I want to tear [you] to pieces.
I want to tear you to pieces, to break your bones
I want to rend you until all that remains is your integrity
I want to dismantle everything you know to be true;
to shatter all of the illusions you let build your bad faith
I want to shell your every layer until I all see is your smile;
to signify that single struggle to breathe that fills all of the tiny little cracks
between the cubes and particles and gaps and happiness
I want you to bleed out your convictions and your morals
Until all you have are your reptilian urges and your essential mind
I want to see you weak and helpless,
Like me and us and everyone
So that you can finally sit and feel the breeze,
Between the cubes and particles and gaps and happiness;
the tiniest movement that exists outside of physics;
the only one that connects us
by convincing us that, really,
there is no gap between your fingers and mine,
and that I am always holding your hand, no matter where I am, or who you are.
3.10.07
when i haven't posted in so long because i've been writing numerous entries and ending them halfway through
~~~
...it seems to me that there are underlying reasons for our friendships as human beings, and that each relationship has it’s own genre that it may fit into, which lays just beneath the surface at all times. There are friendships of sympathy: built on the fact that each can go to the other for emotional alleviation. There are friendships of empathy: built on common experiences, common crises. There are friendships of interests. Friendships of intellect. Friendships of love: those that only exist because love is underlying. Friendships of sexuality: those that exist because sex is underlying. Friendships of art. Friendships of convenience. Friendships of illusion. Friendships of laughter: built on the fact that each brings joy into the other’s life. This is never to say that friendships will only experience their one core value, but rather to say that this core value is the root, the most important factor.
Knowing this helps me, now, to see what friendships in my life were the most valuable, and what friendships to cultivate and help flourish now and in the future, as well as which friendships I might as well leave to time.
Right now I’m feeling too many friendships of convenience, a large influx of friendships of laughter, and not enough friendships of art, sympathy, intellect, or love....
~~~
...All the universe gives us is the raw material we take to create emotion.
The rest, then, lies within us. The means to create and the will to create. We are the hands that mold our environment. It’s important that you understand this! A life we deem insufferable is simply one we’ve molded into ugly, deformed shapes that will remain ugly and deformed until we willingly smooth them out...
~~~
...when we were all basically alone, despite what all the studies have shown
up until now I have always seen subjectivity as the sad fate of existence, the one thing (well, core thing) that separates us as human beings from one another, permanently closing our minds to one another. Now, though, I think I may have gained a new perspective on subjectivity, about its necessity and about its function in what may be the grand scheme of things.
(keep in mind that I am going to argue a posteriori)
In moments of formidable optimism and faith in mankind, I always arrive at the same conclusion: that we are constantly afraid (of being alone). Deep down in the heart of things, we are frightened. That fear is there always, whether or not we ignore it or push it away. And I mean being alone in the broadest sense possible. Alone in thought, alone physically, alone emotionally, alone in perception. We hate what subjectivity is.
That fear and hatred of perpetually arbitrary interpretation, really, is what makes most of us good people. Fear, at its core, encourages us to want to love and explore each other’s bodies and minds, for the sake of reducing our emotional solitude. (Again arises the concept of the sexual surgeon, cutting open internal boundaries in order to see people at their very core and reptilian insides.)
We want to be comforted, we want to belong, and therefore we just want to be loved. (and she told me, “son, fear is the heart of love.”)...
...it seems to me that there are underlying reasons for our friendships as human beings, and that each relationship has it’s own genre that it may fit into, which lays just beneath the surface at all times. There are friendships of sympathy: built on the fact that each can go to the other for emotional alleviation. There are friendships of empathy: built on common experiences, common crises. There are friendships of interests. Friendships of intellect. Friendships of love: those that only exist because love is underlying. Friendships of sexuality: those that exist because sex is underlying. Friendships of art. Friendships of convenience. Friendships of illusion. Friendships of laughter: built on the fact that each brings joy into the other’s life. This is never to say that friendships will only experience their one core value, but rather to say that this core value is the root, the most important factor.
Knowing this helps me, now, to see what friendships in my life were the most valuable, and what friendships to cultivate and help flourish now and in the future, as well as which friendships I might as well leave to time.
Right now I’m feeling too many friendships of convenience, a large influx of friendships of laughter, and not enough friendships of art, sympathy, intellect, or love....
~~~
...All the universe gives us is the raw material we take to create emotion.
The rest, then, lies within us. The means to create and the will to create. We are the hands that mold our environment. It’s important that you understand this! A life we deem insufferable is simply one we’ve molded into ugly, deformed shapes that will remain ugly and deformed until we willingly smooth them out...
~~~
...when we were all basically alone, despite what all the studies have shown
up until now I have always seen subjectivity as the sad fate of existence, the one thing (well, core thing) that separates us as human beings from one another, permanently closing our minds to one another. Now, though, I think I may have gained a new perspective on subjectivity, about its necessity and about its function in what may be the grand scheme of things.
(keep in mind that I am going to argue a posteriori)
In moments of formidable optimism and faith in mankind, I always arrive at the same conclusion: that we are constantly afraid (of being alone). Deep down in the heart of things, we are frightened. That fear is there always, whether or not we ignore it or push it away. And I mean being alone in the broadest sense possible. Alone in thought, alone physically, alone emotionally, alone in perception. We hate what subjectivity is.
