Tag Archives: tweed

just got to be

26 Dec

Tweed is Wil.

There, I said it, I’m done. I will no longer use that codename (unless, of course, I forget and slip) on this blog. He is no longer a secret part of my life-I’ve accepted the shitty things I’ve done to him (mind you, that was last year, when I honestly didn’t care what he thought), and I hope to put that behind me and maybe re-acquaint him, perhaps delve into a spot of friendship. Perhaps.

Well, will write more later.

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déjà vu

26 Dec

(we have all been here before)

Well, tonight I might be seeing Avatar, the one without the flying buffalo and cute little bald monk-kids. The one with blue aliens. Why are aliens always green or blue? They might be coloured in shades the human eye couldn’t see and…
Okay, I know I was going to reveal who Tweed was today, and yes, I still am, but not at the moment.

I’ve found recently that I like the early-morning silences, the soft rumble of the refinery sort of menacingly comforting, if you can imagine. I have spent about seven years living near this plant, so I am pretty used to it.

Also, I dreamt about Bortglom last night. We were in disney-land for some reason, I don’t remember why, but a bear attacked and Savannah thought she should leave the two of us alone and we talked before my dad threw a pineapple-sized grenade at me, pin still intact, and told me to use it as “protection.”
What.

loot

25 Dec

Firstly: I am more full than I think I have ever been in my life. Maybe.
Secondly: christmas is awesome and smells good. This is what I got:
Magic Potion- Black Keys;
Neon Bible- Arcade Fire;
Fits- White Denim;
House Of Leaves- Mark Danielewski;
Slaughterhouse 5- Kurt Vonnegut (goingt to read this over the summer, or after I finish the monstrous House Of Leaves, aka 700 pages of confusig typography);
Foldable recycled-plastic speakers;
Earrings;
A ceramic hand for holding jewelery and practicing high-fives with;
A huge photobook of Paris with shops and hotels and restaurants;
A few blank books for writing;
Some nail polish;
An orange.

Overall an awesome christmas haul, if I do say so myself. My friend Genna stopped by to give me a choker and a hug, and I awarded her endeavours with a print.
My dad is beatboxing in the other room. I fear the worst.

Also, amidst the christmas cheer and love, I’ve been wondering what I’m going to do about Bortglomt and Agaetis and Tweed.
I have not heard from the latter in a week or so, but he is in New York so that is pretty understandable. Tomorrow I think I shall reveal who he really is, if it’s not obvious already. Take it as a late christmas gift.

Have a good night, all.

come on, chemicals

17 Dec

i’ve been waking up and sobbing all night but I know I shouldn’t be
some faulty emotional balance I presume
what makes fauberge so much better than me, tweed? is it the height? the domineering attitude? the wit?
and I am ashamed to be so jealous, but sometimes it is the only emotion i can feel right now- i need a comforter, a soothsayer, a person to hold me close and tell me everything’s gonna be alright, a shoulder to lean on in my embarrassing weakened state.
i love you tweed. you are great in so many ways. but I understand you will never reciprocate my feelings, so can we put New Orleans behind us and just be friends? Not this stupid awkward friendship we have right now, but legitimate friendship without worries, free to say whatever.

That’s all I ask, if it’s not too much.

holy shcamoley, relationships

6 Dec

who keeps viewing my blog
because it now has like sixty eight views from yesterday and I am scared someone is going to tell me that that is illegal because I do not write that well, please stop

aaaaaaand well.

Well, well well. I need to give props to my dear friend Lil, for staying up till twelvethirty last night helping me get over myself. Props!

and why- oh, Tweed. I have a lot to say to you, and it’d be a helluva lot easier to do so if we weren’t preoccupied with the past. I have been an idiot. I remember that trip, I remember your face when I asked, I remember sitting in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity later, whispering Icelandic whale-phrases under my breath. But that’s not the case anymore- I’ve moved on, I’ve shed that skin, and goshdarnit I’d just like to be friends, good friends.

and that’s really all I wanted all along, you know.

In the beginning, I’d seen you, thought “oh he looks interesting” and attempted to strike up a conversation; you were courteous, you’d never met me before, you treated me like anyother person would. And it made me happy.

