chain of fools

it's hard to believe my mind - my mind - can change so fast.

(it can, right?)

(i think it can.)



my favorite things i've written are usually the shortest. they are concise and get to the point.
example: "eyelashes"

your eyelashes informed me
that this world might be real
if only in that moment

or "five line verse"

walk with me, please, and if you are feeling
bold, you may hold my hand

i will miss missing you
but walk with me, please, and if you'd
dare, you may catch my eye

the format for this doesn't always work for blogger...so i'm going to pretend it looks the way i want it to.
it might be my favorite short thing.

___there is no
in words

(my bedroom clicks at nighttime and it's beginning to freak me out)



i am going to write with no inhibitions. i am going to set myself loose on this keyboard and let my late night mind take hold.

just let me be sad, alright? i know that you don't like it. but i don't really care about that, anymore. i am allowed to be sad. i enjoy it, in my own way. because it proves to me that i am alive. that i am human. that i am capable of feeling some sort of intense emotion. and i am allowing myself to be sad. i am listening to old music, old, old music from my past, to renew these ideas of distress. cut me to pieces, please. i would feel so much better about everything if i knew what was real and what everyone was just making up. i am naked in front of all of you, all the time, but never truly unclothed.

my head hurts and i blame all the water i drank. and i blame everything, everything, on something else, eventually. none of these problems are mine, anyways. i am sick and tired of holding other peoples' secrets. i am holding too many peoples' secrets. many of which they don't even know i have. and they are all trapped in a little pandora's box in my head, and i am so afraid that one day i will snap and everything told to me in complete confidence will spill out from my mouth into the air like a million buzzing bees that will only come back to sting me. but i hate it. i hate all of these things that i carry for other people. i would like to say it's not fair, but i'm sure that everyone is carrying their fair share for me, and i just haven't realized it yet.

i am so afraid to live sometimes that it hurts me. i feel so banal. i feel like nothing i do is going to be okay. what can i do that is new and original? what can i do to improve lives, to make people happy, to make an impact? i have intellect, and i want to use it to its greatest extent, but there is a black cloud hanging over my head that is preventing me from doing that. i have all of these brains and nowhere to put them. there is not a lot of motivation in my life. i want to feel socially fulfilled before i try to complete any sort of daunting task, and i don't know how to do that if i keep forgetting how to properly love people, and they keep forgetting how to properly love me.

i wish everything were okay, but it's not. it never is.
my problems are miniscule and not worth the time to even write them out.

i always mean to take care of them but never really get up the courage to step out into the world and do it.

there is nothing, nothing, nothing i can do.
there is nothing, nothing, nothing i can do.
except wait.
wait for nothing to happen.

i can't.
i can't do this anymore.

(it's what i always say, and never do.)


aching wrists

i watched a history channel special on christmas, and i've decided that, as an adult, i'm going to celebrate the old way. i'm going to go carousing, be a horrific pagan. of course, if i have children, i'll change my ways. but drunken debauchery seems like quite the christmas spirit.

sarcasm aside, i've been thinking a lot about things completely unrelated to holidays, because i never notice when the holidays come around anyways, anymore. and i've got a lot to think about. and i thought up this thought which, now that i'm thinking about it, is quite funny and in keeping with the fact that i've been reading a lot of hitchhiker's guide. (it sounds very douglas adams, or at the least slightly british.)

i'm terribly glad christmas is almost over so that i can go back to being properly depressed about the winter season.

and oh, isn't it true?

anyways, i'm going to go and live life a little and make everything what i want it to be, at least for now.


rushed heart

i was told once
that most men
lead lives
of quiet desperation

but i thought about it for awhile
and i think
that most men
of quiet desperation.

[and quiet desperation is what i have become. i reach these moments sometimes when i am just overcome with inexplicable sadness. there is no way to stop it. there is no one to call. i have to wait for the clouds to pass over. it could take twenty minutes, it could take a day. and sometimes, it frightens me, getting so lost in this desperation. afterwards, of course, i regain my calm composure of day-to-day living, but those moments are horrifying and incredibly alone. i do not know how to fix it. i could not fix it if i tried. every moment is turning into an internal struggle, fighting perceptions of how to live. i might not be able to hold it in any longer. i wonder if something is wrong here. and if it is, i will have absolutely no idea what to do.]


i always knew

i'm just not like you.

let's accept that and go home.

