frosty frosty sounds

1.) "maps" - the yeah yeah yeahs
2.) "i can't take it" - tegan and sara
3.) "the catch" - nyles lannen
4.) "re: stacks" - bon iver
5.) "postcards from italy" - beirut
6.) "california one youth and beauty" - the decemberists
7.) "a lack of color" - death cab for cutie
8.) "enjoy your worries, you may never have them again" - the books
9.) "subsong" - jel
10.) "tatou" - brand new
11.) "romeo" - juliette lewis and the licks
12.) "i am always the one who calls" - pedro the lion
13.) "flume" - bon iver
14.) "gone away from me" - ray lamontagne
15.) "mare mortis" - the appleseed cast
16.) "linger" - the cranberries
17.) "white shadows" - coldplay
18.) "manhattan" - kings of leon

and she and she is out at sea

she's out at sea again...
since she's left i've ended every day realizing i've slipped something on or into my pocket that was hers or has been hers... you know how best friends do these things. there's borrowed things and traded things and things that are pocketed or swept up or drunkenly exchanged. more absentmindedly than intentionally, i've been carrying something of hers around with me. it's silly. it's sweet. it's something.

(it happens sometimes when my sister leaves, too.)

this is one of my favorite shirts i've swapped with her, and everyone always comments on the hole in the back. i've no idea how it got there but i've no intention of sewing it up... i love it the way it is (not unlike how i love her unconditionally). i usually hear "well, you should sew it up, otherwise it doesn't look nice."
nice for whom? it looks damn near perfect to me in its imperfect state: perfectly worn in, nice color, good neckline, not too tight, much nicer than a stiff, starched, ballet pink, skin-tight scoop-necked something or other.
i don't know.
i guess i just think a hole in a shirt is the least of my worries at this point.
besides.
i love the shirt the way it came to me: from my best friend.

the end of the year is approaching.
more later i suppose...
<3

works in progress

there are seven on the wall
all works in progress.
all terrible as far as i'm concerned...
but they're where my mind's been:

over and over again

he used to play this one cd some girl gave him.

he used to play it on long car rides, usually home, sometimes to twin peaks, but always on long car rides. there was one song he played over and over and over again on repeat, and i always thought it was one of the saddest songs i'd ever heard... one of those ones that made your heart quiver a little. i think i asked once who it was by, but he never knew.

i came across it today on my computer though.

i haven't been writing, just painting and playing the guitar a whole damn lot.

i've had the biggest writer's block.

but i came across the song on my computer, i'd lifted it off a friend's computer two years ago when we were all crashing in my apartment when i used to live in the big, emerald city. i'd fallen in love with the way the music sounded like it was raining, like it's always raining in seattle.

i miss the seattle days more.

the irony is in the title of the song: "enjoy your worries, you may never have them again" by the books off their album "thought for food".

enjoy:

sitting on the side waiting for a sign

i can't write anything.

"don't forget me"

"try not to forget me, okay," he said. how could i? i remember most of my classmates names from third and fourth grade, and could probably remember half of them from kindergarden if i gave it a good shot. besides, he'd worked pretty hard to argue against the professor the entire quarter while i'd basically done the opposite and tried to understand exactly where the professor was coming from. we were polar opposites, that much had been made clear over the quarter... then again...

"it sucks i'm leaving the day we finally meet, doesn't it?"

well. we'd actually met three months prior, but we'd only just had six hours worth of conversation to make up for lost time. i'd given up looking for anything, and for some reason as soon as i'd let go, all the worthwhile things were falling into my visual realm of.... whatever you want to call it. of course. as soon as i'd thought i had no more heart to give, i realized it had only been kept armored inside a steel dinosaur trap...

that would probably not open for a long time.

or a long while.

------------------------------------

------------------------------------

i watched the teens last night.

the ones i can't help but return to every weekend.

if my heart was left anywhere, it was somewhere between the south narthex and the cafeteria. i watched them all at once: the flirting, the giggling, the chasing, the awkward conversations, the hand-holding, the hugging... all that fun stuff. i remembered when a high-school break up was the absolute most devastating thing in the entire world. i remembered when everything was absolute. that's what i like about going back to volunteer with them: they remind me that things don't have to be so grey and wishy-washy. things can be defined if i let them be what they are.

more later i guess.

take me there

it was a long night of everything at once.

the greatest christmas party we'd ever had kept happening, and then just as suddenly (though not soon at all, for it had had a good eight hour run), everything began to slow down but it never really stopped.

he woke up a few hours later in a panic, and i wasn't really sure if i'd ever really fallen asleep to begin with. she'd just fallen asleep, and was far enough away from me that i wasn't sure what to do.

you know.... how you can always think a little clearer when your best friend's closer to you.

he told me he'd had a nightmare of the world ending and buildings burning, and all the three months of talking about philosophy had me wondering if i had anything to do with it. how hypersensitive are we, anyway? where'd our senses go? was i just over-thinking everything? i was too tired to continue wondering if anything meant anything at all, and i still wasn't sure if i had fallen asleep anyway, so i did what any good friend would do and i patted his forehead and told him it was going to be okay.

and then i wished she was awake, too, so that maybe she could pat my forehead and tell me everything was going to be okay as well. but she was asleep, and the night always brings more fears and doubts than it ought to.

and then i thought of all the places i wanted to go.

not just the following day, not even in a few weeks.

all of a sudden i wanted to stand up and run and go to all the places i'd captured in my heart, but then i wondered if i even had one at all, or maybe if i'd given it away one too many times and was left with absolutely nothing.

do i have to build myself a new heart?

i was thinking too much.

maybe i still am.

all i knew was that i wanted to run somewhere right the hell then. i sat up and saw the moonlight peeking through the blinds: all the city was asleep.

maybe the city won't take me back, but everywhere else will welcome me:

woke up and drove

i woke up and started driving this morning... not really sure where i was going, but i left with the absolute certainty that i would find something different and somewhere new to study if i drove somewhere else... somewhere not where i usually land. not seattle. not federal way. not.... anywhere specific. i played cortez the killer, called my other half, and then took the first exit and stopped at the first coffee shop i found. i decided that wherever i landed would be the start of something else. new? i don't know. everything is new now.

life probably isn't made up of signs as much as it is lovely coincidences, but i figure... if i can just put the pieces together myself and make my own signs and meanings, it'll work out itself.
so i named this cafe my new hangout.
here's to writing papers.
love.

oh my thoughts? they come out sideways.

oh sunday

"there's a secret magic past world that you only notice when you're looking back at it"

it snowed, it rained, and soon... and then...