That fear and hatred of perpetually arbitrary interpretation, really, is what makes most of us good people. Fear, at its core, encourages us to want to love and explore each other’s bodies and minds, for the sake of reducing our emotional solitude. (Again arises the concept of the sexual surgeon, cutting open internal boundaries in order to see people at their very core and reptilian insides.)
We want to be comforted, we want to belong, and therefore we just want to be loved. (and she told me, “son, fear is the heart of love.”)...
12.9.07
when i decided to continue my prior practice of blogging with no secrets, because it feels better when i don't hide things from myself or the world
so this is how things are.
i walk. i take notes. i walk. i take notes. i eat lunch. i feel lonely. i chastise myself for feeling lonely. i feel lonelier. i read. i walk. i chat. i sit on my window sill. i listen to rufus wainwright. i miss home. i miss anna. i miss azia. i miss anna. i cry a little. i feel lonely. i walk. i eat dinner. i feel cowardly. i want to talk to yoel. i don't. i convince myself he would never want to talk to me anyway. i feel stupid for thinking about him or anyone at all. i become angry with myself for not being independent enough. i accept that i'm a Romantic, and that i can't help the way i feel, or what i think. i shower. i sleep. i wake up to badly drawn boy. i walk. i take notes. i walk. i take notes. i read. i eat lunch. i spend time with friends. i feel comfortable with myself. i watch some AD on the beach. i walk. i sit on my window sill. i listen to feist. i cry a little. i miss sean a little. i hit myself for taking him for granted. i want to apologize to him. i wish i talked to yoel. i convince myself he doesn't talk to me because he doesn't like me. i feel alone. i think. i think. i write. i decide i should be braver. i decide i should make an effort. i don't. i will.
these past few days have helped remember the lost fact that i'm a poet at heart.
a Romantic poet. i spend most of the day internally, thinking; idealizing situations, reliving and emphasizing past events. i have all of these ideas and my emotions are swayed by how they play out in my head. sometimes i forget to come back from my imaginary settings and i just about walk into something, it's true. often times it's less than easy to draw the distinction between reality and what i've manifested behind my eyes, and it drives me crazy.
i wish i were an artist; i'd have so many beautiful pictures to paint. being only a poet, i'm restricted to such subjectivity (though of course that's apparent in visual art), but what i have in my head are pictures that i turn into words as best as i can translate, and readers then have to create the picture as best they can. sometimes i think that my poems are only valuable to me because of the wonderful feelings they repaint in my mind, because they remind me of things that make me happy. that might as well be lost on anyone who doesn't know that about my poetry. that you have to look for the picture more than anything else.
that does not make me an imagist. sorry, william carlos williams.
no. i try as hard as i can to capture something else as well, which comes from implicit meanings and figurative language. metaphors, to me, are life. life is metaphors.
i don't know. i don't know where i went with this. i don't need to structure myself anyway. it's all about feel. all about feel.
groove.
i walk. i take notes. i walk. i take notes. i eat lunch. i feel lonely. i chastise myself for feeling lonely. i feel lonelier. i read. i walk. i chat. i sit on my window sill. i listen to rufus wainwright. i miss home. i miss anna. i miss azia. i miss anna. i cry a little. i feel lonely. i walk. i eat dinner. i feel cowardly. i want to talk to yoel. i don't. i convince myself he would never want to talk to me anyway. i feel stupid for thinking about him or anyone at all. i become angry with myself for not being independent enough. i accept that i'm a Romantic, and that i can't help the way i feel, or what i think. i shower. i sleep. i wake up to badly drawn boy. i walk. i take notes. i walk. i take notes. i read. i eat lunch. i spend time with friends. i feel comfortable with myself. i watch some AD on the beach. i walk. i sit on my window sill. i listen to feist. i cry a little. i miss sean a little. i hit myself for taking him for granted. i want to apologize to him. i wish i talked to yoel. i convince myself he doesn't talk to me because he doesn't like me. i feel alone. i think. i think. i write. i decide i should be braver. i decide i should make an effort. i don't. i will.
these past few days have helped remember the lost fact that i'm a poet at heart.
"when is james going to realize that he's a poet, only disguised as a scientist"
- joseph vanderway.
- joseph vanderway.
a Romantic poet. i spend most of the day internally, thinking; idealizing situations, reliving and emphasizing past events. i have all of these ideas and my emotions are swayed by how they play out in my head. sometimes i forget to come back from my imaginary settings and i just about walk into something, it's true. often times it's less than easy to draw the distinction between reality and what i've manifested behind my eyes, and it drives me crazy.
i wish i were an artist; i'd have so many beautiful pictures to paint. being only a poet, i'm restricted to such subjectivity (though of course that's apparent in visual art), but what i have in my head are pictures that i turn into words as best as i can translate, and readers then have to create the picture as best they can. sometimes i think that my poems are only valuable to me because of the wonderful feelings they repaint in my mind, because they remind me of things that make me happy. that might as well be lost on anyone who doesn't know that about my poetry. that you have to look for the picture more than anything else.
that does not make me an imagist. sorry, william carlos williams.
no. i try as hard as i can to capture something else as well, which comes from implicit meanings and figurative language. metaphors, to me, are life. life is metaphors.
i don't know. i don't know where i went with this. i don't need to structure myself anyway. it's all about feel. all about feel.
groove.
