Sub-Urban Hippie

America; A New Hope

2009-01-19T18:56:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, a new era in American history will begin, and I get to be a part of it. Tomorrow, Barack Hussein Obama will officially become the first African-American president of the United States of America. I would just like to take the time to say that I am honored to be a part of this time in American history. Tomorrow we not only get a new president, but a new hope and a new America. I'm proud to say that I helped, in whatever small way, to make this happen. I will be proud to tell my children, and my children's children, that I voted for the first black president of the United States. A man who, hopefully, will restore our nation's sense of pride, hope, and unflinching patriotism. Within the next four years, I look forward to having the ability to be proud, for once, to call myself an American, and I look forward to others being envious of that fact. Most of all, though, I look forward to having a president that I can trust, and believe in. I look forward to being able to feel all the more secure that he is the leader of the place that I have called home for the nearly two decades of my existence. I look forward to cleaner and more reliable energy sources, and affordable health care. I look forward to the restoration of our country's economy. But really, most of all, I simply look forward.

As yet, untitled.

2009-01-13T02:15:00.002-05:00

I've always wanted to be able to tell people stories, like really amazing stories. Stories that they'll want to steal, and tell, and sell as their own.

I've never possessed that ability, however.

I'm fantastic at talking about myself, but I couldn't tell a decent story to save my life.

I wish I could weave tales of far off places and the exact hue of blue of your eyes when you're angry with me,

but I can't.

I want to tell people the wonders of the sweet surrender of love,

the magic of kisses,

the odd semi-mysticism of religion, and

the slightly less than tactful way in which you approach

romance.

I could tell legends and faery tales and folklore.

I could tell them about the taste of your tongue.

But there it is.

There is the difficulty.

It all leads back to you, doesn't it?

Every thought leads back to a moment or a memory of you.

A graceful dance of weaving incongruency.

I'll never understand the way you look at me...

The Church Channel

2008-12-18T01:20:00.001-05:00

I’ve gotten used to feeling homesick in my own home. It’s become a version of normalcy. I’m not really alone, but I’m lonely, sitting here on my bed trying to figure out life, while thumbing through the latest Cosmo. I feel a little bit silly. I’m a little bit deranged. Some might say I’m searching. Sitting and reading, with the ever-flawless Drew Barrymore staring back at me from the glossy pages of the modern woman’s Bible, I feel fake. I’ve been reading Chuck Palanhiuk novels since I was ten, so Cosmo’s just not my thing, but I want to fit in somewhere.

The TV flickers green, red, blue, yellow, white off in the corner of my room. Somewhere in the back of my mind, just beneath my concentration, I hear the word “Bible” resurface. I read about the best ways to make a man fall madly in love with you. Most of them involve your thigh muscles. The words “Jesus”, “faith”, “belief”, and “life” flow past my subconscious just long enough for them to register briefly in my mind. They hang in the space between my ears, like a fly caught in a web. Dangling, waiting to be caught. I shake the words from the web of my mind and continue reading about the latest trends in footwear.

The idea of sleep occurs to me for a brief moment and I look at the clock. 4AM, not nearly earlier enough. I won’t be sleeping till at least seven, maybe eight, o’clock today. The television murmurs and flickers again in the corner of my room, and my eyelids flutter briefly over the screen. The church channel. I grapple for the remote, which sinks only deeper into the flannel depths of my bed sheets. Again, the words “Bible” and “belief” brush past my ears, in a dance of what sounds like perfect alliteration, at the time. I try to shake the words, but the murmurs of the TV seem to grow louder. The sinking remote has apparently been given free-will to adjust volume. My eyes graze over the images on the TV. Someone’s praying.

I reach the remote with my big toe and pull in closer. As I click the television off, the sounds of the televangelist prayer hangs in the cold air of my bedroom.

Maybe sleep is a good idea. Tonight.

Pink Elephants

2008-12-06T15:43:00.003-05:00

"Hey, do you remember that one TV show?" Rob asked me over coffee one morning.

"Which TV show? There's a lot of them out there." I replied, silently cursing him for speaking to me before the sun had fully risen.

"You know. The one with those guys that have that job, and there's that girl. You know, the hot one!"

"Well, that narrows it down so much!" I spat sarcastically, " I'm sorry I had to ask!"

"Jesus, Jamie, why you don't try being just a little bit more of a bitch?" He scolded; apparently sarcasm was our forte.

Rob left for work without saying another word to me. Without even a kiss on the forehead, he left me to find solace in laundry and homework. I had been taking classes at the local community college and waitressing four days a week. I fell perfectly into the category of 'starving artist.' I was studying Film&Theatre, the only thing, besides Rob, that I had ever been passionate about. When I was little I always had this big dream of being the person in charge of all the TV shows and movies. I never wanted to be the pre-madonna actress prancing around in front of the

camera, but the person telling her the words to say, how to say them, and how to move and emote. I wanted to paint the canvas of the movie screen with the right colors, faces, and light. I wanted people to hear my name and be flooded with thoughts of beauty in motion.

As I attempted to sketch out the story board of my first short film I gazed around the apartment that Rob and I had shared for the past two years. Even at a glance, you could tell that I had done the decorating. There were little touches and Jamie-isms everywhere. From the green crepe-paper covered living room walls, to the pink ceramic elephants I had been using as book-ends, and the bright blue painted kitchen floor, I had over taken the whole of the apartment with rampant artistic expression. For the past few months I had been begging Rob to agree to let me paint a giant Oak tree in our bedroom. I wanted to feel as if I were making love in a forest every night. However, Rob didn't exactly share my artistic views. In fact, most of the time he

found my affinity for bright colors and unique objects to be obnoxious. He told me once that if I kept adding things, and painting, and decorating, and changing that I'd come home one day to find everything painted grey. I remember him making me cry when her ripped down my hand tie-dyed curtains after a particularly vicious fight. Never the less, I loved him. And most people called me crazy for it. Told me I 'tried to hard to please him,' but I knew they didn't understand. Other people couldn't understand what we shared. That evening, however, everything about our relationship would change.

Spark Ave.

2008-07-03T12:08:00.006-05:00

You left the party and I followed you the quarter of a mile down Spark Avenue and sat next to you on a broken down park bench. You pressed your face into the palms of your hands and began to cry as the rain came. The weather was cold and unforgiving. I gave you my jacket and wrapped my arms around you because I was afraid that you might get sick. Then I carried you home. I carried you back down Spark Avenue and out onto the highway and then down towards the ocean. You lived a block from the shore and already the streets were flooded. I kept looking down, half expecting to see a school of fish swim past my ankles, but they never did. I took you upstairs and laid you down onto your bed and for a few quiet moments you, the rain, and I were the only things in existence. I watched your eyelids flutter and felt your slow, steady pulse as you slept. As suddenly as you had gone to sleep, you were awake again. Your eyes flew open and stared straight back into mine. A smile crept across your lips and in those upturned inner corners I could see the truth. You were, in fact, stone cold drunk. You were plastered. You were gone. I saw this strange mix of emotion come over your eyes. You looked at me with a mixture of lust and disgust and, still, you kissed me on the mouth. You wrapped your arms around my waist and took me down onto the bed with you. For a moment, I resisted. I told you we should save this. Save it for some other night, some other time, some other place. But you said no and that everything would be alright. Still, I ran. I ran scared. I ran back towards the "dry side" of town and back down Spark Avenue and back to that bench. I wanted to run all the way back in time. I wanted to take you back to that bench and back to when you were crying so I could tell you everything would be OK. I wanted to tell you that I loved you before you kissed me and before you were drunk and before it wouldn't matter anymore. So, as the rain began to dissipate, I pressed my face into the palms of my hands and I cried of that bench in the middle of Spark Avenue wishing I could turn back time.

Tomorrow is no place...

2008-04-15T20:32:00.000-05:00

There once was a man. He sat at the table directly caddy-corner from mine, night after night, and watched me eat potato chips. As he watched, he wrote. As he wrote, he whistled. As he whistled, a song formed. This song was about me. I never knew this. Night after night we would lock eyes and I would smile and he would frown. Then, on an average Saturday evening, the man was conspicuously absent. No eyes, no writing, no whistling, no song. I was alone. This man was the Devil. This man was God. This man was my father, and my mother, and my home, and my heart. This man was the world. This man was an angel. This man.

Uhm, Hi. Fuck you =]

2008-04-10T22:32:00.003-05:00

I'm sort of going to stop vying for your attention. Honestly, it's not really worth it. I mean, being ignored is fine. I can deal. I'm sure she's more interesting than me anyway. I really only need you for one thing anyway. Not that I couldn't find someone else in about 10 seconds. I've got a whole roster, really. You just happen to be at the top of it right now. I could bump you down a few spaces. Or I could just bump you off. Take your pick. You seem to be bumping me down on yours as we speak. Good luck finding another me. [There aren't any more of me, just so you know. You'll be searching forever and find nothing like me. Good luck. Goodnight.] I couldn't care less about her hair color or eye color or breast size or height. We check out girls together all the time. That's fine. I fully understand this dynamic. But when something grabs your attention more than I do, I admit I get a little bit offended. Alright, actually, I'm completely offended. You're out with me. Fucking get over this girl. She's not yours anymore and I doubt she wants to be. She's teasing you, baby. I know she is. We all know she is. Your vying for her attention the same way I'm usually vying for yours. Just don't lose yourself in an hopeless endeavor. Oh wait. Too late. Sucks for you. Good luck. Goodnight.

As yet, Untitled

2008-04-10T21:49:00.003-05:00

Take it easy, sugar

You're going to fast

Put out that cigar

And let's have a blast

As you spin rapidly

And speak so vapidly

About your past

I promise to outlast

Your silly dreams

And let out screams

Of joy for you

I'll never break your heart

We'll never be apart

And baby count on me

I'll be your hug

You be my tree

Let's road trip

and we'll sip

on delicacies

of the alcoholic variety

And you let out a sigh

As we let life pass us by

And stare at passers by

On this train ride

We try to abide

By their laws of

Disobedience

Oh baby baby

Tell me how you feel

Oh sugar sugar

I'm signed and sealed

Oh honey honey

Let's make a deal

Oh baby baby

Tell me how you feel

Take it easy, sugar

You're going oh so fast

Drop that cigar

And let's have a blast

You keep strumming

and I'll keep humming

This simple chorus

Oh baby baby

Tell me how you feel

Oh sugar sugar

I'm signed and sealed

Oh honey honey

Let's make a deal

Oh baby baby

Tell me how you feel

Poor bunny.

2008-04-08T23:12:00.002-05:00

Bunny bunny bunny bunny bunny bunny bunnybunnybunny...oh shit. I think we hit it. Did we? No? Yes? Maybe? [get out. check the tire. replay the moments in your head] Yea. I think we did. Dude! You killed a bunny! I know! But, it was a stupid bunny. Well...yea. C'mon, it WAS stupid. Yea. Right. Stupid bunny. Mhmm...

Stream of Conciousness [if there ever was one]

2008-04-08T23:06:00.003-05:00

I will not think about it. I will not think about it. I will not think about it. I will not think about giving you a blow job. I will not think about nudity. I will not think about sexuality. I will not think about the apartment. I will not think about my car. I will not think about YOUR car. I will not think about p'diddle. I will not. I will not. I won't. I shouldn't....I did.

These thoughts are uncontrollable, as are the urges that go along with them.

I will not think about it. I will not think about it. I will not think about you. I will not think about your anatomy. I will not think about MY anatomy. I will not think about my anatomy and your anatomy being intwined. I will not think about rug burn. I will not think about my personal difficulty with belts. I will not think about how I despise clothing in general. I will not think about how badly I want to be naked right now. I will not think about it. I will not. I will not. I won't...I did.