....and then there was music.

the sun is out.

1) "naomi" - neutral milk hotel

2) "a fond farewell" - elliott smith

3) "naked as we came" - iron and wine

4) "hallelujah" - jeff buckley

5) "pamphleteer" - the weakerthans

6) "etienne d'aout" - malajube

7) "i can't take this" - tegan and sara

8) "autumn sweater" - yo la tengo

9) "hoppipolla" - sigur ros

10) "empty" - ray lamontagne

11) "maple leaves" - jens lekman

12) "the orchids" - califone

13) "half dead" - the mountain goats

14) "postcards from italy" - beirut

15) "two zero two" - northstar

16) "barfly" - ray lamontagne

17) "time of no reply" - nick drake

18) "conversations" - the posies

19) "the summer ends" - american football

20) "rebbelions (lies)" - the arcade fire

21) "skinny boy" - amy milian

as a side note:

it took me until i hit 'publish' the second time to realize today is the first day of december. i've lost track of everything, i guess.

the last 14 hours have been a waste of time

because of all this crap that post secrets has so wonderfully put into postcard-form:

anyway. i've been working on getting ahold of this loan for about a month now, and i'm about an hour away from having all the right things come together so i can get ahold of it.

and then get away.

none of this news is incredibly important.

i've lost track of time. i've lost track of everything. i spent the entire morning in tears for some bullshit i can't seem to wrap my mind around. how long does someone tell lies for to make themselves feel better about themselves? about what they don't want but think they need? does it only last until they realize they've deceived everyone else as well? i've never gone away from trusting my gut so much.

my heart aches.

but according to pinker, i don't have one at all.

and nietzche?

i just need to use this bs waste of time to be stronger.

my brain is tired.

my heart aches.

and i wonder.

see...

...why is it that if guys do this, it's super sweet and romantic

but if it was the other way around, ladies automatically get the label "crazy bitch"?

i mean what the hell?

i mean, i'd never do this, but why did anyone ever think it was sweet in the first place? why can't we all just live in 80's movies? where's my breakfast club?

snowed in

i'm only moving as far as i can bum rides
or as far as my camera will take me.

1) "coffee shop soundtrack" - all time low
2) "the feel good drag" - amberlin
3) "my little japanese cigarette case" - spoon
4) "kevin is gay" - giant drag
5) "champagne supernova" - oasis
6) "two beds and a coffee machine" - savage garden
7) "coffee and cigarettes" - augustana
8) "coffee & tv" - blur
9) "soco amaretto lime" - brand new
10) "cigarette" - ben fold's five
11) "coffee shop" - red hot chili peppers
12) "coffee break" - forever the sickest kids
13) "amitriptyline" - john vanderslice
14) "cigarettes and alcohol" - oasis
15) "nights of the living dead" - tilly and the wall
16) "coffee" - copeland
17) "smelling cigarettes" - the fiery furnaces
18) "lemurs, man, lemurs" - minus the bear
19) "motorcycle drive by" - third eye blind
20) "cigarettes and chocolate milk" - rufus wainright
21) "aneurysm" - weezer (nirvana cover)

i'm almost positive i posted this playlist on my last blog, but it's one of my favorite rounds of music to hit when i'm stuck somewhere for a while longer than i'd like. i haven't listened to it in long while, and i'd almost forgot how much i liked listening to all these songs in this particular order.

bolded, of course, are the ones i love the most.

life aint always what you think it oughtta be...

speak easy

...and there was that godawful silence. some people fear it i guess: that silence over the telephone, the awkwardness of not being able to see the other person's face, reaction, or eyes. i don't really mind it, though, since i've grown accustomed to listening for the slightest change in tone. sometimes i think i can hear people's expressions better than i can read them on their faces.
it's hard to explain.
but there it was, that silence that everyone hates.
i just kind of welcome it.
it doesn't really mean one thing or another.
i was sitting on my bed... actually i was lying on my stomach and my blinds were half open so i could see the outside from where i was. he had asked how everything was, and since i don't know him that well i gave the obligatory "everything's fine, going great, just doing homework" response. it was true enough, i was doing homework, and my grades are better than they've been since march 2009. everything on paper is fine.
and that's when the pause happened.
i figured i'd bored him since he's horribly intellectual, but the pause lasted longer than what would say that.
he was thinking.
shit.
i'm the only person that's allowed to think things over.
shit.shit.shit. he was thinking. about me. foreign thoughts...
why was he thinking? the pause felt like eternity. he was about to call me out. i could smell it.
i am the master of "everything's fine." i could write a book on everything being fine.
"you know," he said, "you can tell me what's really on your mind."

there it was.

actually, i couldn't, because that's what's managed to get me in trouble my entire life. this last year, actually: not being able to tell the right kind of things. the acceptable things. maybe it's been longer than a year... maybe two...three....or an eternity of not being able to call the right shots, since this problem manifests itself in all sorts of different ways. my days of pleasing for the sake of pleasing have run short. thus spoke zarathustra.
then again, maybe i could give up my stubbornness.

"everything's fine. just doing homework."

pause.
this must be why people avoid phone conversations like the plague.
i don't know. listening isn't terrible: you can pick up on the person on the other end. you can pick up on what they're thinking with their tones and the way they breath... all without them seeing the looks you make when you wrinkle your face closer to the receiver.

"you really can tell me what's going on."
i'd barely known him two weeks, although technically i'd been hearing stories about him since i was fifteen. he was actually a legend as far as i could tell.

"really." i stated. it was not a question. that sharp tone of sarcasm always slides in when i don't believe what someone's saying.

"yeah, really, i'd like to know what's going on with you."

it's such a foreign feeling....
maybe there are good people out there.

god willin and the creek don't rise

lovely.

sunday morning at the mosque

or, better titled, the select few times i will write about my faith online (because words do no justice for what i pursue).
i wrote this yesterday, but as far as blogging goes, it belongs here more than it does anywhere else i guess.