(i have found home, i think.
it's in cars and planes.
i feel at home when i am not complacent. i feel at home when i am going somewhere.
going away from somewhere.
watching the lights pass me by
and dreaming of what will never happen.)


to the edge

1. what i know
2. what i've learned

it is all an attempt
to grow up and out
up and out of all that holds me down

but at the end of the day
i am growing down
down and in, back inside myself

all i know, all i can feel at the end of the day, falls into categories of everything
or the incredible emptiness of never knowing the truth.

the song came five minutes early; but what's five minutes among friends?
(a lifetime.
a lifetime.)

[the time has been wrong in my posts for so long, so i finally edited it on this one. i probably won't change my time zone. i probably won't make it right in most future entries. but i'm just making note of that fact here and now.]


good morning.

i'm trying, okay? i'm trying for art and beauty to manifest itself inside of me. i'm trying to become something beautiful and artistic. and it's just not working out the same way i wish it would. soft and beautiful gets lost inside the fact that i curse like a sailor, that, on occasion, i just become one of the boys. i'm profoundly feminine, but not within the standards of modern society. i know the ancient, the sacred, the internal meaning of being feminine. i know the murderous aching of an empty womb, the idea of producing new and beautiful things. but i am also tormented by the known future, by what is good and normal and what goals are interfered with by just taking advantage of the current circumstances.

the emptiness gets to me, sometimes. everything stops inside my head, and all i can think about are the same words, over and over. and i feel so incredibly empty. it's sort of scary, but it's also intensely wonderful. there are some experiences completely indescribable to other human beings, and i think this may be one of them.

i know what i want, and somehow, someday, i am going to get it.

i want sex without marriage; i want religion without worship.
i want the world to open up to me inside my bedroom and inside my brain.
i want soft bodies at four in the morning.
i want to learn everything.

(i also want my dog to come back home. it's a shame she ran away.)


not to intrude

it's amazing how many different types of intimacy exist. there's the intellectual intimacy of sharing ideas, understanding concepts, having the same academic passions. emotional intimacy with our hopes and dreams, our very soul bared to another human being. there is the platonic physical intimacy of friends who can be close and not worried, of hugs and leaning shoulders. then, of course, there is the deeper physical intimacy of the sexual relationship, in which we share with another person something inherently sacred in ourselves, what emotional intimacy is for the mind, except for the body. but there is another type of intimacy often overlooked because it is so often paired with another kind, and that is living with someone. there is a sort of synchronosity of schedules, a pattern and rhythm. one learns how their housemates work, how to react to different situations. there is so much more awareness of a person after living with them. and no other types of intimacy are really inherent of this. of course, we are so used to living with family or friends that we assume that some sort of emotional intimacy is required for this situation, but it is not. so many people also assume sexual intimacy which, true, is a reason many people move in together. but it is not necessary for a living situation. many couples get older and live, sexless, with the same sort of house-grown intimacy they're known for years. they still know each other in a way nobody else can - the way they act at home.

i have found that this semester has been a profound learning experience about differentiation between all of these things. i wanted to find someone to live with that is not just a roommate, and i have. i will finally be living with a friend. and hopefully that odd state of living with someone is something easier to adjust to, now that i also have someone who i can talk to.

maybe love and marriage is just when you hit the jackpot, you know? and you find absolutely everything in someone. or at least you cross your fingers and hope you do.



it's easier, easier, easier to ignore.

it's easier to ignore sleep and food and life and everything physical and emotional and everything that's everything.
i want pure consciousness, and i have not found a way of achieving it.
i've reached a state where it's hard to crawl into bed at night; i am somehow afraid to go to sleep; but in the mornings, it is all i want. in the daytime, it is all i want. just not at night, when i finally grow alive.

next semester is exciting, with night classes and mornings filled with sleepiness.

but i must off to bed. i have to be a real person tomorrow, i do. and this requires more from me than what i am giving now.


i feel, sometimes, like i am disappearing.


mixed meter

nothing can really fall into a simple rhythm.

only music.
only music is timeless and steady and beautiful every time.
only music makes me swell and fade, grow and fall back down.

it is so unexplainably wonderful. i can feel what you are feeling because i can hear what you are singing. and i want to tell you i know, i know. i feel this way, too. i just can't sing it yet.

(well, the fact that i don't personally know the artists i listen to also makes it harder to tell them i understand.)



i want to be the bigger person in this situation.