And I wanted to hug you.

But some faulty valve in my brain said “wait you are a girl, he is a guy, you cannot hug without being in love, FALSE” so I closed the door of friendship and decided I would become infatuated with you over the next couple years. Which I did. I have the embarassing diaries to prove it, all “angsty” and “edgy” and just plain laughable looking back on.

but then, high school happened, and something changed- I met people, I befriended people, I started seeing you more often, Tweed, and realized that hey you still are awesome, but I am too awkward around you. So I tried to get accustomed, I tried to tell myself “oh I’m over him what are you talking about”

and I really wasn’t over you, you know, until this summer. After the trip something subtle broke between us and I realized, i finally realized that you should be my friend and nothing else.

Then school began, Bortglomt wormed his way into my conciousness by being angry and apathetic and glorious nonetheless and I further realized that we have much more in common than either of us know, and it made me happy-

and instead of taking the wrong path again, I opened the friend door and walked inside.

Though we will never, never be as close as we could’ve been- there will always be that blanket of awkwardness muting our conversations, limiting them to appropriate things like music and movies and etc.- I am still a little happy on the inside that we haven’t ignored each other- you are very kind, Tweed.

And I am glad you are.

temple pressure

4 Dec

Okay. So I was looking through the related posts on one of my ramblings, and one of them was a list of songs from a playlist. So I’m going to do that after I share some stuff:
Firstly, I am currently writing a letter to Of Montreal. It is sitting on my desk being awesome, I’m going to finish writing it tonight.
Secondly, I may or may not be freaking out a little bit about Bortglomt. All of a sudden, it is hard to talk to him (partly because Tweed was in the room) but I will find a way to make it work.
Thirdly, I should have listened to Animal Collective sooner because they are great on about five billion different levels.

Okay! Playlist is as follows:
•Every Man I Fall For/I’ve Seen Enough-Cold War Kids
•Golden-My Morning Jacket
•Walk On the Wild Side- Lou Reed
•John Allyn Smith Sails- Okkervil River
•C. Visar Vagen- Dungen
•The Reeling- Passion Pit
•Pink Squares- I Was A Cub Scout
•Pace Is The Trick- Interpol
•Fake Frowns-Death Cab For Cutie
•Ada-The National
•Staralfur-Sígur Ros

Awesome.

in case of emergency, break glass

17 Nov

and the glass is in shards around my ankles right now. God, I’m confused and heartachey and full to the brim with this feeling- this feeling that will not go away, no matter how many times I listen to Steam Engine or lie in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, thinking of things better left buried deep in my subconcious. I am in the center of a ring of confusion- on one side are my friends, one of which may or may not be going through a mental breakdown and has not told me, the other of which may be slowly falling away from sanity and beginning to embrace stress as an acceptable way of life.
Then there’s the three people responsible for this heartache- one that I am deathly afraid of him hating me/never speaking to me again/renouncing any inkling of our friendship and possibly ignoring me for the rest of my life. The second one is worrying me as I am starting to write frickin’ poetry about him (not on LiveJournal, thank god) and I know he doesn’t think of me as anything other than another person. (Maybe. ) The
third is just plain being an enigma, telling me one thing then suddenly, inexplicably, turning into a tacit stress magnet. Not that he wasn’t one before, but now it’s scaring me, how seriously he’s taking these standardized tests. I am afraid if he doesn’t get into this program he might be broken beyond recognition, or worse… I don’t even want to think about that possibility. No, I will not let myself even consider it.
But I feel stifled somehow, like I have something so great to write about but no ideas… Maybe it has to do with the music, or maybe it has to do with the people, or maybe I am just slowly going stark raving mad and no one is frank enough to tell me.
Bortglomt. I would like a hug from you, though you probably don’t read this.
Tweed, you are bloody confusing.
Agætis, I hope you survive your ordeal and go back to being your slightly off-the-wall self; the self I like to talk to and spend time with.

so take your money don’t look back…my morning jacket, you are brilliant and I’d like to give you all lumberjack thrash hair hugs.

Ciao, dears.