I have this class I'm taking for one of my theology courses appropriately titled "Spiritual Traditions: East and West". Like almost all my other theology courses, I love it. when it comes to searching for G-d, I can't get enough. I'm completely consumed by all faith traditions, and I was thrilled when I found out we get to do a "site visit" as part of our curriculum. We have the opportunity to visit a number of different worship services, and since the opportunity is here, I'm going to as many as I can. Why not?
So tomorrow morning I'm planning on attending a Muslim worship service. I'm not really sure what to expect, but I know two things: 1) I'm going to have to cover my head, and 2) I'm going to have to sit in an entirely different section, not only because I'm female, but because I'll be a visitor. Cool. I started looking into why men and women are set to worship in different sections, and why this is still an extremely common practice, and the main reason is so one group won't distract the other.
Huh.
At first I didn't really get it, I mean, it's a group of people not unlike my own community, and we're all going to worship the same G-d, so why is anyone worried about distraction in the awesomeness of worship (and by "awesome" I don't mean like... the cheesy awesome you hear thrown around when you watch "Saved" with Mandy Moore, but awesome like.... the original definition of the word: awe-inspiring, you know?)? I mean, when I go to my own worship services, men and women and children and all of everyone sit together: no big deal. We still get caught up in the mass (if we know what's going on), it's still beautiful, and to be honest I'm always inspired in faith by my friend RJ whom I usually end up sitting next to. I wouldn't have the same inspiration if I sat by myself, not that I would have a bad experience by any means, it's just... some people inspire me in different ways. See? Boys and girls can sit together and still get it. Everything's ok.

But then I stared thinking about it more. I remember going through that long lecture-y process of getting confirmed. It was a sincere, conscious decision on my part, and also the beginning of what sparked my desire to study theology. I don't actually remember much of the confirmation process, save for the night we did adoration.
Now.
Unless you're Catholic, you probably don't understand the weight adoration holds, but let me tell you, it is the more.... sincere and amazing thing I have the opportunity to participate in.
Anyway, I remember doing adoration during the confirmation retreat, and I remember specifically kneeling next to this guy I used to go to grade school with. The session was long, and it was beautiful, but I was also a sixteen year old girl, and after about forty minutes of this process, I remember having the epiphany that this guy was totally hot.
I know. Totally the wrong thing to be thinking about.
And then he elbowed me. And basically it was all downhill from there.
Now.
I was an adult.
Technically.
In terms of faith.
But I was still a sixteen year old girl (keyword being "was").

And now I'm understanding why men and women worship in different sections. It's nothing oppressing or discriminatory or anything of that nature. It's just a recognition that people are people, and if you're going to worship, then go for that and not to bump elbows with the people sitting next to you. People are people, and distractions happen, so with the encouragement to sit separately, you have time to reflect internally.

I think it's lovely.

I'm absolutely excited for tomorrow morning, it's going to be entirely different from anything I've experienced thus far.


See, this is why I love studying theology: so much of your own faith begins to unfold upon the reflection of other traditions, whether they're great revelations or small ones.
Anyway, that's all for now.

words

i fall in love with places so easily.
i loved yakima, how stupid is that? i'm not sure if it was just all the places we went to, or the company that made it worthwhile, but i can't help but feel so....

much like i'm taking out the trash when i think of it.

i feel like i imagined the whole thing.


and all the people.
all gone.





i have never wanted to leave my life so badly,
to just pick up and leave and startsomethingnew.

something else.
something not this life i lead.


i feel like i'm living in 1984--- the book, did you ever have to read that in high school? with big brother always watching? i haven't been home the last three weeks. i've stopped in for food, and the occasional sleep if at all. nothing seems worth sleeping through anymore, since the last year feels like something i wasted. trying to find something worthwhile i guess. worried about all the wrong things.
i feel like i'm living in 1984, because i do everything for something else, and when i slip just out of line, i'm called out.
and it's a load of bullshit.


i looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in what feels like weeks
--my sister has this big, tall mirror in her old room, good for seeing all of yourself as opposed to the mirror i have in my room that only shows the top quarter of myself (it would show the top half of me if only i didn't have stacks and stacks of books and cds piled on my dresser)--
i cut my hair out of my face a little
and i've dropped a significant amount of weight in the last few weeks
i've lost my appetite,
but for books... never.
nietzche, descartes, and siddhartha have all become the most important authors of this mess.


what the hell am i doing with my life.
never going back to yakima, that's for sure...
because there's something deeply disturbing about falling in love with places:
they never love you back.

maybe i've had it all wrong this whole time.
what can love back?
what if you're never sure you loved in the first place?
i love everything
and nothing
all at once i guess.
it's a hard feeling to explain.

bs.

i am living in 1984.
the book.
not the year.

i saved your number "do not answer"

look.
i need coffee just like any other person in seattle, except i'm pretty sure i need it more. i need it when i wake up, i need it when i'm headed to class, i need it before i go to sleep. i figured if this is the biggest vice i've got, i'm doing alright. so look, i went to a concert the other night and it was pretty empty when doors opened so i got my stamp and walked across the street to the holy grail of coffee, vivace's, for a little something to keep me warm and occupied.
the great thing about coffee is that you can have it alone with your newspaper (stranger, seattle weekly, or homework) and people understand that you need a little brain stimulation, just not necessarily from any joe walking down the street.
i had about a half hour to kill and i scanned all the open seats... realizing my options were next to:

a) the evangelist and potential convert.
b) the loud book club.
c) guy on computer.
d) student being consumed the homework they had sprawled on the surrounding tables.
e) THAT couple (you know what i'm talking about).

it was like a math problem for me, and by process of elimination i could quickly find my perfect seat to have a date with myself and my americano. on any other day, the evangelist would've been my first choice. i mean let's be real, i'm a twenty-something college student who is over-enthusiastic about her torah class and has CHOSEN to study theology. really. i would usually jump right in, but i was needing some serious alone time, something i haven't had for a good year, so i opted out. the same ruling applied for the book club, and i was left with three more seats.
i knew in the next five days i'd have my own homework eating me for breakfast, and the poor student i was debating sitting near looked like they were about to cry if anyone came close, so i nixed him out of my seating option, too.
and THAT couple? yeah right.

which left my with guy on computer.
easy.
unassuming.
he looked like he was having a relationship with his computer, so i took my polite two seats away and sat with my paper and my coffee. bliss.
i am such a nerd.

