Sunday, June 27, 2004
Act One, Scene 2
Saturday morning felt like any day in Washington feels -- happy and calm.
The mornings are a little cold but it always warms up considerably.
I listened to "Stuck in America" to find I related to it much more in Houston than I ever could here. It would be impossible to feel stuck in such a freeing atmosphere. As free as a recreational camp could allow.
As I suspected, there is something truly different about the Pacific Northwest. It must be all the mountains and water that make what the people say about this region so true. Only you can't really tell if it's the weather or the people who do it. It's just that no one cares where you have been, or what you eat, or what you want to do with your life. It is a place for you to be you.
This may be easier and generalized because almost all the counselors here hopped fresh off a plane from someplace. And in that way we were all running from something, or at least, to something.
I like to sit on the top of a hill here, overlooking the dining hall roof. In a short distance there is water, and across that, houses and trees larger and greener than I have ever seen. One day I was sitting there with my headphones on, Ben Gibbard's voice singing sweet confessions to me, and when I took them off, I could hear a live reggae band covering Bob Marley from a party someone was having across the bay.
I do all the things here I used to do at the park by the Menil, only here, I can do them anywhere. Any bench, any patch of grass. My choice of bay views, cloud shapes, and at night, the constellations glow so brightly and dreamlike ...
At night I take long walks and listen to music. And think a lot. But when it's daylight I try not to make the most pressing matters matter at all, and I don't have to really try either.
Saturday morning felt like any day in Washington feels -- happy and calm.
The mornings are a little cold but it always warms up considerably.
I listened to "Stuck in America" to find I related to it much more in Houston than I ever could here. It would be impossible to feel stuck in such a freeing atmosphere. As free as a recreational camp could allow.
As I suspected, there is something truly different about the Pacific Northwest. It must be all the mountains and water that make what the people say about this region so true. Only you can't really tell if it's the weather or the people who do it. It's just that no one cares where you have been, or what you eat, or what you want to do with your life. It is a place for you to be you.
This may be easier and generalized because almost all the counselors here hopped fresh off a plane from someplace. And in that way we were all running from something, or at least, to something.
I like to sit on the top of a hill here, overlooking the dining hall roof. In a short distance there is water, and across that, houses and trees larger and greener than I have ever seen. One day I was sitting there with my headphones on, Ben Gibbard's voice singing sweet confessions to me, and when I took them off, I could hear a live reggae band covering Bob Marley from a party someone was having across the bay.
I do all the things here I used to do at the park by the Menil, only here, I can do them anywhere. Any bench, any patch of grass. My choice of bay views, cloud shapes, and at night, the constellations glow so brightly and dreamlike ...
At night I take long walks and listen to music. And think a lot. But when it's daylight I try not to make the most pressing matters matter at all, and I don't have to really try either.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
Brought to you live from Washington
sections from my diary these last couple days:
No one has ever done anything like this for me before.
Not like this.
I hope he finds his beautiful place.
I hope he finds his saving grace.
God, this kills me ...
Friday
The wind is blowing and brushing my shoulders as if to comfort me. It keeps rushing over me, seemingly saying, "It's OK," over and over. And then I look up and the trees are dancing peacefully.
We are camping on the bay and the views are spectacular like a dream lyric from a Rilo Kiley number.
No cars rushed or honked at the Seattle airport. No one flipped anyone the bird. Not once.
Washington is reminding me of what Odessa first suggested: the world can be wonderful in some places. In some places the air smiles and the weather treats you like a guest in an Earth home. You start to believe that maybe humans can be gifts to the world instead of uninvited pests. And we are all participating in a lovely exchange.
All the trees surrounding me remind me of the Galleria at Christmastime, how it always has a tree larger than the circle of life, dressed up with no place to go like a sad businessman's wife. But here, the trees remind you of a better life ....
Thursday night we watched sunset from an extra long pier and the sun went down leaving a rainbow of light across the sky -- a blanketed backdrop for the snowcapped Cascades to rest their heads on and fall asleep.
The peninsula wildlife sang along with the wind of conversation ringing my guitar strings brightly.
It's nice to feel so much you can't write it all down, in contrast to not wanting to feel or speak, which is close to how I felt before departing Houston ....
I was so foolish.
I was so stubborn.
sections from my diary these last couple days:
No one has ever done anything like this for me before.
Not like this.
I hope he finds his beautiful place.
I hope he finds his saving grace.
God, this kills me ...
Friday
The wind is blowing and brushing my shoulders as if to comfort me. It keeps rushing over me, seemingly saying, "It's OK," over and over. And then I look up and the trees are dancing peacefully.
We are camping on the bay and the views are spectacular like a dream lyric from a Rilo Kiley number.
No cars rushed or honked at the Seattle airport. No one flipped anyone the bird. Not once.
