface from this sea before you, your appearance beside me will be quick like an echo but as real as the ground i will be standing on. though i may run aground before you, i'll turn my face towards the sea and wait on those sandy beaches for your figure to emerge, venus-like and glowing so that only i may see you, from the watery depths of time and distance.
[part two]
i can't help but buying more and more books. i'm supposed to reading a section of the iliad a day. i did really well for about 9 days, but i haven't read since thursday. the harry potter excitement really got to me. the seventh books was phenomenal, no questions. i read it in under 24 hours (which makes me happy because it meant that i didn't have to stay off the internet that long) and had serious depression/withdrawal problems after that. but now that's over, i'm waiting for my copy of the british edition to come by post before i bother rereading it (though i read the ending a few times, and a few crucial scenes in the last chapter), so i've dived right back into reading Black Swan Green, reading nearly 100 pages yesterday! i have only about 140 left and would like to finish it tonight so that i can plow prodigiously through the growing stack that i now have. and like an intoxicated addict, i bought even more books:
- ham on rye - bukowski
- kafka on the shore - murakami
- the old man and the sea - hemmingway
- evening - minot
christ. that brings my total of books to read before reed up to, what...a bajillion? fuck.
got the new tegan and sara album. so far it's incredible. really good. really catchy. definitely living up to the awesomeoness of So Jealous. i already made one of their songs my ringtone. :) other new cds? interpol...eh. it's okay. heinrich manuever is an awesome song, but the album feels pretty weak so far, for the most part. it'll grow on me i'm sure. but the new editors album is really really good. they shed a little bit of their interpol/joy division-like sound (a good thing) and grew a lot as a band. comparisons are being made to coldplay, but i'd hardly take that as a compliment (as good as coldplay is, mind, but still, coldplay's a bit repetitive after a while). anyway, yeah.
things have never been more poignantly beautiful for me. i don't know how else to say it, really. never before have i felt so simply reassured just by the mere existence of someone like i do now. it runs so much deeper than love or lust; it's a river that we both drowned in, long ago; and now we lie on the bottom of the clay-like riverbed, embracing and sharing our visions of the afterlife, whispering "ask me to stay" and "i'll see you on the other side" because what we have today soon will be yesterday but could so easily be tomorrow, mountain of my beating heart, my dear. [i take a bow] and yes we are just scraping the bottom of the bowl of time (going by so slowly, and time can do so much: are you still mine?) but it feels like an eternal ocean in front of us. maybe i am just blind to land? but i know that though i may surface from this sea before you, your appearance beside me will be quick like an echo but as real as the ground i will be standing on. though i may run aground before you, i'll turn my face towards the sea and wait on those sandy beaches for your figure to emerge, venus-like and glowing so that only i may see you, from the watery depths of time and distance.
[part two]
i can't help but buying more and more books. i'm supposed to reading a section of the iliad a day. i did really well for about 9 days, but i haven't read since thursday. the harry potter excitement really got to me. the seventh books was phenomenal, no questions. i read it in under 24 hours (which makes me happy because it meant that i didn't have to stay off the internet that long) and had serious depression/withdrawal problems after that. but now that's over, i'm waiting for my copy of the british edition to come by post before i bother rereading it (though i read the ending a few times, and a few crucial scenes in the last chapter), so i've dived right back into reading Black Swan Green, reading nearly 100 pages yesterday! i have only about 140 left and would like to finish it tonight so that i can plow prodigiously through the growing stack that i now have. and like an intoxicated addict, i bought even more books:
- ham on rye - bukowski
- kafka on the shore - murakami
- the old man and the sea - hemmingway
- evening - minot
christ. that brings my total of books to read before reed up to, what...a bajillion? fuck.
got the new tegan and sara album. so far it's incredible. really good. really catchy. definitely living up to the awesomeoness of So Jealous. i already made one of their songs my ringtone. :) other new cds? interpol...eh. it's okay. heinrich manuever is an awesome song, but the album feels pretty weak so far, for the most part. it'll grow on me i'm sure. but the new editors album is really really good. they shed a little bit of their interpol/joy division-like sound (a good thing) and grew a lot as a band. comparisons are being made to coldplay, but i'd hardly take that as a compliment (as good as coldplay is, mind, but still, coldplay's a bit repetitive after a while). anyway, yeah.
12 July 2007
when i was simple, among other things
i am:
- happy.
- reading 'the sirens of titan', with complete intention of finishing it in the next hour (i have 70 pages left)
- trying to get this story started. this is all i have:
Don't say goodnight. Please.
In the infinity of your hold, I beg of you to not let my hands slip from yours, to not allow your body to disintegrate into a million little sand crystals and fall between my fingers like water through a napkin.
I am soaked through to the bone, trying to rid you from me, but I am ridiculously unsuccessful. The way in which you have been woven into my most intimate systems is only comparable to the way the stars are laced into the night sky.
Here. Here, we watch the sunset together, the rolling arcs of the surrounding hills reminding us of how close to the sky we are. Oh, if only I were speaking in metaphors.
As stars begin to dot the sky, I feel you slowly melting back into the night from whence you came. Wither must I wander to maintain your heavy presence, your beating heart, your touch, gentle like a seductive god?
But:
"Stay," you say. I remain motionless.
"Don't say - "
"Goodnight."
"Please." But you are already gone.
--
From the sea you came, clothed in nothing but water-lilies and a thin, easily tangled garden of black hair, the night's eyes reflecting effortlessly in its glean.
--
i don't know where to go with that.
the decemberists concert was amazing. absolutely amazing.
as are most things.
and lastly, i am:
- not going anywhere.
- happy.
- reading 'the sirens of titan', with complete intention of finishing it in the next hour (i have 70 pages left)
- trying to get this story started. this is all i have:
Don't say goodnight. Please.
In the infinity of your hold, I beg of you to not let my hands slip from yours, to not allow your body to disintegrate into a million little sand crystals and fall between my fingers like water through a napkin.
I am soaked through to the bone, trying to rid you from me, but I am ridiculously unsuccessful. The way in which you have been woven into my most intimate systems is only comparable to the way the stars are laced into the night sky.
Here. Here, we watch the sunset together, the rolling arcs of the surrounding hills reminding us of how close to the sky we are. Oh, if only I were speaking in metaphors.
As stars begin to dot the sky, I feel you slowly melting back into the night from whence you came. Wither must I wander to maintain your heavy presence, your beating heart, your touch, gentle like a seductive god?
But:
"Stay," you say. I remain motionless.
"Don't say - "
"Goodnight."
"Please." But you are already gone.
--
From the sea you came, clothed in nothing but water-lilies and a thin, easily tangled garden of black hair, the night's eyes reflecting effortlessly in its glean.
--
i don't know where to go with that.
the decemberists concert was amazing. absolutely amazing.
as are most things.
and lastly, i am:
- not going anywhere.
05 July 2007
when i was a wolf
things are better. they always are. summer is in the air. and speaking of which. i hate the summer. i hate this weather. it's ridiculously inane. i miss walking through the chilly european streets. speaking of walking, as well, i hate that i have to drive to get ANYWHERE. i can't walk anywhere. except around my neighborhood. in london i could say "hey you know i want to go to Marble Arch or Buckingham Palace or Hyde Park or Park Lane or Oxford...i'm going to walk/take the tube." i can't do that here. "hey, i wanna go to my starbucks. i'm going to drive seven minutes. or walk for an hour in the 100 degree heat? nah, i'll drive." it's ridiculous.
and we're all going to the decemberists tonight! hoorah. at last. we've been planning this for like, two/three months already.
and i put a lot of things here that i took out because i don't know it was like "what's the point of putting all those things?" because people know what i feel and think, i know they do.
but yeah. it's sunny out, and as long as i stay indoors i can look outside and think "wow it's a beautiful day" without melting my skin. so i prefer to look on the bright side.
and we're all going to the decemberists tonight! hoorah. at last. we've been planning this for like, two/three months already.
and i put a lot of things here that i took out because i don't know it was like "what's the point of putting all those things?" because people know what i feel and think, i know they do.
but yeah. it's sunny out, and as long as i stay indoors i can look outside and think "wow it's a beautiful day" without melting my skin. so i prefer to look on the bright side.
03 July 2007
when i burned
and learned.
why bother thinking that something could mean the same to someone else as it does to you? why did i bother missing [xxxxxxxx] so much during europe, thinking about [xxx] nearly every night, wanting to come home just so see [xxx]? why why why? was i lead, blind, by a warm hand down the wrong path? was everything [xxx] said truly empty words, every quiver of [xxx] lips, every shape of [xxx] hands, every pulse of [xxx] body simply the wind of the moment? did it all leave as soon as it came? how is that possible?
i didn't want to come home from europe because i missed my bed or american food or the 100 degree weather (which is about as pleasant as rubbing naked against a cactus). i wanted to come home because i missed [xxx]. of course, i dare not tell [xxx] that. i would also never dare tell [xxx] that i nearly didn't go to europe so that i wouldn't lose spending one day with [xxx]. or that i was frightened because i looked at how much i missed [xxx] in three weeks, and thought about the four years i'd be gone.
i'm not depressed. and, sadly, i'm not surprised, either. i just thought i knew [xxx] better than that. i didn't think [xxx] was the kind of person who would do those kinds of things with someone for whom she had no feelings at all in that manner. and i like the old decrepit fool i am allowed myself to feel something chaotic and calm, destructive and beautiful, for [xxx]. i'm not sad so much as i am disappointed, in everything. not in [xxx] entirely. i don't know, i just thought perhaps something would work nicely before i had to leave for the great beyond. but for some reason i wasn't surprised. i knew that nothing for me is ever reciprocated. it can never be as simple as i hope or imagine it to be. there's a very dark part of me that doesn't even want to take the chance that it could work with someone, once, in the future, and live a recklessly lonely life in an apartment in paris, anonymous and unknown, cloaked in self-cast solitude until my sun sets for good.
and it doesn't matter who it is, whether it's your best friend or someone you just met, being told that [xxx] doesn't want what is going on, what you (or I, in the case) consider something special, something unique, something at all, definable or not, to continue...well, clearly, obviously, it cuts you somewhere much deeper than you expected. but especially when it's someone who is already that deep in your heart, anyway.
vino is right. it's a blessing and a curse. but the blessing is fleeting and light. the curse is heavy and prophetic. yes, her and i would have had to part ways one way or another, be it as friends or more than that. but the curse is a foretelling of the fact that my emotions will always, instead of connecting me with a woman, push me away from her.
i'm certainly not mad enough or hurt enough to not talk to her. i'm just disillusioned. but what hurts is that, while i'm upset and disappointed, i am not shocked. i expected this, somehow, on some level, because i know her inside out; i know the meaning of her every whim and breath, nearly. and i sensed this, of course. i just hoped that all those moments that could have convinced me otherwise were enough to outweigh my doubt.
another mini-poetry/song collection to be filed away under the heading:
"LOVERS FOR A DAY".
is that all it ever is? anyway, it's all i ever have to look back on: the art i created in the wake of her (whoever she is) loveliness and how she made me feel, one way or another. and i'm not heartbroken. i love her and still do (whether it's platonic or not, i don't know). i just wish it could have continued the way it did until i went away to school. perhaps so that i would feel i was truly leaving something amazing behind, forever cast in amber. one single happy memory that will have no shadow cast over it.
but because life is a rising and a setting, a break and an end of day, everything that stands in sight of the sun will be cursed with a shadow.
even us, my dear.
even me.
why bother thinking that something could mean the same to someone else as it does to you? why did i bother missing [xxxxxxxx] so much during europe, thinking about [xxx] nearly every night, wanting to come home just so see [xxx]? why why why? was i lead, blind, by a warm hand down the wrong path? was everything [xxx] said truly empty words, every quiver of [xxx] lips, every shape of [xxx] hands, every pulse of [xxx] body simply the wind of the moment? did it all leave as soon as it came? how is that possible?
i didn't want to come home from europe because i missed my bed or american food or the 100 degree weather (which is about as pleasant as rubbing naked against a cactus). i wanted to come home because i missed [xxx]. of course, i dare not tell [xxx] that. i would also never dare tell [xxx] that i nearly didn't go to europe so that i wouldn't lose spending one day with [xxx]. or that i was frightened because i looked at how much i missed [xxx] in three weeks, and thought about the four years i'd be gone.
i'm not depressed. and, sadly, i'm not surprised, either. i just thought i knew [xxx] better than that. i didn't think [xxx] was the kind of person who would do those kinds of things with someone for whom she had no feelings at all in that manner. and i like the old decrepit fool i am allowed myself to feel something chaotic and calm, destructive and beautiful, for [xxx]. i'm not sad so much as i am disappointed, in everything. not in [xxx] entirely. i don't know, i just thought perhaps something would work nicely before i had to leave for the great beyond. but for some reason i wasn't surprised. i knew that nothing for me is ever reciprocated. it can never be as simple as i hope or imagine it to be. there's a very dark part of me that doesn't even want to take the chance that it could work with someone, once, in the future, and live a recklessly lonely life in an apartment in paris, anonymous and unknown, cloaked in self-cast solitude until my sun sets for good.
and it doesn't matter who it is, whether it's your best friend or someone you just met, being told that [xxx] doesn't want what is going on, what you (or I, in the case) consider something special, something unique, something at all, definable or not, to continue...well, clearly, obviously, it cuts you somewhere much deeper than you expected. but especially when it's someone who is already that deep in your heart, anyway.
vino is right. it's a blessing and a curse. but the blessing is fleeting and light. the curse is heavy and prophetic. yes, her and i would have had to part ways one way or another, be it as friends or more than that. but the curse is a foretelling of the fact that my emotions will always, instead of connecting me with a woman, push me away from her.
i'm certainly not mad enough or hurt enough to not talk to her. i'm just disillusioned. but what hurts is that, while i'm upset and disappointed, i am not shocked. i expected this, somehow, on some level, because i know her inside out; i know the meaning of her every whim and breath, nearly. and i sensed this, of course. i just hoped that all those moments that could have convinced me otherwise were enough to outweigh my doubt.
another mini-poetry/song collection to be filed away under the heading:
"LOVERS FOR A DAY".
is that all it ever is? anyway, it's all i ever have to look back on: the art i created in the wake of her (whoever she is) loveliness and how she made me feel, one way or another. and i'm not heartbroken. i love her and still do (whether it's platonic or not, i don't know). i just wish it could have continued the way it did until i went away to school. perhaps so that i would feel i was truly leaving something amazing behind, forever cast in amber. one single happy memory that will have no shadow cast over it.
but because life is a rising and a setting, a break and an end of day, everything that stands in sight of the sun will be cursed with a shadow.
even us, my dear.
even me.