and then it started, innocent of course, with an inquiry to keep an eye on his computer while he used the mens room. i assured him i'd give the ol' one-two if someone tried to take his stuff, and received a quick punch in the shoulder as a thanks.
note to all: using the bathroom as an excuse to talk to a girl, and then punching her in the arm is not a good pick up line.
there was the return and the thanks, and i had my coffee and my paper and was fine. and then he asked to see my hand.
what?
apparently it was the beginning of a thumb-war initiation. cute, if i was like five. but ok, look: he JUST came from the bathroom. HE IS A STRANGER, and he was not smooth with his game. i did not want to touch his hands, who knows if he washed them post-restoom? being the socially awkward genius i am, i turned it away from thumb-waring, assuring him i was reading something good (is there anything ever really good in the stranger? i should've picked up a real paper. or a book).
he then had to know what i was reading.
not just an inquiry but a DEMAND. he INSISTED i move closer than my polite two seats away, and when i declined, he moved in.
he HAD TO KNOW what i was reading, doing with my life, doing in seattle, etc, and he was not talking to my face.
GUYS: girls know when you're talking a good foot below their eyes. don't be a slimeball, be a man and grow up.
there is a fine line between entertaining conversation and flirting. are people no longer courteous? did this man really think my one-word answers were just an attempt to be coy? i could not deflect his need to know, but it was at the point where it was MY corner and MY seat and MY time at vivace's, and i wasn't about to let some slimeball take away the joy i find at the holy grail of coffee.
i looked around, and realized all the previously open seats were taken (save for the one next to THAT couple, but i wasn't about to get anywhere near it).
he was trying to play his game well. some guy must have written a book that said "ask girls questions about themselves and you'll score big time. girls love talking about themselves". ok. there's truth to this, but in the way that EVERYONE likes talking about themselves: it's the subject they know best. this guy was going overboard. whenever i turned the conversation around, he gave three answers. he was in art school. no, actually he was studying to be a massage therapist. no, actually he wasn't in school.
you know what? i didn't really care what he was doing.
he was just making it obvious that he was a bad liar.
are all men bad liars?
and if so, why not just tell the truth?

then my saving grace arrived:
the one question people always ask, and upon my answering the creepers usually back off.
"what are you studying?" he asked.
aha.
this conversation was over, right?
wrong.
"theology" i answered. the same thing always happens: the blank stare followed by the furrowed brow, followed by the "oh. are you going to be a minister?"
he then told me he loved religions.
and that he loved the bible.
and hebrew.
and judaism.
"what religion do you practice" he asked.
he then told me he loved catholicism.
and christian mysticism.
now, look, he could have been telling the truth MAYBE, but two things gave him away:
ONE, i've talked with enough of the theology department to know what genuine lovers of theology sound like when they talk about it all. actually, i've talked to enough people with things they are passionate about, that i can hear the genuine tone of happiness when they begin to talk about things they love. this man had an overemphasis on everything, excessive nodding, and a way of cutting off the tail end of all my sentences that just rubbed me the wrong way in general.
TWO, i know seattle. i've been in a relationship with the city for the last eight years and i know what people here are like. i know we live in a city that is very non-religious. i know the trendy answer to religion is "i'm spiritual but don't ascribe to anything in particular" or "i'm against organized religion" or whatever bs. i know my city, and i have a pretty good feeling i've met almost everyone that reads christian, jewish, and muslim mysticism for fun.
i was at the point that i was turning into a jerk entertaining the conversation, so i told him i had to go.
and then...
then! he asked for my number.
now, look, i've only been asked for my number twice previously in my whole life. i didn't know people still did that, i thought they just facebook stalked or got it through the grapevine or something... panicked, tired, and ready to leave, i asked instead for his ("panicked" being the key word). he had that slimey look on his face like he just won something by means of cheating, scribbled his number, and passed it over as i was on my way out.

courtesy is my biggest vice.
so i saved his number as "creepy: do not answer".

circle circle dot dot

you see, i have this pattern:
i think i'm going to move, and i don't.
and i hate admitting that i need the help of other people
so i don't get very far...
move.
not like.... not like physically move, but move leaps and bounds in all other directions.
and it's funny,
because i do it most when i'm away from everything
that i'm told i'm supposed to want.

fuck conformity.

but i have this pattern, see
i get too scared.
the pattern of fear is so deeply rooted, and i can feel it in my bones
it makes up my marrow
and i wonder why all the other people who are afraid don't say anything about it.
you know?
it would sure as shit make me feel better about being afraid.

betray your monsters.

i never really have time to be afraid, anyway.
so i'm not.

weekend

i slept in my band shirts and wore them underneath everything because (believe it or not) i had a dress code this weekend. i did it anyway, and wondered if i have it in me. my body was there most of this weekend, i heard a lot of good things, but my poor mind kept wandering around the world... around my life... there's a handful of them that keep me grounded.
and i wonder
if maybe i don't need a title to be anything important.
i was never one for dress codes if i didn't make them up myself.

i named my future apartment the exodus house, and it rings of everything i'm dreaming of... save for the dreams i had this weekend. i scribbled them down on loose pieces of paper when i woke up, and then finished throughout the morning when they'd slip back into my mind... so what we have here is direct from paper to type:


morning of nov. 5th:
I had a dream we climbed a stairwell (at the same time but not together). I had a dream you led me to a secret cave above the city, and in my dream you led me up a broken ladder. I had a dream we had to escape, but I was already gone. In my dream you tried to let us escape by going up... up and out from the ladder to the sky...
out to the sky
out and away from everything
and I saw the ladder was broken
and you didn't know even though you saw it, too.
But in my dream I went first anyways because you needed to be needed
and you needed to decide
and I was already fine
and you were the left behind.
In my dream I already knew what I was doing: I climbed the ladder anyway.
I fell.
You fell.
And it was all over.

morning of nov. 6th
Last night I had a dream you were him and she was me.
Last night I dreamt her life and his were all the same as they are when I'm awake (but you were him and she was me) and I heard the last message she left on his phone. She had too much on her plate but it was her life (in both sleeping and waking); in my dream she wasn't strong anymore, and he heard it all and gave up. He didn't love her anymore.
...the walls were red...
...and then I was five...
...and then I was ten...
...and then I woke up.

morning of nov. 7th
Was the previous night a sort of metaphor of a dream of the near past, and this last night loose recollection the present?
Then what of the near future?
I wondered these things when I went to sleep last night, and I drifted into my subconscious wondering if I would have a dream revealing the near future. I'm sure there's plenty of other people who wonder the same things.... don't we all, though?

