Often imitated.

What a night.

Sun, 27 Dec 2009 12:05:04 GMT

I cannot even begin to comprehend the evening at this point, let alone try to project it successfully... and it wasn't just what I had introduced into my body. The whole evening was substantial in so many aspects and symbolic and just. Fucking. Gorgeous.

You'll have to excuse me... my writing, like my brain, must be scrambled and a bit difficult to decipher. Bare with me, won't you?

My new years resolution is to become less dependent on technology, especially my cell phone. I shut my phone off for 5 hours... those five hours seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, and I understand that the concept of letting go of the outside world for just five hours sounds highly reasonable... desirable, even, but to let go of the very symbol of my affinity for superfluous communication in this particular instance was so uncomfortable for me. AND THEN when I was able to have my phone back on, when I had reached the point where I was comfortable enough to let the outside world back into my life, I was highly disappointed. Granted, my phone greeted me with 12 text messages from 8 different people, but for some reason I felt... forgotten. I don't know... it's difficult to grasp, really.
Tonight I felt as if I disappeared from the face of the earth for weeks on end, and nobody even noticed.
When I came back, the world hadn't changed. Nothing had happened. I was just me, and the world was exactly how I had left it.
How strange.
It makes perfect sense.

You have no clue how difficult it was for me to drop you off at your home, knowing that nothing would ever, ever be the same. I held you, told you that I love you and that you're my oldest, dearest best friend. I told you that it's so sad that things will never be the same and that you and I will never lay on that old roof and look at those old stars while wishing we could be different girls in different bodies living different lives. That roof was no longer ours to lay on, and we finally WERE those different girls in those different bodies, and, honey... could our lives get any more different?
It hit me, and it hit me hard.
When you walked away and I slid into the passenger seat of my car, I couldn't help but cry.
Haha.
I cried. Can you believe that?
I cried for our youth and the way that growing up isn't reversible.
We aren't a book in which you can just flip back to your favorite chapter and read it again. And again. And again. And while it hurt so badly when I read it the first time, my god, I would read it again if I could.
This is definitely the end of a chapter.

The end of an entire fucking book.

I don't even know what I'm going to do next, but tonight was the perfect ending, and I can't wait to start something new.

It's been so long since I've written anything vaguely poetic...

Fri, 25 Dec 2009 23:57:40 GMT

I'm not quite sure which lock goes to this key
but I don't really care, and I won't take it with me
you see
the difference between you and me
is that one of the two will cry mercy
eventually.
Christmas day never came so soon
and I wish I had less reason to visit you soon
but the way that our atoms collide and then swoon
mocks the weight of the world and the pull of the moon.
There's a time and a place to break the mold,
a brain made of copper and a heart made of gold,
take your cards, press them down and shout that you fold
'cause baby, this bedroom... it feels mighty cold.
What I'm trying to say in no eloquent way
is that trust and desire tend to get in the way
of my manners and coy reluctance to stay
when you took my vacillation and threw it away.
Now I bob and then weave, bat my lashes and sigh
and I stutter whenever you tell me goodbye
but please fill me in and I'll turn a blind eye;
am I just one more wolf for this sly boy to cry?

Work in progress, perhaps. I wrote it while nude, if that adds any artistic merit.
I'm a wreck today. Christmas is a waste of a perfectly good 25th of December.

Bluebird - Charles Bukowski

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 07:43:40 GMT

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

Need I say more?

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 03:40:38 GMT

Blogging on the regularrr.

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 21:21:44 GMT

I feel like garbage today... like a big, quivering sack of hot garbage water.
[[Should definitely be a band name.]]
Could definitely be due to the fact that I didn't go to bed until 6:30 last night. This morning.
I haven't slept regularly in the past 4 1/2 weeks. Imagine that.

When I was younger... 16 or so... I used to stay up all night long chatting with a boy I liked on MSN. My mother would come in and yell at me to go to bed around 3:00 or so, and I'd have to slink off, all warm and tender-hearted to my quarters, a smile painted thick on my face and eager anticipation in my chest for the next night when I just knew it would happen again.
I'm 20 years old now, and I've nobody to yell at me to go to bed.
How is it that even now, someone so far away can cause me to press myself against a cold computer screen until daylight, and even then not want to get off when I play the role of my mother and reprimand myself for being awake at such ungodly hours?
Suckerrrr.