Your move. [The malicious melancholy of my mind]

2008-03-31T23:34:00.003-05:00

I would tell you. Really I would. If I thought you could handle it. No, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to you! You know who you are. You're my everything. A life force I can't deny and can not accept. Mostly because it scares me, but more because I don't trust myself with you. I can't tell you these things, these secrets. I wouldn't do that to you. You know the old saying, "Love will set you free"? Well, it's bullshit. I'm slowly learning this. Love is a trap and love is pain and love will always break you. I love you more than I love myself and so I will never tell you. That would be selfish. Like, that scene in Chasing Amy, where Holden confesses his love for Alyssa. I wanted to cut his throat and spill his blood all over that Red Bank sidewalk. How do you do that to someone you love? Indulge yourself and free your soul while turning someone else's world upside down? I can't do it, so I won't tell you. I'll keep this to myself and let it eat away at me. It's a maggots-on-flesh kind of love. This is Disney love in reverse. No happy endings or sunsets here. Just a broken heart and these broken pieces. You are the missing piece of my puzzle and you'll never even know it. I think of you as the color blue, because that's how you make me feel. Pen in hand, head in sand, I'm keeping this a secret and I'm keeping you safe. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I let you kill me inside? The smile on my face is just a mask for the malicious melancholy in my mind. Heart disease was never as painful as loving you. Don't sit there looking at me like you don't see it. Like you don't see me. Half lit cigarettes never lie, and neither do I. The secrets getting harder to keep, just like these tears and the fears within my heart. Don't sit there and look at me like it's going to make any difference. I'm not asking you for anything. I just want you to know that you ARE everything. I'm sure I can find anything I need in you. The question here is, does it want and is it willing to be found?

The Trials and Tribulations of This Bed and These Sheets

2008-03-21T11:24:00.005-05:00

Hold on tight to this one they say

You don't want her to get away

Hold on tight to me I'll say

It feels so good when you move this way

[chorus]

You build me up, baby, build me up so high

and I'm so high, and so happy that I could just die

And we'll lay here and we'll lay still

and we've got more lust than these two hearts can fill

I'm holding my head up and arching my back

But I'm afraid our perceptions a bit out of whack.

Please cut me some slack

I'm aching for this to be done

I'm loving what we have become

This is more than kiss and tell

It's just a little last farewell

for what we were

[chorus]

You build me up, baby, build me up so high

and I'm so high, and so happy that I could just die

And we'll lay here and we'll lay still

and we've got more lust than these two hearts can fill

It's a long road

So I'll just hold

on as the story here curtails

I'll keep all the gory details

to my self

[chorus]x2

You build me up, baby, build me up so high

and I'm so high, and so happy that I could just die

And we'll lay here and we'll lay still

and we've got more lust than these two hearts can fill

[i hate this piece of shiiiit]

A Ticking Time Bomb Set To Explode

2008-03-20T18:20:00.002-05:00

I'll keep you here tonight

Between my legs

between our hearts

just let it all go

how could they ever know

Candy apple kisses

and the taste of cigarettes

those are the things i miss

and i still have no regrets

about the past

the vibrations from these strings

among some other things

still keep me up

chorus x2

all i have is this guitar

and my memories of you

and i swear to fucking god

that i'm never gonna miss you

chorus

spoken: And while I'm here fucking you, he has no idea does he?

Fingernails are for scratching not for biting

2008-03-19T18:41:00.006-05:00

Nights spent driving around this town

We're separate but we're never alone

Spent far to many nights going down

Became so used to the sound of your moan

We were clear of our intentions

And do I really need to mention

That infamous night you knelt between my

legs

I swear you almost made me

beg

for it

I took your hand but you lead the way

there's so little we need to say

at this point

My arched back was embedded

with your fingernails

The only thing I dreaded

was the end.

And the return of your girlfriend.

The Things You Do For Fame Astound Me

2008-03-19T18:12:00.002-05:00

Along the sandy shores we walked all night

Out on the moonlit beach we felt so right

But that night

You took flight

And you left me

There you left me

Standing here on this empty street

In our fair city where star crossed lovers meet.

But that night

You took flight

and you left me.

There you left me

Without a hand to hold on to

Nothing in the world I can do

Cause you left me

There you left me

Intrigue

2008-03-19T05:53:00.002-05:00

Intrigue makes this world go round.

Just a taste, a touch, a feeling

can light a fire.

You intrigue me far more

than you rightfully should.

Why do you take

so much

of my attention?

Attention to detail wasted on the

turned up inner corners

of your wasted smile.

I bet Dorian Grey never even felt

this alive.

This Is The Difference Between Sex and Sensuality

2008-03-16T07:52:00.006-05:00

You be the love and I'll be the passion

in this game of sexcapades.

Lean back

Go slow

Don't rush yourself

You be the time and I'll be the anticipation

Perfect Song

2008-03-14T09:45:00.002-05:00

Everything's blurry, like I'm not awake.

You're close but so distant, like maybe you're fake.

I'd keep you a secret, if I could hold you down.

I'd make you smile, but you never frown.

Living life quickly, oh please don't slow down

oh please just go down; stay down; slow down.

My life is blurry, I'm never awake.

You're always so distant, because you are fake.

A dream that I dreamed

so sweet till it's gone

If I could write it all down

It would make the perfect

song.

I'd keep you a secret, if I could hold you down.

I'd make you smile, but you never frown.

Living life quickly, oh please don't slow down

oh please just go down; stay down; slow down.

A dream that I dreamed

so sweet till it's gone

I'll write it all down in

you're perfect

song.

Laws of Attraction

2008-03-14T00:03:00.002-05:00

Laws of attraction

and life's limitations.

It's all circumstantial and

it's all meant to be

broken.

Jump back

step forward

don't step on the cracks.

Two steps forward

one step back.

Touch

Taste

Hear

Smell

FEEL

The Laws of attraction

tell you it's working to your

advantage.

Two steps forward

one step back.

Blue and Gold

2008-03-12T07:59:00.002-05:00

Here we go

Down, down, down through the gutter

where you belong

Dance, dance, dance yourself better

Be young

Be bold

Be you

Be gold

Gold, gold, gold is your color

Bold, bold, bold as your mother

Was the day you were born

Born, born, born to be alive

since you were only five years old

Don't let them tell you you're too young

Too young to be you

Too young to be blue

Blue, blue, blue is the color

of the soul you hide so well

Gold, gold, gold is your color

Blue, blue, blue is another

thing you have of your mother

Incoherence is my middle name

2008-02-07T14:31:00.000-05:00

There are these things that we call moments,

and this even that we call time.

I'm not really sure what it all means,

But I do know that every once in a while

I am severely late for something.

And very rarely am I early.

I've tried to explain to people the feeling that you get when time is against you,

how ever unsuccessfully. It's like other peoples brains don't understand what's going on in mine.

If I could open up my skull and let my brain cells escape and leak onto the canvas,

maybe, just maybe, you could see what I mean.

It's not easy being green.

Not finished [I'm not patient]

2008-01-27T11:14:00.000-05:00

I said

"Sister, slow down.

You've got

Time on your hands

You've got

Blood on your hands

You've got

To get you head clear"

"Baby.

Don't worry

Baby

I'll hold you down

I'll slow you down

I'll wash those hands clean.

You've got your problems

Baby

But I'll hold you down

Slow you down

Keep down

Don't go."

"Sister, slow down.

You've got

Time on your hands

You've got

Blood on your hands

You've got

To get you head clear"

The Death of Delilah

2008-01-19T09:36:00.001-05:00

Her name was Delilah and that flame in her eyes was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in person. It was like she lit up from the inside out. I wanted to hold her and see if I could feel the warmth from that light resonating outwards. I never got that close. I didn't dare. She was to beautiful and to pure for me to reveal that urge. I'd lean in to tell her secrets and breath in to smell her hair. She always smelt sweet and tangy, like she'd scrubbed herself with sugar and grapefruits. Her eyes were absinthe green. Everyone who looked in her eyes became drunk with love. It was like a magick spell, a part of her aura, that enveloped everyone around her. You couldn't get within 5 feet of her without falling madly in love. I remember the day she found out. The day she knew that I loved her. She looked at me with an expression that cannot be described in words. It was as if her entire world, her whole existence, everything she knew to be true and real and right, had come crashing down around her and she was trying to pick up the pieces but they kept slipping through her fingers. Sand through the hour glass, blowing in the wind. I let her know how sorry I was. I cupped her face in my hands. It was devoid of the resonating heat that I had longed for. Her face was cold. Her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. All cold. I thought she was scared. She told me she was dying. I cried that day. I cried everyday from then on and when she died I cried harder. I cried harder every day because the longer she was gone, the harder it became to live without her. I wanted to die. I tried to die. I would concentrate for long periods of time on that one urge. To die. I tried to will it to happen. It was like I thought if I imagined myself dead, I would be. It wasn't so easy. I tried to move on. I tried to forget. I tried to fall in love. She was all there was. My mind was so filled with her existence that I couldn't accept the fact that she was gone. I made my life a shrine to her.

Then, one day I was awake. Sun shining in my face, caffeinated coffee awake.

She's gone and she's not coming back.

And I'm totally OK with that.

Craigslist

2008-01-18T00:14:00.000-05:00

"So I just had this thought"

"Yea? What's that?"

"Well, it's a little crazy, but..."

"Dude, just spit it out." I waited patiently for a response as she smacked her gum in that annoying manner that I loved so much.

"Well...I think we should have an orgy!"

I choked on the air I was breathing and sputtered, "What?! Are you serious?"

"I'm completely serious." There was a distinct confidence in her voice.

"But, why?" I couldn't hide my intrigue, disgust and bafflement at what she was saying.

"It would be awesome. Ya know? Like 10 bodies moving at once. Moving together. Moving in sync. It would be amazing."

"Where are you gonna find 9 willing participants?"

"Craigslist is good for everything."

To Put It Bluntly

2008-01-17T02:07:00.001-05:00

I would try to explain to you in words what it's like to be alive. I don't think you could fathom it. All the things that encompass this life, and this feeling. It's all to much and sometimes it's not enough. I would let you in. I don't think you would understand. You would push me away. Push me down. Piss me off. It just doesn't work that way. I can't let you in if you won't let me out. Let me loose. Let me be. Just shut up and put aside your feelings. This isn't about you. This is about everything else. This is about everything that you don't understand. This is about everything that you don't want to understand. If you only knew what went on when you're not around. It would probably kill you. I would probably be happy about it. I don't think that I hate you. Not necessarily. I just don't give a fuck about what you have to say. I'll throw you a party when you're dead and gone. Not to mourn your passing, but to celebrate the fact that I won't have to deal with you anymore.
Remember that ten-thousand pound burden I dealt with for so long? Well, it's gone now. And I feel pretty fucking amazing.
Remember, it's not that I hate you. I just can't stand having you around. I can't stand the things you do. I can't stand the things you do to me. I can't stand...well...I can't stand anything about you. But, I do not hate you. I just wish you had never been born.
That time you told me your deepest secrets, you remember that? Well, I ran right out and told everyone I knew. You don't deserve secrets. You don't deserve me. You don't deserve anything. Now I know this sounds harsh and I know this sounds cruel, but cut me some slack. You broke my heart. To put it bluntly, go fuck yourself.

