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i walked?

23 Nov

I find the older I get the more I notice things out of the realm of others’ sight. It is strange and it firmly cements me in my earthly binds, which might be a good thing, I guess, but currently things are confusing me and I can’t seem to find the air I’m swimming towards.
I am lying on a twin-size bed in a house that isn’t really my home but will have to do at least for this week while some people I don’t know go into my house and replace the tiny Mount Vesuviuses of tile that are stuck to the floor. The room that the bed and I are in is a yellowy off-white, probably named something infinitely clever by the company who manufactures it. Probably something like “cloud” or “7th Heaven” or maybe something vaguely angel related: “we have heard on high” comes to mind; or something similar.
More worrying, though (at least to me) are the dreams and general ennui plaguing me involving The Poet. I look into a window and think I see his face- I hope fervently while I work that I’ll look up at one of the tourists and it’ll be his smiling face looking down at me, asking “well, imagine this!” and presently congealing into a lovely conversation. I miss this Poet. I miss him a helluvalot. I want him here, or I want to be there, or something– somehow, I want us to talk again under the leaves of old oak trees, watching water cascade into fountains– or running home in the rain, clutching a hot crepe to our chests.

So many memories. I can’t keep them from flooding my mind.
Wil visited Paris a few weeks ago, I am very jealous. I hope it’s treated him nicely. I hope he went to Rue Vavin and stood there, quiet and pensive. I hope he understands the changes it created in all of us. I hope he knows.


3 Nov

I dreamt of the Poet last night.
This is beginning to worry me- this tendency. I don’t want to lose contact with him.
It was in first person, the dream–at the end I started hearing “Wake Up” and my mom shook me awake.


Still moving forward. I only want some form of communication between the two of us– one he actually uses, for that matter–but I don’t want to creep him out.

Ah well. We’ll see.

our powerless fathers

28 Oct

It is strange, this situation. Strange and somehow wrong, intrinsically, but it is the only thing keeping me from falling into some sort of half-despair. Or something: you catch my drift, yes?

In any case, lately I’ve been super paranoid about having people hate me: it is almost a capital punishment. I cannot bear knowing that people I know and respect think so low of me.
Hence the freaking out I am doing over a Nameless, not that it will actually affect me, but I’d like to be on good standings with them because we had a sort of okay friendship that abruptly ceased due to events I was not aware of. And, incidentally, am not aware of even now.

But since it’s not really a problem now (and I don’t expect it to be one any time soon), I’m going to let sleeping dogs lie and deal with it when it becomes one.


famine affair

27 Oct

Due tospending about three hours today working on an Of Montreal contest remix, I have the titular song stuck in my head. It is agony.

Also haven’t been writing much lately, that reason is SENIOR YEAR and by third quarter it will be back to normal updates.

Till then check out my tumblr, or bug me with comments. I will be writing. Less. But still writing.



18 Oct

I don’t know a lot about things.
One thing that has given me much consternation in the past and will continue to give me consternation in the future is my total and utter inability to understand people. To read people. To figure out their emotions toward you, toward inanimate objects, towards other people.
It is for this reason that I am tormented by the idea of someone hating me, mainly because I will constantly ask myself what I could be doing wrong and trying not to bother the person and so on and so on. Usually this just makes the friendship I am trying so desperately to cultivate unravel. So frustrating.
Currently wondering the very question above about a few people. I am scared and I am hoping my assumption is false because I would in all honesty like to be these people’s friend and little else. Maybe someone with which to exchange words, perhaps. Or something. It is difficult and it is annoying and it makes me want to try and forget about people and just go to some out-of-the-way island somewhere in the Azores and play Smiths records all day, alone, letting Morrissey sing me to sleep and not caring a whit about any other human activity and/or judgementalness.

control me like you used to

1 Oct

Well: pretty magnificent day, I guess, mainly because I printed my new print and actually did something excellent in Physics (which bolstered hells of confidence) and also, also made a Pac-Man cake, which tastes like almonds and is coated in a syrup made from Amaretto and a quarter-cup of sugar. I want to write more letters. I’m out of stamps, well really not but my mother will probably be annoyed if I take the last of hers so sometime tomorrow I want to go to the post office and buy a bunch with my very own cash.

