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.