Down With the Sickness

2007-11-28T19:17:00.000-05:00

I feel like one of those anemic, cancerous children stuck in St. John's wishing for a normal life. I'm always sick. I was born sick. I live sick. I embrace this sickness.
This is my cocoon. I hide behind it and protect my wet, new-born, beautiful butterfly wings. I'm getting fed up. Honestly. I want out. I want to be free.
All this doctor know-how bullshit never really got me anywhere. They all tell me the same thing. The same over-rehearsed nonsense every time. I'm tired of it.
I'm tired of them feeling responsible. I'm tired of it always being my fault. I'm tried of trying to save myself, combating everyone else simultaneously trying to save me as well. I'm tired of being afraid that this might be the one that kills me. I'm over it.
My head spins a lot. I don't mean pea-soup-vomit Exorcist-style spinning. I get dizzy. It's like the world is spinning but I'm not moving with it.
I'm sick of being sick.

Dear Charles

2007-09-30T12:42:00.000-05:00

Death is not something I hold in high regard

When it comes to the things I fear most.

Really,

It’s being alone that scares me

It’s like a feeling of dread that just keeps crawling

‘Round in my stomach

Like some sort of parasitic creature keeping me for a

Host.

But Charles, oh, Charles

You are a wonder to me.

First the cheese graters touch that wonderfully psychotic

Cheek of yours. And then that swastika;

Artful, though rudimental, it captured and captivated the

World. We are in the palm of your hand,

Dear Charles. Dear friend.

We’re the crazy ones, you and I.

According to them we are.

I don’t know you

And

You don’t know me

But I love you all the same.

You understand the insatiable urge to shock, confuse, and generally

Discombobulate the general public.

To be noticed,

Ah, now there’s the prize.

To be loved, however,

Would be going to far.

Charles, I envy you

2007-09-25T01:26:00.001-05:00

I wish I could do the Manson thing with the cheese graters on my skin

Slough it all off and flush it down the drain, water turning red with every drop of blood that finds its way there

Too close for comfort some might say

But I call it cozy and warm and calming, the sight of the blood and the skin.

I’ll have to keep these things secret, though, the “cheese grater” things.

You don’t want them to start talking

Once they start they’ll never stop with the

“She’s crazy”

“She’s emo”

“I think she’s psychotic”

“I think she needs help”

I’m fine. I swear. Just leave it be. Just because I’m not a mass-produced cookie-cutter version of what a woman’s supposed to be

Everyone gets all worried for my mental health, but more so for their own safety.

Maybe if I go kill someone they’ll see what crazy is.

Manson was crazy. He needed to be locked up. Not me. I just take my inspiration from the crazy ones

Like the cheese grater

It just seemed like a good idea at the time

I know I’m not a slab of cheese and I know when

NOT

To kill someone

That’s the difference between Manson and me.

He’s the crazy one

I’m just a woman.

Sometimes

2007-08-25T11:57:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the pain just grips you and it won't let go. Like a fist tight around your abdomen. You can't breath in, nor can you breath out. That empty place inside you seems to get just that much bigger. Nothing could ever fill it. The hold gets tighter. That hold that you've had on me for far too long. When I try to get away from it, it simply holds on tighter. And I want to vomit. And I want to hold you. And I want to be near you all the time. It's like I'm empty. Every second. I want to touch you. I want to taste you. I hate the way you make me feel now. And I love the way we used to feel together. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. And everything that could go right did. But what out weighs which? I'm conflicted. And confused. And it hurts.

Snowflake

2007-08-07T15:15:00.000-05:00

You remind me of an albino. White skin, white hair, white eyes. A form completely devoid of any trace of pigmentation. I can never really tell if you're looking at me or just lost in thought, staring blankly in my direction. Unfortunately, I'm leaning towards the latter. I'd like the chance to fall in love with you. I think I could. But you're always so far from me, and I so far from your thoughts. The way you blink, so slowly as if you're trying to process to much information at once, makes me believe that you must be much more intelligent than the rest of the world's population. You're clumsy. I like that. You regain a bit of normality each time you fumble, every time you drops things or nearly fall on your precious porcelain appendages. I want to catch you every time you fall. The warm, red liquid leaking from your veins reminds me that you are real. I'm almost certain that if it snowed you could disappear, if you could just avoid the dirty and yellowing snow drifts. You're that way in all things, avoiding the dirty and unclean places. You retain your glacial glow and gaunt glimmer in such a way that I envy you your purity and the ease with which it has been obtained. It is embarrassing attempting to compare myself to a human snowflake, such as yourself; different, ever changing, and encased in crystalline perfection. And if I attempted to catch you, all at once you would be gone, melting into the rest of the world, becoming just another part of everything that I know.

The Beginning of....Something

2007-07-23T05:56:00.000-05:00

[Fade up on a large, startlingly white room. There are no windows and only one solid door at the back of the room with a pristine, silver door knob, as well as several large locking mechanisms. In the center of the room sits an uncomfortable looking silver, metal chair. Directly across from the chair, though at quite a distance, there is a wooden desk and an equally uncomfortable looking high backed desk chair. In the first uncomfortable chair, in the center of the room, sits a smallish waif of a young woman. Her face is sallow and sunken, as though she has neither eaten or slept in quite some time. Her rich, brown hair sprouts out of her head in tufts as if it had been weed whacked off of her scalp. A tall, slender, kind looking man sits opposite the awkward young woman in the other uncomfortable chair behind the desk. He has a pen in one hand poised over a fresh, white, unused marble notebook, and a tape recorder in the other. He is bespectacled which adds an air of officialism to his kind eyes and gentle facial features. The man opens his mouth, prepared with a list of questions. However, he realizes he has neglected to start the tape recorder, hits the Record and Play buttons simultaneously, readjusts his glasses, and stares fixedly at the young woman before him.]

It's Not Done

2007-07-15T22:51:00.000-05:00

No one dared tell her how wrong she was; How wrong all of it was. She wouldn't have cared anyway. It wasn't that big of a deal. Really. A kiss on the cheek here, or a peck on the lips there. It was all perfectly normal. Really. Wasn't it?

They had know each other for years, and they had been in love for what felt like an eternity. Since before they were born even. A special bond formed in the womb, or something along those terribly cliche lines.

Most days she hated herself for loving him. Most days she just wanted to hate him. That, however, was beyond impossible. He could have done any number of terrible, horrifying, sick and twisted things to her and she would still love him all the same. Now, don't be afraid for her sanity. It's not like that. They were both this madly in love. She could have castrated him and bled him dry and he would still have loved her all the same. It was just the way things worked with them.

They had an intensity that not even the fires and depths of hell could challenge. The fire, baby, it'll burn us both. If one of them were to fall, they'd both fall. If they lost touch with each other they seemed to lose touch with their very being. It was like an electrical current that flowed between the two of them every time they touched. If they were too far apart for far too long the flow of electricity would stop and they would cease to function independently of one another. However, leave them together for too long and the flow of the electric current would grow to dangerous levels and they would burn. Finding the perfect balance proved difficult.

They could get lost in each other for days on end, or longer. They'd already been lost for months. When the going got too tough the tough got going, which in this case, meant that she ran away. The intensity scared her. She wondered if she could forget him. His smile, his smell, the arch of his back. But it was a futile effort.

It was useless. Every memory stuck to the fly-paper-ish inerds of her mind. A sticky solution retaining each struggling thought. It was like trying to pry apart the worlds strongest magnets. It just couldn't be done.

I've Been Denied All The Best, Ultrasex...

2007-07-12T02:26:00.000-05:00

An over sexed nation.

Little boys with their

little

pricks. All manner of

unabridged

hardcore

unimaginably erotic

pornographic material

is on display at your local

super market.

Magazines and videos tapes,

tits, dicks, and twats.

An oversexed nation becoming

over stimulated

by all the readily available

sexual content.

Gasp, moan, scream and shriek.

Let out all the emotion that has

nowhere else to go.

Take advantage of the

taken-advantage-of.

Oversexed

Ultrasexed

and all maxed out.

Tired and tiresome,

sex is an

over rated

unappreciated

commodity in our world.

So go ahead and

take advantage of the

taken-advantage-of.

Enjoy

while it lasts.

Sometimes I Wonder...

2007-07-11T17:35:00.001-05:00

I tend to think too much, too often, too quickly, and about too many things at once. I'm starting to wonder about the decisions I've made in the past few weeks. Really the past month. I've done some strange things, some fun things, some stupid things, and silly things. I've told people things that weren't necessarily true, even though I pride myself in being completely honest. And, more specifically, today has held a lot of things for me to think about. Including my very poor geographic knowledge, my poor driving skills, my size, my appearance, my laugh, the way I look at peoples mouths while they're talking, experiencing a lot while saying very little, the difference between lust and passion, why we always forget where we put things even if we always put them in the same place, why my toes were the only part of me that got cold, why it decided to rain on this particular evening, how somethings happen for a reason, and why time slows down when you aren't watching the clock. I want to know why we're always left wanting more and why it's never enough. I need to know why I always forget what I look like when I feel happy. And why I couldn't stop smiling the entire way home. These are the things I wonder. The things I want answers to. And the things that are currently important to me. I don't really care if I actually get the answers, but the wondering gives me something to do.

Useless Ramblings

2007-07-10T02:39:00.001-05:00

I always tend to get into things too deep. To take things too seriously. To lead people on. But I'm determined not to do that this time. A bad habit that I need to break. Like biting your nails or picking your teeth. It's a dirty fucking habit. And it's going to stop here. It's going to stop with him. I don't want to tell people things that aren't true anymore. And I don't want any more people to end up disappointed. I'm tired of letting people down. I'm turning it around. A step forward, I think. Definitely a step in the right direction.

Direction is something I think about extensively. The direction of my life, The direction of my thoughts, The direction of my hopes and dreams and wishes, The directions my actions take me in. I try to go in a meaningful, useful direction. But I can't help feeling completely useless at times. I can't help feeling like nothing I do matters. Like it won't change a thing. I want to change things and to make them better. But I end up ruining everything. I want to help the occasional hobo. I want to take in an orphan. I want to save a shelter dog. I want to donate all my money to some charity that no ones ever heard of. I want to do something useful.

Dear Diary

2007-07-09T18:33:00.000-05:00

Dear Diary,
I am sad tonight. I wonder what happened to those girls -- The ones who didn't talk to me. The ones who pushed past me. The ones who never saw me, but who I studied wondering how they got there. How did they get so cool? How did they decided one day that heavy black eyeliner was the way to go? I was fascinated with the ones who knew how to fray a perfect pair of jeans; who knew how to French-kiss when I hadn't yet held a hand. I studied them because they knew how to make someone look at them. They knew how to draw attention.
I also studied the Pure Girls. The Pure Girls only looked pure, but actually wanted to lose as much innocence as possible on a Wednesday afternoon between the bus ride home and curfew. They were the ones who looked good smoking a cigarette, and who hated doing homework.
I thought the more you knew the sexier you were. How mislead I was. How non of that helped that first, terrible year of high school, when I had no idea who I was or who these people were, and they didn't give a fuck about who I was. I was in a small town with people who had known each other for years and I was on the outside looking in.
You miss every school you ever went to. Even when you hated those schools so much you'd cry yourself to sleep every single night. The sound of the school bus will forever make your stomach drop. The smell of pencil shavings brings a lump to your throat.
Maybe next time you'll be popular. Maybe people will think you're pretty, or that you have the coolest clothes. Maybe they will love you immediately and take you right in. Or maybe they will hate you and make you sit at the outcast table again. Maybe they'll have other boys pretend to like you and ask you out. And they'll wait until you say yes and then all start laughing at you in the cafeteria. Even the lunch lady will laugh because there is no way a boy was really asking you out and she has a sad, lonely life and her only entertainment is watching children be horrible to each other.
Later you think, look at it this way: At least it's made you this funny, friendly person. I'm the life of every party now. They just don't know I'm scared that they all secretly hate me.
My life so far isn't going to make much of a movie. That's something I've thought a lot about lately. If my life were a movie, how would I want it to end? Does someone swoop in and carry me off into the sunset? Does anyone have to? Can't I be the swooper? Why do I have to wait to be chosen?
I hate that I feel this way. I hate breaking down, shutting down, just because there's noboy around to keep me up. When will I be good enough to be chosen? When do I get to choose? And why does everyone go away?
See, she wasn't the closest friend of mine lately, just a girl in my social circle. Now she was someone who had moved up on the social ladder of life, while I was still a few rungs down below. Someone was in love. Another person. Someone who was not me.
The hum in my head turned into a murmur. Then it sizzled into a loud, vibrating buzz.
I hated the feeling of dread weighing down my arms.That heaviness making my stomach feel so empty. I hated it because I never expected to feel it. I didn't think I was that kind of girl.
I'm not the kind of girl who defines her personal status or self-worth by the length and quality of her relationships. Or, at least, that's what I thought about myself before I picked up the phone to hear her good news. Then I was flooded with jealousy of another person getting picked first. It wasn't that I needed a lover to prove I was worth something. I just hated being second. Or last. God, don't let me be last! The Spinster, The Old Maid, Auntie Em with the cats! I don't have to be next, but pleasepleaseplease don't let me be last!
I feel silly for getting this upset. When will I actually be as strong as I give myself credit for? When will I feel as independent as I act? When will it be my turn?
See, I just want it to be OK for me to feel this way...