6.9.07
when i was dirty
out of 100 very explicit "have you ever..." questions about purity in Mary Lyon yesterday night, i answered yes to 61 of them...making my purity test score 39%.
which was of the lower scores in the dorm, needless to say.
i wasn't the lowest, which was relieving. someone got 20%, and an entire couch of people got under 38%.
ha..
which was of the lower scores in the dorm, needless to say.
i wasn't the lowest, which was relieving. someone got 20%, and an entire couch of people got under 38%.
ha..
29.8.07
when postmodernism threw college at my face, kicked me in the shins, and then ran off
to new beginnings and awkward sociology!
ah, the internet is an interesting thing. the entire college experience (wandering alone into a world full of strangers, wild men, and robbers of interests) is dulled by a certain website we know as facebook. dulled, i say, because no longer is it true that we walk into college with blurred vision; that is, faces already ring familiar and trustworthy. why? because we have seen many facebooks. true, what we have seen were only pictures, soulless as well as motionless (lifeless), and you never know how a person will act based on their music interests and/or "about me" section. but the reality is still there. it's easier to get used to college.
easier and weirder. having faces without names (because why would you have bothered to match many names to pictures, when the internet matched them constantly for you) creates a whole 'nother web of signifiers that, too, deconstruct. i wish i could justify that better. it makes sense to me. there are all of these faces, all of these faces without voices, without motion, without anything, and then all of a sudden they're inhabited by life; life which dares to be not what you expected in the least. it can be unsettling.
ever since i got to swat, i've been plagued with explicit dreams with extravagant and convoluted plots, full of these faces, then all assigned a personality my subconscious assumed they would have. the problem with these dreams is i can't separate them from reality just yet. i have met people in my dreams that i have only seen from afar in person, and it's exceptionally hard to determine whether or not i've already met people i meet for real.
i don't know, it just seems to make this process all the more difficult. when, otherwise, i would have been fine. college feels like i should have been here all my life.
another thing i have noticed about the blossoming relationship between college and myself is that i'm way needy, physically. i took for granted holding hands or holding someone or simple kisses or sensual kisses. i feel distant for now, and it bothers me.
i miss sean. i miss being able to kiss him, or cry into his chest. he was the only person i really did that to, for no real reason except my inability to be that physically close to anyone i wasn't in love with. i don't mean to say i miss him because of those things; i miss everyone regardless for their own reasons. i just mean i miss that feeling, i miss feeling that safety, knowing he would come over whenever i needed a hug. i need a hug.
in order to prevent this entry from taking any more drastic turns, i'll end it with this: i'm in love with Swarthmore, i just need to work out things and become more independent in order to fully enjoy this place.
ah, the internet is an interesting thing. the entire college experience (wandering alone into a world full of strangers, wild men, and robbers of interests) is dulled by a certain website we know as facebook. dulled, i say, because no longer is it true that we walk into college with blurred vision; that is, faces already ring familiar and trustworthy. why? because we have seen many facebooks. true, what we have seen were only pictures, soulless as well as motionless (lifeless), and you never know how a person will act based on their music interests and/or "about me" section. but the reality is still there. it's easier to get used to college.
easier and weirder. having faces without names (because why would you have bothered to match many names to pictures, when the internet matched them constantly for you) creates a whole 'nother web of signifiers that, too, deconstruct. i wish i could justify that better. it makes sense to me. there are all of these faces, all of these faces without voices, without motion, without anything, and then all of a sudden they're inhabited by life; life which dares to be not what you expected in the least. it can be unsettling.
ever since i got to swat, i've been plagued with explicit dreams with extravagant and convoluted plots, full of these faces, then all assigned a personality my subconscious assumed they would have. the problem with these dreams is i can't separate them from reality just yet. i have met people in my dreams that i have only seen from afar in person, and it's exceptionally hard to determine whether or not i've already met people i meet for real.
i don't know, it just seems to make this process all the more difficult. when, otherwise, i would have been fine. college feels like i should have been here all my life.
another thing i have noticed about the blossoming relationship between college and myself is that i'm way needy, physically. i took for granted holding hands or holding someone or simple kisses or sensual kisses. i feel distant for now, and it bothers me.
i miss sean. i miss being able to kiss him, or cry into his chest. he was the only person i really did that to, for no real reason except my inability to be that physically close to anyone i wasn't in love with. i don't mean to say i miss him because of those things; i miss everyone regardless for their own reasons. i just mean i miss that feeling, i miss feeling that safety, knowing he would come over whenever i needed a hug. i need a hug.
in order to prevent this entry from taking any more drastic turns, i'll end it with this: i'm in love with Swarthmore, i just need to work out things and become more independent in order to fully enjoy this place.