Washington is reminding me of what Odessa first suggested: the world can be wonderful in some places. In some places the air smiles and the weather treats you like a guest in an Earth home. You start to believe that maybe humans can be gifts to the world instead of uninvited pests. And we are all participating in a lovely exchange.
All the trees surrounding me remind me of the Galleria at Christmastime, how it always has a tree larger than the circle of life, dressed up with no place to go like a sad businessman's wife. But here, the trees remind you of a better life ....
Thursday night we watched sunset from an extra long pier and the sun went down leaving a rainbow of light across the sky -- a blanketed backdrop for the snowcapped Cascades to rest their heads on and fall asleep.
The peninsula wildlife sang along with the wind of conversation ringing my guitar strings brightly.
It's nice to feel so much you can't write it all down, in contrast to not wanting to feel or speak, which is close to how I felt before departing Houston ....
I was so foolish.
I was so stubborn.
Friday, June 11, 2004
Any lyric, any sound, any song will do
My friend Dave told me recently something about how making too many declarative statements is a good way to make an ass out of yourself. And I feel like an Ass Queen. But I like declarative statements. I love it, even though I must sound like such a dreamer. I like the sound of determination. I like the idea of clarity. Only, clarity in all honesty doesn't sound very romantic. Romance has excitement and danger, and an element of adventure to it, don't you think?
Yesterday my friend Dawn called me up. She said she was thinking, "I wonder what she's doing now?" I began to take it negatively, the reflection of my actions bouncing off me through the ones who are the closest to catch them in the air. The air that comes out of my mouth faster than anything else these days. She meant it as a compliment, though. Funny how sometimes the things you do affect those you wouldn't expect at all. She said I helped her consciousness. I hate to use the term sociological imagination, but it comes to mind. That whole thing about making decisions again, and I opened up a Pandora's box of possibilities for her just by being her friend and living life, not even noticing my tracks. It's a nice feeling ... a hopeful one.
Instead of dissecting the whos and when and whys and whats right now I'm embarking on another plan. A plan for something good. Because I know there's a can of optimism inside me somewhere. There's a light, and it'll be a bright one soon. That whole thing about knowing what is good and pursuing that. I've been involved in some ugliness. Heartbreak is no excuse, or at least I shouldn't think, and I've been bending on it for way too long, though not outwardly admitting it.
I'm taking a new chance. And I'm asking for a new one at the same time. "All Apologies" keeps coming into my head and running on a loop inside like a tape in my car flipping over when it's done and starting again. But I sure have been making a lot of them lately, apologies I mean.
The goodness of the people I chose to be my friends and abandoned some in my darkest hour is coming back to sweetly remind me how great human beings can be ...
My friend Dave told me recently something about how making too many declarative statements is a good way to make an ass out of yourself. And I feel like an Ass Queen. But I like declarative statements. I love it, even though I must sound like such a dreamer. I like the sound of determination. I like the idea of clarity. Only, clarity in all honesty doesn't sound very romantic. Romance has excitement and danger, and an element of adventure to it, don't you think?
Yesterday my friend Dawn called me up. She said she was thinking, "I wonder what she's doing now?" I began to take it negatively, the reflection of my actions bouncing off me through the ones who are the closest to catch them in the air. The air that comes out of my mouth faster than anything else these days. She meant it as a compliment, though. Funny how sometimes the things you do affect those you wouldn't expect at all. She said I helped her consciousness. I hate to use the term sociological imagination, but it comes to mind. That whole thing about making decisions again, and I opened up a Pandora's box of possibilities for her just by being her friend and living life, not even noticing my tracks. It's a nice feeling ... a hopeful one.
Instead of dissecting the whos and when and whys and whats right now I'm embarking on another plan. A plan for something good. Because I know there's a can of optimism inside me somewhere. There's a light, and it'll be a bright one soon. That whole thing about knowing what is good and pursuing that. I've been involved in some ugliness. Heartbreak is no excuse, or at least I shouldn't think, and I've been bending on it for way too long, though not outwardly admitting it.
I'm taking a new chance. And I'm asking for a new one at the same time. "All Apologies" keeps coming into my head and running on a loop inside like a tape in my car flipping over when it's done and starting again. But I sure have been making a lot of them lately, apologies I mean.
The goodness of the people I chose to be my friends and abandoned some in my darkest hour is coming back to sweetly remind me how great human beings can be ...
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
first comes heavy breathing
staring at the ceiling
What will happen next
I don't wanna know
Boys are stupid. Damn them.
I need to get an electric guitar. Maybe I could buy one and it could make me happy. And an amp too. Maybe I could buy a movie. Maybe I could buy a fucking smile.
Maybe I could buy a good time. They invented that in the 20s right, like with Disney World and shit?
I feel like that song "Forget My Name."
I have to go now. Soon. Now. Soon.
staring at the ceiling
What will happen next
I don't wanna know
Boys are stupid. Damn them.