love always
Emily

Life styles

2007-07-08T01:38:00.000-05:00

Age zero: You wake up. You're cold, wet,
and crying. You almost feel like
dieing.
Age one: You wake up. You're warm, wet,
and crying. You almost feel like
flying.
Age two: You wake up. You fall for the first
time. You hear your first wind
chime.
Age three: You wake up. You're off to
preschool years. The loud classroom hurts
your ears.
Age four: You wake up. You can dress
yourself up. You use the big-kid drinking
cup.
Age five: You wake up. You're off to Kindergarten
now. You want to read books but you still
don't know how.
Age six: You wake up. You can read books for
yourself. You can even reach a high
shelf.
Age seven: You wake up. You kiss your first
boy. You get mad 'cause all he does is steal your
toy.
Age eight: You wake up. You can write cursive
now. You go on a diet because a boy calls you
a cow.
Age nine: You wake up. You read ten chapter
books. All the adults start to give you weird
looks.
Age ten: You wake up. Almost done with grade
school. You wear the clothes that people say are
"cool".
Age eleven: You wake up. Middle School has finally
come. Kids laugh at you, leaving you feeling
numb.
Age twelve: You wake up. You're crying
everyday. You want to leave but your parents
make you stay.
Age thirteen: You wake up. You're at a new school
this year. When kids laugh at you, you pretend you
can not hear.
Age fourteen: You wake up. High School is so much
better. However, all your grades are down a
letter.
Age fifteen: You wake up. You are the youngest,
no more. You try to be pretty but they call you
"whore".
Age sixteen: You wake up. You do not know what's
so sweet. With your head down, you just watch your
feet.
Age seventeen: You wake up. You have confidence at
last. But a boy breaks you heart just like in the
past.
Age eighteen: You wake up. You face a new
world. You amazed at how your life
whirled.

Nudity

2007-07-06T11:51:00.000-05:00

Nudity. [noun] The state or fact of being nude. Nakedness.

This probably isn't going to be a very revealing fact about me, but I love nudity. I love to be naked and I love the nude human form. What I don't understand is why nudity makes so many people uncomfortable. Now, I'm not saying I'm a nudist. I don't run around naked. I'm not a voyeur. But I do love to be naked. I rarely wear anything to bed at night, I don't really see the point. I laze around my house naked when no ones around. I mean, you came into the world naked. I think you should love your birthday suit. After all, it's the most fashionable thing any of us own. Embrace your epidermis! It's beautiful!

Just For You

2007-07-05T14:53:00.000-05:00

Instructions:

1) List things that you want to say to people, but never will.

2) Don't say who they are.

3) Never discuss it again

1] I know I broke your heart and I'm sorry. However, for the 5 times that I've broken your heart, you've broken my heart 5 times more. And hate is a strong word, but I reallyreallyreally don't like you.

2] You are my best friend and I don't know where I would be without you. You save my life everyday and you probably don't even know it.

3] You make me laugh and you are always there for me. We have crazy conversations in my car and talk about boys and life and love and everything that really doesn't matter. We philosophize and generalize and try to out wit each other constantly. Sometimes we're complete opposites but I think that that's really why we work.

4] I know I've never met you, and I probably never will, but you're one of my best friends. I talk to you almost every day and we have infinite inside jokes. I'm your Twinkle and you're my Sith. We'll always be friends. [happy now?]

5]You are, above all, the most important person to me in the entire world. You've been there for me my entire life and I've been there for most of yours. You keep me safe, you make me laugh, you hold me when I cry. You're my back bone and my best friend.

6] I've always been in love with you, but I don't think you'll ever really love me back. And it hurts most of all because she doesn't deserve you.

Best AIM Conversation I've ever had.

2007-07-01T00:13:00.000-05:00

hmm...well, in a relationship [idk if i want one but if i did and when i do] i like being able to just be completely silly and not feel like im making a fool of myself in front of the person. I want to be able to completely break down and look like crap with mascara running down my face and snot dripping from my nose and have the person just hold me and not judge me and make me feel better. I want to be able to be ridiculous and have crazy thoughts and ideas and have them go "that would be awesome!" even if my ideas are completely nonsensical and ridiculous. i want someone that will respect me and not take advantage of the fact that im a completely selfless person most of the time. but i want them to be able to understand when i am selfish and take those moments in stride because every other moment i'm probably only worrying about them.
i want to be in love. because love is great. i love love. so if im not in love im not going to be in a relationship. lust is fun, but love is better. i'd rather just chill and cuddle and watch movies with someone i love than have sex all the time. cause i feel like sex defines WAY too many relationships when the insignificant silent moments are what reallyreally matter.

Pin Me Up

2007-06-29T21:19:00.001-05:00

You are in my room and you are on my bed and it all happens so suddenly that the action is a blur that almost makes me dizzy. Your hands are on my hips and my lips are locked onto yours. This unmistakable wanting and unbridled lust is intoxicating. The heat resonating from our bodies tells me this is real. If I were dreaming the heat would be exempt, as well as the obvious and unmistakable sensations vibrating throughout my being. I grip your back with every motion, digging my nails into your skin. You are wide mouthed and eyed with every movement. I let you know I want to make you scream and you are intrigued to the point of fascination. I lay there waiting, legs spread, all for you. You are timid but my cheeky smile and the way I touch your skin reassures you. You thrust. No gentle tenderness here, not that it is needed this time. It is all we need to go wild. Animalistic, lustful passion burning in us both. I grab your shoulder and you go in deeper. My satisfaction, revealed through an intangible, unstoppable scream, is what you have been working for. You are proud of yourself and you are getting cocky, no pun intended. I tell you I want you, all of you. My lips graze your skin, tip to tail, as quickly as to not be too revealing of my intentions. As I reach my destination you seemed so pleased. As I take my time you grip my hair in clumps and let small, passionate moans escape your lips. When all is said and done, I rise back to your level licking my lips in satisfaction. The look in your eyes tells me you still want more. Legs spread and eyes wide, it never seems to end. An unending, immovable string of lust, and thrusts, and grinding passionate motions. We could go on forever, you and I. I keep wishing that we could.

Touch

2007-06-29T20:38:00.000-05:00

The other day I walked into your house, the door lay propped open and unlocked as usual. I let myself in the way I always do. I knew you were not home, but that did not matter much. What mattered at this point was the smell. I can not have you but that scent still captivates me every time. You do not know that I am here. If you did I fear that you would call the police, have me vacate the premises, and probably cause me great shame. I lay on your bed and close my eyes. It still feels the same. The mold of the mattress, the feel of the sheets, and the warmth left over from last nights slumber. The only thing that could top this feeling is the feel of having your arms around me, the sensation of your breath lingering on the nape of my neck, your lips on mine, and your hands on my hips. You do not love me, nor do I believe that you ever have. They way you used to look at me, with such feeling and sincerity, was all a fraud. The love in your eyes was simply a blood thirsty lust. A lust that we, unfortunately, shared. I wanted to touch you every second I was with you. Every nanosecond I wanted to feel you near me. You arms around me, and our lips pressed together. The rush, the sent and the taste. It was all too much for me. And I was definitely too much for you. You could not handle my fire. My passion. You did not know what to do with me. Your loss. His gain.

Help Yourself

2007-06-28T23:16:00.000-05:00

I love how you get sucked in so easily. As we lay here staring at each other the fiction and the friction makes you delirious. You want to be like them. You want to be them. If only for a moment. Just a taste, a sensation, a moment of bliss in someone else's shoes. You would give anything. It's strange to people, the way you look at them, analyzing every moment and every move. They don't understand what goes on inside that crazy brain of yours. I get it. I understand completely. I do. I stare into your eyes as you move in closer and try to see what is happening. When you least expect it you will know how important it can be to have someone on your side. The way you look at me is my favorite. It is the hardest to read. It is the most fun. I am always wondering what you are thinking of me, and what it means for us. I want to tell you I love you, but then I know I would never be able to read the look again. It would change forever, surely. Your eyes would go dark, and your gaze would drop. The connection would be lost. You are afraid to move. You do not want to hurt me. I tell you that it is alright. You can hurt me. Anything you do is alright with me. I love you. I could never attempt to tell you that, but it is true. Why else would I be laying here, legs spread and eyes wide. I try to hold your gaze for as long as possible. To read as much as I can get out of it. To see into your soul. The deeper we get the farther inside yourself you go. I can not read you anymore. You are lost to me, and you are lost inside me. You thrust away like I am some carnival ride. I lay there and let you. There is nothing I can do for you now. You are alone. You are alone inside me and I can not help you find your way out now. It is all on you. Help yourself.

Distance

2007-06-22T08:49:00.000-05:00

I remember last night. Me wanting you, and you wanting me. But there's too much of a distance and not enough transportation readily available. Not to mention the way my mother would have reamed me for leaving the house so late. I remember the wanting. So vividly. Wanting to hold you, or even just to see you. Wanting to be held. Wanting to taste your sweet sweat that I knew was for me. I wanted to hear you. The happiness and satisfaction in your voice with each mounting moment of unbridled passion. I wanted to feel what I knew was for me and only for me. But there's too much of a distance. I told you I wanted you. You wanted me, too. I'd never been happier. I told you what I would do, were the distance a bit shorter and the hour a bit more forgiving. You seemed far more than intrigued. But it wasn't the sex, or the moaning, or the lust that interested me. It was the look on your face that I couldn't, but wanted to, see. I wanted to see your reactions to things I might do or say. I wanted to feel your heart beat. Was it racing or pounding? How hard and how fast? I wanted to stare into your eyes and see through them to what goes on inside your head. I wanted to feel you there with me. Even if just for a moment. Even if we were just sitting there staring. At each other. Or maybe at the floor. Just to be there. That's what infatuation is, isn't it? I can't help but want to be near you. Even though I'm fairly certain you couldn't care less. You were after the passion. I was after the meaning. But there's too much of a distance and not enough time.

Thoughts

2007-06-06T17:58:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd let you all know a few things:

1: People are frigging ridiculous and it bothers me
2: I rarely understand human beings [females or males]
3: I like getting more attention than I probably rightfully deserve
4: I somewhere in the back of my mind believe that I deserve it.
5: I care about your opinions, I just won't let them change mine.
6: I could care less about stupid celebrities, who they're dating, or what they're smoking.
7: I like to laugh. ALOT.
8: I'm not as uptight or serious as alot of people think I am.
9: I love the idea of Youtube. I don't care what you think of that either..
10: My videos suck. Ohwell.