4.7.07
when i was drowning in incomplete thoughts
this is what summer does. as much as the air in my room is perpetually swept into currents by my ceiling fan--relentlessly trying to fool me into thinking it's not as hot as it is--the thoughts in my brain are perpetually swept into currents by my subconscious--relentlessly trying to fool me into thinking the times aren't as empty as they are.
yes, the days are empty. yes, the time means nothing. but some part of me doesn't want me to accept that. there's always something to be done! always something to be done! so much to be done, in fact, that nothing can never be truly completed, because there's always something else to be done. my thoughts interject each other; juxtapose themselves into implausible contortions that, for some reason, my mind finds completely logical! why i would need to study music theory in between cleaning my room, burning cds, transferring my hard drive, and practicing cello, i know not!
it feels the cogs of my cognizance are all out of sync, and i can't even spit out a word, or thought, complete enough to be understood. at any point in time i'm scared, tired, bored, anxious, and content. at any point in time i need to fly, to drive, to read, to write, to clean, to sort, to pack, to improve! it's pure irony how restless the lazy, free summer makes me.
though, as i said, it makes sense. it's an elaborate ruse for my poor soul, in order to protect me from facing other fears, other more scathing fears (of loss, new beginnings, and isolation). point being, i'm going to have to write in yearbooks eventually, i'm going to have to pack my things eventually, i'm going to have to move away eventually.
hopefully admitting this will tip off my subconscious and let him that i'm onto him, so that i can get back to reading entire books and writing entire entries and studying entire chapters of music theory.
yes, the days are empty. yes, the time means nothing. but some part of me doesn't want me to accept that. there's always something to be done! always something to be done! so much to be done, in fact, that nothing can never be truly completed, because there's always something else to be done. my thoughts interject each other; juxtapose themselves into implausible contortions that, for some reason, my mind finds completely logical! why i would need to study music theory in between cleaning my room, burning cds, transferring my hard drive, and practicing cello, i know not!
it feels the cogs of my cognizance are all out of sync, and i can't even spit out a word, or thought, complete enough to be understood. at any point in time i'm scared, tired, bored, anxious, and content. at any point in time i need to fly, to drive, to read, to write, to clean, to sort, to pack, to improve! it's pure irony how restless the lazy, free summer makes me.
though, as i said, it makes sense. it's an elaborate ruse for my poor soul, in order to protect me from facing other fears, other more scathing fears (of loss, new beginnings, and isolation). point being, i'm going to have to write in yearbooks eventually, i'm going to have to pack my things eventually, i'm going to have to move away eventually.
hopefully admitting this will tip off my subconscious and let him that i'm onto him, so that i can get back to reading entire books and writing entire entries and studying entire chapters of music theory.
28.6.07
when there was Love
Picture this. Anna and I dressed up in formal attire in a speeding minivan rushing towards the Mirage hotel, with a standby ticket to Love (the cirque du soleil) and three things worrying us: one being that if we didn’t arrive by 6:30 we would lose our reserved place in the front of the standby line, two being that there might be a dress code requiring pants and I had worn nice shorts, and three being that Anna had forgotten her glasses so if we were lucky enough to get any tickets, if they were far Anna wouldn’t be able to really enjoy the show.
It wasn’t a great combination of things. The Two Of Us hope and began to accept that we wouldn’t see the show. It wasn’t a big deal, anyway. We had randomly ended up in Las Vegas with my family and had never initially planned on seeing Love. It wasn’t even supposed to play on Tuesdays, so we wouldn’t have even considered it.
An hour before, we had wandered into the Mirage hoping to purchase a canceled appointment’s seats. When we got to the ticket booth, they told us that they use a standby system here we wait in line at 4:30, they take down our names, give us a card, and we then return before 6:30 and take the same position in line before the show. It was horribly confusing, and there was a huge crowd of people for some reason holding cameras and clapping once in a while.
As it turned out, the crowd was there because Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, Yoko Ono Lennon, Olivia Harrison, and Larry King were there doing some interview. We had no idea why, but who cared? The living Beatles were in the same room as us. We then were informed that they were doing an interview because it was the one year anniversary of Love, and they were paying tribute to George’s wish to have this show created. Then they left for the Beatles Revolution Lounge, and continued their interviews there.
Then and there, somewhere inside I felt like I Can’t Buy Me Love tickets. Why would anyone cancel their seats the night of the one year anniversary? We figured we might as well try, anyway, and if we didn’t get any tickets, we’d see Spam-a-Lot instead. It’d be fine. Let It Be.
We went to the hotel, changed into some nice clothes, washed up, and prepared to go. My mom picked us up and we started on our way. We met traffic and a series of red lights, which pissed me off. We left fifteen minutes early, and the hotel was two blocks away; we were just trying to Get Back to where we were fricken half an hour ago. Stupid traffic. Anyway, there we were thinking, “Help! I’m this close!” and the clock strikes 6:30.
We got to the Mirage and Anna and I took off, knowing we had no chance. We get there and we see the standby line full of 30-40 people and a man moving people to the back of the line.
That was where it began.