30 June 2007
when i was a little cream soda
i'm very delighted with the new white stripes cd, first of all. and i bought Eternal Sunshine and Science of Sleep. And anna slept over last night and i got to see james. both of those events made me very happy. i missed them very much.
i also find it funny that whenever anything appears un-okay it usually is, anyway. just a thought, now!
let's see. i wrote a song about refusing to evacuate paris before the germans invaded during world war ii. i like that song, actually. it's decemberists-esque, very much. and i have this cabaret type song i like and this song i wrote that is very rufus. and i'm going into the studio in a week or so to "lay down some tracks" as them quite groovy children say.
that's all that's even mildly entertaining. and hopefully tomorrow night i shall have a gathering of a few of us europe-traversing kids at my place of residence and we will all get together and have guided sight seeing of mikey's house then free time in my backyard.
oh, well!
i also find it funny that whenever anything appears un-okay it usually is, anyway. just a thought, now!
let's see. i wrote a song about refusing to evacuate paris before the germans invaded during world war ii. i like that song, actually. it's decemberists-esque, very much. and i have this cabaret type song i like and this song i wrote that is very rufus. and i'm going into the studio in a week or so to "lay down some tracks" as them quite groovy children say.
that's all that's even mildly entertaining. and hopefully tomorrow night i shall have a gathering of a few of us europe-traversing kids at my place of residence and we will all get together and have guided sight seeing of mikey's house then free time in my backyard.
oh, well!
29 June 2007
when i returned from afar to the swamp of my mountains
europe was amazing. i'm still struck by the dichotomy of my emotions. basically the whole time i was missing things. not home, per se. i missed anna and anna and james dearly (and was jealous of their canadian expedition together...though at the same time i was wandering the streets of italy and amsterdam). i missed michelle a lot, of course. i also found myself missing katie, my little rising chanteuse, and hoping that she had written some new songs for us to record.
strangely, i also found myself missing - no, not missing, but rather softening on - aleena. not as in 'man i really want to see her.' i think i've just finally filed her away as just another girl, replacing the strong negative feelings i've had for her in the last few months (which began with me finally cutting her entirely out of my life). i just feel bad for her. i hope she's doing alright and that she likes the new rufus wainwright cd, because i do. i should talk to her, at least before going away to college. i miss her mother, too. that's where i feel bad, because her mother did nothing at all; she was like a second mother to me, but i wasn't able to put up with aleena under any circumstances. so that's that, anyway.
but now that i am back home, where i've been dying to return for weeks, i feel bored and out of place. i want to be back in a hotel room in europe, waking up at 7 am and eating breakfast in the hotel with everybody (or by myself, as i rose early), sneezing and being commended with a delightful "fuck you" from erin, and doing guided sight seeing in city centers and having a ridiculous amount of freetime in unfamiliar european cities; i want to be able to walk two minutes to the metro or the underground and hope on a train and go to the Champs Elysees or Oxford Street or anywhere anywhere anywhere that is beautiful and that is europe.
so what has changed? there's a small voice inside my head that knows that missing someone dearly only sets you up for a let down, for you know that those feelings of want are only a one way street, usually. but that's okay, it's preparation. i'm leaving for good in two months. i have to shed it all now and leave my old lost poetic skin behind.
i'm really looking forward to seeing anna and james, of course. and then harley, when she returns for a week for the decemberists concert that i am overly excited about. you know, i missed those three a lot, and i missed them all in different ways. and i saw a bus that said "@na castro" on the side of it and it just made my day (i think that was somewhere in italy at an autogrill...)
so do i bother climbing the infinite mountains of those who remain attached to my shedding skin, or do i dare wade into the deep but small lake of this new, raw flesh? is there ever a forward to turning back? can i walk towards the sun while facing the moon? (or is it the other way around?)
sure, i could go into detail about the europe trip, who did what, who i became fond of, this and that, here and there (seeing the white stripes in concert in europe! being mildly disgusted with amsterdam; rediscovering paris and realizing it's one of the most wonderful cities in the world - definitely a future home; relaxing at the foot of the swiss alps where all is green and cowbells...), but really, really, why? it is all within me, anyway, and would be meaningless to anyone else in the sense that it is meaningful to me.
either way, i am back now, and ready to let the next two months wash over me like the saves trying desperately the cleanse the sand of all its woes and pull me, gently, into the wild ocean.
strangely, i also found myself missing - no, not missing, but rather softening on - aleena. not as in 'man i really want to see her.' i think i've just finally filed her away as just another girl, replacing the strong negative feelings i've had for her in the last few months (which began with me finally cutting her entirely out of my life). i just feel bad for her. i hope she's doing alright and that she likes the new rufus wainwright cd, because i do. i should talk to her, at least before going away to college. i miss her mother, too. that's where i feel bad, because her mother did nothing at all; she was like a second mother to me, but i wasn't able to put up with aleena under any circumstances. so that's that, anyway.
but now that i am back home, where i've been dying to return for weeks, i feel bored and out of place. i want to be back in a hotel room in europe, waking up at 7 am and eating breakfast in the hotel with everybody (or by myself, as i rose early), sneezing and being commended with a delightful "fuck you" from erin, and doing guided sight seeing in city centers and having a ridiculous amount of freetime in unfamiliar european cities; i want to be able to walk two minutes to the metro or the underground and hope on a train and go to the Champs Elysees or Oxford Street or anywhere anywhere anywhere that is beautiful and that is europe.
so what has changed? there's a small voice inside my head that knows that missing someone dearly only sets you up for a let down, for you know that those feelings of want are only a one way street, usually. but that's okay, it's preparation. i'm leaving for good in two months. i have to shed it all now and leave my old lost poetic skin behind.
i'm really looking forward to seeing anna and james, of course. and then harley, when she returns for a week for the decemberists concert that i am overly excited about. you know, i missed those three a lot, and i missed them all in different ways. and i saw a bus that said "@na castro" on the side of it and it just made my day (i think that was somewhere in italy at an autogrill...)
so do i bother climbing the infinite mountains of those who remain attached to my shedding skin, or do i dare wade into the deep but small lake of this new, raw flesh? is there ever a forward to turning back? can i walk towards the sun while facing the moon? (or is it the other way around?)
sure, i could go into detail about the europe trip, who did what, who i became fond of, this and that, here and there (seeing the white stripes in concert in europe! being mildly disgusted with amsterdam; rediscovering paris and realizing it's one of the most wonderful cities in the world - definitely a future home; relaxing at the foot of the swiss alps where all is green and cowbells...), but really, really, why? it is all within me, anyway, and would be meaningless to anyone else in the sense that it is meaningful to me.
either way, i am back now, and ready to let the next two months wash over me like the saves trying desperately the cleanse the sand of all its woes and pull me, gently, into the wild ocean.
01 June 2007
when i wanted books
i intended to go to barnes and nobel tonight with michelle and james, but that fell through. michelle and i ended up chatting with zita in front of her house for close to an hour, i'd say. an equally enjoyable way to spend one's time.
but i have decided i want to purchase the following books, freeze time, and read them:
- as i lay dying - faulkner
- the sound and the fury - faulkner
- the sun also rises - hemingway
- the road - cormac mccarthy
which of course puts a damper on my current list of to-read books. however, i'm already a third of the way into The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. I'll likely finish it before Europe, so i'll take with me about six or so books, with the honest intention of finishing them all. perhaps i'll bring along "extremely loud and incredibly close" and "unbearable lightness of being" as well, just for old time's sake.
and then we'd both get so blue.
but i have decided i want to purchase the following books, freeze time, and read them:
- as i lay dying - faulkner
- the sound and the fury - faulkner
- the sun also rises - hemingway
- the road - cormac mccarthy
which of course puts a damper on my current list of to-read books. however, i'm already a third of the way into The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. I'll likely finish it before Europe, so i'll take with me about six or so books, with the honest intention of finishing them all. perhaps i'll bring along "extremely loud and incredibly close" and "unbearable lightness of being" as well, just for old time's sake.
and then we'd both get so blue.
31 May 2007
when i was the god of small things
i guess i'm not leaving this behind yet. but i don't think it can inhabit my thoughts anymore the way it used to. too many eyes. my thoughts are better saved for the tunnel of mouth to ear, from my window to yours.
instead i shall sort of my head.
i finished reading 'the god of small things'. i liked it a lot, but she (the author, Arundhati Roy) made the foreshadowing of certain events just a little too obvious, which bugged me the slightest bit. but still, amazing book. and i want to read 'the inheritance of loss', too, but i have to space that with a few books. two indian novels in a row...i like spacing it out. like, for instance, i wouldn't read Kundera and then read Klima. that's just inane.
but the ordered book list for my next few reads is as such:
- the book of laughter and forgetting - kundera
- the madonnas of leningrad - dean
- suite francaise - nemirosky
- love and garbage - klima
- hunger - hamsun
- brief encounters with che guevara (short stories) - fountain
- the heart is a lonely hunter - mccullers
- the inheritance of loss - desai
believe it or not, i stacked those books in order on my bookshelf. i like the calm inside of chaos.
and i love rufus' new album. seriously.
do i disappoint you in just being human?
instead i shall sort of my head.
i finished reading 'the god of small things'. i liked it a lot, but she (the author, Arundhati Roy) made the foreshadowing of certain events just a little too obvious, which bugged me the slightest bit. but still, amazing book. and i want to read 'the inheritance of loss', too, but i have to space that with a few books. two indian novels in a row...i like spacing it out. like, for instance, i wouldn't read Kundera and then read Klima. that's just inane.
but the ordered book list for my next few reads is as such:
- the book of laughter and forgetting - kundera
- the madonnas of leningrad - dean
- suite francaise - nemirosky
- love and garbage - klima
- hunger - hamsun
- brief encounters with che guevara (short stories) - fountain
- the heart is a lonely hunter - mccullers
- the inheritance of loss - desai
believe it or not, i stacked those books in order on my bookshelf. i like the calm inside of chaos.
and i love rufus' new album. seriously.
do i disappoint you in just being human?
29 May 2007
when i realized that i must begin to leave things behind
i refuse to leave most things behind for now. i shall keep them in my mind and heart.
but i am ready to let this blog go, i do believe. it has become effete. pointless. sterile. barren. as pretty as it is, i need to abandon it. there is so much left to be said that i am must remain silent.
yes.
but i am ready to let this blog go, i do believe. it has become effete. pointless. sterile. barren. as pretty as it is, i need to abandon it. there is so much left to be said that i am must remain silent.
yes.
21 May 2007
when i felt silly
i read the post that i put up last night in my jejune little fiery stupor of faux-rage and think 'my lord, why did i write such things?' because of course this morning i look at what i wrote and how i felt and i realize that those emotions were just temporary, and that, thank buddah, i don't really feel that way. i don't truly believe that i sit on a golden throne overlooking a kingdom of shit. i don't really think i'll always fail or always be rejected. in fact, if i look at it, every situation i've ever been in was not out of the breadth of my control. all i have to do is realize that you can't judge things on a simple day-to-day basis. so i was irritated last night, so what. it probably had little to do with why i thought i was irritated.
what i'm really trying to do it more or less discredit my supine self-pitying self of last night (and other moments). these sorts of things do not have wings and they do not suddenly change or vanish from one day to the next. i like that metaphor. they don't have wings. that's a nice image.
sometimes perhaps i should simply let things be (thanks, hamlet) and just take it with a shrug and say "c'est la vie, non?" because truly that is all life is: a series of moments that, thankfully, gratefully, mercifully, pass.
and rufus' new album is really quite good. i've listened to 'going to a town' at least 8 times in the last two days.
what i'm really trying to do it more or less discredit my supine self-pitying self of last night (and other moments). these sorts of things do not have wings and they do not suddenly change or vanish from one day to the next. i like that metaphor. they don't have wings. that's a nice image.
sometimes perhaps i should simply let things be (thanks, hamlet) and just take it with a shrug and say "c'est la vie, non?" because truly that is all life is: a series of moments that, thankfully, gratefully, mercifully, pass.
and rufus' new album is really quite good. i've listened to 'going to a town' at least 8 times in the last two days.