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 03:52:26 GMT

Lazy, lazy Tuesday.
I decided to update my layout. Dig it?
Also decided to start tagging entries. Dig it?
I'm back, LJ... with vigor!

This is not what I ordered! What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Take it back!

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 02:34:25 GMT

Today I read in a book that all signs point to yes.
A magic 8 ball also told me this.
Two times in one day?
This is just ridiculous.

When am I supposed to stop playing these cards close to my chest?

Frozen hotel beds.

Sat, 05 Dec 2009 23:52:15 GMT

I woke up bareback in a glistening hotel room, covered in goosebumps and bluewhite sunlight reflecting off the snow outside the window and onto my pale, mild figure. You were long gone, but the room still felt thick with your presence, and my lips still vaguely remembered the edges of yours. What a night. It wasn't in my character at all, but your lips and your hips and your hands and your brain were all tangled in the long tresses of my hair and I lost track of the things I believed in amongst the heap of things I wanted to feel. You. It was something out of a fairytale... sans the prince, of course, and the princess lay all alone, trembling and exposed, but filled to the tips of her frame with mechanical moths, violently beating their wings against her chest cavity. You're a vapor, weaving in and out of my storybook, staining its pages with your violet reflection. You're a breeze, thin and delicate, tracing my angles and tickling the very core of my porch-light heart, and although you might leave, I know that you'll always come back because my kite wants your lift and your gust wants something to press against. Me. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Not again...

Thu, 26 Nov 2009 22:32:14 GMT

Cupid, you little shit...
I told you to keep me out of your crosshairs.
What ever am I to do with this vexing curse of a crush?

But really... I don't mind.
I just wish that you would have chosen a closer candidate to pair me up with. :C

Where oh where has my nostalgia gone?

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 22:28:05 GMT

I read my old entries and can't help but chuckle over how pathetically vulnerable I was.
What a sad, sorry child praying for love.
I feel so much better now... now that I've let go of those petty female emotions and allowed myself to be content on my own. No more waiting by the phone, no more broken promises and empty bottles of misbegotten lust.
I don't need anyone.
Oh, I may want you...
But need? Not a chance.
What a liberating feeling.

Speaking of wanting...
Oh boy. I'd rather not.
But, there's something hiding in the woods that I've recently had my eye on,
and if it comes out to play, I won't be disappointed.

<3

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 05:05:57 GMT

"It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that its over, that I'll never see him again like this... well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses."

A means to an end. [[Author unknown]]

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 07:16:04 GMT

You were reading Atlas Shrugged: I must admit, I was impressed,
(But how would I explore your mind while staring at your breasts?)
You were spinning candy dramas woven into cotton dreams,
Sharp as a bloody nail file, and as sweet as beaten cream,
Still, I felt angelic assets hidden there beneath your seems.

We drank a box of Peter Vella, fell into the night.
The others drifted off to bed. You whispered “I don’t bite.”
I covered you with kisses and you covered up my eyes,
So I wouldn’t see the pit you hid so snug between your sighs,
You let me lick your lilies while you spread your pretty lies.

I wound myself in your embrace—you fit me to a T.
Only it was lowercase, a shadeless, barren tree.
Your halo was a noose that you would hang from every day,
Your wings were lined with razor blades to slice my soul away.
You shed your robes and wore a thong to put it on display.

You prodded me for fantasies, I whispered in your ear
That I would be your Arthur and you’d be my Guenevere.
I lifted up the lid of your forgotten wishing well,
And felt a flame that made no light, but burned as hot as hell.
I tried to see the bottom but I leaned too far and fell.

For fifty months I tumbled, after forty I was numb.
My Guenevere had shark’s teeth, and I had turned to chum.
While you were getting furniture, I was getting bills.
While you were racked with laughter, I was getting chills.
While I was bursting blood vessels, you were popping pills.

Something stank in Denmark but it all remained a riddle,
Till you rode off with Lancelot and left me Lance-a-little.
So I’ll sit here in my tower and I’ll cry myself to sleep,
I tried to buy you heaven but the price was just too steep.
You left me here with nothing and it’s nothing that I’ll keep.