I slept soundly last night.
I do not recall what I dreamt.


beneath it all, my champions of music lived along with me. a friend at school saw me strolling through campus and asked what band of the day was.

lessons learned:
things don't have to be on the surface to be real.
dreams do not tell the future, and if they do, you forget them as soon as you wake up, so there's no time to dwell in the dreamworld.
the things we don't see are more often than not more real than the things we do.

night.

i had an epiphany today

it was a good one.
it involved the whole damn nada surf "the weight is a gift". it's too big for today, though, my thoughts are spilling all over themselves, and i have to finish sorting them all out. it'll have to wait till tomorrow, and anyway, today was a brand new day: "keep the blood in your head, keep your feet on the ground". that's the bigger picture for the day, starting small, starting new, starting starting starting everything and starting simple... starting small before i can get anywhere bigger.
i've seen brand new two or three times, and they're one of those five bands i can listen to nonstop and never get tired of... but that's for another day, too...(i have five or six brand new shirts, so we'll be getting back to them sooner or later).
but check it: go ahead and the jet city fix buttons straight outta 2003 on the right side of the collar of the vest. do they show? or does my crappy macbook camera not do the buttons justice? i LIVED for go ahead shows when i was in junior high and high school. to me, they were everything worthwhile in the seattle/south end local music scene, along with a good number of other staple local bands.
and there it is: i'm an obvious product of the pop-punk post-millenium scene of teenage seattle. i thrived off of it, and i'm pretty sure i still do... but not the scene, the music. the "die for it all, gotta feel all the world just like everyone in the band" feeling i get out of live shows, ya know? i love that feeling more than a lot of things.
so charged.
so beat.
so.
fucking.
alive.
and it's weird, because i get the same feeling in the middle of nowhere on a mountain or at a lake.
funny how that works....

anyway, getting back to starting small...
brand new start.
brand new day.
brand new everything.
that's all i'm getting out of today...
and don't worry about it, i'm sitting on the counter of the kitchen at my parents' house writing this, dripping sticky sweet otter pop juice everywhere.

i think that's what love is.
starting all over with all the old weapons of what makes life good.

love.

pictures, or it's not legit.

i hit a slump:
that's hard for me to admit.
i hit a slump, and most of what i dragged out of it is that i missed out on talking about things like great philosophers and great theologians. i hit a slump and wallowed, and now i've emerged.
pictures, or it's not legit.
i didn't know how to drag myself out of it, really, and i guess i never have a formula (because life is not a math problem, no matter how hard i used to try and make it... at least i have that one figured out). my life is settling, and i hate that feeling. do i always need a battle to fight? not necessarily. do i need things to always be hard? not in the least: a year and a half ago when things were getting really shitty, i avoided the toll it was taking on me altogether so i wouldn't have to be "that girl" who always has excuses and problems, and it didn't even matter that what i was going through was more than a handful of decent excuses. i don't like things to be hard if they don't have to.
no.
not hard.
but i love a good challenge.

where have all the challenges gone?
and then i hit this goddamned slump. the reasons are less than desirable to discuss over blogging, and quite frankly aren't that important anymore. what is important is that i found along the way all these... things that i enjoy. challenges: not unlike particularly difficult books or a painting i just can't seem to be satisfied with as a finished product.
i pulled out all my big guns:
sketchbooks i used to carry around (some for figure drawing, others for not)
books... the really good ones that are hard and good and all for the sake of reading
paints: god. i miss painting.
and that goddamned grant i've been debating on whether or not to take. the one that would allow me to move out and away.

if ever i needed a time to start everything over, it would be now: now that i have the motivation and the understanding of what i'm doing with my life.

and pictures, too, or it's not legit.
i'm wearing every goddamned band tee i own, one right after the other... because at the heart of it all i'm a hopeless romantic and i have this notion that at the end of getting through them all i'll have figured something out (recently, i thought people weren't taking me seriously because i slum around in band tees, but i realized over the last month that it's just because a lot of people are assholes).
so.
with each shirt comes a lesson:punctuality. this was yesterday's band: the builders and the butchers. really. fucking. good. band.
but a day late. so, what is to be taken from yesterday is this: one of my biggest vices, lack of punctuality, must go. and with it, i will be able to cultivate more important things, like finishing paintings on time and being able to set aside that elusive time to spend on the guitar. and loving worthwhile things.
today's will be up later.
for my own sake.

love.

changing changing changing changing

all the times in my life i felt really real
i was
everything i consciously don't want to be...

moving fast at the slow pace of the south end..

admitting i am existing off the things i love and the people i love.. (i want to believe everyone can make it alone, including myself)

away from everything i recognize..

i'm not sure i even wanted to believe i belonged somewhere, either...

because that would mean that i'd have to deny it altogether once i was gone.

and lost. i hate admitting i'm lost...

and i hate being the first one drunk
and now i just
i just
need to stop being everything i think i'm supposed to be.
i'm slowly waning away at it all
but i managed to push away
everything
i'd really liked
just by being too....
comfortable.

everything feels better when i'm not.
funny thing is
i don't feel a damn thing anymore.

surfin

surfing.
you know, how you start somewhere and just stumble and stumble until you find something worth reading. i ended up on someone's formspring and absentmindedly scrolled through their answers (because i'm still hungover from going out last night... and cleaning and reading and surfing and singing are the only goddamned things i can do right now). there wasn't even a question... just some lines, and then this answer:

Someone sucks the life out of you.
Correction.
It is a plethora of factors that suck the life out of you: lies, manipulation, doubt, disappointment, failure, heartache, heartbreak, broken promises, crude remarks, more lies, more manipulation, more doubt, more negative than you can ever imagine. Your body fails you in ways you never thought it would.
You never thought you could be so vulnerable.
You don't do anything, but something is wrong with you....
...Fear friends who don't take you seriously and friends who take you too seriously. Question everything. Naivety and innocence is dead by age 18. The idea of true love is questionable. The only proof you have of your existence are your words and the impact you've made on people -- and you never want either to be bad. Nostalgia is a blatant reminder that time is passing. And when you breathe, you are thankful yet disbelieving that you are actually alive.
But it's okay.
You tell yourself it's okay.
Because there are nice things in the world that people take for granted that you notice, and there are nice things in the world that you take for granted that others notice. But the only part that matters are the nice things that make you happy that keep you going. So you wake up each morning and hope that something nice happens, or you meet someone nice. And you tell yourself that today is going to be a good day. And you create this world where you can shove all the bad to the side. Is it real?
Who cares. None of this makes sense, anyway.