20 May 2007
when i didn't understand/hated the ocean inside of me
i do not remember the last time i was so mad, driving home tonight at sixty miles per hour on rinaldi listening to "apres moi" as loud as my ears could handle. and i don't remember the last night not being fully aware of why.
i just don't understand. it's like i build myself this golden throne of a mountain only to look over a city full of shit. like, i give myself the illusion, the demure disillusion that for once perhaps something will be nice without me cloaking it in my own self-effacing doubt. do i have to dig myself this concrete castle of shadow and question?
but what does it matter? i know the true fact of the forthcoming future. it's imminent. though half of me is saying 'you are a clown to doubt yourself, simple, monstrous fool,' the other half of me speaks as loud as the sun and it hurts every bone in my body because it's screaming "no, you'll always fail, you'll always be rejected, nothing will ever work out in the end. and you're a damn fool, boy. a damn fool, you know. you think you carry the universe on your back when in truth you're nothing more than the smallest grain of sand, barely touched by the turns and tides of anything heavy or light, anything worthy of laughter or loving or even forgetting. you are merely a paragon of dust, you poor poor animal."
what sort of sick sculptor cast me with such weak clay?
and i don't even know what you are to me, sweet minaret of a character in my sad little story. are we riding high the white foamy crests of time's ocean, or am i drowning and pulling you down with me while you struggle to the surface for a simple breath of sea air?
you see, but now that i am seeing eye to eye with my mirrored self, i realize that all the emotions i felt were not as strong as i thought they were, because with these words, they left me like an exorcism.
some things are static and some things are as liquid as the sea; one is as solid as stone, and the other is constantly moving and churning but in truth always staying the same.
so there. life is comprised of obvious constancy and overall constancy.
i am leaving my static clouds now for the salty air, the moonswept tides, and the chance that perhaps once or twice in my entire life i'll be able to swim through the storms instead drown in them.
--
p.s. there is a likely chance that none of the above words carry any true emotional value. they are merely raindrops onto a cold and unforgiving concrete street.
i just don't understand. it's like i build myself this golden throne of a mountain only to look over a city full of shit. like, i give myself the illusion, the demure disillusion that for once perhaps something will be nice without me cloaking it in my own self-effacing doubt. do i have to dig myself this concrete castle of shadow and question?
but what does it matter? i know the true fact of the forthcoming future. it's imminent. though half of me is saying 'you are a clown to doubt yourself, simple, monstrous fool,' the other half of me speaks as loud as the sun and it hurts every bone in my body because it's screaming "no, you'll always fail, you'll always be rejected, nothing will ever work out in the end. and you're a damn fool, boy. a damn fool, you know. you think you carry the universe on your back when in truth you're nothing more than the smallest grain of sand, barely touched by the turns and tides of anything heavy or light, anything worthy of laughter or loving or even forgetting. you are merely a paragon of dust, you poor poor animal."
what sort of sick sculptor cast me with such weak clay?
and i don't even know what you are to me, sweet minaret of a character in my sad little story. are we riding high the white foamy crests of time's ocean, or am i drowning and pulling you down with me while you struggle to the surface for a simple breath of sea air?
you see, but now that i am seeing eye to eye with my mirrored self, i realize that all the emotions i felt were not as strong as i thought they were, because with these words, they left me like an exorcism.
some things are static and some things are as liquid as the sea; one is as solid as stone, and the other is constantly moving and churning but in truth always staying the same.
so there. life is comprised of obvious constancy and overall constancy.
i am leaving my static clouds now for the salty air, the moonswept tides, and the chance that perhaps once or twice in my entire life i'll be able to swim through the storms instead drown in them.
--
p.s. there is a likely chance that none of the above words carry any true emotional value. they are merely raindrops onto a cold and unforgiving concrete street.
14 May 2007
when i took off
the reality of time is becoming a lot more apparent lately. i'm slowly realizing truly how few days left i have here amongst all these people. in sixteen days from today, i graduate high school. five days later, i leave for europe for an entire month. then i have a meager month and a half left until i leave temporarily for good to portland, oregon (slow gin fizz) to run and fly in the heat of a new place, new people, a new life. more or less.
but then again:
i have sixteen long summer days left with the people i love in high school until we all graduate together. who knows what sort of adventures those sixteen days hold. midnight Pirates? Beach days? then graduation. of course. and then an entire month in the beauty of another continent; the italian aura of pulchritude, snowcapped alps, the allure and lust of london and paris....
and then the infinity of my time in southern california will come to a close but the door will forever remain ajar.
things are either ending or just being put on pause, that's all.
i finished catch 22. and i'm almost late for third period now.
au revoir.
but then again:
i have sixteen long summer days left with the people i love in high school until we all graduate together. who knows what sort of adventures those sixteen days hold. midnight Pirates? Beach days? then graduation. of course. and then an entire month in the beauty of another continent; the italian aura of pulchritude, snowcapped alps, the allure and lust of london and paris....
and then the infinity of my time in southern california will come to a close but the door will forever remain ajar.
things are either ending or just being put on pause, that's all.
i finished catch 22. and i'm almost late for third period now.
au revoir.
10 May 2007
when i wasn't surprised but disappointed all the same
From : Poetry, The New Yoker: TNY_Poetry@advancemags.com
Sent : Thursday, May 10, 2007 11:42 AM
To : Me: siriusjames@hotmail.com
We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material. Thank you for
giving us the opportunity to consider it.
Sincerely,
The Editors
--
i submitted poetry.
alas.
Sent : Thursday, May 10, 2007 11:42 AM
To : Me: siriusjames@hotmail.com
We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material. Thank you for
giving us the opportunity to consider it.
Sincerely,
The Editors
--
i submitted poetry.
alas.
when i was sad
i feel sad for not having gone to the after AP Lit Test Beach Party today. i'm not sure why i didn't go. but i didn't, and i lament that fact now. i gained nothing out of staying home. anyway.
in other news:
my goal of abstaining from the internet in order to finish reading catch 22 has failed to be reached, though i am making considerable progress and should be done by the weekend. i have roughly 100 pages left.
that makes me happy.
and now i am stuck between the balance of emotions, and i am simply myself again.
in other news:
my goal of abstaining from the internet in order to finish reading catch 22 has failed to be reached, though i am making considerable progress and should be done by the weekend. i have roughly 100 pages left.
that makes me happy.
and now i am stuck between the balance of emotions, and i am simply myself again.
08 May 2007
when i made a goal
one thing. no. two things. or three.
1) i will not return to the computer/internet until i finish reading catch-22. no exceptions.
2) it's remarkable how silent everyone has been lately (blog-wise)
3) i shall read fifty pages a day. at a minimum.
and 4) i cannot get "rebellion(lies)" out of my head. i just have that line playing on repeat in my head: "everytime you close your eyes (lies, lies!)"
c'est tout.
1) i will not return to the computer/internet until i finish reading catch-22. no exceptions.
2) it's remarkable how silent everyone has been lately (blog-wise)
3) i shall read fifty pages a day. at a minimum.
and 4) i cannot get "rebellion(lies)" out of my head. i just have that line playing on repeat in my head: "everytime you close your eyes (lies, lies!)"
c'est tout.
03 May 2007
when i listened to the arcade fire for nearly six hours
and hm, wow.
how heavy things have become,
like sunlight.
and how very warm i am indeed.
(it is a good thing)
oh, and:
i kissed her where it was sore, and she felt better.
how heavy things have become,
like sunlight.
and how very warm i am indeed.
(it is a good thing)
oh, and:
i kissed her where it was sore, and she felt better.
02 May 2007
when i was illuminated and drank the poison of your rage
there is a poem i wrote tonight that i will not put here, but if you seek it you will find it.
instead:
dated 4/24/07:
"the illumination"
but now that i -
hope-bandaged
and imminently departed so -
sit and think upon
what heights
i thought i had
swam to, i realize,
i see -
i am not clearly as
opaque
as i was once fooled to be,
for the reason of my
earthquakes
leaks out of my skin
in every atomic assembly
of my ripe and
unplucked soul
and becomes all but
someone else -
roots that grown
upside-down into the
shade
and wings that kept us
floating -
we returned, inebriated all
with age and the whips
of time -
for then now
and furthermore our past becomes
everything,
our present becomes
nothing but electronic
dust
that unfolds its way
into an inverse future where
in going forwards,
we are only propelled
backwards
into the dark
of the sun:
And thus, with the sad
song of my heart
patronizing the soul of the
universe,
(dark as water)
i am illuminated:
nothing is bearable.
--
now we can all understand the lightness of everything.
instead:
dated 4/24/07:
"the illumination"
but now that i -
hope-bandaged
and imminently departed so -
sit and think upon
what heights
i thought i had
swam to, i realize,
i see -
i am not clearly as
opaque
as i was once fooled to be,
for the reason of my
earthquakes
leaks out of my skin
in every atomic assembly
of my ripe and
unplucked soul
and becomes all but
someone else -
roots that grown
upside-down into the
shade
and wings that kept us
floating -
we returned, inebriated all
with age and the whips
of time -
for then now
and furthermore our past becomes
everything,
our present becomes
nothing but electronic
dust
that unfolds its way
into an inverse future where
in going forwards,
we are only propelled
backwards
into the dark
of the sun:
And thus, with the sad
song of my heart
patronizing the soul of the
universe,
(dark as water)
i am illuminated:
nothing is bearable.
--
now we can all understand the lightness of everything.
30 April 2007
when i loved july, july, and it never seemed so strange!
there are flowers growing in the sky.
--
this is what the rest of my life in california looks like:
april: oh wait. it's may in 35 minutes.
may:
1) hang out with michelle and the 3, respectively, until time turns over on itself (and whoever else slips into my routine).
2) AP Test. oh wait. screw those.
3) have the house to myself for a few days (everyone but me is going out of town: sister/dad to israel for two weeks, mom/brother to maryland for a week)
4) graduate!
5) pretend like it is not the end. because in one way it is not.
june:
1) wile away the first few days of june doing #1 from may and packing and preparing for europe
2) 4th-28th (or so): europe. all over. i'm excited. and not, i'll be honest. but it will be amazing.
3) 12th: i turn 18 in italy! huzzah.
4) 19th: the new white stripes album comes out! hoorah. i'll buy it in europe, perhaps.
5) probably, i will return and sleep for a few days straight.
JULY:
1) refer to #1 from may and june
2) 7th: OH WAIT CAN IT BE? THE DECEMBERISTS CONCERT! WITH MICHELLE/ANNA/ANNA/JAMES! (hopefully harley, anyway)
3) 13th: ORDER OF THE PHOENIX! the harry potter july madness begins.
4) 21st: the beginning of the end of a huge part of my life. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. oh man. i dread the last page. i may actually cry (something i rarely do).
5) stop sounding so trite already.
august:
1) the usual 1
2) pack for reed
3) --------- i will not say it.
if i kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?
--
suddenly the sky is dark and clocks all around my head are melting like love in the summer sun.
lord. here it goes.
--
this is what the rest of my life in california looks like:
april: oh wait. it's may in 35 minutes.
may:
1) hang out with michelle and the 3, respectively, until time turns over on itself (and whoever else slips into my routine).
2) AP Test. oh wait. screw those.
3) have the house to myself for a few days (everyone but me is going out of town: sister/dad to israel for two weeks, mom/brother to maryland for a week)
4) graduate!
5) pretend like it is not the end. because in one way it is not.
june:
1) wile away the first few days of june doing #1 from may and packing and preparing for europe
2) 4th-28th (or so): europe. all over. i'm excited. and not, i'll be honest. but it will be amazing.
3) 12th: i turn 18 in italy! huzzah.
4) 19th: the new white stripes album comes out! hoorah. i'll buy it in europe, perhaps.
5) probably, i will return and sleep for a few days straight.
JULY:
1) refer to #1 from may and june
2) 7th: OH WAIT CAN IT BE? THE DECEMBERISTS CONCERT! WITH MICHELLE/ANNA/ANNA/JAMES! (hopefully harley, anyway)
3) 13th: ORDER OF THE PHOENIX! the harry potter july madness begins.
4) 21st: the beginning of the end of a huge part of my life. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. oh man. i dread the last page. i may actually cry (something i rarely do).
5) stop sounding so trite already.
august:
1) the usual 1
2) pack for reed
3) --------- i will not say it.
if i kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?
--
suddenly the sky is dark and clocks all around my head are melting like love in the summer sun.
lord. here it goes.
28 April 2007
when i woke up my love
katie b. came over today.
and we recorded two songs.
we did redid "in and out of everything" and we worked on/recorded "brick walls" (aka "wake up my love"). they sound really good!
yeah.
just remember your mother's words: we're all falling in and out of everything.
--
i had extensive fun yesterday at the orchestra festival and afterwards. i do love those children, i do.
and we recorded two songs.
we did redid "in and out of everything" and we worked on/recorded "brick walls" (aka "wake up my love"). they sound really good!
yeah.
just remember your mother's words: we're all falling in and out of everything.
--
i had extensive fun yesterday at the orchestra festival and afterwards. i do love those children, i do.
when i addressed james and quoted extensively from the Good Book (not the bible)
james, you are a part of the intellegencia in plenty more ways than one. and you play a damn beautiful cello (i don't mean aesthetically, i mean musically). and from what i've read, your poetry, however often you produce it, is far from mediocre. in case you truly don't know that, it's really really really really really really really really really really really really really good. and it says some important things, which makes it even more really really really really really really good.
but, in case you're not convinced...
[james: mikey, i'm not convinced.
mikey: meh, eh...*demonstrates empty care cup*. aw just kidding, i care.]
...i have pulled up some valuable passages from the good Book of Intelligencia, written far before our time, but in English, thank the lord.
and i quote from the Book of Intelligencia:
page 823, section XXI, paragraph 2a:
"you question yourself and insecurities about your value to this world arise in the form of a poetic-prosaic whirlwind of self-doubt, comparing yourself to others around you in a self-deprecating manner. and the irony is that you dismiss your poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent] value in a manner that merely reinforces your poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent]. you say you are not poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent] in a manner which IS poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent]. oh, the irony."
paragraph 4c:
"you dismiss your talents as irrelevant (though they clearly are not) and claim you have lost the ability to perform them."
page 845, section II, paragraph 5d:
"you apologize to those you see you as equals, though your equality is a fact, not a disputable opion."
page 1003, section IV, paragraph 3e:
"in the occasional case of the true intelligencia, you state, boldly and completely, that you are at a total lack of passion, opinion, strength, and talent, when a mere glance into everything you create and pour your heart into would easily convince you otherwise."
page 2375, section VIII, paragraph 6j, on foolery:
"the only way you are a fool is by thinking you are a fool...in no other way are you a fool and not a member of the intelligencia but for thinking that the exact opposite is true."
page 4983, the epilogue:
"your care cup is full for all of those around you that you love and that love you."
and, of course, you can't forget the inscription on the cover of the book:
"we are who we are without realizing who we are:
we think, therefore we are:
we are nothing without anything:
we are art, beauty, life, and death."
c'est tout.
swarthmore is lucky to have you, jamesy. very, very lucky. it's not just some slight of chance that you got in and that you felt at home there. you're going there because you belong there, amongst a plethora of other talented people, all of them filled, like you, with the Life Poetic.
but, in case you're not convinced...