An angel made a monster out of loneliness and lust,
I knew that you had issues—it’s yourself that you don’t trust.
There is one final lesson here on which I can depend:
Not just alphabetically does lover follows friend.
To you I was a means; for me this is the end.

Guess what!

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 19:25:45 GMT

I'm finally happy, livejournal.
For once I've got nothing to complain about.
I have a feeling that you're going to be rather lonely for a while.

The end.

Wed, 26 Aug 2009 10:56:24 GMT

"I've been so unhappy and you feign amiability and pretend to want to console me, and then rub your happiness in my face. I'm so madly in love with you and have been in years, and every stupid little promise you make ends up being nothing but prose of the most convincing fashion. What happened to you WAITING for me? Getting your shit together and moving here for me? I've left myself vacant since moving here in hopes that, for once, you wouldn't let me down. We will never be in love like we were because our love was sordid and crass... nothing but makebelieve that you continuously tattooed inside of my head. You will NEVER be what I thought you were, and because of that, I hate you and want you to cease existing. That's not going to happen, so all I can do is say you're fucking dead to me any bury this lie. My bed may not be vacant, but my heart was and fuck OFF if you think that you really were trying to console me. I'm at the brink of tears and all you can do is tell me about your new girlfriend and how happy you are. I'll try to take solace in the fact that she is not me and, my god, she will never love you the way I did... but this is done. You're crafty with your Cheshire grin and your promises for a better tomorrow, but you're empty and you're fake, and you've no more to offer me or anyone else other than lies and heartache. You're only happy because of your crutch, and I KNOW that you know you're too fucking hollow to feel happiness by yourself. All that shit about loving yourself before you could love me... I thought that we were making progress. It's always two steps forward and three steps back with you. You say that your happiness is a product manufactured all on your own... and you just keep on saying that. Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself? I'd put money on the latter. Just remember, fella... I know you better than you know yourself. It's time to cut our crossed kitelines because I'm through longing for something I will never have, and I'm ready to stop loving something I never had in the first place."

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 21:23:19 GMT

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"All that is gold does not glitter" J.R.R. Tolkien.

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 05:30:28 GMT

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

Laying in a bathtub full of freezing water, wishing you were a ghost.

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 08:46:57 GMT

Sometimes, when everything goes awry and there is nothing your troubled heart can do about it,
the best solution is
to draw a bath
full of ice cold water...
I mean, real cold...
the kind you can suck into your mouth
and think,
"If things were different, I would drink this.
Thank you, summer.
I would drink this."
and then you take that freezing cold bath
and submerge yourself
until you think you're going to die.
You watch the blood seize up inside of your veins...
watch as your limbs turn lifeless and blue.

Today, I watched myself turn into a corpse,
and there wasn't anything else I could do
but cry
and cry
and cry
and watch the blood
turn thick
beneath my shell.
And then I told myself to forget it.
To stop shivering
and sobbing
and dying.
My body stopped
shivering
and sobbing
and dying
right when I told it to.
Mind over matter?
I didn't believe in it until tonight.
If I can ignore my body dying,
I can ignore the pain in my heart
when life just doesn't work the way I want it to.
Mind over matter.
I'm fucking freezing,
and I made a drastic realization tonight.

You no longer have power over me.

Nothing Gold Can Stay - Robert Frost

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 21:28:48 GMT

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Goodbye, my friend, goodbye - Sergei Yesenin

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 06:55:56 GMT

До свиданья, друг мой, до свиданья. Милый мой, ты у меня в груди. Предназначенное расставанье Обещает встречу впереди.

До свиданья, друг мой, без руки, без слова, Не грусти и не печаль бровей,- В этой жизни умирать не ново, Но и жить, конечно, не новей.

Mon, 20 Apr 2009 17:33:42 GMT

Recalling a time
in which I knew your spine
like a roadmap of home.
Like a mother's lullabye.
I offered my love
like a string of neck-warmed pearls,
draped them around your forgotten heart
and promised you the stars,
but promises are empty baskets
and stars burn out eventually,
and the love you took from me
pooled lifeless on the floor,
the smoking gun thick with your fingerprints,
and footmarks singing your exact rhythm
traced a remorseful path into hiding,
and sang out to us both that nothing gold ever stays.

