Sunday, January 23, 2005
Where lovers go
Lovers go lots of places in my dreams. Daydreams, I should say, since I never remember the night ones. And sometimes, I get to be one of them.
So simple. So single. The Good Life sings in my head.
I sing alone at the bus stop.
And while I work.
And when my clothes are drying, sometimes.
And in the shower.
I could sing in my car when it worked, and everywhere else too, man. Yeah.
I could do anything alone, but in the words of none other than Al Green ...
It's the daydreams that drive me crazy. It's not loneliness. It's the second you realize your own imagination.
It's not like I'm dillusional. Of course I know I'm daydreaming. Sometimes I let them wander, sometimes I control them, sometimes they're just passing thoughts.
They sorta break my heart. These Cinderella stories in my head.
The other night I went out dancing, and I was sitting on the steps of the stage at the club, watching people for awhile. I got up from my spot and was across the way to the bathroom when I realized I'd forgotten my hat.
And there he was, sitting next to it, or standing up with it in his hands, ready to return it to me. Or maybe he had noticed me from across the room, and lost sight of me, and was so glad I came back he rushed over to meet me.
Something like that. Something about meeting the love of my life. I fall in love every day in parallel universes. In dreams and various dimensions. I live out entire romantic lifetimes with a million special someones.
We watch the clouds. We go to the movies. We go for long drives. We play guitar to each other. We play frisbee golf.
And we notice things together. We watch people, and just, notice things. Funny things. Peculiar things. Romantic things. Lots of things.
On the steps of a club, I anticipate him. In the cold at the bus stop, I miss him. And on the worst of my days, I hope to be blind of him.
Love's a two-way street, but either way, I don't seem to fall on the right side at the right time.
And I think it's for a reason. I know it is. There has to be, because I know it exists. I know he does: the nameless, faceless, imaginary for now but real nonetheless, incredible man who will one day unquestionably steal away my heart.
And he may not last forever. But I would still like to meet him. I can deal with the uncertainties that come along with life and love.
But I would like to touch him. And I would like to hear him whisper. And I would like to hold his hand while crossing a street.
Just to make the dream last a little bit longer.
Lovers go lots of places in my dreams. Daydreams, I should say, since I never remember the night ones. And sometimes, I get to be one of them.
So simple. So single. The Good Life sings in my head.
I sing alone at the bus stop.
And while I work.
And when my clothes are drying, sometimes.
And in the shower.
I could sing in my car when it worked, and everywhere else too, man. Yeah.
I could do anything alone, but in the words of none other than Al Green ...
It's the daydreams that drive me crazy. It's not loneliness. It's the second you realize your own imagination.
It's not like I'm dillusional. Of course I know I'm daydreaming. Sometimes I let them wander, sometimes I control them, sometimes they're just passing thoughts.
They sorta break my heart. These Cinderella stories in my head.
The other night I went out dancing, and I was sitting on the steps of the stage at the club, watching people for awhile. I got up from my spot and was across the way to the bathroom when I realized I'd forgotten my hat.
And there he was, sitting next to it, or standing up with it in his hands, ready to return it to me. Or maybe he had noticed me from across the room, and lost sight of me, and was so glad I came back he rushed over to meet me.
Something like that. Something about meeting the love of my life. I fall in love every day in parallel universes. In dreams and various dimensions. I live out entire romantic lifetimes with a million special someones.
We watch the clouds. We go to the movies. We go for long drives. We play guitar to each other. We play frisbee golf.
And we notice things together. We watch people, and just, notice things. Funny things. Peculiar things. Romantic things. Lots of things.
On the steps of a club, I anticipate him. In the cold at the bus stop, I miss him. And on the worst of my days, I hope to be blind of him.
Love's a two-way street, but either way, I don't seem to fall on the right side at the right time.
And I think it's for a reason. I know it is. There has to be, because I know it exists. I know he does: the nameless, faceless, imaginary for now but real nonetheless, incredible man who will one day unquestionably steal away my heart.
And he may not last forever. But I would still like to meet him. I can deal with the uncertainties that come along with life and love.
But I would like to touch him. And I would like to hear him whisper. And I would like to hold his hand while crossing a street.
Just to make the dream last a little bit longer.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
This kind of hurt
From: Cara
Date: Jan 19, 2005 09:15 PM
Subject: we were merely freshmen
Body: Your freshmen year of high school
[What year was it?]
1994-95
[What were your three favorite bands?]
Letters to Cleo, Sarah McLachlan, Alanis Morissette
[What was your favorite outfit?]
probably this tight striped shirt that made my boobs look big and some jeans. (hey, I didn't actually get any until I was like 20, so I took what I could get). And I also admit I loved wearing my coverups for the dance team. I was on the Golden Brigade, and we had these black jazz-type windpants and a matching jacket with some team logo of a girl dancing on the back. The design was gold, and each item had my name embroidered in gold on the top left corner. I am a tool.