[james: mikey, i'm not convinced.
mikey: meh, eh...*demonstrates empty care cup*. aw just kidding, i care.]
...i have pulled up some valuable passages from the good Book of Intelligencia, written far before our time, but in English, thank the lord.
and i quote from the Book of Intelligencia:
page 823, section XXI, paragraph 2a:
"you question yourself and insecurities about your value to this world arise in the form of a poetic-prosaic whirlwind of self-doubt, comparing yourself to others around you in a self-deprecating manner. and the irony is that you dismiss your poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent] value in a manner that merely reinforces your poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent]. you say you are not poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent] in a manner which IS poetic/artistic/creative/[insert talent]. oh, the irony."
paragraph 4c:
"you dismiss your talents as irrelevant (though they clearly are not) and claim you have lost the ability to perform them."
page 845, section II, paragraph 5d:
"you apologize to those you see you as equals, though your equality is a fact, not a disputable opion."
page 1003, section IV, paragraph 3e:
"in the occasional case of the true intelligencia, you state, boldly and completely, that you are at a total lack of passion, opinion, strength, and talent, when a mere glance into everything you create and pour your heart into would easily convince you otherwise."
page 2375, section VIII, paragraph 6j, on foolery:
"the only way you are a fool is by thinking you are a fool...in no other way are you a fool and not a member of the intelligencia but for thinking that the exact opposite is true."
page 4983, the epilogue:
"your care cup is full for all of those around you that you love and that love you."
and, of course, you can't forget the inscription on the cover of the book:
"we are who we are without realizing who we are:
we think, therefore we are:
we are nothing without anything:
we are art, beauty, life, and death."
c'est tout.
swarthmore is lucky to have you, jamesy. very, very lucky. it's not just some slight of chance that you got in and that you felt at home there. you're going there because you belong there, amongst a plethora of other talented people, all of them filled, like you, with the Life Poetic.
26 April 2007
when i wasn't frustrated anymore and discovered sufjan stevens (finally!)
i found the reed thing. well. my mom had it all along. i just didn't know that.
so it is official. at last.
and i cleaned up my room real nicely. threw some things away. put all my clothes in drawers/closet. i feel fresh.
--
cds i have bought recently:
arctic monkeys - favourite worst nightmare (amazing)
muse - black holes and revelations (rocking)
sufjan stevens - illinoise (now i see what michelle's been raving about)
ok yeah that's about it.
so it is official. at last.
and i cleaned up my room real nicely. threw some things away. put all my clothes in drawers/closet. i feel fresh.
--
cds i have bought recently:
arctic monkeys - favourite worst nightmare (amazing)
muse - black holes and revelations (rocking)
sufjan stevens - illinoise (now i see what michelle's been raving about)
ok yeah that's about it.
when i ran around the house in a fiery stupor
things are not well (on a very surface level). it's making me very nervous. for one thing, nothing is in order. my room is a mess. not to the casual eye. but i have random stacks of books all over my room. i have trash scattered here and there. the only two functioning drawers of my desk are filled to bursting with shit i probably don't need.
and on top of it all, i can't find my reed acceptance packet! i need to mail in the yes i'm coming thing, and i can't fucking find it! i tore the house apart for the last 30 minutes looking for it: my room, the kitchen, mom's office. i have NO fucking clue where it could be, unelss it was thrown away. in which case. fuck.
fjdkaljfeia.
anyway, the new arctic monkeys cd is phenomenal.
and on top of it all, i can't find my reed acceptance packet! i need to mail in the yes i'm coming thing, and i can't fucking find it! i tore the house apart for the last 30 minutes looking for it: my room, the kitchen, mom's office. i have NO fucking clue where it could be, unelss it was thrown away. in which case. fuck.
fjdkaljfeia.
anyway, the new arctic monkeys cd is phenomenal.
22 April 2007
when i was artistic
i'd say i did 99% of this. all my brother added was "what is...?" and the SOS. he's a cool kid, by the way, i don't know if you know that. my brother, i mean.
yeah. the line on the boat is from this picture i took last summer while on a boat:
when i wrote a(nother) poem, part II and finished the senior project!
"mind tunnels"
in this moment,
moment(ous),
so prolix we are,
simple mind tunnels,
thoughts like light
project our insides
back and forth -
as i just dare you
to agree with me that
a day is a week is a month
is a year;
without blindness we are
not
illuminated beings,
and every second of mine
dictates the first of yours,
and my next.
but with faith's little footsteps
you run parallel to me
and with my words
all connected and light
as darkness
i pull you to me.
if only for now.
--
and i announce that i have officially finished (bullshitting) the senior project. all i have to do is actually record the stuff now.
in this moment,
moment(ous),
so prolix we are,
simple mind tunnels,
thoughts like light
project our insides
back and forth -
as i just dare you
to agree with me that
a day is a week is a month
is a year;
without blindness we are
not
illuminated beings,
and every second of mine
dictates the first of yours,
and my next.
but with faith's little footsteps
you run parallel to me
and with my words
all connected and light
as darkness
i pull you to me.
if only for now.
--
and i announce that i have officially finished (bullshitting) the senior project. all i have to do is actually record the stuff now.
when i wrote a(nother) poem
"there are more strangers here"
sweating like chaos,
i go running over the hills
fleeing all that has
chased me,
intangibly
and changed me
retroactively
into this heathen-type;
half horse, half wolf,
whole man.
there are more strangers here
than in the
underworld -
the other side of
mossy knolls -
here, my platonic line pushing
dear -
grasses are greener
than all rosemary,
roses red like bleeding
soldiers,
and every sun
brighter than night
is black
and flammable to your soul.
sweating like chaos,
i go running over the hills
fleeing all that has
chased me,
intangibly
and changed me
retroactively
into this heathen-type;
half horse, half wolf,
whole man.
there are more strangers here
than in the
underworld -
the other side of
mossy knolls -
here, my platonic line pushing
dear -
grasses are greener
than all rosemary,
roses red like bleeding
soldiers,
and every sun
brighter than night
is black
and flammable to your soul.
17 April 2007
15 April 2007
when i was not happy but then was happy part III
not happy:
1. senior project (fuck. i bullshat the entire powerpoint but nothing else)
2. lit project (i have done 0% of it)
3. i do not feel well at all and i do think i shall attend school tomorrow.
fuck fuck fuck. allford fuck. i mean, i don't hate her like the triumvirate. but they have reasons to! but still! i mean, it's the end of senior year. who cares? and we have to do all this project shit? damnit all. i mean, even my AP Spanish class has less work. goddamnit all. and it's all pointless. i don't mind doing work if it's actually credible. but this is pointless, in all reality.
happy part III
1. "everything i try to do, nothing seems to turn out right" by the decemberists. story of my life. but the song itself makes me happy.
2. being certified as officially amazing by the 3. "that is what she said!"
c'est tout for now.
more happy:
eli the barrow boy and the heating pack on my stomach, which isn't making me feel entirely better but it is somewhat warm (it is in need of being reheated) and feels comfortable.
1. senior project (fuck. i bullshat the entire powerpoint but nothing else)
2. lit project (i have done 0% of it)
3. i do not feel well at all and i do think i shall attend school tomorrow.
fuck fuck fuck. allford fuck. i mean, i don't hate her like the triumvirate. but they have reasons to! but still! i mean, it's the end of senior year. who cares? and we have to do all this project shit? damnit all. i mean, even my AP Spanish class has less work. goddamnit all. and it's all pointless. i don't mind doing work if it's actually credible. but this is pointless, in all reality.
happy part III
1. "everything i try to do, nothing seems to turn out right" by the decemberists. story of my life. but the song itself makes me happy.
2. being certified as officially amazing by the 3. "that is what she said!"
c'est tout for now.
more happy:
eli the barrow boy and the heating pack on my stomach, which isn't making me feel entirely better but it is somewhat warm (it is in need of being reheated) and feels comfortable.
when i was happy part II
the past two weeks have been imbued with listening to the arcade fire and regina spektor.
i just put on "sunshine", followed by "july, july", and now "red right ankle".
i really forgot how incredibly happy and alive the decemberists make me feel.
"and so it goes that everybody wants their shoes to be sunshine"
what would make me infinitely happier is to go see them at the hollywood bowl on july 7 with the triumvirate and michelle. lord that would bring tears to my smiling face.
i just put on "sunshine", followed by "july, july", and now "red right ankle".
i really forgot how incredibly happy and alive the decemberists make me feel.
"and so it goes that everybody wants their shoes to be sunshine"
what would make me infinitely happier is to go see them at the hollywood bowl on july 7 with the triumvirate and michelle. lord that would bring tears to my smiling face.
when i was happy
things that, despite the amount of lit homework i have to bullshit by tomorrow, are making me happy:
1. "samson" is my top played song on last.fm, with 16 play counts. 17, if you include the fact that i'm listening to it right now. that means that it beats out all my other favorites, like "engine driver", "santa maria de la feira", "stop i'm already dead", "lover you should've come over", etc. now that i think of it:
2. regina spektor makes me very very happy, for many reasons. one: she is amazing and amazing. two: she inspires me to write songs, which is really good. in the one week i've been listening to her, i've already written 2.5 songs.
3. the triumvirate and i had a sleepover on friday night and that was fun, quite fun. we all watched will and grace and fell asleep (except harley).
4. the savoy truffle cafe in santa barbara, which i found out about through harley. it makes me happy because i realize that the beatles are still alive and beautiful in all corners of the world.
5. despite the fact that he's dead, vonnegut makes me happy. i'm glad that he lived to be an old man and that we (the reader collective) have had the opportunity to read his brilliance. that makes me very happy. and, of course, so it goes.
6. i'm nearly done reading "the brief history of the dead", which is really good. not as amazing as i had expected (it's nowhere near on par with any Foers or Unbearable Lightness or History of Love or Marquez), but it is a really good book. the story is very interesting and draws me in really tight so that i just can't wait for the next chapter to see what happens.
7. i am working on two stories; both of them include my developing alter-ego, Salem Chatham/Wordsmith (he doesn't have a definite last name). in the first story, he's not so much my alter ego. but in the second one i think he is. like how vonnegut had Kilgore Trout. though i started writing the first story way before he died. but yeah.
8. i went to brents with castro and james. james had to leave, with the intention of coming back, so castro and i whiled away the time philosophizing and examining different constrasting points of view on religion, life, death, love, and all things ephemeral. that conversation made me really happy, because i know virtually no one else that i could have had a conversation that intellectually imbued with thought and power (i say virtually because there are a few others; we just haven't had it yet). it's so illuminating when you can sit and discuss with someone your points of view and have them be so well versed in intellect that you can agree 100% with them while still holding steady to your views. beauty.
9. the weather is perfect.
1. "samson" is my top played song on last.fm, with 16 play counts. 17, if you include the fact that i'm listening to it right now. that means that it beats out all my other favorites, like "engine driver", "santa maria de la feira", "stop i'm already dead", "lover you should've come over", etc. now that i think of it:
2. regina spektor makes me very very happy, for many reasons. one: she is amazing and amazing. two: she inspires me to write songs, which is really good. in the one week i've been listening to her, i've already written 2.5 songs.
3. the triumvirate and i had a sleepover on friday night and that was fun, quite fun. we all watched will and grace and fell asleep (except harley).
4. the savoy truffle cafe in santa barbara, which i found out about through harley. it makes me happy because i realize that the beatles are still alive and beautiful in all corners of the world.
5. despite the fact that he's dead, vonnegut makes me happy. i'm glad that he lived to be an old man and that we (the reader collective) have had the opportunity to read his brilliance. that makes me very happy. and, of course, so it goes.
6. i'm nearly done reading "the brief history of the dead", which is really good. not as amazing as i had expected (it's nowhere near on par with any Foers or Unbearable Lightness or History of Love or Marquez), but it is a really good book. the story is very interesting and draws me in really tight so that i just can't wait for the next chapter to see what happens.
7. i am working on two stories; both of them include my developing alter-ego, Salem Chatham/Wordsmith (he doesn't have a definite last name). in the first story, he's not so much my alter ego. but in the second one i think he is. like how vonnegut had Kilgore Trout. though i started writing the first story way before he died. but yeah.
8. i went to brents with castro and james. james had to leave, with the intention of coming back, so castro and i whiled away the time philosophizing and examining different constrasting points of view on religion, life, death, love, and all things ephemeral. that conversation made me really happy, because i know virtually no one else that i could have had a conversation that intellectually imbued with thought and power (i say virtually because there are a few others; we just haven't had it yet). it's so illuminating when you can sit and discuss with someone your points of view and have them be so well versed in intellect that you can agree 100% with them while still holding steady to your views. beauty.
9. the weather is perfect.
12 April 2007
when i did math
to prove that sleep > senior project
sleep = 1000 (don't argue. it just does)
senior project = 0!
0! = 1 (why? no one knows)
by using simple arithemetic, we can thus conclude that:
1000 > 1
sleep > senior project.
in fact.
not doing senior project = 0! + 1001 (1000 for sleep, 1 for being a badass rebel)
senior project = 0!