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 15:49:34 GMT

I want to live in the hazygrey Northwest, where boys in bands like The Mountain Goats want to date girls like me for the sole purpose of holding them and writing songs about the color of their eyes and how their cheeks match the pale pink petals of a peony. Punk rock was never my scene, but where I'm from it was the only alternative option... So I dated boys with mohawks and drummers of punk bands with massive followings of sixteen year old girls who just want to fuck boys in bands like that so as to piss off their parents and show them how much of a grown-up individual they are. And those boys in those bands don't sing songs about my Washington grey eyes or the way my back tastes, covered in post-coital perspiration... Okay... that sounded less romantic than I had intended, but I think I'm getting my point across. Those boys in those bands just play songs about how angry everything is and how nobody understands them, and those boys in those bands fuck those sixteen year old girls and never call them back. I don't want this anymore. I don't want what this part of the country has to offer me, because it's sordid and it's wrong, and I deserve to feel like a beautiful metaphor, not a one night... one month... one year stand.

Of violence, of love and of sorrow.

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 23:52:50 GMT

The last time I saw you, the streetlights were illuminating the crimson bubbling from your face and outlining my knuckles with more guilt and regret than I was willing to admit. When you noticed the blood, your anger cracked, revealing the terror held beneath your thin shell, and your weakness, shining brighter than the alcohol soaked moon, splattered my arms with every dripping consonant you spat towards me in drunken lament. I still tremble when recalling the way the blood seeped between your gritted teeth, and you told me that you weren't even positive of the origin of your leaking essence. It was like seeing your love pouring from you. Your anger. Your weakness and your strength, just dripping
dripping
dripping from the wounds that I tore open.
And then I went home to cry myself to sleep.

For you, my love.

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 18:39:54 GMT

You're just one more regret to me, another dirty, low lit memory that'll fade like ancient photographs. All in due time, my love. But if you're so insignificant, then why do I waste my time with this... one more prose you'll never read, and this spiteful smile you won't see? My tongue is quickly forgetting just how your fingers taste, and my curves can't quite remember the way yours felt pressed up to them, blanketed with repose. While rapid convalescence is setting like a brand new sun inside of the chest that your weary, selfish little head used to call home, I still sit and wonder exactly what it was that made me so expendable, regardless of my supposed paradoxical intoxication that you know you'll never stop craving. You could set your watch to my heartbeat... and I was more reliable than any quartz driven cog you wish that you could turn backwards, and set the world to a time when waking up didn't consist of an empty bed and a deep-rooted lust for self annihilation. You'll never ever be what you promised me, and for that I despise every ounce of you and your misbegotten attempt to play me for a fool. I hope you can live knowing how much of an inconvenience your existence is on everyone around you, regardless of how some of them kindly feign amiability, which you promptly take advantage of like the maggot you are. If they haven't seen through your act yet, it's only a matter of time. You're a wolf in sheep's clothing and forgetting you will be the best decision I have ever made.

...

I guess what I'm trying to say in no straightforward way whatsoever is that... if I could change one thing about you, it would be the fact that you were born.

Goodbye, Casper.

Tue, 07 Apr 2009 19:40:06 GMT

One month away from salvation
and we sing glory hallelujah on high,
and praise our regrets
for lessons were learned
and the sunshine always follows the twilight.

ON A MINOR MIRACLE I BARELY REMEMBER by Jeffrey Calhoun

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 00:11:42 GMT

My brother asked how many gunshots
it would take to kill a god.
I said one good bullet
made of silver, wrapped in garlic,
cased in pure wood.

Feuerbach shot the divine up
with so much heresy,
wondered how it survived.
He thought god was the mind
sitting on a throne in the stars.
But in a day when wolverines
with business degrees spar
in suits for every dollar,
heaven looks like fake silver,
the kind in a cheap earring
you give to a girl you like but don't love.

Yesterday, a high school student was beaten
for not showering, for revolting,
for not wanting to be cleaner
than the man you left in the streets
sucking on a paper bag,
an oversized pacifier.

When an ocean can take away the coastland,
make tomorrow disappear like a firefly
under a little boy's boot,
my brother and I drop to our knees,
pray for an old woman
who turned to a needle for god,
for a little girl who let us kiss her once
without asking anything in return.