The guy asked for our number. We showed him. #11. He showed us that the people in the front of the line were #13. He unlatched a velvet rope and pushed us into the front of the line. Here Comes the Sun. He asked a lady if it was time to cut off newcomers yet, she said yes. Everyone that arrived after us would lose their place in line. After us. One: we got there in time. She said that there was a party of two who canceled their seats and we would have the option of buying theirs. We walked up to the counter, and a lady helped us out. Guys walked in with tickets in shorts. Two: no dress code. The lady asked us if the seats were ok. She motioned to a map of the stadium. Our seats were in the front. The front section. People had been selling those tickets for up to $3000, and we were about to buy them for $170. Three: Anna could see from the front.
Anna and I were speechless. We walked into the theater with our tickets to Love, the one-year anniversary.
On sheets hanging from the ceiling were projected live feeds of the interview with the Beatles in the Revolution Lounge. That was happening in our building. A man walked out onto the stage and welcomed us and explained that the Beatles would be watching the performance with us. Yeah. They had seats in another section, not that far from ours.
Needless to say Love was amazing. Amazing. That soundtrack is so much more exciting when you know what’s going on to the music. The intro was perfect. It was somber, dark, with figured walking slowly in fog under umbrellas. Then, suddenly, in an explosion of light, the sheets rose, the fog left, and Get Back came after a great drum buildup. Dancers down below, gymnasts up above, men on bungees in the air. Wow.
A great surprise in the middle of the performance came on during one of my favorite songs, Tomorrow Never Knows. A bed was in the middle of the stage, and it began to rise. As it rose, a huge sheet emerged from all sides, covering the stage. It kept growing and growing and I was at a loss for when it would stop. It started to cover the people at the base of the stage, then more and more people, until the enormous sheet covered every singly person in the lower audience, including Anna and I and the Beatles. We touched the sheet, the same sheet the Beatles were touching. That’s right.
At the end (which was inevitable, though I wished the entire time that this would be my death and my heaven) Flower pedals fell from the sky as Ringo and Paul ran around the stage waving to each section. They were so close to us, it was almost unbearable. Less than 20 feet From Us To You, Paul! Less than 20! Paul did a cute little Beatles pose, which made me smile. I wanted to cry, really I did. Cry, Baby, Cry. I wasn’t alone. Anna wanted to, and so many people in he audience did. I heard one lady crying saying , “I’m just so happy. I’m just…so…happy.”
At that moment I knew that night had been the best night of my life.
It wasn’t a great combination of things. The Two Of Us hope and began to accept that we wouldn’t see the show. It wasn’t a big deal, anyway. We had randomly ended up in Las Vegas with my family and had never initially planned on seeing Love. It wasn’t even supposed to play on Tuesdays, so we wouldn’t have even considered it.
An hour before, we had wandered into the Mirage hoping to purchase a canceled appointment’s seats. When we got to the ticket booth, they told us that they use a standby system here we wait in line at 4:30, they take down our names, give us a card, and we then return before 6:30 and take the same position in line before the show. It was horribly confusing, and there was a huge crowd of people for some reason holding cameras and clapping once in a while.
As it turned out, the crowd was there because Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, Yoko Ono Lennon, Olivia Harrison, and Larry King were there doing some interview. We had no idea why, but who cared? The living Beatles were in the same room as us. We then were informed that they were doing an interview because it was the one year anniversary of Love, and they were paying tribute to George’s wish to have this show created. Then they left for the Beatles Revolution Lounge, and continued their interviews there.
Then and there, somewhere inside I felt like I Can’t Buy Me Love tickets. Why would anyone cancel their seats the night of the one year anniversary? We figured we might as well try, anyway, and if we didn’t get any tickets, we’d see Spam-a-Lot instead. It’d be fine. Let It Be.
We went to the hotel, changed into some nice clothes, washed up, and prepared to go. My mom picked us up and we started on our way. We met traffic and a series of red lights, which pissed me off. We left fifteen minutes early, and the hotel was two blocks away; we were just trying to Get Back to where we were fricken half an hour ago. Stupid traffic. Anyway, there we were thinking, “Help! I’m this close!” and the clock strikes 6:30.
We got to the Mirage and Anna and I took off, knowing we had no chance. We get there and we see the standby line full of 30-40 people and a man moving people to the back of the line.
That was where it began.
The guy asked for our number. We showed him. #11. He showed us that the people in the front of the line were #13. He unlatched a velvet rope and pushed us into the front of the line. Here Comes the Sun. He asked a lady if it was time to cut off newcomers yet, she said yes. Everyone that arrived after us would lose their place in line. After us. One: we got there in time. She said that there was a party of two who canceled their seats and we would have the option of buying theirs. We walked up to the counter, and a lady helped us out. Guys walked in with tickets in shorts. Two: no dress code. The lady asked us if the seats were ok. She motioned to a map of the stadium. Our seats were in the front. The front section. People had been selling those tickets for up to $3000, and we were about to buy them for $170. Three: Anna could see from the front.
Anna and I were speechless. We walked into the theater with our tickets to Love, the one-year anniversary.
On sheets hanging from the ceiling were projected live feeds of the interview with the Beatles in the Revolution Lounge. That was happening in our building. A man walked out onto the stage and welcomed us and explained that the Beatles would be watching the performance with us. Yeah. They had seats in another section, not that far from ours.