(just not literally.)


spilled water

written in october 07, in the park i spent too much time in, when i had read too much d.h. lawrence and brought cummings to read for a change. and not much of a change it was.

i like to watch the
water, lying on top of
the earth
still, fragile
before it quietly sinks in
slow, slow
and makes the soil
grow, grow

i like to watch
you, lying on top of
still, fragile
before you quietly sink in
slow, slow
and make my body
grow, grow

of course, i realize now this is not as soft and pretty as it is rather creepy. and very much me trying to write like i read. the word choice is still something i'm not sure i like. the metaphor makes sense, but i'm rather ashamed that i thought of it.

but justification can ruin poetry.

pretend i never said anything.


i hear you loving yourself, too

i want to go on some sort of amazing fast.

no eating, no sleeping, no anything at all except for pure consciousness all of the time.
imagine all the thinking i'd get done!
imagine all of the things i'd say!

but i like sleep too much.
and besides, what fun is life without dreams; what fun is a body with tension?


one foot in front of the other

oh, good.

fresh air, clear mind, clean conscience.

and everything, thanks to logic and walks, is fine.


a box in the attic

song - elephant, damien rice.

i am lost.
all the advice in the world cannot bring me back. no matter what you say, i am lost. no matter what everyone tells me, there is something, something missing from their view. there is something on the inside that is so fragile and misunderstood. and we, we are so fragile. you do not believe me, i know, but we are so incredibly fragile. i am going to break us. i am going to break us on accident, and there is no amount of superglue that can hold us together forever. i'm terribly sorry.

it's just that your eyes looked so sad. i don't know if it was for you or sad for me, but i don't want you to be, either way. but most especially not sad for me. do not be sad for me. i can handle it. i can get through everything. slowly, surely. i will get through everything. because i understand on this deeper level what it all is for. my logic can handle everything; it's my emotions that will take time.

song - if he asks you that, jesse harris.

i feel so lame when all my emotion is held within songs. when i can't even accurately explain what i am feeling without quoting someone else's words. i make playlists for every emotion, it seems. and then i delete them out of shame. or i add, continually, to this one. this one that i am making into almost epic proportions. i just keep adding, and adding, and every time something happens, a new song is added.

i will admit, too many songs are sad and slow, sung soft and low, but i do not mind. i am fine, i am fine. i am fine because they are singing to me, about me, from me, inside me. everyone else's words are becoming my voice. i am giving everyone else's ideas new meanings. they all mean something so special, so secure, to me.

song - sunbathing, carey ott.

there is too much going on in my life, and i am avoiding it all. it is a terrible coping method, i know, but if i pretend like nothing is happening, if i am so passive, maybe everything will go away. i know it won't, but i can't handle this right now. i can't handle a single thing that is happening in my life. not even the most mundane, the most trivial tasks.

there is just too much nostalgia. too much holding on. too much regret, and too many attempts to never regret anything. people who say they have no regrets are just lying, or are repressing things. because you have to regret things.

song - a call to apathy, the shins.

(because new slang was already there.)

when i originally wrote this, i thought of "execution" as the killing of something, but i realized the word had a double meaning, and that chances are, most people would think of it in the other way. and that's fine.

it was an electrifying execution of fate
all parties involved watched with a feeling
of intense gratification
and a fear of the future

one slip, one slight miscalculation could send
the entire plan crashing to the ground
with absolutely no grace
and no backups

words can only say so much until hands take control
and the language, loud and unspoken,
shatters all silence
and breaks all hearts

all i want to do is live, loud and clear, the same way i see so many other people do. i want to show. i want to show you. and i can't, i can't. i can't show what can't be shown. there is nothing to say only because there are too many things to say. when things pile up, they become ignored. things should just happen gradually. but because they don't, when everything comes at you too fast, you just can't do it. i don't want to let go. i don't want to hold on. i can't. i can't. i can't. (if i say it three times, is it true? maybe i should say i can, i can, i can. but that just sounds like those old self-help tapes.) i don't understand why things don't turn out the way it seems they should. because so many things in my life are heading in a certain direction, and then take sharp turns to exactly where i do not want them to go. where is my good luck? where is my fate? it would make sense to do things the way they happen in my head. then the world would be fine, and everyone would end up happy.


song - redwings, guillemots.


which will

i am no good at insomnia.

i haven't listened to nick drake in a long time, and i think i've started a sort of binge. it's like a music eating disorder or something.

i don't want to go back to school; i don't want to have to deal with anything.
i can't deal with anything.

when i say i'm in love with nick drake, what i really mean is that i love like nick drake and feel like him and i somehow know what it is to live inside him at some points. although i guess i can't assume.
but i do, indeed, want to sleep with him. more for the victory of being that girl and for the intimate sadness we would achieve. sadly, i have no time machine. (confession: if i had a time machine, i would not use it for useful purposes, per se, but to go back and seduce certain literary, musical, and historical figures that i sort of have crushes on. all of them. from beethoven to alexis de tocqueville, from glenn gould to e.e. cummings. and, of course, nick drake.)

in conclusion

i made my life relevant to a blog post for once, instead of the other way around.