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12 Oct

Sometimes I wish I was someone else, just to see how another person percieves the world.

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.

adder sensibilities

8 Sep

gross national innacuracies led to nights spent fretting over the demise of a thousand lovely souls/ try to create proper patterns decayed into kaleidoscope fires/ healthy unheimlich garments draping the modern Xerxes/ piss on lunatic wires arch your back and cry bullshit for the maniac rush of it


weighty proverbs crumpling under their own gravitational fields//creating positive modesty into nightshade pupils//queries ignored, poetry made silent and odin and his ravens reigning//yggdrasil is never an eventuality but a constant menacing in the limelight//staple some rulers to the walls + tame the beast


running labrynthian locks through your spider-hands
hansel and gretel coated in moonlight
and diamond dusting nincompoops across the suede shoreline like cavities in the spring
not even the magic of my old haunts could illicit crazy motion sprinklings towards the fuckery of nonsense that is sculpture
you smiled at rodin, i scowled, but the sentiments were shared


i reeled
and you forgave me

though i’d wish it’d gone so differently back then, swinging the ropes, laughing and talking of vonnegut as the moonlight strived to fight through the windows and reflect off yr eyes
i was simply having far too much fun
and without realizing it kind of
— i don’t know–
Je suis tombée en l’amour?

Today’s been reasonable, I guess. Cannot be bothered at the moment due to sheer happiness. Waiting for magic to descend upon me. Preordered False Priest. I hope it rains tomorrow. The above poems are what spouted from my fingers in a fit of philosophy. I miss the Poet. I am listening to the Phoenix remixes that came along with the real CD, they are fairly good. I had a physics lab to do tonight. I have a sneaking suspicion I did it wrong. Fuck all. I want to play guitar but I also want to learn the chords for Percussion Gun, not sure which one will precede the other. Apathy is already overwhelming my senses. I need to scan my Yellow Book as soon as I’m done with it. My next one’s red. It’s a Moleskine. I look forward to feeling like Kyna.
That’s all I’ve got for you all.

Bloggiversary: imminent.

two weeks

21 Aug

At this moment in time, I am probably one of the happier people in existence. It’s not because any of my worries hae resolved itself, it’s not due to boy troubles, it’s not due to anything I’d consider really significant to blog about.
Except I’m realizing stuff as this summer wears on. I’m realizing that my eyes were both blinded and silent, that they should’ve, could’ve seen things and changed things but my focus was on some unreachable point that I tried to get to anyway.
I am rapidly realizing that I am not as strange or as much of an outcast as I make myself out to be. I have people who respect me all around me: I just used to not appreciate their respect. The only person I wanted respect from was the person I was currently infatuated with, which was just a bad thing to want when I was going about things the way I was.
Right now the person I want to give me respect was already doing so even before I realized I wanted him to. I gave him my respect before I knew it, too. And thusly, with that little exchange, it was like my eyes were opened to all the other people whom I’d taken for granted for so long.

It’s a good feeling, to know you’re held in high esteem by others. A strange, foreign feeling, sometimes: but mostly it is warm and peaceful.

Will write later.

revel in slumber

20 Aug

Aah: the world.
Something about the days slipping by has left me feeling both hopeful and downtrodden, a strange mix of cynicism and idealism. These dog days are smashing the jars inside my chest that previously held everything nicely compartementalized, my sadness partitoned away from my anger, happiness away from disappointment. That was then: now is now, a soup swimming away with my thoughts and swirling down the drain, off to other uncharted regions.

Yesterday’s post, besides being long as fuck, also was a way for me to expel a lot of the pissed-offedness that I’d been feeling since I got home. There were a lot of unanswered questions that I left in Paris, and well writing that seemed to sort of conjure up answers that satisfied me, at least for now.
At the moment, though: listening to gratuitous amounts of CocoRosie and Warpaint and Tame Impalas (a psychadelic garagey band that I saw someone post on Facebook and dug immensely, I may do more research) and thinking about maybe writing another screenplay, though the current one needs rewriting. I was never good at that sort of thing, fixing my words.