[What was up with your hair?]
really, really long. It was long and wavy, down to my ass, but then I cut it halfway through the year. I didn't know how long it would take to grow back, because it had been long my entire life. It's never been as long since. I honestly, painfully admit that I think I cut it because I felt different with it. From other people. I got a shoulder-length bob in January, cut like a foot off of it at least.
[Who were your best friends?]
That's hard. I guess these girls who were in my classes and on the team with me. Rachel, Jamie, and Rachel's twin sister Krissy, but I never felt like I identified with them. And probably my sisters at home. And also a girl named Quindy.
[What did you do after school?]
I went to dance practice, and then I would usually walk two miles home after. I worked really hard on the team.
[Where did you work?]
I didn't work yet. That came later.
[Did you take the bus?]
Every morning to school.
[Who did you have a crush on?]
I was kind of boy crazy. I guess the biggest one was Aaron Riley. We went out for like two weeks, but he was my first kiss. Broke my heart. (shut up Mer, hah! But it really is quite hilarious in retrospect.)
[Did you fight with your parents?]
no.
[Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on?]
God, it's really hard to remember this stuff. I'm fuckin' old. I honestly don't know. Probably Eddie Furlong still. I remember really liking him in middle school anyway. ninth is a blur for some reason.
[Did you smoke cigarettes?]
No.
[Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker?]
no.
[Did you have a 'clique'?]
I guess it was a group of girls from the team like I said. But it was so weird. I totally had an inferiority complex. I just watched them really, like I was on the outside.
[Did you have "The Max" like Zach Kelly and Slater?]
mmm, no. We used to go to Chili's after basketball games. That was the thing to do.
[Admit it, were you popular?]
By association. For awhile my friends were the popular people, but I wasn't feeling it. I quit the team at the end of the year, and the rest of my high school life was incredibly different. After that I got to know a lot more people. Just through other activities I did. Plus, I was a nice girl. I was nice to everyone.
[Who did you want to be just like?]
Freshman year, I wanted to be like Rachel. I thought she was so beautiful. And her make-up was perfect every day. And she had the nicest things. And boys really liked her, but she paid no attention. And all the girls wanted to be her friend. And she had great posture. She actually helped mine. She used to bitch me out for dragging my feet when we walked down the halls. I bought the cheap version of the shoes she had. And she gave me a bunch of old clothes that didn't fit her anymore.
[What did you want to be when you grew up?]
An actress. And singer. I wanted to be the leading lady in musical theater productions. For a long time.
[Where did you think you'd be at the age you are now?]
I think I thought New York, probably. I used to daydream about going to Juilliard.
***
I posted that on a MySpace bulletin. The questions were from a bulletin I received. And it really hurt to think about that stuff. Quite personal to be posting, too.
I was listening to Alanis Morissette for Christ's sake. But that's just the surface of the pain and embarrassment lingering from high school.
Seriously, just filling that out brought back some familiar chest pains.
And I kept wanting to go, "But now I ... blah blah blah ..." Or "but the next year blah blah blah ..." Or, "in college, blah blah blah."
But the truth is, if another one of those questionaires were to come out, and it were to ask about say 2000, or 1998, it would be just another mixture of the feelings that come along when one reflects on his or her path of existence: longing, regret, sadness, fondness, tenderness, empathy for the self.
I don't know. And I wonder if that's what we see, when we look in the mirror every day. Maybe sometimes, you can be subconsciously reminded of some passing flame or time, or feeling, while brushing your teeth in the wee hours before you go to work. And maybe that feeling stays with you all day, and that's where bad days come from.
We never really know our futures, what's going to come, what's going to pass, what's going to enter into our lives, whether things that do enter will stay, whether things that leave will ever come back.
And we're drawing these lines. These imaginary timelines that only we can see, unless we map them out for others who may be interested, or for our own sanity and creative self-preservations, such as journals and blogs and art.
And we're drawing them abstractly, yet hoping they will lead to a place, such as a place with an answer to our questions, whether they lie in death or do not. Or if they can be found further down the imaginary lines.
I don't know what many of my beliefs are. I admire people with strong opinions, when i don't want to hit them. I don't know if I want to get married, or if I want children, or if there is a god, or if there is heaven, or what age I will be when I die, or if my neighborhood streets would be safe in ten years, or what color the moon would be to me if I were standing right on it.
I don't know if I believe in soul mates. Nor do I have any definitive answers to the perils of the universe.
But I love not knowing. And I love waking up every day. And I love remembering, even when it hurts. I love that once you've known someone, or even loved them, that they could be gone, in some form or fashion, in a swift exit or a drawn-out, dismal one, and that you can look back and remember lying in bed with them, and eating oatmeal for breakfast some morning while you listened to a Bing Crosby record.
I love all the questions. I love all the details. And I love how the littlest things, such as writing this, can make the weighty chest pains of those memories resurrected from the attic of my brain to cast down on the depths of my being in cold spheres smolder over into a smile in my belly, like this one time when a boy I admitted having a crush on smiled back at me in mutual delight and described the all-consuming, sudden relieving happiness he felt inside him that very moment, and how he motioned for the smile with his own hands across his abdomen. I loved that.