las cruces jail

i'll keep you in my collection of regrets.

i have come, once again, to the conclusion that it is not wise to trust people incapable of speaking.

even hellen keller could do it.

ooh what you say

what do you say
when there's things like
"you move separate from me"
when i thought things like
"we were moving at the same time"

all i can hear is the opening words of ecclesiates:
"meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless."


not literally, of course, i just feel like it's time to pick up and see who's following after i'm done.

i'd felt like things were moving in an excellent direction
until i found out they weren't moving at all.

and again
ecc1:2

last night left me feeling pissy
reminding me not to ask for help
or depend on other people.
luckily, today ended where i just got to sit
and be around people i liked.
who like being around me.

this is the first time i've been in such a pissy mood for over a day.
note to self
don't give heart away.

sunday soundtrack

1) "in the waiting line" - zero 7
2) "nicest thing" - kate nash
3) "sunrise" - norah jones
4) "empty" - ray lamontagne
5) "the lemon of pink" - the books
6) "mix tape" - brand new
7) "drowned" - youth group
8) "lost!" - coldplay
9) "april 8th" - neutral milk hotel
10) "springtime can kill you" - jolie holland
11) "etienne d'aout" - malajube
12) "letter from a concerned follower" - pedro the lion
13) "twilight" - elliott smith
14) "barfly" - ray lamontagne
15) "timshel" - mumford and sons
16) "revelry" - kings of leon
17) "poster of a girl" - metric
18) "crying like a church on monday" - new radicals
19) "gut fucked" - his name shall breathe

carly

"you knew her, too?" he asked from across the table. i wasn't even sure why i was down in the sodo district that night. nothing called me to be there anymore. my life at corporate starbucks was over. nothing about a maze of dark alleyways screams 'safe', especially after the sun goes down. i didn't know her, but teens who end their lives always hits home. he knew that, or at least i thought he did.
"no. i heard her music, though." that was actually the truth. i'd never stopped being a seattle local music junkie, and i remember hearing her inside my head for weeks after i came across her music. i remember thinking if i had an ounce of her talent i would do something with my life. "did you?" i asked. he'd finished his water and had crinkled his paper cone up between his fingers.
"yeah, a guy i work with was friends with her, and he brought her in a few times. we had a lot of music in common." we had a lot of music in common. something always pulls at my heart when it comes to the kind of music he listens to. i listened to. i still listen to, i guess, but i pretend i'm over it because i don't know how to deal with it... but i still slum around the concerts, ending up at the bars to listen to the music with my company contained in a glass.


it's time for me to grow up and stop pretending i'm not who i've always been.
i'm working on it, though.
i think everyone is.


but we talked late.
actually, we talked a lot longer.
i should've gone home.
maybe i shouldn't have.
i don't know.
the moon was begging the question: what happens next? the moon, the rooftops, the streets with all the damn potholes collecting puddles just so i can see the city reflecting back... all of it was begging me to stay. just to make a decision with my life.

fall is falling

...and it's a harsh coincidence that hall and oates' "you make my dreams come true" was followed by the mamas and the papa's "hangin on the telephone".
it was.

oh.

the one that started the obsession

love.

alexis on fire

david played and it pleased the lord

but you don't really care for music, do you?

why does 'relationship' automatically mean 'romantic'? i have this absofuckinglutely insane relationship with the world. i treat every song as though i'm in a relationship with it. i am particular about the people i keep close to myself, and treat each relationship as a personal experience. i recognize that each person and every thing i come in contact with throughout the day is in a relationship with me, and while i am a hopeless romantic, i am not in love with every person i meet. maybe it's because i'm such a hopeless romantic that i am able to see that relationship does not equal romance.

i crave conversation most of the time, but end up being too caught up in the tones i catch in other people's voices and in my own reactions that more often that not i don't have enough time to respond.
hopeless
and romantically engaged with the evolution of thought.

as far as people go, i've always had more male friends than female, and it's a recent phenomenon in my life that i have more girlfriends than guyfriends. i do, however, have a particular guy friend who i've always absolutely adored. he's smart, funny, and a little sarcastic. i've always felt just fine letting my poor-natured jokes slip into conversation without them being taken offensively.

but it always seems to hit that point (or at least more often than not) where the male friend discovers i have a significant other (i'm terrified of being alone, but that's for another time), and all of a sudden things are uncomfortable. this, of course, has recently happened with aforementioned particular guy friend.

why didn't you say anything? it never came up
but why have i never heard about him? you have.
but why didn't you make a big deal about it? oh. loaded question, my friend. you, obviously, have never had problems with stalkers, have you?
no seriously? the friendship here is me and you, not meyouhim.


and there i am, over thinking everything again.

but i can't help but feel like the friendship (relationship with this guy friend) changed, since there's no current possibility of a romantic relationship. was my 'date-ability' my most prominent value? because if it did.... it won't really change how i act, but i can't help but wonder every now and then.

back to homework.

one things turns to another

she asked me if i have a place inside my soul
i go to when
things get terrible.

she was patient.

the only way to describe it physically is in the old studio i used to dance in when i was an apprentice for the company. it wasn't a place i think of, or a person or a word that reminds me of it
so much as
it is a feeling i get when i'm dancing:

i can feel how i feel when i move.
i can feel the way i feel the split second before i tell my muscles to move the very particular way they know how to do so well.

and if i ever hear anything, it's always tchiakovsky's nutcracker score.
it's not so much the repetitive nature of it all, nor is it the fight to create that absolutely perfect illusion on stage, it's more the satisfaction of knowing i can go into autopilot and sink into myself. for me, ballet is my meditation. i can move without thinking and sink inside my thoughts while still pushing and pulling myself from the ends of my toes to the tips of my fingers... i can work so hard and feel

nothing at all

and

everything all at once.

barfly

i'm just a barfly, baby, uh huh.

we talked about him last night.


we went out for pizza, knocked back some wine and relived our forever love like it's always been. we bought a cheap bottle of wine and sat on my back porch with a mexican blanket and finished it off in coffee mugs. life is right, more so when we're together.


and we talked about him again.
it's weird, though, you know?