1001 > 1
not doing senior project > senior project.
other conclusions that can be drawn from above proof:
anna c = 5000000000000
anna h = 5000000000001
10000000000001 > 1
anna + anna DOES NOT = senior project
mikey = 4999999999999
mikey > senior project
mikey DOES NOT = senior project.
duh.
blogger's note: the above post disproves the following:
PePPeRKiTTy29: it's a good thing you are an english major.
despite the fact that i most likely WILL be an english/creative writing, my math is not entirely without merit!
--
ps. and now for some math harley agrees with:
beatles > all.. no. the beatles are greater than anything.
thus:
beatles > ">"
that's right. the beatles are even greater than the > symbol. you cannot beat that, elvis presley!
sleep = 1000 (don't argue. it just does)
senior project = 0!
0! = 1 (why? no one knows)
by using simple arithemetic, we can thus conclude that:
1000 > 1
sleep > senior project.
in fact.
not doing senior project = 0! + 1001 (1000 for sleep, 1 for being a badass rebel)
senior project = 0!
1001 > 1
not doing senior project > senior project.
other conclusions that can be drawn from above proof:
anna c = 5000000000000
anna h = 5000000000001
10000000000001 > 1
anna + anna DOES NOT = senior project
mikey = 4999999999999
mikey > senior project
mikey DOES NOT = senior project.
duh.
blogger's note: the above post disproves the following:
PePPeRKiTTy29: it's a good thing you are an english major.
despite the fact that i most likely WILL be an english/creative writing, my math is not entirely without merit!
--
ps. and now for some math harley agrees with:
thus:
beatles > ">"
that's right. the beatles are even greater than the > symbol. you cannot beat that, elvis presley!
11 April 2007
when i had my first concious loss of an idol of sorts
long live kurt vonnegut (in the minds, hearts, hands, and eyes of many)!
wow. this is the first time that someone i love (in a creative sense, i mean. writer, musician, lo que sea) has died and i am old enough to remember/understand it. i remember when george harrison died, but i wasn't a beatles fan yet back then. but this time around, i can actually feel the loss, you know? lord. lord lord lord.
he just seemed so immortal. i mean, he is, in a sense. because i'll always have his words (which are basically just an extended limb of his own person) on my shelf and in my head.
so it goes.
--
i am in love with regina spektor.
wow. this is the first time that someone i love (in a creative sense, i mean. writer, musician, lo que sea) has died and i am old enough to remember/understand it. i remember when george harrison died, but i wasn't a beatles fan yet back then. but this time around, i can actually feel the loss, you know? lord. lord lord lord.
he just seemed so immortal. i mean, he is, in a sense. because i'll always have his words (which are basically just an extended limb of his own person) on my shelf and in my head.
so it goes.
--
i am in love with regina spektor.
10 April 2007
when i figured out the meaning of life in french
here:
je suis ou je ne suis pas.
c'est tout.
(after me comes the flood)
je suis ou je ne suis pas.
c'est tout.
(after me comes the flood)
09 April 2007
when i solved and defined problems
so i figured it out. what makes it hard for me. for castro.
"with great intelligence and emotional instability comes less than textbook situations of relationships." (i'm quoting myself)
i mean, that's it right there. look at everyone who has managed to have a happy relationship and have it end happy. average intelligence. and if the intelligence is above average, his/her emotional stability is pretty solid.
being a certain kind of intelligent is a burden sometimes. the analytical side of the brain can take over and completely and blindly ignore the obvious signs of the possibility of a successful, healthy relationship.
and just when you finally figure that deluge out, it's time to move on to a completely new place with completely new people, and there is no chance of taking any steps backward; from now on, you must build everything out of nothing.
--
on a separate note, i bullshat and half-assed my hamlet lit review, went to souplantation with the brother (where i managed to sneak him by the cashier, so i didn't pay for him) and splurged at best buy and bought three cds:
1. neon bible - the arcade fire
2. begin to hope - regina spektor
3. yours truly, angry mob - kaiser chiefs
and i am very excited by the new music i am now listening to.
"with great intelligence and emotional instability comes less than textbook situations of relationships." (i'm quoting myself)
i mean, that's it right there. look at everyone who has managed to have a happy relationship and have it end happy. average intelligence. and if the intelligence is above average, his/her emotional stability is pretty solid.
being a certain kind of intelligent is a burden sometimes. the analytical side of the brain can take over and completely and blindly ignore the obvious signs of the possibility of a successful, healthy relationship.
and just when you finally figure that deluge out, it's time to move on to a completely new place with completely new people, and there is no chance of taking any steps backward; from now on, you must build everything out of nothing.
--
on a separate note, i bullshat and half-assed my hamlet lit review, went to souplantation with the brother (where i managed to sneak him by the cashier, so i didn't pay for him) and splurged at best buy and bought three cds:
1. neon bible - the arcade fire
2. begin to hope - regina spektor
3. yours truly, angry mob - kaiser chiefs
and i am very excited by the new music i am now listening to.
when the dashboard melted
just like everything:
the new modest mouse cd. at first i did not like it. it was too...i don't know. i liked Dashboard a lot. that song rocked. then slowly the rest of the songs began to grow on me. We've Got Everything. Florida. Fire It Up. Parting of the Sensory. the cd is just actually really amazing.
things are sometimes incredible: at first, you just like this one thing or another about something, and then slowly, through repeated exposure and general good times, you slowly realize how much you love the rest of it.
someday you will die and somehow someone's gonna steal your carbon.
and now it is just about twelve thirty am on the day that school begins again and i find myself sitting here and honestly what i want to do more than anything in the world is read. starting now and going as long as i can, until i finish every book on my personal reading list. forget school. forget food. forget the beauty of life, for it is all contained within my pages of fiction. my escape. my prism of reality.
oh yeah and one more time fuck hamlet and its lit review.
the new modest mouse cd. at first i did not like it. it was too...i don't know. i liked Dashboard a lot. that song rocked. then slowly the rest of the songs began to grow on me. We've Got Everything. Florida. Fire It Up. Parting of the Sensory. the cd is just actually really amazing.
things are sometimes incredible: at first, you just like this one thing or another about something, and then slowly, through repeated exposure and general good times, you slowly realize how much you love the rest of it.
someday you will die and somehow someone's gonna steal your carbon.
and now it is just about twelve thirty am on the day that school begins again and i find myself sitting here and honestly what i want to do more than anything in the world is read. starting now and going as long as i can, until i finish every book on my personal reading list. forget school. forget food. forget the beauty of life, for it is all contained within my pages of fiction. my escape. my prism of reality.
oh yeah and one more time fuck hamlet and its lit review.
07 April 2007
when i wrote a poem explaining everything
do you really think
i do not know
who i am?
i am the poet!
given quick birth
from the mind's sky -
deaf to light
and blind to sound, &
after me,
the earth will fill
with the tears of the wordless
and their cries will flood
our clandestine
comprehension,
and we will drown.
yes, oh holy serpentine
doubters,
you who give me shape
with no body,
face with no features,
mouth with no tongue,
how sharp you are, crystal mind usurpers.
oh, pity me.
and now i have to go bullshit my hamlet lit review.
i do not know
who i am?
i am the poet!
given quick birth
from the mind's sky -
deaf to light
and blind to sound, &
after me,
the earth will fill
with the tears of the wordless
and their cries will flood
our clandestine
comprehension,
and we will drown.
yes, oh holy serpentine
doubters,
you who give me shape
with no body,
face with no features,
mouth with no tongue,
how sharp you are, crystal mind usurpers.
oh, pity me.
and now i have to go bullshit my hamlet lit review.
06 April 2007
when i built a wall around myself
so i realized i have a conflicting philosophy, and that at the core of it all i live in my own city with unbreakable and unbendable walls and only tiny door.
i say to cherish memories you have even if you physically can't take anything with you, even if it leaves you upset in the end, because it's selfish to do anything else. it's selfish to just abandon love if you can't reap any tangible rewards from it.
but then again, i feel so solidary in and out of my own head, and i've realized that i live alone in my own existence with few visitors.
even though my outer walls may brush up against the walls of others, all i can hear is the beating of my own heart and the pulsing of my own mind.
i am the solipsist.
i say to cherish memories you have even if you physically can't take anything with you, even if it leaves you upset in the end, because it's selfish to do anything else. it's selfish to just abandon love if you can't reap any tangible rewards from it.
but then again, i feel so solidary in and out of my own head, and i've realized that i live alone in my own existence with few visitors.
even though my outer walls may brush up against the walls of others, all i can hear is the beating of my own heart and the pulsing of my own mind.
i am the solipsist.
05 April 2007
when i had thoughts and was mad
everything that happens is everything and somehow adds up to the sum of now.
nothing was, is, or will ever be for naught.
our hearts, minds, and memories are not physical storage spaces with a set limit; the amount of room we have is entirely unlimited, and it is up to us what we keep and what we discard.
now is not one moment we are living by detaching ourselves from then, the past. now is what we are living because we allowed ourselves to soak up every single moment of the past that brought us here. if we were to impede that natural flow of things, where we live now as a sum of then, we would simply breathe no more and die. the only way to abandon yesterday is to also abandon tomorrow and any hope of any future. every moment that we live, including those times where it is one moment after the next, is moving on. we are always moving on. moving on does not have to include forgetting. that's the opposite of moving on. that's moving sideways, which, while perhaps getting you away from the fact that you cannot for the life of you accept the movement of things, moves you anywhere but forward, which is the only direction in which to move on. moving on, in fact, completely encompasses taking everything you've ever cherished with you, and incorporating it, one way or another, into where you move on to. otherwise, moving on is pointless. being happy is pointless. making friends, love, money, memories is pointless. living becomes fucking pointless if you think that moving on somehow entails forgetting everything about where you came from and what made you feel truly alive and full of holy breath.
so keep close to your heart what feels like it is close to heart (because it probably is). don't feel like you have to make room for whatever comes next, as if it is somehow more important that what has happened.
never ever forget anything that made you feel even the slightest bit alive, because life is those moments, and death is deserting them.
and hold on to how everything made you feel at first. don't change the mantra of love to love just beacuse you are afraid to love because it entails not only love, but loss, heartache, longing, and sadness. so the fuck what? love because you can, and never ever forget that. never abandon those things that made your eyes shine with the vigor of life and made your chest swell like a parachute in the spring. there is no goddamn reason on to force yourself to forget all of those things that make you happy and alive when life is already so ephemeral, anyway.
nothing.
everything is everything.
ps. how can you just abandon the most beautiful things in life just because the pain they may cause you is rooted in their very own eternal beauty? never be afraid of the future, because it will come no matter what you do to fight it, and it will turn in to the past, with or without you. you might as well take all you can with it.
nothing was, is, or will ever be for naught.
our hearts, minds, and memories are not physical storage spaces with a set limit; the amount of room we have is entirely unlimited, and it is up to us what we keep and what we discard.
now is not one moment we are living by detaching ourselves from then, the past. now is what we are living because we allowed ourselves to soak up every single moment of the past that brought us here. if we were to impede that natural flow of things, where we live now as a sum of then, we would simply breathe no more and die. the only way to abandon yesterday is to also abandon tomorrow and any hope of any future. every moment that we live, including those times where it is one moment after the next, is moving on. we are always moving on. moving on does not have to include forgetting. that's the opposite of moving on. that's moving sideways, which, while perhaps getting you away from the fact that you cannot for the life of you accept the movement of things, moves you anywhere but forward, which is the only direction in which to move on. moving on, in fact, completely encompasses taking everything you've ever cherished with you, and incorporating it, one way or another, into where you move on to. otherwise, moving on is pointless. being happy is pointless. making friends, love, money, memories is pointless. living becomes fucking pointless if you think that moving on somehow entails forgetting everything about where you came from and what made you feel truly alive and full of holy breath.
so keep close to your heart what feels like it is close to heart (because it probably is). don't feel like you have to make room for whatever comes next, as if it is somehow more important that what has happened.
never ever forget anything that made you feel even the slightest bit alive, because life is those moments, and death is deserting them.
and hold on to how everything made you feel at first. don't change the mantra of love to love just beacuse you are afraid to love because it entails not only love, but loss, heartache, longing, and sadness. so the fuck what? love because you can, and never ever forget that. never abandon those things that made your eyes shine with the vigor of life and made your chest swell like a parachute in the spring. there is no goddamn reason on to force yourself to forget all of those things that make you happy and alive when life is already so ephemeral, anyway.
nothing.
everything is everything.
ps. how can you just abandon the most beautiful things in life just because the pain they may cause you is rooted in their very own eternal beauty? never be afraid of the future, because it will come no matter what you do to fight it, and it will turn in to the past, with or without you. you might as well take all you can with it.
when i treated it like a diary (and split one post into two)
today was fun. i could go into detail, but it was an enjoyable passing of time. both parts of the day. i read the entirety of metamorphosis and actually legitimately annotated it (a deep contrast from all my other Lit annotations), and then i spent the second half of the day with castro and james at barnes and nobel, where i bought
[1. extremely loud and incredibly close
2. catch 22
3. persuasion nation]
and then went to the coral tree cafe and we avoided talking about the separating of the web (though we briefly alluded to it, i'm sure) and we all talked about sex and anna's chest. and how we all met each other, and how i knew all of them before the triumvirate even formed, which i feel neat about, and how we'd all keep it together. and castro began to get superior and egotistical and snapped at james and i a few times, which was okay, i guess, because i know she doesn't mean, and for some reason i love her all the more for it. besides, i completely got her back (i don't remember how) and told her never to snap at me again. triumph for the moment.
we then met up with abby and aline at a sketchy and nonexistent party, and after leaving in a hurry headed over to blue cafe.