From: Cara
Date: Jan 19, 2005 09:15 PM
Subject: we were merely freshmen
Body: Your freshmen year of high school
[What year was it?]
1994-95
[What were your three favorite bands?]
Letters to Cleo, Sarah McLachlan, Alanis Morissette
[What was your favorite outfit?]
probably this tight striped shirt that made my boobs look big and some jeans. (hey, I didn't actually get any until I was like 20, so I took what I could get). And I also admit I loved wearing my coverups for the dance team. I was on the Golden Brigade, and we had these black jazz-type windpants and a matching jacket with some team logo of a girl dancing on the back. The design was gold, and each item had my name embroidered in gold on the top left corner. I am a tool.
[What was up with your hair?]
really, really long. It was long and wavy, down to my ass, but then I cut it halfway through the year. I didn't know how long it would take to grow back, because it had been long my entire life. It's never been as long since. I honestly, painfully admit that I think I cut it because I felt different with it. From other people. I got a shoulder-length bob in January, cut like a foot off of it at least.
[Who were your best friends?]
That's hard. I guess these girls who were in my classes and on the team with me. Rachel, Jamie, and Rachel's twin sister Krissy, but I never felt like I identified with them. And probably my sisters at home. And also a girl named Quindy.
[What did you do after school?]
I went to dance practice, and then I would usually walk two miles home after. I worked really hard on the team.
[Where did you work?]
I didn't work yet. That came later.
[Did you take the bus?]
Every morning to school.
[Who did you have a crush on?]
I was kind of boy crazy. I guess the biggest one was Aaron Riley. We went out for like two weeks, but he was my first kiss. Broke my heart. (shut up Mer, hah! But it really is quite hilarious in retrospect.)
[Did you fight with your parents?]
no.
[Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on?]
God, it's really hard to remember this stuff. I'm fuckin' old. I honestly don't know. Probably Eddie Furlong still. I remember really liking him in middle school anyway. ninth is a blur for some reason.
[Did you smoke cigarettes?]
No.
[Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker?]
no.
[Did you have a 'clique'?]
I guess it was a group of girls from the team like I said. But it was so weird. I totally had an inferiority complex. I just watched them really, like I was on the outside.
[Did you have "The Max" like Zach Kelly and Slater?]
mmm, no. We used to go to Chili's after basketball games. That was the thing to do.
[Admit it, were you popular?]
By association. For awhile my friends were the popular people, but I wasn't feeling it. I quit the team at the end of the year, and the rest of my high school life was incredibly different. After that I got to know a lot more people. Just through other activities I did. Plus, I was a nice girl. I was nice to everyone.
[Who did you want to be just like?]
Freshman year, I wanted to be like Rachel. I thought she was so beautiful. And her make-up was perfect every day. And she had the nicest things. And boys really liked her, but she paid no attention. And all the girls wanted to be her friend. And she had great posture. She actually helped mine. She used to bitch me out for dragging my feet when we walked down the halls. I bought the cheap version of the shoes she had. And she gave me a bunch of old clothes that didn't fit her anymore.
[What did you want to be when you grew up?]
An actress. And singer. I wanted to be the leading lady in musical theater productions. For a long time.
[Where did you think you'd be at the age you are now?]
I think I thought New York, probably. I used to daydream about going to Juilliard.
***
I posted that on a MySpace bulletin. The questions were from a bulletin I received. And it really hurt to think about that stuff. Quite personal to be posting, too.
I was listening to Alanis Morissette for Christ's sake. But that's just the surface of the pain and embarrassment lingering from high school.
Seriously, just filling that out brought back some familiar chest pains.
And I kept wanting to go, "But now I ... blah blah blah ..." Or "but the next year blah blah blah ..." Or, "in college, blah blah blah."
But the truth is, if another one of those questionaires were to come out, and it were to ask about say 2000, or 1998, it would be just another mixture of the feelings that come along when one reflects on his or her path of existence: longing, regret, sadness, fondness, tenderness, empathy for the self.
I don't know. And I wonder if that's what we see, when we look in the mirror every day. Maybe sometimes, you can be subconsciously reminded of some passing flame or time, or feeling, while brushing your teeth in the wee hours before you go to work. And maybe that feeling stays with you all day, and that's where bad days come from.
We never really know our futures, what's going to come, what's going to pass, what's going to enter into our lives, whether things that do enter will stay, whether things that leave will ever come back.
And we're drawing these lines. These imaginary timelines that only we can see, unless we map them out for others who may be interested, or for our own sanity and creative self-preservations, such as journals and blogs and art.
And we're drawing them abstractly, yet hoping they will lead to a place, such as a place with an answer to our questions, whether they lie in death or do not. Or if they can be found further down the imaginary lines.