Insignificant

2007-06-01T22:30:00.000-05:00

Somethings in life seem so insignificant. A person passes you on the street. You smile. You move on. What's so important about that? There are so many things in life, little things, great things, that people take for granted. You walk down the street. You see a tiny puppy jumping up and down. It's the happiest puppy you've ever seen. It makes you happy. You move on. Remember this moment! Something so small and so seemingly insignificant just changed your entire day. Remember that everything is connected and everything carries a weight. Something so small, so "meaningless" can lift you or can crush you. It's all a matter of choice, perspective, how you see and accept your experiences. Never assume that something you do will not matter. Everyone matters to someone. Everyone is held in a special place in someones heart. You have some how intervened into their lives, whether it be good or bad, and you now influence their decisions. And those decisions in turn influence you.
Open a door in your mind. Look at where it takes you. Who is in this room? Where is this room? What sort of atmosphere is surrounds you? Discover what effects you, and what you hold dear. Everything in that room is important. Everything in that room is you. A part of you. A peice of you. You. Don't take it for granted. Embrace it.

The Best Mess

2007-04-25T17:50:00.000-05:00

Picture a common teenage bedroom. Now picture a hurricane, tornado, or typhoon blowing through that room and tearing it apart. Clothing, memorabilia, collectables, papers, and books are strewn around the room in a chaotic, haphazard manner rendering is practically unrecognizable as a livable environment. Now you have the image of what my bedroom would look like to an outsider. Anyone not educated in my strange, eclectic, eccentric ways would think I was living in a complete mess. The ironic thing is, everything in my room has a place, and each place has something in it.

Many of the things I own end up on the floor of my bedroom. I am not sure why, but it always seems to happen. I buy a new pair of jeans, and four days later they are lying on the floor at the foot of my bed. I get a new book and after I am done with it, it has fallen to floor at the base of my book shelf. I’ve turned this strange phenomenon into a bit of a system. I have designated areas of floor space for certain things. The area near my closet logically belongs to my clothing and collectables. The area right below my bookshelf is for books and memorabilia, and occasionally a few notebooks. Of course, the area next to my bed is saved for anything I feel the need to use everyday.

The walls of my bedroom are a stark white, meant to be repainted but never were. Covered in magazine clippings and art posters, and postcards and letters, my walls are a jumble of past, present, and future. Posters of paintings by Andy Warhol and Claude Monet inspire me everyday. Clippings from my favorite magazines of people I look up to, and some that I despise, keep me focused on my goals. Postcards from friends and family from far off places keep me connected to the rest of the world.

If I were to describe the size of my room, I would most likely call it a closet. In all reality, it is a five-by-eight rectangle that makes me feel like I am suffocating. Smaller than most people’s laundry rooms, my bedroom is a cramped space overgrown with the things I’ve collected over my short lifetime. A large bookcase in along one wall, exploding with innumerable volumes, takes up almost a fifth of my bedroom. My closet takes up another quarter. My TV stand, and end table, together takes up another quarter. My bed itself takes up almost a third of my floor space. I feel like an animal is a cage that is much too small and with too much stimulation. I’m continually overwhelmed with the magnitude of what I’ve accumulated.

Ever heard the saying “If walls would talk.”? Well, if they could, my walls would have a lot to say. They have heard everything from the beginning of my life up until this very day. Phone calls and sleepovers, sex and drugs, rock and roll, my walls have heard it all. They remember the days of cooties and barbie dolls, when all I wanted to do was listen to Britney Spears and wear lipgloss all day long. Since then they’ve seen me go through my punk phase, fall in love, fall on my face, and fall into step with the path of my life. They could tell you magnificent tales of love and loss, along with some rather boring stories of all nighter study sessions and books that I never quite finished.

A bedroom is a safe haven. Somewhere you can go that is all your own. It is something that you control, your own little world you can escape to. It’s not just a place where you keep your stuff and go to sleep at night. It’s a place where you live and it’s a place where you grow, but most importantly it is a place that you love.

NeverNever

2007-04-20T16:33:00.000-05:00

Never run from what you think you can't deal with. What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. And I've really learnt that through out my life.

When I was young, I was a sick kid. But I persevered and look where I am. I'm healthy, I'm happy, and I'm alive! You can't take the things in your life, the things that you have, for granted. Don't spend your time pinning and wanting and wishing that you had more, or something different. You should never live your life unhappy. No matter what others think of you, or what others have that you believe that you need, be true to yourself!

It's so easy to simply run from a situation, but you can never, never, run from yourself. You have to live with who and how you are for your life, so suck it up and deal. I've wanted to run so many times, but no matter how far you run, no matter how much you abandon, you will always have yourself to reckon with.

Never let other people tell you you're worthless. Never let someone else dictate how your life is going to turn out. Never let someone else tear you down. Never let someone choose whether or not you're happy with where you are. It's not your job in life to deal with other peoples problems, unless of course you choose that profession. There is nothing you can't do about it.

Nevernever let your life be anything but yours.

Vinyl

2007-04-19T19:48:00.000-05:00

Hm, so guess who officially has the greastest big sister ever? Moi! That is who. Or maybe whom? I don't quite remember which of those I'm supposed to use in that sentence......but ANYWAY, my big sister positively rocks my socks off. Guess what she did....No seriously, GUESS!! Fine, I'll tell you. ::DRUM ROOOOLLLLLL:: She bought me an amaaaazingly fabulously gorgeous rocking ridiculous record player! Oh my gosh, It was possibly one of the greatest moments of my life. Currently listening [and bopping] to The Grateful Dead on fucking vinyl! I'm so excited. And ohso happy. My life has a purpose! Wondering what it is? To sit around and listen to amazing songs on vinyl, of course!!

Things are SERIOUSLY looking up for me. SO glad.

The Scream

2007-04-13T21:17:00.000-05:00

When you're young life feels small. You feel small. An ant marching in a line. Step out of that line and you're lost.

You're early years are a blur of Barbie dolls and lollipops, playgrounds and playdates, cooties and kisses. Everything seems so easy, so small, when you're young. Now it seems significant. Insignificance didn't bother you back then. But, then again, you imagined the entire world consisted solely of your neighborhood and the people within it.

You don't remember much of when you were young. Just fuzzy snippets. Smells, tastes, sensations. The things that you do remember are so vivid it's as if you're experiencing it in present time. You remember the exact smell of your elementary school, a putrid mix of bodily fluids, PB&J, and paste. Later you remember exactly how your first kiss tasted, even if you don't remember their name.

There are some things you want to remember but can't. Like the first time that you cried. Not infant crying, but sorrowful experienced crying. Real painful emotion, the cleansing sobs of despair.

On the other hand, there are some things you'd like to forget. The first time you felt pain. The first time someone broke your heart. The first time you realize that somday you will die.

Scream. Scream from the roof tops. Scream until your lungs bleed. Scream until the Earth shakes. Scream until you remember it all. Most importantly, scream so you'll remember how it feels.

Tell me something I don't know

2007-04-05T21:48:00.000-05:00

Always the brides maid and never the bride. The story of my life. Always the friend and never the girlfriend.That's just the way it works with me.

I look around me and I see all my friends. One gorgeous girl after another. Many of them happily taken. After him I realize I wasn't really happy. I was bruised and abused. So pointless. So painful. So over.

And when I look at my friends, the ones that are taken and the ones that are beautiful, I wonder. I wonder whats wrong with me. They're wanted. They have boys and men falling for them. Falling at their feet. I'm just sitting waiting to have one fall at mine. And when he did I ended up with the one that just happened to trip in my general direction.
I'm always pursuing and never pursued.

I try to be beautiful. Sometimes I even think I am. But I must be wrong. How could I not be? No one wants me. Why would they? This shell of a person with hair dye and makeup. Self proclaimed hippie in a punkrock husk. Not needed, not wanted, not special.

I try. I'm charismatic. I'm charming. I'm pretty. I'm funny. I'm witty. I'm smart. Or so I am told. Or so I believe. But I mean, I could be wrong. Obviously I am. So much evidence to the contrary of what I believe.

When will it be my turn?

PASSION

2007-04-02T22:59:00.000-05:00

Definition Essay

2007-03-29T21:17:00.000-05:00

Love.

Love comes in many forms. It can be beautiful, wonderful, and horrifying all at once. There is no telling when love will hit, but when it does, it does it obviously and immensely. Love is an emotion of incalculable measure. Love can cause amazing amounts of pleasure as well as pain. It is the most intense and obscuring emotion anyone could ever experience.

I have fallen in love once, and only once. I hope that it never happens again. I am still in love. Those last three sentences may seem to clash on view point a little bit and this is purposeful. I have fallen in love and I love being in love. You could even say that I am in love with love itself. However, love is the worst thing that ever happened to me. The first moments of love, the first glimmers of affection, are the most enjoyable moments of life. The fluttering feeling of holding the one you love, their breath on your ear, and the words that they say can alter your perceptions of the world completely. There in lies the problem. I enjoy change but only the self inflicted variety. When someone comes along and alters my perceptions, changes my view point, and turns my world upside down, I am expected to become a bit angry. When I am simultaneously falling head over heals in love with this person, paradox ensues and chaos is caused. There is an unabashed want to please this person, and urge to prove myself, and an ache to be accepted. Coupled with a feeling of confusion and uncontrolled desire, my world became even more topsy-turvy.

When love hits you, you know it. It is one of the most easily recognizable emotions. Your palms sweat, your heart races, your ears buzz, and your vision blurs. There is the unmistakable feeling of blushing. The warming of your cheeks gives way to uncontrolled flushing of the cheeks. Occasionally you become thrown into catatonia. You cannot move, speak, or even begin to resemble an intelligent human being. If you try, you bumble your way through a mumbled, garbled monologue of disaster. Love, a social setup for destruction. However, in the occasional moment when two people are simultaneously thrown into a love-speak catatonic state, they seem to defy the laws of science by understanding every indiscernible mumble that escapes the others mouth. This is true love. At your stupidest, most unrefined moment, someone has found an endearing quality hidden under your stumbling, mumbling exterior. Bingo. Jackpot. Yatzee. You've won. Would you like to see your fabulous prizes? You have won your very own, custom made, one true love. Congratulations. Priced to own at a life time of gratification and unflinching admirartion.

Love is a dangerous angel. Francesca Lia Block, my favorite author, wrote that in one of my favorite books. I whole heartedly agree. But, unlike Bob Marley's relaxing reggae music, when it hits you do feel pain, but if you play the game of love correctly you won't be saying sorry.

Sexual Frustrations

2007-03-29T21:14:00.000-05:00

I'll keep this short for the sake of my audiences sanity:

I fucking hate being single. For very selfish reasons. Ohwell.

Revelations

2007-03-03T10:08:00.000-05:00

This is truly weird.

You know, being single and all.

I'm not used to it anymore. After a year of being in a relationship is like I don't remember how to function in a singular fashion. I don't have to worry about anyones happiness but my own.

I like it that way.

I've already been asked on a semi-date and hit on mercilessly. It makes me feel good about myself.

Is that weird?

I think teenage relationships are slightly over rated. After the experience of being in a fairly serious one, I realize they're one of the worst things you can do for yourself before the age of eighteen. It's not like it's wasted time, because the good parts were great. However, the bad parts were just stupid. Almost meaningless. Relationships before "adulthood" are a bit of a sham. They're filled with false hopes, disappointment, and broke promises.