--
i hate treating this thing like a fucking diary. who cares what went on during the hours of the day? i'm just tired of going over how much things are changing.
but people are fading. did i mention that? they really are. jamba has become so unreal. she only exists as fog. a lot of other people are dissolving, too. it's basically the triumvirate and michelle that are still 100% real. and tina, she's pretty real too. yeah. it's strange. things are so surreal. it's not like i don't care about them, or that i'm trying to sever my ties with them. it's just that their actions become less meaningless, and much less matters at this point.
but i bought the new kings of leon album yesterday (with emily) and i am very delighted about it. it's so good! some of the lyrics don't make much sense, but that's the kings of leon for ya. and now i have traffic school tomorrow (today?) from eigh to four because i was caught speeding. wah.
i half thought about deleting this entry.
[1. extremely loud and incredibly close
2. catch 22
3. persuasion nation]
and then went to the coral tree cafe and we avoided talking about the separating of the web (though we briefly alluded to it, i'm sure) and we all talked about sex and anna's chest. and how we all met each other, and how i knew all of them before the triumvirate even formed, which i feel neat about, and how we'd all keep it together. and castro began to get superior and egotistical and snapped at james and i a few times, which was okay, i guess, because i know she doesn't mean, and for some reason i love her all the more for it. besides, i completely got her back (i don't remember how) and told her never to snap at me again. triumph for the moment.
we then met up with abby and aline at a sketchy and nonexistent party, and after leaving in a hurry headed over to blue cafe.
--
i hate treating this thing like a fucking diary. who cares what went on during the hours of the day? i'm just tired of going over how much things are changing.
but people are fading. did i mention that? they really are. jamba has become so unreal. she only exists as fog. a lot of other people are dissolving, too. it's basically the triumvirate and michelle that are still 100% real. and tina, she's pretty real too. yeah. it's strange. things are so surreal. it's not like i don't care about them, or that i'm trying to sever my ties with them. it's just that their actions become less meaningless, and much less matters at this point.
but i bought the new kings of leon album yesterday (with emily) and i am very delighted about it. it's so good! some of the lyrics don't make much sense, but that's the kings of leon for ya. and now i have traffic school tomorrow (today?) from eigh to four because i was caught speeding. wah.
i half thought about deleting this entry.
when i regretted, but only sort of
i am feeling lamentatious (is that a word).
let me say that again.
i am feeling slightly regretful that i am doing this one thing with this one girl instead of with another girl, and for many reasons. first off, the girl i'm actually doing the thing with is a dead end. and it would mean so much more with the other girl. for me, anyway. and i'm sure for her.
as they say: "oh well." or do they say that? perhaps it is more like "--." and a sad face. or perhaps "i can change things" but they sit there and do nothing. who are they, anyway? and why are they always saying things? fucking do something for once.
let me say that again.
i am feeling slightly regretful that i am doing this one thing with this one girl instead of with another girl, and for many reasons. first off, the girl i'm actually doing the thing with is a dead end. and it would mean so much more with the other girl. for me, anyway. and i'm sure for her.
as they say: "oh well." or do they say that? perhaps it is more like "--." and a sad face. or perhaps "i can change things" but they sit there and do nothing. who are they, anyway? and why are they always saying things? fucking do something for once.
04 April 2007
when i felt empty and thought books would fill it
books i need to reread in order to feel closer to things:
1. extremely loud and incredibly close
2. the unbearable lightness of being
3. everything is illuminated
4. the history of love
5. love in the time of cholera
6. one hundred years of solitude.
fuck. i don't have the time to go plowing through old books, books whose surfaces i have already scratched and touched and given my all-seeing attention.
i want to read new things.
but i feel like i must read them to move on somehow. from something. especially #s 1 and 2.
and since the only version of extremely loud that i have is the one i bought in sweden (i gave my original copy [it's so original that it doesn't even have any reviews on the cover] to my grandmother awhile ago and haven't gotten it back yet), i have to go to borders now and buy it, which makes me happy, in a way. i love buying books.
1. extremely loud and incredibly close
2. the unbearable lightness of being
3. everything is illuminated
4. the history of love
5. love in the time of cholera
6. one hundred years of solitude.
fuck. i don't have the time to go plowing through old books, books whose surfaces i have already scratched and touched and given my all-seeing attention.
i want to read new things.
but i feel like i must read them to move on somehow. from something. especially #s 1 and 2.
and since the only version of extremely loud that i have is the one i bought in sweden (i gave my original copy [it's so original that it doesn't even have any reviews on the cover] to my grandmother awhile ago and haven't gotten it back yet), i have to go to borders now and buy it, which makes me happy, in a way. i love buying books.
03 April 2007
when i responded to ms harley and plugged myself and when everyone was who i want
harley,
i shall number the things you talked about so that i can reference them much more easily. some of them i will not talk about at all. but i will say honest things that will hopefully make you smile, for your soul is rainy right now. although i may crack a joke here and there.
1. lose 10 pounds
2. the endings of all your romantic possibilities
3. thinking for yourself
4. having a job
5. senior project (may i just say right now: fuck that shit)
6. high school
7. the loves of your life
8. new york
9. california
10. missing people.
here we go.
1. remember how i said you were humble, and that i'd let slip complements here and there when appropriate? honest complements, i mean, not just bullshit ones. well i want you to know that i think you are beautiful, and that is all i shall say for now.
2. you should not so quickly discount any romantic possibilities, even though september looms ever nearer and you and whoever-he-may-be will be pulled away geographically. and yes, you were hurt, and yes, i'm fairly certain all of us want to crush him (to be said in borat voice), but it doesn't always have to be for naught: happiness does not always end in pain. usually in melancholy. but not always in pain. be cautious, ms harley, but if you feel like someone or something presents itself perfectly in front of you as if it couldn't get any better or make any more sense, allow yourself to step forward into whatever spotlight shines on you. you deserve it, you know. to finish high school happy in any sense of the word.
3. you think wonderfully. and actually i don't remember exactly what you said, so i'll skip this one.
4. having a job is fun but overrated. besides, freshman year will be a workload, and you won't want a job. my advice? find a little rich boy who will pay for everything of yours. that's totally facetious (well, not totally...). i think you should be a librarian. but that's just me.
5. senior project is bullshit and should die in a fire.
6. how can you immortalize high school in words? i suppose you could; castro and james already did, and i plan to do so as well. try and remember the pretty times, though. when smiling was as natural taking that first morning breath.
7. the loves of your life. castro and james. there is no way the three of you will be separated. physically...perhaps. but the sheer power of the three of you combined cannot be matched or torn apart. i am jealous of you three, if you really want to know. i really am. and i'm glad i've been able to hang out with you guys a bit more this semester than before and sort of wend my way into the outer shell of your guys' inner heart.
8. new york is great, i agree, but a bitch of a winter. and it's for adults, anyway. not college kids. i have a feeling that all four of us (you/anna/james and then i) will end up in new york at one point. we all seem to have that wintry disposition that forces us to write. it's very new york. very artsy. plus i mean...well, no one's there anymore. they just used to be. like Karen O. and Mary Kate and Ashley Olson.
9. California is wonderful to want to get away from, but listen to "California" by Joni Mitchell. Or listen to Los Angeles, I'm Yours or California (by Rufus). Or Shores of California by the Dresden Dolls. And if you do end up staying here, you can be our reason for coming back to visit aside from obligatory family holidays, and that would be lovely. although go up north a bit. los angeles has gotten rather boring. but i firmly believe that you will end up where you belong and you will be happier than you've ever been (that you can be without anna and james [and then i]). and if you're not happy, i'll give you my decemberist dvd to cheer you up and make you smile and maybe cry if you listen to the engine driver, which i think makes all of us cry inside. i'm rambling now, i can feel it.
10. missing people. lord. we can't miss each other yet. not like this. especially you three. and i perhaps include myself. we all have nearly four months together. and we will all come up to canada during july and sing "july july!" over and over again and i'm determined to meet your crooked french canadian uncle. but you will miss anna, she will miss you, who will miss james, who you will also miss, who will miss you, and perhaps you will all miss me; i know i will miss the three of you greatly. we will all miss each other. it's sad. but let's all worry about that when the time comes for true goodbyes.
for now, enjoy canada and all it really doesn't have to offer. it's kind of like talking to the more boring of two twins, i suppose.
-mikey salem
--
on a completely separate note i wrote a new story: http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2343120/1/ (it's called "bold and daring children"). you may read it if you wish.
and i realized another thing as i was driving home today, and that is that everyone is who i want. i shall limit everyone to the triumvirate, the three of which are the three of the people i have ever felt the most similar to. there are a few others, of course. but never did i think i'd meet three people (all in my lit class!) that [through some weird web that had me separately connected to all three of them before they became themselves (castro through AP Euro, harley through robby, james through ancheta's class)] that were as similar to me as people come. i can never overshadow their own internal connection. it's far beyond that of which i've ever had with more than one person (my connection with michelle is probably the strongest thing i have and have ever had. she's undoubtedly the best friend i've ever had [i know you're crying if you're reading this!]); i've never been much of a best-group-of-friends type guy. but these three kids are just...man. brilliant, all three of them. individually and combined. people i can talk to at the level i talk and think on. i don't think we ever realize how much we've affected each other. especially our little book club that unconciously formed amongst us. Foer, Krauss, Kundera, Eggers, Marquez...anyway, i'm digressing. but i think about castro and harley and james and those three are, yes, three very different people, but they are all perfect for me. i mean, excepting the fact james is a boy. but i look at the three of them and i could picture myself being infinitely happy with any one of them, platonically or not. i could imagine being aging solipsistic friends with james forever. castro and i would tear the world apart. harley and i would be able to see the humble beauty in all things. that's why they work. and i work. because i would not change a single goddamn thing about any of them.
not a goddamn thing.
what the hell is happening to everyone?
i shall number the things you talked about so that i can reference them much more easily. some of them i will not talk about at all. but i will say honest things that will hopefully make you smile, for your soul is rainy right now. although i may crack a joke here and there.
1. lose 10 pounds
2. the endings of all your romantic possibilities
3. thinking for yourself
4. having a job
5. senior project (may i just say right now: fuck that shit)
6. high school
7. the loves of your life
8. new york
9. california
10. missing people.
here we go.
1. remember how i said you were humble, and that i'd let slip complements here and there when appropriate? honest complements, i mean, not just bullshit ones. well i want you to know that i think you are beautiful, and that is all i shall say for now.
2. you should not so quickly discount any romantic possibilities, even though september looms ever nearer and you and whoever-he-may-be will be pulled away geographically. and yes, you were hurt, and yes, i'm fairly certain all of us want to crush him (to be said in borat voice), but it doesn't always have to be for naught: happiness does not always end in pain. usually in melancholy. but not always in pain. be cautious, ms harley, but if you feel like someone or something presents itself perfectly in front of you as if it couldn't get any better or make any more sense, allow yourself to step forward into whatever spotlight shines on you. you deserve it, you know. to finish high school happy in any sense of the word.
3. you think wonderfully. and actually i don't remember exactly what you said, so i'll skip this one.
4. having a job is fun but overrated. besides, freshman year will be a workload, and you won't want a job. my advice? find a little rich boy who will pay for everything of yours. that's totally facetious (well, not totally...). i think you should be a librarian. but that's just me.
5. senior project is bullshit and should die in a fire.
6. how can you immortalize high school in words? i suppose you could; castro and james already did, and i plan to do so as well. try and remember the pretty times, though. when smiling was as natural taking that first morning breath.
7. the loves of your life. castro and james. there is no way the three of you will be separated. physically...perhaps. but the sheer power of the three of you combined cannot be matched or torn apart. i am jealous of you three, if you really want to know. i really am. and i'm glad i've been able to hang out with you guys a bit more this semester than before and sort of wend my way into the outer shell of your guys' inner heart.
8. new york is great, i agree, but a bitch of a winter. and it's for adults, anyway. not college kids. i have a feeling that all four of us (you/anna/james and then i) will end up in new york at one point. we all seem to have that wintry disposition that forces us to write. it's very new york. very artsy. plus i mean...well, no one's there anymore. they just used to be. like Karen O. and Mary Kate and Ashley Olson.
9. California is wonderful to want to get away from, but listen to "California" by Joni Mitchell. Or listen to Los Angeles, I'm Yours or California (by Rufus). Or Shores of California by the Dresden Dolls. And if you do end up staying here, you can be our reason for coming back to visit aside from obligatory family holidays, and that would be lovely. although go up north a bit. los angeles has gotten rather boring. but i firmly believe that you will end up where you belong and you will be happier than you've ever been (that you can be without anna and james [and then i]). and if you're not happy, i'll give you my decemberist dvd to cheer you up and make you smile and maybe cry if you listen to the engine driver, which i think makes all of us cry inside. i'm rambling now, i can feel it.
10. missing people. lord. we can't miss each other yet. not like this. especially you three. and i perhaps include myself. we all have nearly four months together. and we will all come up to canada during july and sing "july july!" over and over again and i'm determined to meet your crooked french canadian uncle. but you will miss anna, she will miss you, who will miss james, who you will also miss, who will miss you, and perhaps you will all miss me; i know i will miss the three of you greatly. we will all miss each other. it's sad. but let's all worry about that when the time comes for true goodbyes.
for now, enjoy canada and all it really doesn't have to offer. it's kind of like talking to the more boring of two twins, i suppose.