I don't know what many of my beliefs are. I admire people with strong opinions, when i don't want to hit them. I don't know if I want to get married, or if I want children, or if there is a god, or if there is heaven, or what age I will be when I die, or if my neighborhood streets would be safe in ten years, or what color the moon would be to me if I were standing right on it.
I don't know if I believe in soul mates. Nor do I have any definitive answers to the perils of the universe.
But I love not knowing. And I love waking up every day. And I love remembering, even when it hurts. I love that once you've known someone, or even loved them, that they could be gone, in some form or fashion, in a swift exit or a drawn-out, dismal one, and that you can look back and remember lying in bed with them, and eating oatmeal for breakfast some morning while you listened to a Bing Crosby record.
I love all the questions. I love all the details. And I love how the littlest things, such as writing this, can make the weighty chest pains of those memories resurrected from the attic of my brain to cast down on the depths of my being in cold spheres smolder over into a smile in my belly, like this one time when a boy I admitted having a crush on smiled back at me in mutual delight and described the all-consuming, sudden relieving happiness he felt inside him that very moment, and how he motioned for the smile with his own hands across his abdomen. I loved that.
Friday, January 14, 2005
State of Control
Rarrrrrr!
Damn, dude, I'm bored out of my mind. And I don't bore easily so I think this is just frustrating me even more.
I have a lot of pent up energy all the sudden. I want to just rarrrrrrrr! I don't know, rock out, or go running, or have sex, or rollerskate. Something. Shit.
I played my guitar today, and it just pissed me off. It's one of those sucky times of the month. Not the female kind. The moon kind. You know how some times of the month you just have more creative energy from the stars or something. Well, now is not one of those times for me. Eh.
I am going to start clawing at the walls soon. I need freedom. I'm like a friggen bird in a cage. A work and then go home and sleep cage. And that's no life for a bird. And that's no life for me.
You know what else? Nothing too terribly exciting has happened lately. I'm not a drama queen. I'm definitely not always the adventure seeker. But I do enjoy a good risk now and then.
Eh, nothing. Feel free to skip this. I'm just going to keep typing until I settle down a bit.
Rarrrr!
My friend Scott told me to let out a good grrrr when I need to. But grrrr's too mild for now, so RARRRRRRRR!
I seriously do feel like making some noise, but as you have it I am typing upstairs in the loft of a house in a tiny suburban neighborhood.
I am grateful for this neighborhood. I am grateful for the futon. I am grateful for the super excellent parents I have for helping me out. For real. I just wish I had a soundproof room or something.
Scratch that. I wish they slept in a soundproof room, so that in the hours after they go to sleep when I am still awake I wouldn't have to be so conscious of every sound I make around the house.
And I hate tv. Grrrrrr. And I hate how the only time I can spend with my parents is in front of it, when no one talks to anyone, and I'm not entertained by any of it.
Grrrrr. I put that I'm listening to The Blood Brothers, but I'm not, because the neighborhood Best Buy was sold out of it when I went there tonight. But I would be if I could. And I would be playing it loudly. And I would rock out and dance around like no one is watching because no one would be watching, and it would be the best time ever.
I would unwrap the plastic, and brace myself. It would be awesome.
I feel like taking a long drive. I feel like strumming my guitar and writing a screamo song, except I have nothing to scream about.
Just the plight of a 24-year-old, pent up and full of dreams. Too old to screw around, too young to settle down. Fuckin' A.
I'm ready for my own place. I'm ready to walk around naked. Or live in my bathrobe. And eat Wheat Thins on the couch. I'm ready to blast some Good Life and do the dishes. I'm ready for some John Coltrane bubble baths and reading. I'm ready for my blue towels that are in storage.
And to rediscover everything I left behind when I left for Seattle.
I'm ready to be me all the time. Not having to worry about hogging a bathroom or waking up anybody, or who's going to let me in the house.
Doing whatever I wanted at 3 a.m. I'm ready for that. I'm ready for the fun parts of being a grown up. The ones I overlooked.
I'm even ready to do some cooking for me and only me. Eggplant Parmesan. Fuckin' Thai food. Or avocado and mushroom sandwiches every day. For real.
Raaaaarrr! I think I'm gonna buy some skates. I really am. Or maybe a friggen skateboard. I've always loved skating. Maybe I could learn how to do an ollie, or get a little ramp, and bust my ass. Feel what it's like to scrape my knees for a change and wake the fuck up.
It's 2005, and damnit if I don't pay somebody to push me out the window of a plane this year so I can open up a parachute and dangle slowly over the earth for ever and ever before hitting the ground with a new sense of the world and my own damn mortality.
***
I wrote that on my MySpace blog the other night. But I'm feeling a little bit better. I got a few comments from some very good friends who are feeling me. At least I'm not alone.
Yesterday was such a long day. I worked nine hours, after spending an hour on a bus to get there. I'm enjoying the bus rides, though. Reading Moby Dick passes the time. I really love it.
But then I got off work, and missed the most recent bus, so I had to wait for like 30 minutes in the cold.