I also want to paint, to make some art, but all the ideas I have come out funny on paper, more distorted and wrong than I intended. I think I’m going to make more prints this year, send them to people. Hum. We’ll see.

When it gets to this time of year, the moments before school begins and I am swept up in that ridiculous giddy business, I start proposing great projects that I never get around to. It’s kind of a disappointment, really, but a disappointment I think I can at least live with.

Going to write some poetry, maybe.
Will write tomorrow.

you met me at such a dismal point on the arc

18 Aug

I wish I’d done something different with this blog.
And I’ll explain, thusly:

By unloading every single bit of anger/hatred/obsession/-ness onto this virtual friend, I’ve created a way to not only look through my past conciousnesses, but for people to forget all that I do outside of angsting. Because I write about things other than my sad excuse of a lovelife. I write a helluvafreakinglot else, and though I might not write for any real purpose I still write.  I hope that makes sense. This is something I’ve tried to explain to people before, but they usually start asking, “well, what do you write about, you know, besides your pathetic excuses for not having a significant other?”

To which I give a dirty look, sigh, and explain:

oh god, how do I answer that?

Let’s start. I write about what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling. I write about what I think others are thinking and/or feeling. I write about people who I’ve just made up thinking/feeling/doing things. I write about objects. I occasionally write about the food I’ve made. I write poetry (though mediocre poetry at best: The Poet may or may not help me with that, but I’m not going to pressure him because I’ve asked enough of him as it is). I am trying to write more screenplays, because the one that I’ve done is actually rather good and with some revision may become really fucking good. With any luck. Anyway: I write other people’s song lyrics.

I also write about myself a lot, which leads into writing about the people I think about a lot, which follows the predictable end into having me write about my terrible aaaangst. (Which, all else aside, is not that terrible.)

So my question, more to myself than to you, my readers (unless you have very creative ideas and are willing to share) is: what the fuck do I do with all this other writing? Where do I put it, besides my little doodlebooks? Do I scrunch it into this blog? Do I write it and shove it away? –I can’t decide, and sure it might not be very important, but god I want to share different stuff, I want people to read my words and feel something from them. Besides pity and derision and the sort of glee that comes from watching soap-operas.

That’s the hardest part.

so, I’ve been doing more blabbering, more free-association writing, on my Tumblr, and I feel kind of like I’m dethroning this venerable institution of my thoughts and words but if I don’t throw that blabbering somewhere else it’ll end up here and confuse the hell out of everyone.

Maybe I’ll post them in one big ol’ clump and let you find your way out, like a verbal labyrinth.

We’ll see.

—will write later.

(((in the belly of the beast)))

stolen sorrow

17 Aug

i’ve been fucking around on Kevin Barnes’ Tumblr and found this gem:

“the big one for me is jesus. i can’t make sense of his deal. sent down by his father God, to save human society from destructive self obsession, unchecked desires, apathy, uncleaniness…sent down to teach us how to get our shit together and stop being such fuck ups. so he performed some rad magic with fish and loaves of bread, he walked on waterbeds, he had his feet annointed, he gave us the golden rule,he had a strange couple of lost weeks in the desert with satan, he wiped his face on a shroud, people gave him palm fronds, he smashed the shit out of some false idols…all of this and yet somehow no one really liked him, and so they tortured him, brutally, nailed him to a cross and watched him  die. then, somehow, years and years later, he’s celebrated as this impossibly rad guy. i can understand believing that he did exist and that, possibly, he did all of those wild things, but i still don’t see how viewing him dead on the cross, could give anyone a sense of relief or comfort. all i wanna do is get him down from there and clean him up and take him out to dinner or something.”

basically: that’s why I love him.

awesome day! will write later.