-
--
on a completely separate note i wrote a new story: http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2343120/1/ (it's called "bold and daring children"). you may read it if you wish.
and i realized another thing as i was driving home today, and that is that everyone is who i want. i shall limit everyone to the triumvirate, the three of which are the three of the people i have ever felt the most similar to. there are a few others, of course. but never did i think i'd meet three people (all in my lit class!) that [through some weird web that had me separately connected to all three of them before they became themselves (castro through AP Euro, harley through robby, james through ancheta's class)] that were as similar to me as people come. i can never overshadow their own internal connection. it's far beyond that of which i've ever had with more than one person (my connection with michelle is probably the strongest thing i have and have ever had. she's undoubtedly the best friend i've ever had [i know you're crying if you're reading this!]); i've never been much of a best-group-of-friends type guy. but these three kids are just...man. brilliant, all three of them. individually and combined. people i can talk to at the level i talk and think on. i don't think we ever realize how much we've affected each other. especially our little book club that unconciously formed amongst us. Foer, Krauss, Kundera, Eggers, Marquez...anyway, i'm digressing. but i think about castro and harley and james and those three are, yes, three very different people, but they are all perfect for me. i mean, excepting the fact james is a boy. but i look at the three of them and i could picture myself being infinitely happy with any one of them, platonically or not. i could imagine being aging solipsistic friends with james forever. castro and i would tear the world apart. harley and i would be able to see the humble beauty in all things. that's why they work. and i work. because i would not change a single goddamn thing about any of them.
not a goddamn thing.
what the hell is happening to everyone?
when i wrote a poem in two minutes or less
i began swiftly to end
all traces of the web i
was
birthed into,
so quietly, downstream -
i danced in nylon
and proved the existence of beauty
and the reason of life -
and the beauty of existence
and a life of reason.
before i drowned
in my own
nihilistic escape trap
the
thought of
leaving it all behind
weighed me down
like love in her
darkest hour -
and it pained me
to go, so heavily,
into the sunrise.
---
but! we are not leaving yet, and thus should relish in the time we all still have left together.
i have all intentions as well of going over the last four years, as anna and james did.
it will start like this: headfirst, i was thrown into a world of people i knew but had tried to forget.
i do not know how it will end.
all traces of the web i
was
birthed into,
so quietly, downstream -
i danced in nylon
and proved the existence of beauty
and the reason of life -
and the beauty of existence
and a life of reason.
before i drowned
in my own
nihilistic escape trap
the
thought of
leaving it all behind
weighed me down
like love in her
darkest hour -
and it pained me
to go, so heavily,
into the sunrise.
---
but! we are not leaving yet, and thus should relish in the time we all still have left together.
i have all intentions as well of going over the last four years, as anna and james did.
it will start like this: headfirst, i was thrown into a world of people i knew but had tried to forget.
i do not know how it will end.
when i responded to james
[i commented on his blog.]
your honesty mirrors and challenges mine, james. i too am happy here, despite the fact that i feign such desire to get out of here. if we could only keep all the people together and travel like an absurd sitcom...season one, season two...just continue on, on and on and on and on and never grow apart, only closer, while everyone knows this is how it must be! this is how it must be! but, alas, this is how it must be, and while we will all be alone in our new little places we will all have each other because nothing can ever take back how we all changed and affected each other, and that, my dear dwindling solipsist friend, is beauty. beauty, beauty, beauty.
--
some twisted hand of fate spun this web that somehow brought all of us - everyone and anyone who has ever so much as quivered the delicate nylon - together with the knowledge that one day the web's strength would be tested as we all spread out to different parts of the country, our minds following our bodies, fated to be distracted by everything college has to offer and bequeath upon us, while all the time hoping that we won't be too distracted to forget where and who we came from.
but what is beautiful is that we are always alone, have always been alone, and will always be alone, in the end. it pains me to say and think of how much i'll miss this web of people, but the web is made up of unlimited individuals who all bear the mark of whatever we all had. so this web is truly unescapable, in reality. and who knows what will bring us all back together.
your honesty mirrors and challenges mine, james. i too am happy here, despite the fact that i feign such desire to get out of here. if we could only keep all the people together and travel like an absurd sitcom...season one, season two...just continue on, on and on and on and on and never grow apart, only closer, while everyone knows this is how it must be! this is how it must be! but, alas, this is how it must be, and while we will all be alone in our new little places we will all have each other because nothing can ever take back how we all changed and affected each other, and that, my dear dwindling solipsist friend, is beauty. beauty, beauty, beauty.
--
some twisted hand of fate spun this web that somehow brought all of us - everyone and anyone who has ever so much as quivered the delicate nylon - together with the knowledge that one day the web's strength would be tested as we all spread out to different parts of the country, our minds following our bodies, fated to be distracted by everything college has to offer and bequeath upon us, while all the time hoping that we won't be too distracted to forget where and who we came from.
but what is beautiful is that we are always alone, have always been alone, and will always be alone, in the end. it pains me to say and think of how much i'll miss this web of people, but the web is made up of unlimited individuals who all bear the mark of whatever we all had. so this web is truly unescapable, in reality. and who knows what will bring us all back together.
02 April 2007
when i decided to change my name
mikey is so trite. so immature. so jejune. not really jejune. i was just looking for an opportunity to use that.
no one knows me as anything different and i can't imagine being called another name aside from 'mikey'. but it just feels so ridiculously child-like.
i want a new name altogether. just for now. i don't know if i really do, even. Michael may suit me just fine. or Sirius. or Salem. Yes. i would like to be called salem for a while. see if it fits.
salem.
no one knows me as anything different and i can't imagine being called another name aside from 'mikey'. but it just feels so ridiculously child-like.
i want a new name altogether. just for now. i don't know if i really do, even. Michael may suit me just fine. or Sirius. or Salem. Yes. i would like to be called salem for a while. see if it fits.
salem.
when i couldn't think of another way to respond to things someone said and realized that we are all liquid things and that nothing is permanent
so i read ms castro's last two blog posts and thought they were quite poignant and beautifully, and incredibly vulnerable for her, considering she usually conceals her true emotions towards things and people with layers of wit, arrogance, stoicism, and general tomfoolery (that's by no means a criticism at all, honestly), and i was more or less amazed by how she realized that knowing yourself, strengths, weaknesses, loves, and hates is only half the battle: you have to accept them.
1. i'd like to say to her that i am honored that she mentioned me anywhere at all in her memories of granada, and that i love being a regularly featured member of the triumvirate, and that i wish i would have known that she had a crush on me in 11th grade (and that robby didn't tell me she was crazy) because that would have solved most of both our problems right there. but alas.
2. if i may quote:
"You should love, over and over again, over and over and over and over again... not because you want it to be perfect, and not because you're looking for the perfect person, but because it is what you have to do to grow." Those words should be carved into stone.
3. and in response to "i miss everyone", it's just like holden said (and i've quoted it before): "don't ever tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody." but is that true? and what's so terrible about missing people? to miss someone is to have your brain be forcefully aware of what someone does to you, how they positively affect you. however, what is interesting is that in anna's case she didn't seem to miss anyone until she started telling people things. maybe holden was right. but we can't just live in our own little spheres and ignore those who orchestrate great impact on our lives. if i told no one about castro or james or harley or michelle or jamba or anyone i've ever met, i would feel so swollen with unrecognized love that i would turn to stone.
and why do i so often reference things castro has said or done? is it too much? i'm sure. i don't know. it's just that, while i say a lot of things, sometimes i feel like what she says is exactly what i've been trying to say but never was able to.
things are changing. i can feel it in the way the leaves fall to the ground or the way the sun parts the clouds early in the morning. what once seemed permanent and solid is now passing and porous, ephemeral. everything is ridiculously fleeting. in four months we will all not be here. everyone will be separated, even those that i thought i would never see apart (the triumvirate, mainly. and me and michelle.) it just seems impossible to think that physically, logistically, we will not be able to hang out, to see each other, to hear each other's voices in person. to see us smile at each other and hug each other and kiss each other and make fun of each other and tease each other and tell castro how i made her arrogant and manipulate headlines with harley and go to woodranch and read michelle's mind and be in jazz band with everyone i've grown so strangely connected to and hang around my starbucks and i can't even think of the unlimited things i will no longer be able to do, that we, as those who are leaving or being left, will not be able to do. it's incredibly overwhelming, the utter temporary way of things. every single fucking thing we are offered is fleeting and will someday soon be gone, in one way or another. but on to another chapter we go, where we shall establish new (and still ephemeral) permanence, only to uproot it four years hence and move on again and again until, who knows, we finally find love and stability; but then, our minds slowly begin to go, and we lose all sembalance of youth and the beauty of the trees in the early morning.
fuck. fuck. fuck. that's what it all comes down to. the movement of one thing to the next.
and now i too miss everyone. everyone and anyone.
where did they all go?
1. i'd like to say to her that i am honored that she mentioned me anywhere at all in her memories of granada, and that i love being a regularly featured member of the triumvirate, and that i wish i would have known that she had a crush on me in 11th grade (and that robby didn't tell me she was crazy) because that would have solved most of both our problems right there. but alas.
2. if i may quote:
"You should love, over and over again, over and over and over and over again... not because you want it to be perfect, and not because you're looking for the perfect person, but because it is what you have to do to grow." Those words should be carved into stone.
3. and in response to "i miss everyone", it's just like holden said (and i've quoted it before): "don't ever tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody." but is that true? and what's so terrible about missing people? to miss someone is to have your brain be forcefully aware of what someone does to you, how they positively affect you. however, what is interesting is that in anna's case she didn't seem to miss anyone until she started telling people things. maybe holden was right. but we can't just live in our own little spheres and ignore those who orchestrate great impact on our lives. if i told no one about castro or james or harley or michelle or jamba or anyone i've ever met, i would feel so swollen with unrecognized love that i would turn to stone.
and why do i so often reference things castro has said or done? is it too much? i'm sure. i don't know. it's just that, while i say a lot of things, sometimes i feel like what she says is exactly what i've been trying to say but never was able to.
things are changing. i can feel it in the way the leaves fall to the ground or the way the sun parts the clouds early in the morning. what once seemed permanent and solid is now passing and porous, ephemeral. everything is ridiculously fleeting. in four months we will all not be here. everyone will be separated, even those that i thought i would never see apart (the triumvirate, mainly. and me and michelle.) it just seems impossible to think that physically, logistically, we will not be able to hang out, to see each other, to hear each other's voices in person. to see us smile at each other and hug each other and kiss each other and make fun of each other and tease each other and tell castro how i made her arrogant and manipulate headlines with harley and go to woodranch and read michelle's mind and be in jazz band with everyone i've grown so strangely connected to and hang around my starbucks and i can't even think of the unlimited things i will no longer be able to do, that we, as those who are leaving or being left, will not be able to do. it's incredibly overwhelming, the utter temporary way of things. every single fucking thing we are offered is fleeting and will someday soon be gone, in one way or another. but on to another chapter we go, where we shall establish new (and still ephemeral) permanence, only to uproot it four years hence and move on again and again until, who knows, we finally find love and stability; but then, our minds slowly begin to go, and we lose all sembalance of youth and the beauty of the trees in the early morning.
fuck. fuck. fuck. that's what it all comes down to. the movement of one thing to the next.
and now i too miss everyone. everyone and anyone.
where did they all go?
01 April 2007
when i philosophized and thought about certain things
um. my mother was a chinese trapeze artist.
i thought a lot tonight. mostly out loud to amber. and came up with the following parallel (though not quite so) situation in which i comforted myself by knowing that when it happens it will be when it happens.
1. jamba and i have nothing in common, and so she does not see whatever beauty i (apparently) have to offer. she doesn't see me how castro/harley/tina/amber see me. but those four appreciate what i appreciate, or something like that. i have nothing to give her, just like she has nothing to give me (if you know what i mean...oh!). she's cute and all. and we will have the bees knees time at prom, of course. but that is why there is nothing happening, because there is no need for something to happen. there would be no balance. on the other hand
2. sacramento and i shared a ridiculous amount of things in common, none of which i care to go into, as it's all long gone. but she immediately saw me as i saw her. i shan't laud myself with praise, but she really felt something for me, as i did for her, because we were equals. we shared things. she could see straight into my soul. or whatever. but that's why it worked (briefly) with her without any trouble, because we were equals, and she was what i was looking for and i was what she was looking for.
i comfort myself with that knowledge.
what i have realized (through philosophizing with a brightly burning flame) is that in the end, everything will be alright. sure, solipsism is relieving, existentialism preoccupying, nihilism justifying. but when all of those philosphies burn to the ground, all we are left with is the hope, the vain vain vain vain vain hope, that everything will be alright. it's all we can cling to. and things will work out in the end. they have to. otherwise, life will have been for naught, completely unfounded and without reason. in which case, why even exist in the first place? all of life may be complete shit, but one moment, one love, one breath, one morning, will make it all worth it. that one moment (however long it may be...a minute or a year or ten, twenty, thirty years) will give life reason to exist and will germinate the seed of life and beauty will blossom in all corners of the young green earth and life will seem for aught and a smile will caress your golden lips and you will feel immortal, powerful, unbreakable; capable of disturbing the universe.
and when i created a school of philosophy discounting the idea of schools of philosophy:
Slight Bread: i mean the truth is that we all have our own philosophy that is only applicable to us and no one else
Slight Bread: sure, what works for me could generally work for you. we're somewhat similar. but you and i don't have the same philosophy in everything
Slight Bread: nor does anyone
Slight Bread: what works for, i don't know, allford, probably wouldn't work for, i dont' know, james.
Slight Bread: general schools of philosophy are interesting, but everyone develops their own school of thought in the end by combining outside influence with personal instincts
to Burn Brightly: yeah. thats why i believe in a subjective view of the universe rather than an objective one.
Slight Bread: mhm
Slight Bread: and of truth, as well
Slight Bread: truth is how we perceive it as truth.
to Burn Brightly: yeah. and nothing ever really stays the same.
Slight Bread: undoubtedly
Slight Bread: you'll wake up tomorrow feeling better than you feel now, emotionally
Slight Bread: so, which was the truth? tonight or tomorrow morning?