One interesting thing happened though, while I was waiting. I was standing in the corner of an entryway to an office building; the walls blocked out the wind a little. And then this plastic bag from a bunch of trash someone put out from a nearby hotel came over to play in the wind.
I didn't have anything to do -- just smoking and waiting -- so I watched it. A man stood in the corner opposite me, and the bag swayed up toward him, going around in circles. It swam around him a couple times. He didn't seem to notice. Then it dove down and wrapped around his right leg. And he just stood there, while it whipped in the wind on his leg.
And I'm thinking to myself, does he notice? Is he embarrassed. 'Cause he just stood still for a while. Finally he turned around and let it unravel itself from him.
But then it began to fly in rapid spirals up and down his body, like it was playing with him. Tormenting him. Capturing him. Teasing him. And he looked almost like he started to freak out. Then it got behind him and latched onto the handle of a door, like it was waiting to pounce on him again.
He moved a little. Then all at once the bag just took off around the corner.
I was just really entertained by all that. I wish someone had been there to laugh with me. I imagined someone sitting next to me, huddled in the cold wind, secretly, silently, watching along with me. And we would make eye contact and smile, and then the bus would come and we would crack up.
School starts next week, and I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm looking forward to new concepts, and new faces. And something different to do with my time.
I've been telling everyone that I will be the biggest slacker in the world. Barely pass, and with pride. But that's not me. I know I will work hard. Because if school is what I'm doing right now, then I'm going to do it well.
And everything else will come in time. Because all things have been slowly working up to something. And I just have to trust that something. And wish that'll it'll be good. Really good. Like a dream that comes true.
Rarrrrrr!
Damn, dude, I'm bored out of my mind. And I don't bore easily so I think this is just frustrating me even more.
I have a lot of pent up energy all the sudden. I want to just rarrrrrrrr! I don't know, rock out, or go running, or have sex, or rollerskate. Something. Shit.
I played my guitar today, and it just pissed me off. It's one of those sucky times of the month. Not the female kind. The moon kind. You know how some times of the month you just have more creative energy from the stars or something. Well, now is not one of those times for me. Eh.
I am going to start clawing at the walls soon. I need freedom. I'm like a friggen bird in a cage. A work and then go home and sleep cage. And that's no life for a bird. And that's no life for me.
You know what else? Nothing too terribly exciting has happened lately. I'm not a drama queen. I'm definitely not always the adventure seeker. But I do enjoy a good risk now and then.
Eh, nothing. Feel free to skip this. I'm just going to keep typing until I settle down a bit.
Rarrrr!
My friend Scott told me to let out a good grrrr when I need to. But grrrr's too mild for now, so RARRRRRRRR!
I seriously do feel like making some noise, but as you have it I am typing upstairs in the loft of a house in a tiny suburban neighborhood.
I am grateful for this neighborhood. I am grateful for the futon. I am grateful for the super excellent parents I have for helping me out. For real. I just wish I had a soundproof room or something.
Scratch that. I wish they slept in a soundproof room, so that in the hours after they go to sleep when I am still awake I wouldn't have to be so conscious of every sound I make around the house.
And I hate tv. Grrrrrr. And I hate how the only time I can spend with my parents is in front of it, when no one talks to anyone, and I'm not entertained by any of it.
Grrrrr. I put that I'm listening to The Blood Brothers, but I'm not, because the neighborhood Best Buy was sold out of it when I went there tonight. But I would be if I could. And I would be playing it loudly. And I would rock out and dance around like no one is watching because no one would be watching, and it would be the best time ever.
I would unwrap the plastic, and brace myself. It would be awesome.
I feel like taking a long drive. I feel like strumming my guitar and writing a screamo song, except I have nothing to scream about.
Just the plight of a 24-year-old, pent up and full of dreams. Too old to screw around, too young to settle down. Fuckin' A.
I'm ready for my own place. I'm ready to walk around naked. Or live in my bathrobe. And eat Wheat Thins on the couch. I'm ready to blast some Good Life and do the dishes. I'm ready for some John Coltrane bubble baths and reading. I'm ready for my blue towels that are in storage.
And to rediscover everything I left behind when I left for Seattle.
I'm ready to be me all the time. Not having to worry about hogging a bathroom or waking up anybody, or who's going to let me in the house.
Doing whatever I wanted at 3 a.m. I'm ready for that. I'm ready for the fun parts of being a grown up. The ones I overlooked.
I'm even ready to do some cooking for me and only me. Eggplant Parmesan. Fuckin' Thai food. Or avocado and mushroom sandwiches every day. For real.
Raaaaarrr! I think I'm gonna buy some skates. I really am. Or maybe a friggen skateboard. I've always loved skating. Maybe I could learn how to do an ollie, or get a little ramp, and bust my ass. Feel what it's like to scrape my knees for a change and wake the fuck up.
It's 2005, and damnit if I don't pay somebody to push me out the window of a plane this year so I can open up a parachute and dangle slowly over the earth for ever and ever before hitting the ground with a new sense of the world and my own damn mortality.