it's like:
i never knew she didn't know everything that happened between us,
because they knew everything about each other
and sheandi know everything about each other,
and i've been talking to a dead man for almost two years now.
fuck.
"i yell at him sometimes, i hope you don't mind..."
"you should, i do, he deserves it," she said back.
"good," i though, "because god dammit..... god dammit all."
i couldn't talk to anyone else about her the way i talked to him about her...
because we both love her so much...
always so much care when we talked about how much we adored her...
"he adored you," she said; something i never knew.
"i was always completely enamored with him... it was always so hard when he disappeared..." she knew. we're both so fucking passionate, and so was he. we were the goddamned holy trinity on earth, and i don't know who's the "father" or the "son" but now i guess he's the holy spirit.

i still yell at him all the time.

we used to tell ghost stories when we were little,
and she always told the best ones that would keep us up all night
and now we're twenty-two and nothing's changed
except our ghosts are real this time.

go easy on me when i'm gone

i can't explain it:

blast from the past

i found this on my old myspace blog from the glory day of july 10th, 2008.

i can only name one of the two people i wrote about, but it was most likely appropriately titled:

eyesights and earshots away
...and it's like i see you everywhere. it has been months since i've thought about you, years since i can think of the last time i saw you in person... longer still since i can put my finger down on when we spoke face to face. growing up is tragic. getting older seems like hell sometimes. i don't think i could ever wish being sixteen or eighteen or even fourteen on anyone, though. not once, much less twice through. growing up is enough as it is.
[[in another time, on anothe day, about another person... let's talk about reliving the past for a second when you run into someone you haven't seen in five years. let's talk about how easy it is to pick up right where you left off. let's talk about how the rolls seem to reverse, how we are exactly the same, and how we are completely different. time makes growing up worse... or maybe it makes it better, i don't really know.]]
...but i see you everywhere: places i can conciously tell myself i'll never see you. why does my mind slip into the past and let me think i'm seeing a ghost? i don't think ghost hunters are crazy, not when it comes to things like this... people and places that are real and dead all at once.
maybe it's the running- we can both admit openly that i was never really good at that. i think i thought i remembered being good once... those days are far too far away, though. i'm talking about now. and maybe itisthe running. i've been spending an awful lot of time lately running away from the past i created- the times i thought i would live forever for: the glory nights and the drunken nights and the nights sitting in fear wondering if we'd make it out alive... days stretching through monday and wednesday, pulling out our hair and screaming to the clouds.
i'll just keep running till i don't see it anymore... but that's the problem. it's like i see you everywhere i go. i run to places i swear i'll never be found: old jobs and jumpers, schools and shortcuts, churches and prisons alike. they all look the same and paint the same grey when you're looking for somewhere to blend you in from the black and white... but i'll still look up and catch my breath when i swear i see you. i see you all over the place. i see you in people i know you'll never be, around places i know you'll never go. something about you drags itself out of my memories and makes me try to drag you out of other people- people you've never met... people i've never seen. sometimes it turns into a game, other times i'm just running in a verbal direction. all i want to do is get away.

the trick is how i don't want you to win. i don't know how i can win. i just want out.


what the hell? it's like things just get more intense as i get older, because i was just thinking about how my past was catching up with me... i don't even remember writing this, and i had to sit and read it and re-read it until i could barely remember who it was i was running from, exactly.
and now i've been spending the last week pondering the coincidence of running into people from my past i swore up and down i'd never see again. people i used to have nightmares i'd run into again.... until i just let it all go... ya know? like when you finally hit that point where you just don't give a damn what people think of you, or what they thought of you when you were making all those stupid mistakes....
but i've been running into those people from my past a lot lately, and it's not like it's good or bad,
it's just so damn surreal.

and for some reason, 7/10/08 can't put it any better.
maybe this is how people became prophets in the 8th century.

one glance over, two steps back

i walked into the ballet class like i used to every day for four years straight. it was the school i'd attended the shortest, but spent the most time at.
i was late, too, like the universe was telling me i should have never quit ballet in the first place.

i pulled up my legwarmers, slipped on my old shoes, and stretched out a little on the barres by the windows before i jumped into the combinations with the rest of the students. the girls next to me kept staring, like "why is she the only one not in dress code?" all the other girls were in their leotards and pink tights, and i rolled in six years late with my spandex and band tee.
i can't believe it's been six years since i'd left the company.
i was pretty damn good at what i did.
plies, relevee's, ronde de jambes en l'aire... it felt like i'd only left last week.
i can't believe it's been six years,
i look almost exactly the same, save for the six or seven extra pounds i've put on since i quit, but that was to be expected. my body ached, but my heart hurt more- i miss being in the class so much, and my muscles never forgot where to go and how to pull everything together.

if only the rest of me could pull it all together.

hot mama's

we were holding hands
you know:
stupid love things

and i saw him:
out of the corner of my eye, sitting in my damn seat eating at my damn pizza place on my damn corner.
dammit.

it's noy my seat, it's not my pizza place... much less is it my corner... i'm just so used to my past coming back to haunt me after things start running smooth again. i don't even give a damn about him, i just go autopilot into defense mode when my past catches up with me. i didn't think he saw me, but i swear he did. it doesn't matter.

but i was walking around the backside of the egyptian after classes about a week later and i got the very particular feeling someone was watching me.
for christ's sake, i was in the middle of capitol hill and it was still daylight, so of course people saw me, but i had that feeling that someone was watching me, you know? so i threw my bag down and started digging for anything. i sat on the steps and watched the guy who'd been following me a few blocks finally pass.... it wasn't him, he didn't have that feeling, you know?
and then i saw him out of the corner of my eye, just as i finished lighting my cigarette. in a split second it was like i heard every god damned thing he told me in one second. i realized it didn't matter, but i'd cut back a ton since i'd worked with him two years ago.