(also I am now seventeen FOR REALZZZZ)

persona non grata

11 Aug

So for the last couple days, I’ve been writing this long-ass stream of conciousness thing on my grandfather’s old typewriter (I almost wrote “grand-pere” there, jeez, I need to go back to Paris) and it’s been pretty swell. It’s ten pages long, very small font, I took pictures of it and now I’m going to put it on this blog. Mmkay? Mkay. Glad you agree, my three faithful readers. (or are there even three? I don’t know: but SOMEONE’s been reading this mess and I’m grateful for it. Thanks, guys. You’re gettin’ me through my slump.)

here’s the first one:

 and the second









if you can’t read them comment or something and I’ll put up some better-done pictures

take a little journey

30 May

First of all, thanks to Lil for helping me with some personal demons and for letting me help you with some. (Or at least try to.) Also, flannel. (Lol.)
And secondly, I guess I am long overdue with saying that I am just a wee bit insecure. (Sarcasm.) I have avoided looking at that fact head-on for a good few months, but it is high time I try to fix that little quirk about myself. I judge myself mainly based on what the other
Whoa, cannot remember what I was going to write, ‘cos I heard Franz Ferdinand suddenly playing on the TV and ran out and danced. Um, um. I kind of remember what I was going to say, but since it was deep and intense I’ll wait until I remember everything to actually put it on here.
So: other deep things that I remember. Um. I tend to take little bits and pieces of people’s mannerisms and adapt them to my own. I do this ridiculously often, without really meaning to sometimes, and it freaks people out.
I can understand this.
To be fair, though, it is part of my nature, and when I latch onto a mannerism it really means that I like it and think that I should do it too. So I do. Not citing examples, but I have picked up traits from several people and freaked them the hell out (presumably.) So what do I aim to do about that? Stop it. I want to purge these little influences as soon as I can, but I don’t really know how other than to spend a long period of time away from that person. Hm.
Also: previous posts were written whilst feeling kind of jealous and panicky and after not leaving my room for a full day (bad idea), which is why they are filled with doom, gloom, and other delightful things. I am not usually like that. But gosh darn it, I freak out without contact with people.

Will write once my mind puts away a bunch of detrius.

reach through the wasteland

29 May

has always seemed to me to be a pompous word. I mean, not just because of the meaning associated with the letters, but just the way the word looks makes me think of some higher-up looking down their nose at me. I can’t stand that word. I can’t stand being compared to that word, and I don’t ever want to be called it.
Because, first of all, no one is perfect. Go on. Find someone you think is perfect, and in their weakest hour ask them if they think so too. I’ll wait.
Said no, right? Right. That’s because (and I know this sounds like common sense, and it should) people define perfection differently. I have noticed this even from a young age, when something I thought was the pinnacle of existence was promptly smooshed by my dad, who (to be fair) was only playing and didn’t see what I saw in my sand castles. I like sand castles.
Reason I’m bringing this up is ‘cos of my upcoming college applications, and the stress and pressure to write the “perfect” essay and get “perfect” scores and “perfectly” do out all the paperwork and augh it makes me sick. Firstly, how the fuck does one write the perfect essay? How the fuck does one write something that appeals to all people, sells themselves nice and concisely, and will be printed in SAT prep books until eternity? IT DOES NOT HAPPEN.
Another thing that bugs me is the subject matter of them: all detailing the most wonderful parts of the writer’s life, telling about how they coach small children or ride horses or all that cal. I read a “How To Write Essays” sheet that prompted a paper on your vacation that detailed the stuff you brought and didn’t need.
It just makes me angry to know that somewhere some kid is writing that essay, and filling it full of cal that he thought would work, and getting into college on a piece-‘o’-crap essay about stuff he left behind. Of course, it could be well written and all, good job, but STILL.
Everything about this ridiculous system isn’t really based on how intelligent you are, it’s a measure of how good you are at selling yourself to a corporation. That’s why I get so pissed off whenever Jamesey starts babbling on about “you have to beat the system” or somesuch. It disgusts me. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Well in other news I am still sore and achey and fucking lonely but that will pass and I have to study for my exams which I have to do perfectly on, oh there’s that word again, but I am probably not and so my parents will beat my sorry hide.
At least I have France and the promise of light to look forward to.