Slight Bread: or both?
to Burn Brightly: i always feel its both. but maybe truth is only now.
Slight Bread: yeah.
Slight Bread: i mean, how can you argue with how you feel?
to Burn Brightly: you can't. not logically. because emotion is inherently irrational.
Slight Bread: exactly.
i thought a lot tonight. mostly out loud to amber. and came up with the following parallel (though not quite so) situation in which i comforted myself by knowing that when it happens it will be when it happens.
1. jamba and i have nothing in common, and so she does not see whatever beauty i (apparently) have to offer. she doesn't see me how castro/harley/tina/amber see me. but those four appreciate what i appreciate, or something like that. i have nothing to give her, just like she has nothing to give me (if you know what i mean...oh!). she's cute and all. and we will have the bees knees time at prom, of course. but that is why there is nothing happening, because there is no need for something to happen. there would be no balance. on the other hand
2. sacramento and i shared a ridiculous amount of things in common, none of which i care to go into, as it's all long gone. but she immediately saw me as i saw her. i shan't laud myself with praise, but she really felt something for me, as i did for her, because we were equals. we shared things. she could see straight into my soul. or whatever. but that's why it worked (briefly) with her without any trouble, because we were equals, and she was what i was looking for and i was what she was looking for.
i comfort myself with that knowledge.
what i have realized (through philosophizing with a brightly burning flame) is that in the end, everything will be alright. sure, solipsism is relieving, existentialism preoccupying, nihilism justifying. but when all of those philosphies burn to the ground, all we are left with is the hope, the vain vain vain vain vain hope, that everything will be alright. it's all we can cling to. and things will work out in the end. they have to. otherwise, life will have been for naught, completely unfounded and without reason. in which case, why even exist in the first place? all of life may be complete shit, but one moment, one love, one breath, one morning, will make it all worth it. that one moment (however long it may be...a minute or a year or ten, twenty, thirty years) will give life reason to exist and will germinate the seed of life and beauty will blossom in all corners of the young green earth and life will seem for aught and a smile will caress your golden lips and you will feel immortal, powerful, unbreakable; capable of disturbing the universe.
and when i created a school of philosophy discounting the idea of schools of philosophy:
Slight Bread: i mean the truth is that we all have our own philosophy that is only applicable to us and no one else
Slight Bread: sure, what works for me could generally work for you. we're somewhat similar. but you and i don't have the same philosophy in everything
Slight Bread: nor does anyone
Slight Bread: what works for, i don't know, allford, probably wouldn't work for, i dont' know, james.
Slight Bread: general schools of philosophy are interesting, but everyone develops their own school of thought in the end by combining outside influence with personal instincts
to Burn Brightly: yeah. thats why i believe in a subjective view of the universe rather than an objective one.
Slight Bread: mhm
Slight Bread: and of truth, as well
Slight Bread: truth is how we perceive it as truth.
to Burn Brightly: yeah. and nothing ever really stays the same.
Slight Bread: undoubtedly
Slight Bread: you'll wake up tomorrow feeling better than you feel now, emotionally
Slight Bread: so, which was the truth? tonight or tomorrow morning?
Slight Bread: or both?
to Burn Brightly: i always feel its both. but maybe truth is only now.
Slight Bread: yeah.
Slight Bread: i mean, how can you argue with how you feel?
to Burn Brightly: you can't. not logically. because emotion is inherently irrational.
Slight Bread: exactly.
when i thought about things and had anna castro in the back of my mind
ever the hesitant one, i hesitate in saying the following 100% confidently, but I'm going to Reed, in Portland, Oregon (slow gin fizz). there are a lot of fascinating things about the place, but the most notable one is that i felt like i belonged when i visited there. sort of "this is where they hid my people". and with that sort of (i dare say) epiphany that there are others like me (not saying i haven't found them. they're just few and far between. actually, they all just sit next to me in AP Lit. except michelle, who isn't in AP Lit), i am comforted by the fact that i find it so difficult to find someone who can see things the same way i do (myself being among those things. wah wah).
[i've realized lately i have a strong fondess for parentheticals]
either way...perhaps i will finally truly find my niche, my place. although sometimes i wonder if such a place exists. true, i may find comfort in others and even bits of myself in the eyes of friends, but rarely do i find a place where i can close my eyes and feel as happy as i do when i sit in the quiet of my room with my guitar or a notebook or a book (Dante's Inferno, currently. Thanks to anna for her encouragement to really read it). But I'm rambling a bit and I don't feel like my sentences are as cohesive as they usually are. I'll address the thoughts as they come.
1. existence, solipsism, existentialism, philosophy, and whether it matters that life has no point
2. ms jamba
3. tonight
4. girl (is there anybody going to listen to my story?)
--
1. it's been some time since i've truly questioned the futility of existence like i used to. i'm still an adamnt solipsist, maintaining that, as lovely as people are, you only have yourself in the end, and you take no one else with you when you die. life is there and i believe that you simply cannot argue it's persistence. it is there and so it should be accepted. this presents a problem, though, mainly because the fuel for my Salem and Palamino story that I'm currently writing was based around questioning existence. either way.
2. ms jamba was at the party i was at tonight (if truth be told, that's the only reason i went) and i don't know why i like her. she's a dime a dozen, as cute as she is. there's nothing spectacular about her that would attract me. she's nowhere even near the same league as castro, harley, et. al. but so it goes, i suppose. as castro and i have discussed numerous times, it's the story of our lives. the ones we like do not like us back, the ones we could get with we aren't interested in, and the ones we know we should be with, we have no interest in. i shall now invent the dialogue between ms jamba and a friend that i know for a fact transpired.
friend: so do you like mikey?
ms jamba: i feel bad because i know he likes me and i don't feel the same way.
friend: that really sucks, because mikey's pretty amazing. he's awesome in bed. not that i'd know, but so i've heard. anyway, you're a complete idiota for not seeing how incredibly soulfull and loving mikey is. it's pretty ridiculous of you, you know, to pass up such an opportunity. i know you're going to prom together and all, and hopefully you'll change your mind by then. but mikey's a flighty character. it may be too late come prom. but yeah you're pretty crazy. ok love you see you later!
something like that.
4. girl (who has yet to exist). i still hold true to the fact that there is someone, or perhaps many someones, who can see straight through me to the gold. and what's anything worth until i find her, anyway.
3. tonight was alright. i don't drink or smoke or dance ("wow, you're going to be boring in college" observed a girl i met. i went on to amaze her with my admissions to reed while marissa boasted about my admissions to USC in which both of them got on their knees and fellated me. not really. speaking of which said girl was quite cute, and i found out that she used to be james' hag. don't worry, castro. he definitely traded up.) so i didn't really do anything at the party except talk to cindy, watch marissa dance with people and get drunk (along with everyone else) and talk to the occassional familiar (or not so) face (i saw a bunch of asian kids that hang around my starbucks). and um. then i left because i felt uncomfortable and out of place and went to starbucks where i ran into abby and aline and we decided to go back to the party where things happened just as they always do: uneventfully. phenia got stinking piss drunk and cursed alyssa's soul or whatnot. it was humorous to listen to. i'm just not a party type guy. i'm glad there are no fraternities at reed.
5. ms. miko. aka ms. saturday night (getting bumped from the previous list). so it's not that i have heavy feelings for this girl, because i don't. i did, and i wrote a song called 'on a mountain' about it, which was my first good song, i think. around two years ago or so. chirst it's been a long time. we kissed and all a while back. and last saturday night was the first time i had seen her since then and we kissed again and it was stupendous, mainly because it was all over the place: dancefloor, on top of steven (tina's brother), against a wall, outside (cheers, mate). i know she's flighty and transient and not perhaps worth the pain of trying to persue, but i had a good time with her and would love to see her again, so i call her thursday or whatnot and she says she'll call me back at nine when she is done dancing (it's always a dancer) but she didn't so i texted her and she texted back saying she'd call me tomorrow (which was yesterday), which she didn't, and i texted her facetiously pointing out the obvious fact that she is clearly no good at texting back. it's not that i'm desperate for contact with her. it's spring break and i'd be an awful waste of time if i didn't do anything.
i can't think of anything else to say. i have to go to sleep. i'm working in seven hours.
but back to college. and anna castro talking about how she will miss everyone (yes, anna, i'll miss you ridiculously. i won't tell you how much, just like you won't tell me how much, because it'll be terrible for your ego). i don't know how i feel about leaving everyone behind. there are the certain ones i'll miss [castro, harley, james, tina, MICHELLE, robby, amber]. and of course the tragedy of it all is that it took me till my senior year to actually get close to some people [notably the triumverate and amberine]. and then there's all the people i'm just starting to talk to now that i find out are really awesome people [mostly MSND people...quince, helena, etc]. but fuck it all. it's all circular, and those that truly matter i will always see again. and i'm not leaving till late august anyway. but it's like holden said. don't every tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody.
[i've realized lately i have a strong fondess for parentheticals]
either way...perhaps i will finally truly find my niche, my place. although sometimes i wonder if such a place exists. true, i may find comfort in others and even bits of myself in the eyes of friends, but rarely do i find a place where i can close my eyes and feel as happy as i do when i sit in the quiet of my room with my guitar or a notebook or a book (Dante's Inferno, currently. Thanks to anna for her encouragement to really read it). But I'm rambling a bit and I don't feel like my sentences are as cohesive as they usually are. I'll address the thoughts as they come.
1. existence, solipsism, existentialism, philosophy, and whether it matters that life has no point
2. ms jamba
3. tonight
4. girl (is there anybody going to listen to my story?)
--
1. it's been some time since i've truly questioned the futility of existence like i used to. i'm still an adamnt solipsist, maintaining that, as lovely as people are, you only have yourself in the end, and you take no one else with you when you die. life is there and i believe that you simply cannot argue it's persistence. it is there and so it should be accepted. this presents a problem, though, mainly because the fuel for my Salem and Palamino story that I'm currently writing was based around questioning existence. either way.
2. ms jamba was at the party i was at tonight (if truth be told, that's the only reason i went) and i don't know why i like her. she's a dime a dozen, as cute as she is. there's nothing spectacular about her that would attract me. she's nowhere even near the same league as castro, harley, et. al. but so it goes, i suppose. as castro and i have discussed numerous times, it's the story of our lives. the ones we like do not like us back, the ones we could get with we aren't interested in, and the ones we know we should be with, we have no interest in. i shall now invent the dialogue between ms jamba and a friend that i know for a fact transpired.
friend: so do you like mikey?
ms jamba: i feel bad because i know he likes me and i don't feel the same way.
friend: that really sucks, because mikey's pretty amazing. he's awesome in bed. not that i'd know, but so i've heard. anyway, you're a complete idiota for not seeing how incredibly soulfull and loving mikey is. it's pretty ridiculous of you, you know, to pass up such an opportunity. i know you're going to prom together and all, and hopefully you'll change your mind by then. but mikey's a flighty character. it may be too late come prom. but yeah you're pretty crazy. ok love you see you later!
something like that.
4. girl (who has yet to exist). i still hold true to the fact that there is someone, or perhaps many someones, who can see straight through me to the gold. and what's anything worth until i find her, anyway.
3. tonight was alright. i don't drink or smoke or dance ("wow, you're going to be boring in college" observed a girl i met. i went on to amaze her with my admissions to reed while marissa boasted about my admissions to USC in which both of them got on their knees and fellated me. not really. speaking of which said girl was quite cute, and i found out that she used to be james' hag. don't worry, castro. he definitely traded up.) so i didn't really do anything at the party except talk to cindy, watch marissa dance with people and get drunk (along with everyone else) and talk to the occassional familiar (or not so) face (i saw a bunch of asian kids that hang around my starbucks). and um. then i left because i felt uncomfortable and out of place and went to starbucks where i ran into abby and aline and we decided to go back to the party where things happened just as they always do: uneventfully. phenia got stinking piss drunk and cursed alyssa's soul or whatnot. it was humorous to listen to. i'm just not a party type guy. i'm glad there are no fraternities at reed.
5. ms. miko. aka ms. saturday night (getting bumped from the previous list). so it's not that i have heavy feelings for this girl, because i don't. i did, and i wrote a song called 'on a mountain' about it, which was my first good song, i think. around two years ago or so. chirst it's been a long time. we kissed and all a while back. and last saturday night was the first time i had seen her since then and we kissed again and it was stupendous, mainly because it was all over the place: dancefloor, on top of steven (tina's brother), against a wall, outside (cheers, mate). i know she's flighty and transient and not perhaps worth the pain of trying to persue, but i had a good time with her and would love to see her again, so i call her thursday or whatnot and she says she'll call me back at nine when she is done dancing (it's always a dancer) but she didn't so i texted her and she texted back saying she'd call me tomorrow (which was yesterday), which she didn't, and i texted her facetiously pointing out the obvious fact that she is clearly no good at texting back. it's not that i'm desperate for contact with her. it's spring break and i'd be an awful waste of time if i didn't do anything.
i can't think of anything else to say. i have to go to sleep. i'm working in seven hours.
but back to college. and anna castro talking about how she will miss everyone (yes, anna, i'll miss you ridiculously. i won't tell you how much, just like you won't tell me how much, because it'll be terrible for your ego). i don't know how i feel about leaving everyone behind. there are the certain ones i'll miss [castro, harley, james, tina, MICHELLE, robby, amber]. and of course the tragedy of it all is that it took me till my senior year to actually get close to some people [notably the triumverate and amberine]. and then there's all the people i'm just starting to talk to now that i find out are really awesome people [mostly MSND people...quince, helena, etc]. but fuck it all. it's all circular, and those that truly matter i will always see again. and i'm not leaving till late august anyway. but it's like holden said. don't every tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