Needless to say Love was amazing. Amazing. That soundtrack is so much more exciting when you know what’s going on to the music. The intro was perfect. It was somber, dark, with figured walking slowly in fog under umbrellas. Then, suddenly, in an explosion of light, the sheets rose, the fog left, and Get Back came after a great drum buildup. Dancers down below, gymnasts up above, men on bungees in the air. Wow.
A great surprise in the middle of the performance came on during one of my favorite songs, Tomorrow Never Knows. A bed was in the middle of the stage, and it began to rise. As it rose, a huge sheet emerged from all sides, covering the stage. It kept growing and growing and I was at a loss for when it would stop. It started to cover the people at the base of the stage, then more and more people, until the enormous sheet covered every singly person in the lower audience, including Anna and I and the Beatles. We touched the sheet, the same sheet the Beatles were touching. That’s right.
At the end (which was inevitable, though I wished the entire time that this would be my death and my heaven) Flower pedals fell from the sky as Ringo and Paul ran around the stage waving to each section. They were so close to us, it was almost unbearable. Less than 20 feet From Us To You, Paul! Less than 20! Paul did a cute little Beatles pose, which made me smile. I wanted to cry, really I did. Cry, Baby, Cry. I wasn’t alone. Anna wanted to, and so many people in he audience did. I heard one lady crying saying , “I’m just so happy. I’m just…so…happy.”
At that moment I knew that night had been the best night of my life.
13.6.07
when i wished i loved life like bubbles
Paul Rudd was right in Knocked Up when he said kids' smiling faces when they encounter bubbles reminds you of how much you can't enjoy anything anymore. I haven't experienced pure joy--pure, boundless joy--in ages. My mood is, sadly, dulled. Here I am, in Canada with my two best friends, in a perfect setting away from everything for 10 days, and what do i feel? Not much different then I would if I were home.
Camus was right. You can get used to anything, with time. Everything, when turned to habit, is bearable. And Beckett was right. Habit is a great deadener. Therefore, doing basically anything leaves you, well, dead. Or at least leaves me dead. I believe in all of this existential crap.
I lost my luggage on the flight here. At first I was horribly upset, because some things in there had sentimental value, and because I was left in Canada for 10 days with two changes of clothes, already worn. But quickly I realized that, since the airline will reimburse me for the lost luggage, maybe it would be fun to buy new clothes to replace the old ones and completely change how I dress. So we went out and I bought some new things and it was fun. Today, though, my luggage finally came back from the airport; they found it. They found it after I had bought new clothes and after I had gotten over losing it. So there's $200 down the drain and here's me, not happy in any way to see my lost collection of clothing.
Nothing makes me happy.
Not my new clothes, not my old ones. Not being in the US, not being in Canada. Not Swarthmore, not anything. Not happy in the way children see bubbles.
Maybe the only life for me is the one I would never love to live: the kind of life where you're always leaving, always moving on, always betraying (for you unbearable fans), always doing something different.
I'll never know.
Camus was right. You can get used to anything, with time. Everything, when turned to habit, is bearable. And Beckett was right. Habit is a great deadener. Therefore, doing basically anything leaves you, well, dead. Or at least leaves me dead. I believe in all of this existential crap.
I lost my luggage on the flight here. At first I was horribly upset, because some things in there had sentimental value, and because I was left in Canada for 10 days with two changes of clothes, already worn. But quickly I realized that, since the airline will reimburse me for the lost luggage, maybe it would be fun to buy new clothes to replace the old ones and completely change how I dress. So we went out and I bought some new things and it was fun. Today, though, my luggage finally came back from the airport; they found it. They found it after I had bought new clothes and after I had gotten over losing it. So there's $200 down the drain and here's me, not happy in any way to see my lost collection of clothing.
Nothing makes me happy.
Not my new clothes, not my old ones. Not being in the US, not being in Canada. Not Swarthmore, not anything. Not happy in the way children see bubbles.
Maybe the only life for me is the one I would never love to live: the kind of life where you're always leaving, always moving on, always betraying (for you unbearable fans), always doing something different.
I'll never know.
20.5.07
when i cried for beauty, sadness, and fear
so our last orchestra concert was yesterday night, and it was probably the most emotional i have gotten in a long, long while. we played beautifully, and that's great given we'd messed up almost every other concert this year. it was heartbreaking. something in the air--the hands of winds that pitied us--carried our fingers and hands, carried our emanating vibrations into marvelous symphony. mr. parsons even said that it was the best we've ever played the brook green suite before, and by listening to my mom's recording, i'd have to agree. we're a modest orchestra--modest meaning small and meaning modestly talented--but when things just click, they click.
at first i was angry because this concert was mainly for the band, and only featured us, but then i got over it and realized that the band is comprised of kids who make this their lives, and that they have more of a right to it than we did. we were lucky to have played for the 30 min we got, given that most of us don't practice as much as we should, and don't have music theory lining the invisible walls around us at any point in the day.