I need to get an electric guitar. Maybe I could buy one and it could make me happy. And an amp too. Maybe I could buy a movie. Maybe I could buy a fucking smile.
Maybe I could buy a good time. They invented that in the 20s right, like with Disney World and shit?
I feel like that song "Forget My Name."
I have to go now. Soon. Now. Soon.
Monday, June 07, 2004
She said her life was saved by rock and roll ...
I am the biggest bullshitter in the entire world, and I have known some bullshitters in my time.
I've been shatting for six months.
I'm writing a chick dork rocker song. A wannabe Rivers Cuomo tune. I've been listening to pop punk and stuff, and a little hip-hop, but like poppy hip-hop, not angry hip-hop. I've got the new New Found Glory. It's called Catalyst. I'm not sure how I feel about how the album seems to circumnavigate every emotion I have felt in the last couple weeks.
Yesterday I also listened to Green Day and today I listened to Good Charlotte. Sometimes I think the whole Good Charlotte thing could be embarrassing for a music snob to admit. It's not as good as NFG. Musically it's mediocre-ish, but I love what they are about. I love their lyrics. I love how they can simply and poppily express themselves, talking shit about problems of the rich people and being young and going against the grain, and certain friendships and wanting to make things last as they slip away. It really is good ... I dig their sentiments. I do dig that.
And I'm tired of writing sad songs. Even the happy songs have this element of sadness to them. Even the angry ones too. I've been sad for a long, long time.
Sadder than ever, I know that now. Lack of direction does that to me.
But I think I wrote a few posts back about learning how to make decisions. It started with going to parks and playing guitar. Or deciding between grill cheese and peanut butter sandwiches. And it has evolved to clarity surrounding school, relationships, and finding that special place to go ...
But the weirdest thing is that in the periods of the suckage some of the best things come out. Like when I broke up with Jeff a couple years ago. I always wanted to dismiss that period of growth in my life, but back then I became vegetarian, quit smoking and stayed quit, bought a keyboard, worked so much at the Cougar and kept my grades high ... that's the same as what's happening now. I've done some shitty things, but I've figured a whole lot out. I'm stronger. And buying my guitar is one of the best things. And flying to see Ellen back in April. And meeting Trevor, even though he had to move away.
I just got back from spending a few days in Austin, and on the drive back as the highway slipped behind me I thought something I hadn't thought in a very long time. I thought about god. Not the Christian god. Not the denominational one. Not the masculine entity. I'm not sure which one. But it was a relgious experience. Because I felt on that drive that I was driving on a plan. I thought about the sequence of events in my life. And I thought about how lots of times have been horrible and I couldn't understand why, but a year or two later I was glad.
I am the biggest bullshitter in the entire world, and I have known some bullshitters in my time.
I've been shatting for six months.
I'm writing a chick dork rocker song. A wannabe Rivers Cuomo tune. I've been listening to pop punk and stuff, and a little hip-hop, but like poppy hip-hop, not angry hip-hop. I've got the new New Found Glory. It's called Catalyst. I'm not sure how I feel about how the album seems to circumnavigate every emotion I have felt in the last couple weeks.
Yesterday I also listened to Green Day and today I listened to Good Charlotte. Sometimes I think the whole Good Charlotte thing could be embarrassing for a music snob to admit. It's not as good as NFG. Musically it's mediocre-ish, but I love what they are about. I love their lyrics. I love how they can simply and poppily express themselves, talking shit about problems of the rich people and being young and going against the grain, and certain friendships and wanting to make things last as they slip away. It really is good ... I dig their sentiments. I do dig that.
And I'm tired of writing sad songs. Even the happy songs have this element of sadness to them. Even the angry ones too. I've been sad for a long, long time.
Sadder than ever, I know that now. Lack of direction does that to me.
But I think I wrote a few posts back about learning how to make decisions. It started with going to parks and playing guitar. Or deciding between grill cheese and peanut butter sandwiches. And it has evolved to clarity surrounding school, relationships, and finding that special place to go ...
But the weirdest thing is that in the periods of the suckage some of the best things come out. Like when I broke up with Jeff a couple years ago. I always wanted to dismiss that period of growth in my life, but back then I became vegetarian, quit smoking and stayed quit, bought a keyboard, worked so much at the Cougar and kept my grades high ... that's the same as what's happening now. I've done some shitty things, but I've figured a whole lot out. I'm stronger. And buying my guitar is one of the best things. And flying to see Ellen back in April. And meeting Trevor, even though he had to move away.
I just got back from spending a few days in Austin, and on the drive back as the highway slipped behind me I thought something I hadn't thought in a very long time. I thought about god. Not the Christian god. Not the denominational one. Not the masculine entity. I'm not sure which one. But it was a relgious experience. Because I felt on that drive that I was driving on a plan. I thought about the sequence of events in my life. And I thought about how lots of times have been horrible and I couldn't understand why, but a year or two later I was glad.