I'm not saying they're all bad. I loved being in love. But I think at the time I was more in love with love than I was with him. It was a really good learning experience. I learned about myself and about how I am with other people. I learned that I was way too caring for my own good sometimes. Also, I am [or was] way too empathetic. I let other peoples problems suck me in, and take me over, and control me. I didn't like myself anymore that way. I wasn't me anymore and I needed to be.

If anything, your teen years are about being you. Spend the time figuring out who you really are. Don't let anyone, anyone, attempt to change who you are or how you think or how you feel. It's not worth it to let people in that deep.

You're life should be about you. Before you're a parent or responsible for another human life, it shouldn't be any different.

Journal #1

2007-01-17T18:55:00.001-05:00

I am, above all else, a creative soul. I am addicted to film making, reading and writing. Over the past few years, film has become my passion.
Ever Saturday since I can remember, up until the age of thirteen, I spent the night watching movies with my dad. Though there were many reruns of the Star Wars and Jurassic Park trilogies, there was also a healthy dose of classic film. At a very young age I became obsessed with old monster movies such as Frankenstein, Dracula, The Invisible Man, and King Kong. I was fascinated by the art of the black and white films and the beauty of the old-Hollywood actors.
At the age of ten, I discovered Tim Burtons artful and, occasionally, frightening films. He instantly became my hero. The Nightmare Before Christmas, Edward Scissorhands, and Sleepy Hollow became my new obsessions. The design of the characters, the darkness of the stories, and the aesthetics of the films’ design stuck in my mind. I started to think, “Why am I not doing this?” “When is it my turn?” I wanted to be a film maker.
Fortunately, there has always been a video camera in my house hold. Home movies were constantly being shot every time my sister or I decided to do something cute. I commandeered the camera and began shooting my first short films; classics such as “The Dog That Ate My Shoe” and “The Amazing Flying Budgie” became a reality. I wanted more.
I needed to fuel my passion, to charge my creativity, so I began writing. I took snippets from my favorite films and interjected my own ideas. I filled dozens of notebooks with short film ideas, play scripts, conceptual art, and character analysis. I showed the scripts and ideas to all my friends. I corralled them into being my actors, subjecting them to my every critique and changing the films direction on a whim. Once I had sucked them dry of their willingness to cooperate, I found new subjects. I soon had actors at my beckon call for any film I felt like making.
More recently has my taste in film and my film making style matured, as has my lifestyle, into something a bit more artistic and a bit more deep. My new inspiration is the work Andy Warhol, his “factory” members, and the fast paced lifestyle he led. I’ve begun finding my own “super stars” and leading them into the proverbial lime-light. I have my very own Edie Sedgwick, whom whole-heartedly believes I am indeed the next Warhol. For now, that is.
My views on the world, my artistic edge, my creative flow, and my film making style are ever changing. One week you may find me in the middle of a corn field filming a silent sci-fi flick. The next week I am in an abandoned home filming a gory horror movie. Every so often, however, something really grabs me and inspires me to do something brilliant that you’ve never seen before.

Long Time No Words

2007-01-02T21:53:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted on here in foreeeever!! I feel so bad about that. Mostly to myself. I really wanted to be commited to this and keep posting every day, but it's been way too long I've just been busy, I guess. Maybe lazy. Maybe both. I'm probably just slacking off and don't want to admit to myself how lazy I really am so I make up that I'm really just very busy. Anyhow, moving on.

I cannot wait to graduate from highschool. I cannot wait to graduate, period. Highschool, College, all of it. I just want it to be done. I like learning on my own time. I hate time restraints and requirements and grades and the whole thing. I'd rather just go to the library, pick up a book, and learn about things I really want to know. If I really wanted to know about mathmatical theorems and equations, which I really don't, I would go find out about them on my own.

Continuing on from that, alot of people my age see college as a freeing experience. It's a way to get away from parents, and your hometown, and occaisonally a chance to find out who you are on your own. In many ways it is. But for someone who has already began her higher learning education, I know the many new difficulties that go along with fending for yourself. College professors are much less willing to help you along and find, or hand, you shortcuts to better grades. They expect to hand you a syllabus on day one and they expect it to be complete by the end of class. If you can't handle their class or their curriculum, they will flat out tell you to get out. That's the end of it. No questions asked. If you can't cut it, they cut you off. The harsh reality is that being on your own and college is really being on your own at college. There is no Mommy and Daddy to catch you when you fall. You either learn to catch yourself, or fall flat on your face.

You've got a friend in me

2006-11-30T23:08:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time there was a little girl. She believed that she could still survive, even though she was alone in the world. She thought it would make her stronger, not having anyone around to care for her. With time she grew weak and weary from being alone in her own mind for so long. Her heart had grown cold. The only emotion she had left for others was disdain. They meant nothing to her, because she meant nothing to them. Then one day, or really over a few years, certain people began to see the girl for what, and who, she truly was. They loved her and she began to love them in return. Though, it took a few years for her to remember what it meant to love, she was able to love again. She became a better person for it.

If this story sounds at all familiar, you probably know me. You've probably known me for years if you know that story. Or, the other alternative, this story is also about you, whether you be male or female. Gender is always interchangeable. The only difference, really, is in the actual meaning of gender. One inserts and one receives. Otherwise, we're all the same. Anyway, I was once alone. Though that "once" lasted for many years. My family stopped caring about me and the way I felt and who I was the second I entered the double digits of age. I had a few great friends until I was about 14. Two of my best friends moved away. The other, well, that's a different story. I was no longer "cool" enough for this so called friend. I had known her for 4 years but suddenly the "cool" people she had known for 4 months became her top priority. I was pushed to the bottom of her popularity ladder and they took my spot. However, when I showed any sign of moving away from her, from pushing her down on my own so-called ladder, she dropped me off hers completely. I was no longer good enough, no longer important. So, for the next two years I remained alone. I would attempt to reconvene with certain lost friendships but it was never successful. I was even less successful in the department of romance. The opposite gender barely glanced in my direction, and if they did it was merely to ogle at my cleavage [which has always been abundant]. I wasn't about to be their eye-candy. That wasn't what I was looking for.

When I turned sixteen everything changed. I had a new best friend. She cared about me more than I cared about myself. Over the next rocky year we had our downs and ups, including some very steep downs that seemed to last a lifetime. But a year strong we are closer than ever. A year after meeting her, I met my current boyfriend. I happened upon him in the hallway one day talking to our friend, the crazy republican Texan. He has no idea how thankful I am for him knowing Sean. [Sean is my boyfriend, and the only specific name I will mention] Sean is the fluorescent, buzzing, flickering light of my life. He is crazy and adorable and annoying and lovable and horrible all wrapped up into one person. He is my imperfect perfection. I love him.

If not for my best friend and Sean, who doubles as my best friend, I would probably not have survived. I've gone through so many difficult times I don't know what I would do without them. They mean more to me than the world and I owe them everything.

Picturesque

2006-11-26T08:48:00.000-05:00

I feel like posting a bunch of pictures for no reason....They'll prolly be really random. Enjoy. =D

I <3 Ratties!!

Best British transvestite comedian EVER!! "Cake or death?!"

I want a ferret! =[

I've only ever seen one rainbow. This isn't even that one. This is some rainbow in Hawaii or something...

The Right to Write

2006-11-25T00:07:00.000-05:00

Bob Marley once said, "What we really want is the right to be right, and the right to be wrong."

I want to be a writer. Every fiber of my being aches for it. One of the only times I feel I am truly being myself is with a pen in my hand and an empty notebook to fill. I believe that the ultimate way to voice any opinion is through someone elses voice. Every writer gets the chance to do this, but not all take full advantage of it. As a writer you can basically say anything you want. As long as it comes from your character and not directly from you, you do no harm. You can live out any fantasy, any bizarre wish you please. It is written down and not performed and, thus, no harm done. You can be whatever you want to be. Atleast, for a moment in time.

I don't write often enough. Nor do I finish what I start writing often enough. I always come up with good ideas and then lose interest in them. It's weird. I just have too short an attention span to keep writing something thats like, 500 pages long. I'm better with about 10-50 pages.

I write screen plays sometimes too. But those are a bit of a fruitless effort. I don't really have the resources to get them filmed. And by resources, I mean enough friends to makes asses of themselves for a camera. The scripts that I write are pretty decent. And very varying in storyline/genre. I've written everything from silent films, to romance, to period peices, to Clerks-Eque films, to horror.

I'm an English major in college at the moment. But depending on where I end up going for my Bachelors, I may try to minor in Film Studies or something along those lines. I really don't know yet.

Turkey Day At Last

2006-11-23T22:38:00.000-05:00

The winter holidays are a time when any family can come together and sit down for at least one civilized meal a year. [Maybe you can squeeze in two, with some promises of pie] My family has never really had problems being civil but we do have some problems with togetherness. My dads side of the family are all really close to one another, and I love them all very dearly. However, my moms side of the family is a different story. Almost every member of my moms family lives in a different state. When we go to my aunt's house in Pennsylvania once a year for Turkey Day festivities there isn't really much catching up or conversation except for the customary "How's school?" "Anything new happening in your life?" To which the most obvious and mechanical answers are "Fine.", and "Not much." Also, when we go to my aunt's house we all seem to fall into different groups. My aunt, uncle, cousin Allison and parents spend their time in the living room watching football or the yearly dog show. Me, my sister, and my cousin Meredith spend our time in the adjacent sitting room watching sitcom marathons and playing board games. Me and Meredith tend to float between rooms trying to interconnect the two groups, in a way. Then we all sit down to dinner and fill up on all the yummy food at least several family members have contributed, spend a few more hours separated into our rooms and then reconvene for dessert. Eventually we get bored of the charade and depart.

My favorite winter holiday by far, like most people, is Christmas. This fact is obviously ironic when you learn the fact that I am atheist. I love Christmas because this holiday mostly involves the people we really care about and gives us adequate time to spend with them, eat with them, and shower each other with pointless gifts. [come on, it's the thought that counts anyway] Every year my family has a group of our closest family friends over on Christmas Eve for dinner, and gift giving. This party used to be huge when I was little. We would attempt to cram about 20-25 people into our tiny apartment-like home and serve a buffet style meal. After which we would all separate into the living room and dining room and pass out gifts. Now the party has become much more toned down. The guest list now averages out at about 10-15 people and is much more intimate and, obviously, much less hectic. It's fun to sit around with the people you love and laugh until your sides hurt and really show them how much you love them. It just feels good.

Almost every Christmas morning my family has a set routine. We get up and make tea and coffee. My mom, my sister and I look through our stockings while my dad starts cooking breakfast. [crepes with berries and whipped cream and bacon...same thing every year and we only have it once a year] Then we all have breakfast together. Usually around this time my gramma shows up and eats with us. Then we move back into the living room and open the rest of our presents, including the ones Gramma brought with her when she arrived. After that's done we all get dressed and ready and head out to my aunt and uncles house. [this is a different aunt and uncle. this is my dads sister. the other was my moms. are you following me here?] Once we arrive, the process basically starts all over again. Food, Presents, Laughter. What more do we need?

On a lighter note...

2006-11-22T22:26:00.000-05:00

We watched "Oh, Brother. Where art thou?" in my Film class tonight. I LOVE THAT MOVIE!! I never really fancied myself a George Clooney fan but I must admit he is great in that movie. Also, John Turturro is one of my favorite actors. He's so good. And pretty versatile. He's really good in "Secret Window."

Speaking of that, I love Johnny Depp too. [Ohgosh...Now I'm about to go off an amazing tangent. I love doing this.] Besides the fact that he is an amazingly attractive older man, He's a ridiculously talented actor. Probably my favorite movie he's been in is "Sleepy Hollow." Christina Ricci is also pretty great. I reallyreallyreally like her in "Ghost World." Her character is ... odd.... to say the very least. I never really understood the plot and/or storyline of that movie. But I did like it. Which I guess makes no sense but whatever.