al specifically had us seniors (there were fewer of us than i imagined) stand up to be applauded for our musical graduating year, and with tina standing next to me i was extremely tempted to cry. i looked over to the rest of the orchestra, kids like phoebe, angie, ana, and kyle, and i just felt like i was going to miss them so so much. to be a part of the music in my life gives you a position above most people, regardless of whether or not we converse outside of the music room often. music is in me, somewhere deep, and it will never go away. (my heart beats in 3/4, i know it, because my life is a beautiful waltz, and rises and falls with the moon and the sun, with love and passion. my body is my cello. my soul aches to sound. it's all encapsulated within me and something needs to let it out so that i can be as talented as i should be.)
tina did start to cry, which pushed me closer to tears, but i didn't want to admit that it was as horribly sad a moment as it was, i just didn't. being stand partners meant so much to me, more than it ever would seem. tina and i had (have) this bond over music that has developed so fully over the year, that i feel like i can't take her falling out of my life. i don't know how i'll be able to play cello without her.
and then there's ana, who i've been in orchestra with since she was in 6th grade. and now it really won't work out that way any longer. (unless one day we're both in the la phil together, playing our hearts out in the gorgeous hollywood bowl.) i wanted to tell her how much i'll miss her. but i didn't. because i didn't want to admit that it was as horribly sad a moment as it was, i just didn't.
we had a cello hug, phoebe, tina, kyle, and i. i wanted to cry and hug them harder than i've ever hugged anyone, so i could squeeze parts of them into myself and take them with me. i wanted to tell them that i love them and that i'll never forget them, but i didn't. because i didn't want to admit that it was as horribly sad a moment as it was, i just didn't.
and now i'm scared, because the music in my life is gone, and i don't know if i'm good enough to keep it going. i don't know if i'll make it into any orchestra at swarthmore. i don't know if my meager talent will be taken seriously. i don't know if i'll be able to get private lessons, which i need so much. i don't know if i'll even have my own cello.
so last night was so much more than it was, so much more than it was. i kept a smile on because i want to push those tears back as far as i can until they can't stay anymore, because telling someone you'll miss them is the most painful thing you ever have to do. losing someone is the most horrible thing you have to do.
and losing someone who played the waltz that your heart beats in 3/4 to is the most traumatic thing your poor heart ever has to do.
at first i was angry because this concert was mainly for the band, and only featured us, but then i got over it and realized that the band is comprised of kids who make this their lives, and that they have more of a right to it than we did. we were lucky to have played for the 30 min we got, given that most of us don't practice as much as we should, and don't have music theory lining the invisible walls around us at any point in the day.
al specifically had us seniors (there were fewer of us than i imagined) stand up to be applauded for our musical graduating year, and with tina standing next to me i was extremely tempted to cry. i looked over to the rest of the orchestra, kids like phoebe, angie, ana, and kyle, and i just felt like i was going to miss them so so much. to be a part of the music in my life gives you a position above most people, regardless of whether or not we converse outside of the music room often. music is in me, somewhere deep, and it will never go away. (my heart beats in 3/4, i know it, because my life is a beautiful waltz, and rises and falls with the moon and the sun, with love and passion. my body is my cello. my soul aches to sound. it's all encapsulated within me and something needs to let it out so that i can be as talented as i should be.)
tina did start to cry, which pushed me closer to tears, but i didn't want to admit that it was as horribly sad a moment as it was, i just didn't. being stand partners meant so much to me, more than it ever would seem. tina and i had (have) this bond over music that has developed so fully over the year, that i feel like i can't take her falling out of my life. i don't know how i'll be able to play cello without her.
and then there's ana, who i've been in orchestra with since she was in 6th grade. and now it really won't work out that way any longer. (unless one day we're both in the la phil together, playing our hearts out in the gorgeous hollywood bowl.) i wanted to tell her how much i'll miss her. but i didn't. because i didn't want to admit that it was as horribly sad a moment as it was, i just didn't.
we had a cello hug, phoebe, tina, kyle, and i. i wanted to cry and hug them harder than i've ever hugged anyone, so i could squeeze parts of them into myself and take them with me. i wanted to tell them that i love them and that i'll never forget them, but i didn't. because i didn't want to admit that it was as horribly sad a moment as it was, i just didn't.
and now i'm scared, because the music in my life is gone, and i don't know if i'm good enough to keep it going. i don't know if i'll make it into any orchestra at swarthmore. i don't know if my meager talent will be taken seriously. i don't know if i'll be able to get private lessons, which i need so much. i don't know if i'll even have my own cello.
so last night was so much more than it was, so much more than it was. i kept a smile on because i want to push those tears back as far as i can until they can't stay anymore, because telling someone you'll miss them is the most painful thing you ever have to do. losing someone is the most horrible thing you have to do.
and losing someone who played the waltz that your heart beats in 3/4 to is the most traumatic thing your poor heart ever has to do.
9.5.07
when i was tired
i swear sometimes i'm too full of myself.
i check my own blog more than anyone else's.
i check my own blog more than anyone else's.
8.5.07
when i almost finished this poem and just needed to add "a line of talk i've actually heard"
that
two-bulbed
lamp is like the world.
two-bulbed
lamp is like the world.