Maybe going to NYC on the weekend of the 23d with my art class. It would probably be awesome, though there is no one in that art class who I really get along well with. It’s worth it to go, though. I need to talk to my art teacher.

routine malaise

21 Sep

Been writing crappy poetry lately. I am okay with that.

Sort of feeling an unease creep into my happy neutrality, this is bad and I will have to do my darndedest to fix it. Measures have already been taken.

Also, something that has frustrated me to no end has been somewhat reasoned out, which actually is making it even more frustrating for now but will probably make things better in the long run. Fuuuuuuucckkk though.
(thx, R.)

Too tired to write a decent post.

through every pane

19 Sep

A vapour cloud alarm is not really the best way to begin your day.
A vapour cloud alarm that goes on for at least ten minutes, all the while releasing tons of flammable hydrocarbons into the air, leading your father to call and tell you to get the fuck out of there: that’s worse.
Currently sitting in my mom’s office in Christiansted, my hair is a mess, I am wearing a purple dress and silver Sperrys. I feel icky. I am also worried about my dog, who we left at home.
It’s been a bad morning.

a routine malaise

17 Sep

My father and I do not often see eye-to-eye.
Case in point: today, I get home, have a snack, lay on my bed and draw, check facebook, grab my guitar, go into the kitchen. There are dishes and crap on the counter. I put the crap away, check the dishwasher and find it’s full. Sigh to myself, put dirty dishes in the sink, proceed to RAWKKKK.
Six hours later my dad bursts into my room and asks in his angry voice “when did you get home?”
I reply “4 ‘o clock.”
“So you were here for at least two hours. The dishes aren’t done.”
“I was at work from seven to six. Do you know how long that is? I was at WORK for eleven hours.”
At this point I start thinking “that’s nice, dad, that’s your job,” but saying that would be a very Bad Idea.
He proceeds to glare at me and step out of my room.

My parents are really super overprotective, my dad is a neat freak, and my mom is only really concerned with what I look like. I don’t love my parents so much as am afraid of them, since I really don’t see what is wrong with what I’ve done.

Anyway, parents aside, it is the weekend, tomorrow is Matt Car’s party that he’s been talking about for weeks now, I don’t know why but hell I’m going anyway. Paulie is trying to coerce me into doing shots of Kahlua with her, but I’m going to very much abstain. I have no idea if this will be a good party or not. I might just stay home.

Not much else to report atm. I keep thinking my dad’s opening the door to yell at me more. It is hell on my nerves.


long island sound

11 Sep

(three days before False Priest!)

Firstly, I want to get something out of the way: it’s 9/11. Every blogger is mentioning this fact, this is what I have to say about it: to those who were personally affected by it, I am very sorry. To those who weren’t, well that really sucked. And to those responsible, I hope you suffer from a mindcrushing amount of guilt, possibly more. That’s all I’ve got, back to me writing about me.

Senior year, besides being a little ridiculous, is also freaking me the fuck out. For once in my life I have no one around me who I really need to impress. For once in my life I have no one near me to angst about. It is kind of a ridiculously foreign feeling. It is liberating, true, but it is mostly strange.
Especially because I find myself thinking of The Poet whenever I let my thoughts stray to possible angstworthy personages. In my warped little mind, he is somewhat like a rock I can cling to in my indecision. If that makes any sense.

Iiiin other news, cooked basically all day today, I want to die, my feet are screaming like a motherfucker, I may or may not have started my English project, I drew a bunch of crap for my next print in Art.
Yeah, you read that right.
It’ll look cool, though. I’ll take a picture when I’m done.