We watched "Brick" too, a couple weeks ago, which is also an amazing movie. I swear to God I thought that kid from Third Rock had like, fallen off the face of the Earth until I saw that movie. And I lovelovelove the poem the one girl recites while playing piano. I have no idea who it's by though. I think it might be Emily Dickinson, but I'm not sure. I'll hafta find out. Hmmm...

What the hell did I start this off talking about? I'm so lost now. Crikey. I'm random. Ohwell....Uhmmm....NEW SUBJECT!

I made deviled eggs for Turkey Daaay!! They are mighty tastey. My boyfriend helped but he doesn't like eggs, so, yea, that's kinda weird. I actually don't like eggs either. Honestly, they creep me out a little bit. But deviled eggs are too tastey not to like. I <3 Turkey Day. HAPPY TURKEY DAY TO EVERYONE!! I'll probably post a solely Turkey Day related blog tomorrow night, after all the mass amount of food have been consumed. NightNight.

LadeefuckingDah

2006-11-22T22:21:00.000-05:00

OK, So I got a comment that I need to stop complaining. Where do you get off telling me this? That is the only question I really have for you, whoever you are. Most likely someone who doesn't even know me or has never met me. Correct? If you want me to stop "complaining" don't give me material to base it upon. And anyway, for future referance, this blog is about what I happen to be thinking about at the time of posting. So far the past few days I haven't been exactly satisfied with my current situation. No doubt that will most likely change in the near future. So if you don't like my complaining, deal with it and move on. I'll write about something different in a day or two. Everyone has a right to be upset or unsatisfied. I hope you won't exclude me from that pleasure from now on.

P.S. You just complained about me complaining. Paradoxical, no?

School Daze

2006-11-21T14:21:00.000-05:00

I just returned from scheduling my classes with my college advisor. How am in college at my young age? Because I'm apparently a freaking genius. Except not. I just took the placement test, passed and started taking classes. I still have to go to high school though, which is shitty. I go for a half a day there [which means 4 periods, or 3 and a half hours] and then go home. Then in the afternoon or night or whenever the class is scheduled for on whatever day I go to my community college. Brookdale Community College, by the way. I kind of like it here and kind of don't. I mean, it's better than just going to high school, but its not the same as being a college student. I mean, yes, technically, I am a college student and I am enrolled here, but I still live at home with all the same restraints as before I started here.

There is, however, an upside. I have a 12 credit head start on almost every freshman next year. Which means I will complete my associates one semester ahead of them. So YAY for that! That is also my basic premise for doing this in the first place. To get in and out as quickly as possible so I can be out in the world on my own. I threatened to leave my house last night, even. I just can not stand that place anymore or the people in it. None of them understand me. My dad tries to and he's a sweet man but he doesn't really get it. I guess, in a way, he's too conservative. I also know in some ways this may just sound like normal teenaged, "I-want-to-get-away" angst, but it isn't. I'm truly just too different from all of them. I've had so many life experiences at such a young age that I'm basically at the same maturity level as any adult I know, and almost twice as intelligent as most of them. Which leads to them not understanding anything about me, let alone anything I say. Most of the time I feel like I'm lost in the world.

Sugar is sweet.

2006-11-19T23:43:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you can spend all day with someone, look them in the eye, tell them you love them, express undying devotion and get everything doubly in return, and still it feels as if they haven't really been there at all. You feel empty and unfulfilled. Everything that was said and done doesn't matter because they weren't really there. Physically yes they were, but they weren't ever really there for you in full.

You can be with someone and they can be there with you but they're really not there at all, they're somewhere else.

It may sound as if I just repeated the same thought about one hundred thousand times but its not really all the same. Some things matter and some things don't and when you're fully with someone you expect them to be the same way and feel the same way. But sometimes there's too much on someones mind or sometimes, and this is the worse part, they really just don't care as much as you do. You don't matter to them as much as they do to you. Now, obviously, this is not always the case. But I still don't understand it.

I don't understand a lot of things about people. Especially the way some of them act when they truly care about someone. If you are truly in love you should lose all of your personal wanting and want everything for them. Or is that just me? Am I just so crazy that I invest my entire being fully into another person, lose myself in them? Should it not be that way? Because it feels so right and when the other person doesn't do that same for you you feel betrayed. At least, I do. I expect to get back what I give to others. Is that too high an expectation? Is the human race not so innately caring and compassionate that they will give back what they receive? I'm figuring, so far, that that is why our home planet is suffering so badly. All we do is take from it, giving nothing back. No holds barred stealing from our own home. So, obviously, if we cannot instinctively nurture each other we cannot nurture our planet, ourselves, our lives. So, really, none of it matters at all, which takes me back to my first point. Being with someone and fully investing in being there with them completely is pointless. You can kiss someone with all the passionate fire you have and it will still be for naught if they are not fully passionate in that kiss as you are. I guess what we should do is expect the very least, that way we are always satisfied and surprised with the magnitude of the little we receive.

The sun, whose rays

2006-11-19T08:56:00.000-05:00

The sun, whose rays
Are all ablaze
With ever-living glory,
Does not deny
His majesty--
He scorns to tell a story!
He don't exclaim,
"I blush for shame,
So kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold,
In fiery gold,
He glories all effulgent!
I mean to rule the earth,
As he the sky--
We really know our worth,
The sun and I!
Observe his flame,
That placid dame,
The moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace
Upon her face
Of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light
That, through the night,
Mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell,
She lights up well,
So I, for one, don't blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake,
We are not shy;
We're very wide awake,
The moon and I!

-unknown-

I <3 ExplodingDog.com

2006-11-18T11:48:00.000-05:00

The title of this picture is: This is how people get hurt.

Pleaseplease visit this site. Its ridiculously incredible! I looooove it!

Not So Fairy Tale Ending

2006-11-18T08:40:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, I wanted everything. Then one day I realized what a stupid fucking idea that was. Then I went on to simply hope for everything. But I never again got that same lusty satisfaction from my progress towards my goal of infinite everything. It was simply a fleeting moment of praise, no longer a triumphant cacophony of joy. Even still, it felt strange not to have people lining the streets, waiting to call my name and shower me with affection. It was odd that no one but me noticed my every accomplishment. Why do they not care? Why don't they know what incredible things I've accomplished.

Again, I realized how ridiculously fucking stupid I was being. I changed my direction once again. Now I resolved to simply strive for everything, but at all times remain satisfied with what I had, or had obtained, at that moment. My life suddenly became an eternal sitcom. Everything was funny, everything turned out OK, everyone blissfully unsatisfied. I hated it. I hated it more than I had hated the wanting. I didn't know what to do.

Have you ever wanted something so badly you could taste it? You could feel it tingle and crawl its way up through your skin and seep into your veins and hardening your heart. Suddenly, nothing but that wanting matters. This is a triple edged sword, of sorts. On one end, if your wanting is pure and can only have a positive outcome, then you are on a track to great happiness. However, if your wanting is of something frugal and unobtainable, then you have set your self up for a steep climb to disappointment. Then, in high contrast to both, your wanting could simply be fantasy, in which case you have thrown yourself head first into a world of pain and dissatisfaction.

So, finally, I decided that all the wanting and hoping and striving wasn't at all what I needed, or in fact what I truly wanted. I simply decided to move towards goals by doing smaller things that might help me get there, but not only dwell on that goal and that wanting, and enjoy what I was currently a part of.

Finally, I was happy. I wasn't where I had "wanted" to be, but I was on my way.

Goalie

2006-11-16T23:03:00.000-05:00

My goals for the next year-ish:

1: Get a better, more frequent, higher paying job.

2: Save enough money to get own apartment (possibly w. roommate?)

3: Figure out what the hell is wrong with my heart and get it fixed

4: Film 2 movies

5: Start a novel/short story book

6: Finally make a career decision. Child care, Director, Writer, or all of the above?

P.S. If I know you and youre interested in being my roomy next year lemme know. It would be ridiculously helpful, I HAVE to get out of my house!

When?

2006-11-15T22:08:00.000-05:00

When does it end? When can I be done with all this? When will all my pain be gone? When will I be finished with it? When can I finally be deemed as healthy, normal, and completed? When will people no longer tiptoe past or whisper when near me? When will I no longer be a fragile, breakable object that no one is willing to touch? When will they no longer be afraid of me? When will I not have to be afraid of my future, or lack-there-of? When will someone tell me, knowing for sure, that everything will be alright? When will doctors no longer look at me with that sad uncertainty behind their eyes? When will my time come? When can I finally be free of my prison? When will normality ensue?

Sobering Experience

2006-11-15T16:42:00.000-05:00

So, as per my recent remarks on the Blues Traveler show, I was told that the "middle aged dancing idiots" were completely sober. I however was referring to one person in particular. Guess I should have been more clear. However, If the person whom commented on my recent post WAS the man I am referring too, then you need to take some dance lessons.

All in good fun, I promise. ;D

Importance

2006-11-15T12:46:00.000-05:00

How important are you to this world? How will you shape your life and how will you change the world by doing so? These are the questions I eternally ask myself. I probe my mind for the answers. I want to be imporant, I want to be remembered, I want to be revered. But how can I acheive such recognition? I want people to hear my name in the future, or a quoting of something I have said or written, and have shivers run up their spine and I want them to think, "If only that could be me." I have multiple levels I strive for. I want to be wisdom. I want to be beauty. I want to be art. I want to smell, taste, touch. I want to be a sense in and of itself. I want to be looked upon by people with smiles upon their faces. I want to make someone proud. I want to know who I am. How can I do this? I have my whole life left in front of me yet it feels as if I have such a short time. So little time left and so much to fill it with. I want to be someones goal, the way so many are my inspiration for me to reach for certain things, certain levels, certain places I wish to be in my lifetime. I want everything but mapping out a plan for it all is so difficult. I feel as if nothing will ever get done. I wander. I dream. I space. Spacey. A singular word that seems to signify everything I am. I am from another planet, galaxy, universe and dimension. I don't belong here sometimes. Sometimes I wish I knew where I had come from. My heart aches trying to find its place in this world. I think it knows where I belong but it simply cannot alert my mind. It tries to jump, pump out of my chest and show me where I belong. Where do I belong?

Blues Traveler

2006-11-14T23:48:00.000-05:00

I saw Blues Traveler perform tonight! They were amazing. It was kinda weird though. As absorbed as I was in the amazing music I kept noticing how great the lighting was. It was cool. And added to my insatiable need to start a band. The people that were at the show got sooo wasted, too. It was ridiculous. Middle aged idiots drunk and dancing. I thought this one guy was gonna fall off the balcony.

I want to start a band soooo badly. I love playing guitar and singing is fun though I dont really know if I'm any good. I'm a decent song writer, too. I would want a sort of jam band though, alot like Blues Traveler. Where its just laid back and everything about the music. I love how hip they are. The lead singer and the guitarist were smoking while they were on stage playing which I found to be really funny. I don't know how the guy could smoke and sing and play the harmonica all at the same time. Quite impressive.

So, Who wants to join my band?

Slightly Less Than Fictional

2006-11-13T20:26:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a no-name girl with rainbow hair and eyes made of pearl. At the age of five her family locked her away in the tower of a castle in a far off land. They were afraid of her strange appearance and odd ways. She talked to all animals and seemed to have sublime powers. She could feed thoughts into your mind and read the ones you were already thinking. She could tell you things without ever opening her mouth.