"shit"
was the only word i could think.
he saw me.
shit.
shit.
shit.
i'd done such a good job staying clear of all the skins i'd shed, and he called my name.
shit.
common courtesy is the devil rooted inside me, and so i stopped to talk.

september september the end of another....

i got another text from him:
"you fell off the face of the planet again, friend. i'm still thinking about you."
i've written a letter to him about a million times in my head... telling him i'm sorry, i have to, because everything he wanted me to be i couldn't, and all i wanted him to be was a friend. he swore he wouldn't try and be anything else.... part of me wants to scream
you know?
tell him he just broke my trust and gave me the affirmation that my physical appearance is all that matters... or maybe just tell him is was every guy before him, and he just pushed me over the edge.
maybe i don't owe him anything at all, but every once in a while i remember how good friends we were before it all, and i wonder if i'm just being an unforgiving asshole about the whole thing.
we used to get into deep conversations, you know?
he was my other catholic friend.
the one i'd sit outside and drink coffee with till all of lakewood closed
and we'd talk about god, gods, or no god at all.
all the people we knew who died...
the ones we had to carry in our hearts.
hell... i still carry him in my heart, too, i guess, but i don't know if i can ever talk to him again.

how could i tell him "i figured it all out, and i got rid of everything in my life i hate, and one half of everything you did was a part of that"?

do people really change?... after they've grown old and are set in their ways? after they've become jaded and bitter and leave their dreams for a life as far from anything they thought they needed? ....leave their kid? he used to tell me how much i'd grown up since we first met (and i can't believe i've known him for almost three years now). i don't know.

i spent the last year getting rid of it all,
you know?
and then i just spent this weekend alone.
house sitting, of course, but alone for the most part, realizing i've come along quite a bit
and all that self reflection crap...

but really:

why does it always manage to have to take me to the point of fucking myself over before i get the idea that i have to change? probably because being stubborn will never be something that will change soon.


maybe i'll talk to him again.
maybe i won't.

and we ask many questions like children often do.

dear cape, do you remember

how i never felt more at home? i promise i will come back home to the other ocean.

if i could keep all my secrets held in once place:

i would keep them in the secret bay.

reno i loved you once

and i have never forgotten the escape you gave me.
i promise i will return.

sidewalk chalk.

"....and she doesn't understand that it's for her safety, but she's young and she's in love i guess.... how in love can you be when you're fifteen, though, you know..?" i'd been rambling about the kids all day. the teens. they aren't much younger than me i guess, but i'll look out for them anyway.
"i don't know how you can invest in them so much," he said as he took a drag from the last cigarette he rolled. we'd been rolling cigarettes all summer, and we were sitting on a ledge watching the cars cruise down broadway.
"huh?" i knew exactly what he meant, but i gave up giving people the benefit of the doubt, assuming i knew what they meant... i hang out with him enough that i guessed far enough what he meant, but he's young too.
"i mean, i don't know how you can invest so much time in them, i mean i'm interested in them if you're interested in them, i just can't follow it all because i don't know them i guess."
i reached out for his cigarette and took a drag or two, holding back every part of me that just wanted to give up and say "you know what, you're just really fucking young, and if you're not careful, the city's gonna eat you up." but patience has been my biggest struggle, my biggest virtue, my vice, my goddamned nightmare, and i didn't really think that was true anyway. sometimes it's just a big struggle to put into words everything i'm thinking, so it feels easier to just give up and give in... but what's easier is never the best thing to do.
i wouldn't have meant it anyhow.

see,
it's not an investment when you spend your free time with them...especially if it's just to tell them they're doing ok. i guess anyone can do that. i don't get anything back, i just think it's really important. it's not an investment when you hear who's dating who and who's dressing how, because god dammit i've been in all these teens shoes before and i know what they're gonna do next if they're careful and if they're not and.... it's not an investment.... you can't keep people like you keep money or murals or photographs. it's not an investment, it's life... but how do you explain that to someone who's never said out loud that that though has crossed their mind?
patience.

it took years to see the bigger picture, it's too much effort to get frustrated with things you can't control i guess.

circle

peace: like "where the hell am i?" and "where am i going?"
that sort of peace. the peace where i realize the world isn't a massive orb but really a platform and a plateau and an everythingnothing inside out. the peace where you realize every thing is fucking insane and there's nothing you can do about it.
that part.
the part where you realize there's nothing you can do, but it's pretty as hell, and then you really really think about things and realize it's going to be okay anyway. peace, like when you sit back and think about how you can (and probably have) mess things up really bad, but are willing to fix them, too, with a little less sleep and a little more love.
peace like when he told me about his favorite musician and grabbed my leg and shouted along with beautiful lyrics, and wondering (and knowing) that that alone made it beautiful. peace in knowing things are true.
i've heard we can make our own heavens and we can make our own hells, and i heard that i am the decisive element, too. i've heard it pretty clearly like there's no other water to swim in, like there's no other song to dance to, but i guess i've been swimming and dancing elsewhere lately and maybe i should give these things a try.
i guess i've been putting too much faith in fate and less faith in my own actions.
i guess i believe i can't be enough.
hell, i'd be lying if i said i've found the holy grail and i've found peace, but i can see it and i know what it could be if i let it.
peace: like the beauty of just letting go, and i'm gonna let 'im fly.

the one that's about nobody in particular. maybe just me and jesus.

i have absolutely nothing to say.

it's eleven thirty, i'm awake, the television is on and i hate it more now than i usually do. i don't like the ringing that sounds quietly whenever the television is on, but it's going to be too damn lonely when i turn it off. it's a dilemma that is so awful and meaningless but it actually matters, you know? it's been a long day. i feel like screaming or crying or
fuck
anything really.
and the words are just running off my fingers like i'm going to get anywhere further than where i am once i'm done typing for the night. this sure as shit isn't getting me any closer to jesus. but, christ, god is love and love is real and the computer isn't getting me closer to anything lovely. i have nothing to say. nothing more than, "no, really, i don't like my photo being taken" or "yes, that's true, it makes the pain easier". i don't want the pain to be easier, i just want it to go somewhere further than the filth it's stewing in the pit of my stomach.
this is nothing personal and is nothing worth reading in to.
but it's still something right? because it's an itch i won't walk away from and they're just some words i can't get rid of and i won't shut down until i write and re-write and read re-readingly until they say something close to what i'm thinking. and sure, why not, i need a new job but apparently having an old man ask me every week if i'm a masochist isn't enough to get someone to help me the hell out of here fast. and i can't afford to quit, but he sure as hell can afford his starbucks every day. slick son of a gun, like i'm really serving more than coffee. it's men like him that make me want to vomit without trying.
i hate doing things alone.
or maybe i just hate telling the same story over again.
or maybe people just don't like hearing the truth- like if they ignore it or pretend it doesn't touch them... then it's not really real? i don't know, i really really don't.
i don't know what to do.
i don't know where to start.
i've got nothing to say, really. i might start with turning the television off.