memories are tar pits and i am a dinosaur, slowly sinking.

i'll be in them forever.


steering wheel

i both laughed and cried uncontrollably today with little to no impetus, with little to no thought during. it was as if my body had decided to become an emotion without the help of my brain, completely and totally converted.

or maybe it was just trying to say, "it's okay. you don't have to be in control all the time."



i haven't been writing much of anything at all, so for the next fifteen minutes, i'm going to write here. possibly about not writing. possibly about nothing at all. i have to do this, though, to prove to myself that i still have words in me and that i am still capable of utilizing language.

i've been thinking about putting together some essays in a sort of sedaris-esque form, except i won't claim to be as funny or good or any other adjective he is. i've been toying around with the idea of writing sketches of different moments from my adolescence (and, more specifically, my parents' divorce and the inherent confusion) and getting a head start on memoirs before i hit twenty. you never know when you're going to die, is what i say.

i've also been thinking about fiction, but i feel the creativity has been sucked out of me, what with going to school for music and writing and constantly having to create in order to pass. i can't think of characters or plots or anything unique or interesting or even remotely original. toying with this idea, too, i have realized that i don't know if i would want to have a main character that's a woman. i feel like, since i'm a woman, it would be assumed that making the main character a woman implies me asserting my woman-ness, that writing from a woman's perspective will make the book more about being a woman than about being a human being, that i would have to fight to say "this is about x, not about feminism." if i wrote as a man, though, the book could be about "x" and not about being a man, not about masculinity, not about the state of being a man today. this is just a thought i had, though - i don't know if there is any reality in that claim. i just feel like there is.

i'm starting to get my crap together for an ep, and by "get my crap together" i mean that i'm getting other people involved so i'll feel guilty enough to work on it. i'm part jewish and part roman catholic. i'm a guilt-making machine.

i'm not a songwriting machine anymore, though. this is sad to me. i just. can't. write. i can edit, with help. i can make a verse and then quit. but the days of a song in half an hour are waning. when is the wax? come back to me, passion, insistency, oh-my-god-these-words-are-popping-out-of-me. i am afraid of losing my powers. i feel like delilah has cut off my hair and has left me speechless.

maybe it's because i don't go outside enough anymore. i'm constantly cooped up. classes and work during the summer are a great idea in the long run but a depressing situation right now. also, this perpetual lack of close friends that are also in close proximity. i can safely say i have one of those on a regular basis. well, maybe one and a half. but my other friends are mostly superficial, or at least ten hours in a car from a good real-life conversation. maybe i need to combine going outside and finding people. maybe i should just walk around college campuses in the area, striking up conversations with people who seem intelligent. hang out in the english departments, ask people what they think about the brothers karamazov. look as pretentious as possible. make friends with astronomy majors and watch carl sagan together. (i miss real college.)

there are no poems in my head and no songs in my heart these days, but if i force prose out of my body then perhaps they will slide back in. i'm hoping so. not that prose is a bad thing - i very much like it - it's just that i can only write the driest of words with only the barest of reasons.

so the fifteen minutes end. there you go.



i ought to write more.

but i should also go out and experience things to write about.



i am not good with the youth. i am not good with people my own age, with people half my age, with people twice my age. i am not good with people. i love them. they love me. we don't love each other (the right way, the way i want).

i am perplexed by cell phones and too flustered for letters. i am caught up with strangers but too afraid to talk to those i know. i watch people from a distance in the park, but i don't have the confidence to walk up to an artist at a show. never, never.

how do people make friends?
i don't know if i am any good at it.
i am scared of people; i am shy.
i am lonely.
i have a lot of good in me.

i just talk too loudly.
i just hide in the corner with my mouth shut.
i just don't know what to do with my awkward body.
i just haven't done this in so long.

(i miss people i still talk to.
we change. we change. we change.)