***
I wrote that on my MySpace blog the other night. But I'm feeling a little bit better. I got a few comments from some very good friends who are feeling me. At least I'm not alone.
Yesterday was such a long day. I worked nine hours, after spending an hour on a bus to get there. I'm enjoying the bus rides, though. Reading Moby Dick passes the time. I really love it.
But then I got off work, and missed the most recent bus, so I had to wait for like 30 minutes in the cold.
One interesting thing happened though, while I was waiting. I was standing in the corner of an entryway to an office building; the walls blocked out the wind a little. And then this plastic bag from a bunch of trash someone put out from a nearby hotel came over to play in the wind.
I didn't have anything to do -- just smoking and waiting -- so I watched it. A man stood in the corner opposite me, and the bag swayed up toward him, going around in circles. It swam around him a couple times. He didn't seem to notice. Then it dove down and wrapped around his right leg. And he just stood there, while it whipped in the wind on his leg.
And I'm thinking to myself, does he notice? Is he embarrassed. 'Cause he just stood still for a while. Finally he turned around and let it unravel itself from him.
But then it began to fly in rapid spirals up and down his body, like it was playing with him. Tormenting him. Capturing him. Teasing him. And he looked almost like he started to freak out. Then it got behind him and latched onto the handle of a door, like it was waiting to pounce on him again.
He moved a little. Then all at once the bag just took off around the corner.
I was just really entertained by all that. I wish someone had been there to laugh with me. I imagined someone sitting next to me, huddled in the cold wind, secretly, silently, watching along with me. And we would make eye contact and smile, and then the bus would come and we would crack up.
School starts next week, and I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm looking forward to new concepts, and new faces. And something different to do with my time.
I've been telling everyone that I will be the biggest slacker in the world. Barely pass, and with pride. But that's not me. I know I will work hard. Because if school is what I'm doing right now, then I'm going to do it well.
And everything else will come in time. Because all things have been slowly working up to something. And I just have to trust that something. And wish that'll it'll be good. Really good. Like a dream that comes true.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Goodbye Squared x 2 to the 3rd degree, er something
This post maybe pointless. The next few minutes will make or break it. But I want to say something. Two things come to mind.
For the first, I should say that I am quite comfortable with the whole of my life right now. I really am quite content. I went home to stay with my folks, and we are getting along really well. And I am safe.
I've read as many books in the last two weeks as I probably read in the whole of 2004. It's good.
I haven't written a song in more than a month. I've tried in pieces, but I just haven't. I am playing, though. I played at a few parties recently. I love playing for people, and I'm becoming more and more comfortable with that. Not so much last night at Randy's. I somehow got nervous and fucked up a lot, but eh. I'm going to start playing open mics soon. Even if I don't go with the band. Just for me. Because I love playing for people, and want to do it more.
I had to say goodbye to two people this weekend, and it sucked. So, as I'm on the whole in a fantastic mood, I'm overshadowed by this shady feeling of half-sorrow, half-regret, half-something else even though three halves make more than a whole. I think it might work somehow if I could put my feelings into one of those ven diagrams.
Anyway, Randy's moving, or has already left, for the Northwest. Hopefully I will meet him out there in two years, and hopefully I will at least see him on some visits before then.
And Guillermo. Guillermo. Guillermo. Guillermo's leaving to go back to Germany tomorrow. Sucks. I'm always sad when he leaves, for awhile, and then I forget about him for awhile. And I don't like it when he leaves, and I don't like it that I forget him sometimes. He's one of my best friends in the world. It's not quite forgetting. It's just that I'd rather appreciate him when he's here, and work on my life, and have hopeful feelings that he is doing all the things he wants to do and seeing everything out there in Europe.
My older sister is moving out of state in a few months, and most likely out of the country in another year. Her boyfriend is British, and that is when his work visa runs out. So, then they're pretty much going to go off to Scotland or anywhere. Anywhere they can be together. Which is romantic, and nice, and I'm happy for her.
A lot of people are in love right now. I keep thinking about it. It's like that Good Life song. It's different when you're lonely/and the whole world's in love/holding hands between bar stools ..."
Those words ring in and out of my mind like a melancholy bell. It's a strange kind of loneliness. Because I'm not lonely for a person. Like loneliness I think is intended to mean. Absent of love comes to mind, but I have plenty of love to give, and have been showering friends with it.
My old friend Merideth and I have been hanging out a lot. A whole lot. Ten years. She's gone to college and come back, and now that I'm at my parents' I live near her, and we catch up. We reminisce about the first time she hit her mother's liquor cabinet, and how we drank it upstairs in her room all slumber party style. We were about 15. We have coffee and bullshit about our lives and books we are reading and art. We went dancing. It is great to have her back in life. Nearer to my life I should say, as an active part of it.
Look. Love.
I think love is one of the most beautiful words in the English language. How can that be, with all things and there are many -- the attachments the word picks up over years. Like a person picks up friends and enemies.