From the age of five she lived alone in the castle with no one but her governess and her only friend, a black cat she was given at the age of two. She told this cat her deepest secrets and darkest wishes. The cat, in return, taught her everything she needed to know about the world. Together they ruled, in their own private imaginary world inside their castle. They played all the parts in their magnificent play of life. The little girl, naturally, always played the mother with the cat as her child or servant. Sometimes the girl was a queen and the cat her loyal subject, other times she played a princess and the cat was her sorceress. Every time it was different and every time it was real. Everything they could imagine came to life.

By the age of 16 the girl began to grow weary, lonely and depressed with her life locked away in the castle. She could barely remember what other people looked like or what it was like to speak with humans. The cat, growing old and weak had become an unfortunate playmate. The cat now played the sole part of care taker and companion for the girl. Everyday the girl would gaze out the window, hoping and wishing in vain that someone, anyone would wander by. Everyday for two years she waited and no one ever walked by the castle. And yet, the girl still believed if she waited long enough, one day someone would walk by and notice her.

One rainy afternoon, which happened to be the day of the girls eighteenth birthday, the girl was looking out her window. Far off in the distance behind a thick forest she could see the edge of the clouds meet an edge of sunlight. She sat there waiting and wishing, as she did everyday, and doubly on her birthdays, that someone would come and find her. By the time nightfall came and the rain has subsided, the girl was giving up all hope that anyone would ever come for her. Suddenly, as she was rising from seat on the window sill, she heard the faint sound of horse hooves coming from the forest. She waited, listening, as the sound grew steadily louder. Soon she could make out a cascade of lamp light through the trees. The girls heart began to soar as she saw a magnificent black horse emerge from the edge of the forest. At this distance she could just make out its rider, a young man with thick brown hair, sitting atop the horse.

The girl flung her arms out wide through the window frame, as if she were about to soar like a bird out of the window, and yelled to the man. He stopped for a moment and gazed up at the girl. For a moment, a look of confusion crossed his face and then a smile began to spread his lips. He started off again, faster now, towards the castle. The girl watched patiently as he road over the draw bridge and through the castle entrance. She ran down the staircase and threw herself into the young mans arms.
"You are the one I've been waiting for." She told him."The one that I've seen in my dreams!"
" I dreamt of you too," The young man replied, "When I was young. It stopped when my family sent me away but I knew I had to find you. I knew you could save me."
"I don't understand," The girl said, "What am I supposed to save you from?"
"Heart break."

Inked

2006-11-12T23:45:00.000-05:00

I have finally decided on most of the tattoos that I want. It was a tough decision but I think I've narrowed it down pretty succesfully. Here they are!!

Sexual Orientation

2006-11-12T22:57:00.000-05:00

So today I found out that someone I know is gay/lesbian. Which did not surprise me too much because of who it was and what I know about them, their personality, their life, etc... However, as I was talking to another gay friend of mine I began thinking what the big deal seems to be about all of this sexual orientation controversy. I mean, I'm Bi. Which I know is sort of an on-the-fence type thing but I tend to find both genders extremely attractive. I am however in a serious hetero relationship. Anyway, back to my point. What is the big deal?

Why does matter who loves who? As long as there is love in the world, whether it be gay or straight, the world will continue to thrive. Love is what makes the word go round. I hate when people are disgusted at the sight of two men kissing, or a lesbian couple holding hands. And I've noticed lately that most people that object to "alternative lifestyles" are people who are probably not particularly satisfied with the state of their own lives. I personally feel there is nothing wrong with being in love, no matter who you are in love with. Now, thats where this subject gets a little difficult. Because, you could bring up other "alternative" lifestyles such as pedofilia and beastiality. Those however and declared illegal and have nothing to do with love and more to do with violence.

In short: Love who you love and feel no shame. No one should have to be afraid of who they are.

Femminine Road Signs

2006-11-12T12:30:00.000-05:00

Madrid, Spain has decided to end sexism in road signs! They are now asking manufacturers to incorporate skirted and ponytailed figures into their street signs. Old and broken street signs will now be replaced with the new, less discriminatory signs at no cost to tax payers.

Don't we already have those in America? Except for the "walk/don't walk" signs that just have the little walking man. We have street signs with whole families darting across the street. Why is Madrid so far behind? Silly Spaniards... And anyway, whats all the fuss in history about women being so terrible? If you go by religion, yes Eve commited the first sin but all she did was eat a freaking apple! Cain murdered his own goddamn brother and God forgives him?! Now thats what I call bullshit.

Original article

Hair Dye Update

2006-11-12T10:31:00.000-05:00

So yes, my hair dye adventure last night didn't go quite as planned. I wanted to change my blue hair back to blonde because the blue was fading and looked pretty shitty.

So I bought the blondest hair dye I could find at my local drug store and set myself up. I left the dye on for the recommended 25 minutes and when I washed it out, my blue ends had turned a stealy grey and my blonde roots had turned a slightly lighter ashy blonde. So I shall try again tonight or tomorrow and update on my results. Hopefully next time it'll come out a little more bombshell and a little less old lady.

Coffee Talk

2006-11-12T08:26:00.000-05:00

Working in a coffee shop is an interesting job. I meet loads of interesting people. And loads of annoying, whiney people. And loads of obnoxious people. And lots of tiny children and their rich mommies. My favorite part is the different groups that tend to be there at the same time and trying to listen to their conversations. One group will be talking about the horrible murder they just read about in the news paper, another group of women chatting about the attractive young man that just started working at Such and Such Inc., and another group of men arguing about whether Macs are better than PCs. My head literally buzzes by the end of the day with the endless, mindless chatter of all the caffeine driven costumers.

Then there's my boss who never ever stops talking. He will talk to you, literally, about anything. From his plethora of "girlfriends", to the annoyances of marriage, to his scooter obsession, to what the best kind of coffee is [ours of course!], and all his crazy collections his accumulated from garage sale foraging. He tends to like to preach about the "younger generation" as well. How horribly misinformed his generation was and how different we all are. I tend to just shut my ears and roll my eyes at his endless attempts to be philosophical.

The best thing about my job, hands down, is the endless amount of free caffeine and baked goods. Our cookies are borderline orgasmic! All thanks to my dad, our baker, who went to the Culinary Institute of America. Our coffee is definitely the best of the Jersey shore. The espresso as well. Espresso drinks are my favorite because you basically have endless possibilities. At the moment, I'm sipping a caramel latte, but I could just as easily turn around and make a chocolate caramel half-caff cappucino.

Another thing I love is our regulars. Well, most of our regulars. The people I like would be, my uncle Joe [known him all my life and I love him], Lou [our Italian espresso sipper], my dad [he does work here, ya know], the mayor [he's ridiculously down to earth], and almost all of my dads good friends. They're the best. Then there's the bad regulars. Like this one woman, dubbed "Kenya Lady", whom is the most annoying woman on the planet. And the bratty, rich kids who are afraid of our pastries because they're not wrapped in plastic with a colorful cartoon character on the packaging. The little old ladies who can't figure out that our coffee is self-serve, and take about a half an hour to decide that they actually don't want anything else. In worse cases, anything at all.

After all that ranting, I must admit, I really do love my job. It's two days a week, from 8AM to 2PM, and all I do is take peoples money, brew coffee, and blog my life away. It is truly the good life.

Bad hair days

2006-11-11T22:22:00.000-05:00

I personally find dying my hair to be one of the most annoyingly amusing things to do. I have probably died my hair every color of the rainbow: Blonde, Red, Brown, Black, Blue, Teal, Purple, Maroon, Orange [by accident] and probably a few others I am leaving out. I currently have blonde hair dye on my head and my scalp itches profusely, one of the major down sides to hair dying at home. But ohwell, I deal. Blonde is, so far, definitely my favorite hair color for myself. I'm blue eyed and somewhat freckled so I guess it works for me. However, everyone looks good with a different color. Here's a way to tell what colors will look good on you:

First, pick a LARGE selection of colors that appeal to you. If you esspecially like a certain "Natural" color, pick out a few different shades. A good way to tell if certain colors or shades will look good on you is to look at the side of the hair dye packaging. Many companies offer a shade guide to show what shade you will come out with depending on your current hair color. If the packaging does not offer such advice, simply hold the displayed color on the box up next to your face and see what you think. Also, take into account that a color that looks fabulous on the hair model may not look quite a fabulous on you. In fact, it may look down right horrible. Other things to consider in choosing the right color for you hair is the other colors on your body: your skin and eyes, whether or not you have freckles, etc.

Next you must decide how long you want your color to stay with you. If you're looking for a few years of change or want to lighten your hair a great deal, permanent hair dye is your best bet. If you want the option to change your hair color again over the next year or so, semi or demi permanent hair dyes are for you. And, finally, if you just want a quick and breif change of pace go with a temporary dye. The type of dye you want to buy also depends on the color that you choose. If you chose to lighten your hair, you are going to want a fairly permanent dye. But for those who want a darker shade, a less permanent dye may be used.

Now that you've got your dye you've got to make sure you're ready to venture into the actual act of hair dying. To set yourself up, either wear and old, loose fitting t-shirt, a button down shirt you don't care about, or no shirt at all for the less modest. Then, cover your shoulders and neck with either a dark colored or old beat up towel. Now, this step may be optional depending on the type and color of dye that you have purchased. You may want to go around your hairline coating the skin with a thin layer of vaseline and/or baby oil to keep the dye from staining your foredhead and ears and other such areas around or near your hair and hairline.

Now, simple follow the rest of the instructions that came with your hair dye and I'm sure you'll be fine. And if it doesnt work or the outcome is not what you expected, look at it this way, it's just hair. In most cases it will grow out or you can pay a salon to fix your mistakes. And sometimes, mistakes can be glorious blessings in disguise.

Movie Remakes

2006-11-11T13:58:00.000-05:00

In my opinion almost every movie remake in history is terrible. Unless they are completely true to the original story and atleast somewhat true to the original directors vision, it is a guaranteed flop. Even worse is when the story line is completely changed. Trying to modernize an older movie is a horrible idea. Thats what they have period peices for people!!
For example, the film "Yours, Mine and Ours." was fantasticly made. A great story with great actors and wonderfully directed. Then they take the movie almost 30 years later and ruin it. They tore it apart and put it back together in the worst way possible. I mean come on people, two white people giving birth to an Asian, Indian and African American child?! How completely implausible is that? Its ridiculously bad planning, directing, writing and casting.
And then there's "The Warriors". A late seventies film about the different gangs in New York City, specifically the Warriors, whom everyone suspects to have murdered a famous gang leader whom wanted all the gangs to band together to form one huge gang to rule the city. A great cast and great story about to be anihilated by none other than MTV productions. The only similarity between the old and the new? The title. Thats it. Absolutely nothing else about this "remake" will be similar to the original. In my own personal opinion: Fuck that shit.

You may be thinking "What's 'sub-urban'?"

2006-11-11T12:07:00.000-05:00

You probably are wondering what sub-urban is. You are probably familiar with the simple word "suburban", however, sub-urban is slightly different. I will explain this to you.

Sub-urban:[sUb-er-bEn] (adj.) at a state of being slightly less than urban.

and for those of you not aware of the meaning of the word urban:

Urban: [ur-bEn] (adj.) characteristic of the city or city life.

More specifically: Characteristic of New York City and the NYC lifestyle.

You see, sub-urban is slightly less than urban, yet slightly more than suburban. I live on the Jersey shore. I can literally see the New York City skyline from my rooftop. And yet, it seems so far away. Such a distant, ethereal place. It's as if I could reach out and touch it if only my arms were a few inches longer. I want it. I can taste the city air on my lips and smell it in my nostrils 24/7. Unfortunately, I am 4 months shy of my 18th birthday. But I fear I will end up living in this small NJ town for the rest of my life. I will forever be stuck in a place where everybody knows your name. Its all too familiar. I just need a goddamn change.