Love. I think I'm in love with love. I don't want a boyfriend, I just want to be in love. And it is completely selfish. I mean, I don't give a shit. I guess that's what I miss. Giving a shit about somebody. I haven't been in love. Not for a while. It's the feeling I miss. The freefall. The intimacy. The excitement. Learning another person's body and mind and sharing it with your own.
I spoil my boyfriends rotten. I spoil them like they're my children. It's bad. Because then they become children.
I selfishly want to be in love.
It's a cutting realization. There is no place for it. Throwing love into my life right now would be like throwing a red bra or skirt into a washer full of whites. It would just turn everything pink and ruin it. I mean, sure, maybe a white t-shirt or two would look cool slightly pink, but everything else would have to be thrown out, and then I'd have to get a whole new wardrobe. And it's too soon to start over again, because I barely have started over. I want to wear in these clothes a little. I want to wear these t-shirts on my own before the band names fade.
Painful but true. It's like that whole thing about not being in two places at once. You can't. And you can't be in love and you can't be alone.
This post maybe pointless. The next few minutes will make or break it. But I want to say something. Two things come to mind.
For the first, I should say that I am quite comfortable with the whole of my life right now. I really am quite content. I went home to stay with my folks, and we are getting along really well. And I am safe.
I've read as many books in the last two weeks as I probably read in the whole of 2004. It's good.
I haven't written a song in more than a month. I've tried in pieces, but I just haven't. I am playing, though. I played at a few parties recently. I love playing for people, and I'm becoming more and more comfortable with that. Not so much last night at Randy's. I somehow got nervous and fucked up a lot, but eh. I'm going to start playing open mics soon. Even if I don't go with the band. Just for me. Because I love playing for people, and want to do it more.
I had to say goodbye to two people this weekend, and it sucked. So, as I'm on the whole in a fantastic mood, I'm overshadowed by this shady feeling of half-sorrow, half-regret, half-something else even though three halves make more than a whole. I think it might work somehow if I could put my feelings into one of those ven diagrams.
Anyway, Randy's moving, or has already left, for the Northwest. Hopefully I will meet him out there in two years, and hopefully I will at least see him on some visits before then.
And Guillermo. Guillermo. Guillermo. Guillermo's leaving to go back to Germany tomorrow. Sucks. I'm always sad when he leaves, for awhile, and then I forget about him for awhile. And I don't like it when he leaves, and I don't like it that I forget him sometimes. He's one of my best friends in the world. It's not quite forgetting. It's just that I'd rather appreciate him when he's here, and work on my life, and have hopeful feelings that he is doing all the things he wants to do and seeing everything out there in Europe.
My older sister is moving out of state in a few months, and most likely out of the country in another year. Her boyfriend is British, and that is when his work visa runs out. So, then they're pretty much going to go off to Scotland or anywhere. Anywhere they can be together. Which is romantic, and nice, and I'm happy for her.
A lot of people are in love right now. I keep thinking about it. It's like that Good Life song. It's different when you're lonely/and the whole world's in love/holding hands between bar stools ..."
Those words ring in and out of my mind like a melancholy bell. It's a strange kind of loneliness. Because I'm not lonely for a person. Like loneliness I think is intended to mean. Absent of love comes to mind, but I have plenty of love to give, and have been showering friends with it.
My old friend Merideth and I have been hanging out a lot. A whole lot. Ten years. She's gone to college and come back, and now that I'm at my parents' I live near her, and we catch up. We reminisce about the first time she hit her mother's liquor cabinet, and how we drank it upstairs in her room all slumber party style. We were about 15. We have coffee and bullshit about our lives and books we are reading and art. We went dancing. It is great to have her back in life. Nearer to my life I should say, as an active part of it.
Look. Love.
I think love is one of the most beautiful words in the English language. How can that be, with all things and there are many -- the attachments the word picks up over years. Like a person picks up friends and enemies.
Love. I think I'm in love with love. I don't want a boyfriend, I just want to be in love. And it is completely selfish. I mean, I don't give a shit. I guess that's what I miss. Giving a shit about somebody. I haven't been in love. Not for a while. It's the feeling I miss. The freefall. The intimacy. The excitement. Learning another person's body and mind and sharing it with your own.
I spoil my boyfriends rotten. I spoil them like they're my children. It's bad. Because then they become children.
I selfishly want to be in love.
It's a cutting realization. There is no place for it. Throwing love into my life right now would be like throwing a red bra or skirt into a washer full of whites. It would just turn everything pink and ruin it. I mean, sure, maybe a white t-shirt or two would look cool slightly pink, but everything else would have to be thrown out, and then I'd have to get a whole new wardrobe. And it's too soon to start over again, because I barely have started over. I want to wear in these clothes a little. I want to wear these t-shirts on my own before the band names fade.
Painful but true. It's like that whole thing about not being in two places at once. You can't. And you can't be in love and you can't be alone.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
January 1, 2005
Writing the date seems so strange. It is technically the 2nd, but I haven't slept yet. Work and new year's celebrations have gotten the sleep schedule slightly off-center. The bright side is I am off tomorrow.
I am off tomorrow, and I haven't made any plans. Well, OK, I sorta had, but I am cancelling them. And now I am as free as I want to be.
I found a picture of the tattoo I want to get. Or at least, the inspiration for the tattoo I want to get. I'm going to try my hand at drawing it myself. It was a painting on the wall at a party I went to last night. Beautiful.
I'm going to leave its description as plain as that. Maybe when I get it I will post a picture ...
I read two books this week. On the bus. I take the bus to work now, and the morning rides have already become sacred to me in a way.
When I finished Heartburn I was left with a familiar feeling. The same feeling I've gotten from Nick Hornby books, and my favorite songs and movies. And every Death Cab for Cutie song.
I find it interesting that so many different works of art and writing can convey, and bring out from within their receivers, patterns of emotions that resemble each other so much. Like strands of DNA from collective consciousness.
I thought about how divinely human it is that we can do that. That we can project it, and receive it. And we have the technology to do it even across distance and time.
It's fascinating: that lyrics from a song and a painting or a novel can produce and reflect nearly the same complex emotional responses and feelings.
It is something that is beyond words, beyond the stories that are told. It is an essence of sorts. Essential to humanity.
And it is almost like we do it for ourselves. Because it nurtures us.
Now, this is not an uncommon thought, I know. It is one argument that is used to try to turn the tide of the devaluation of art forms in the face of the rising importance of science and math as seen through the eyes of a capitalistic, money-based, culture -- a system that works together in some respects as if free thinking were absolutely inconsequential to its purpose.
And then I thought about the things we seek out. The emotions we feel deep within ourselves regardless of the change of seasons, regardless of the time of year, regardless of what time it is.
And I thought that maybe those are the pictures of ourselves. The ones I was looking for, when I mentioned the memories and photographs. Maybe they are replications of ourselves made through our own will.
I've often said before that art is an expression of human life. I think we could all agree on that. But this thought takes that one a step further. It makes it spiritual. It makes it holy.
And in a way, it makes it seem narcissistic. Creating all these mirrors. Buying books and movies and singing songs that expose and reflect the truest foundation of what lies underneath the exterior make-up covering the evolutionary self. Matching up themes. Matching up something deep within our own existence and far too complicated to explain with words.
I'm still thinking about it. And probably will for awhile. But I really do find it fascinating. I already said that, but I do.
Writing the date seems so strange. It is technically the 2nd, but I haven't slept yet. Work and new year's celebrations have gotten the sleep schedule slightly off-center. The bright side is I am off tomorrow.
I am off tomorrow, and I haven't made any plans. Well, OK, I sorta had, but I am cancelling them. And now I am as free as I want to be.
I found a picture of the tattoo I want to get. Or at least, the inspiration for the tattoo I want to get. I'm going to try my hand at drawing it myself. It was a painting on the wall at a party I went to last night. Beautiful.
I'm going to leave its description as plain as that. Maybe when I get it I will post a picture ...
I read two books this week. On the bus. I take the bus to work now, and the morning rides have already become sacred to me in a way.
When I finished Heartburn I was left with a familiar feeling. The same feeling I've gotten from Nick Hornby books, and my favorite songs and movies. And every Death Cab for Cutie song.
I find it interesting that so many different works of art and writing can convey, and bring out from within their receivers, patterns of emotions that resemble each other so much. Like strands of DNA from collective consciousness.
I thought about how divinely human it is that we can do that. That we can project it, and receive it. And we have the technology to do it even across distance and time.
It's fascinating: that lyrics from a song and a painting or a novel can produce and reflect nearly the same complex emotional responses and feelings.
It is something that is beyond words, beyond the stories that are told. It is an essence of sorts. Essential to humanity.
And it is almost like we do it for ourselves. Because it nurtures us.
Now, this is not an uncommon thought, I know. It is one argument that is used to try to turn the tide of the devaluation of art forms in the face of the rising importance of science and math as seen through the eyes of a capitalistic, money-based, culture -- a system that works together in some respects as if free thinking were absolutely inconsequential to its purpose.
And then I thought about the things we seek out. The emotions we feel deep within ourselves regardless of the change of seasons, regardless of the time of year, regardless of what time it is.
And I thought that maybe those are the pictures of ourselves. The ones I was looking for, when I mentioned the memories and photographs. Maybe they are replications of ourselves made through our own will.
I've often said before that art is an expression of human life. I think we could all agree on that. But this thought takes that one a step further. It makes it spiritual. It makes it holy.
And in a way, it makes it seem narcissistic. Creating all these mirrors. Buying books and movies and singing songs that expose and reflect the truest foundation of what lies underneath the exterior make-up covering the evolutionary self. Matching up themes. Matching up something deep within our own existence and far too complicated to explain with words.
I'm still thinking about it. And probably will for awhile. But I really do find it fascinating. I already said that, but I do.