(i shouldn’t have been so quick
to change the dead bulb;
now,
instead of fizzling out together
-bringing intense absence of light-
they go out one at a time,
alone
and afraid
-piercing my eyes with half-lit shade-)
they always die alone. i have before.
and they are always afraid.
nous aurons toujours peur.
but they are audacious;
in the infinitesimal droplet of time
they have to light up some pocket of
the Universe,
they seek to burn brightly
and ring out the scent of luminescence.
terras irradient.
can you feel them emanating veracity?
can you taste the sweetness of vivacity?
can you smell the perspiration of velocity?
can you hear them screaming out their passions as they die?
(piper is a light bulb.
one day he will be swallowed
by old age and panglossian eyes and greed
and withhold all his colors
from your pupils,
-the lucifer of los angeles-
and play away his light, note by note, to the stars)
their light fades only because they die
and they die only because their incandescent souls have dimmed.
(sure enough, as I flicked the light on
later,
one bulb went out, cold as the sun
and I swear I heard it scream out its passions
as it cooled down,
its energy ebbing into the atmos.)
3.5.07
when i took a step backwards in skepticism
a sad truth about this world is that we will never see eye to eye. in the sad sea of subjectivity that is our reality, i might never understand what it is you are saying to me and you might never understand who i even am. our hearts want to be kind, we want to caress and love and forgive and advise, but truly we are all islands, and we just can't reach far enough (or we reach the wrong directions in the fog).
it's almost like derrida was only hitting the tip of the iceberg. language is not the only thing that undergoes deconstruction; rather the entirety of human behaviour does. a kiss is a kiss to me is a kiss to her is a promise to him is a deception to you is a mistake to everyone else. our thoughts are within our skulls, and we cannot release them. they cannot be expressed without being torn to shreds by the winds of misinterpretation. we will never understand how we feel.
all of my arguments have lately led to this conclusion. and it is this stark fact that leaves me feeling like so much is lost in the world.
but then, how does the world function if no one ever Knows, let alone knows Truth?
it must be some sort of faith. we have to believe each other and believe that we do understand one another in order to feel like we belong together. we hold each other hoping to god we're both in love, hoping to god we're both feeling the same feeling in our chests. we hold hands believing it's as magical for the other as it is for ourselves. we betray with faith that we are not being betrayed.
faith is hope, is the belief in something good that can never be proven. i've been doubting it for so long, but never realized that it's necessary for us to function, and that without it we'd be babbling words and feelings for no one to receive.
we'd kick and we'd scream but no one would see us.
it's almost like derrida was only hitting the tip of the iceberg. language is not the only thing that undergoes deconstruction; rather the entirety of human behaviour does. a kiss is a kiss to me is a kiss to her is a promise to him is a deception to you is a mistake to everyone else. our thoughts are within our skulls, and we cannot release them. they cannot be expressed without being torn to shreds by the winds of misinterpretation. we will never understand how we feel.
all of my arguments have lately led to this conclusion. and it is this stark fact that leaves me feeling like so much is lost in the world.
but then, how does the world function if no one ever Knows, let alone knows Truth?
it must be some sort of faith. we have to believe each other and believe that we do understand one another in order to feel like we belong together. we hold each other hoping to god we're both in love, hoping to god we're both feeling the same feeling in our chests. we hold hands believing it's as magical for the other as it is for ourselves. we betray with faith that we are not being betrayed.
faith is hope, is the belief in something good that can never be proven. i've been doubting it for so long, but never realized that it's necessary for us to function, and that without it we'd be babbling words and feelings for no one to receive.
we'd kick and we'd scream but no one would see us.
28.4.07
when i hoped you weren't reading this, because i had enveloped much of my insecurity into a blog about you
love is such a transient word, flowing with the wind, or time. there is no forming the formless ideal. however, i've arrived on the (temporary) conclusion that if one thinks one feels love, then one does. because, if god is the greatest conceivable being--according to st. anselm--then should not love be the greatest conceivable feeling? it would be given, then, that once one feels their greatest conceivable feeling, then one feels love.
if it is so, then i have loved you.
i won't take a pencil to my past and say it never was so. it was. we were in love.
but now i face a clash of "es muss sein"s and "it can be"s. in this train, speeding towards a cliff that is graduation, i would expect it to be normal that the passengers make hasty decisions and pour their souls all over the floor, hoping to stain something, someone, to be preserved after the collision. such is my mind. do i love, do i dare? do i love, must i love? it feels like my brain is irrupting with lust, guilt, and fear; it's this vichyssoise of emotions that stinks of indecisiveness, and i don't want to be the one on the train who dies while stumbling over what his last words will be.
on one hand, i am as much of a lover as i am of a thinker, as much as an emotional surgeon as i am a poet. i want to carry out unresolved emotions--be them either juvenile or to no virtuous ends--for the sake of making the first surgical incision; revealing what lies beneath the surface, illuminating.
on another, inherent in my faux solipsism is the utter solitude of mind, and i need to feel Sartre's bad faith to combat that isolation. for nights i seek to exist as "the one you love", and not as my self.
(it is a weakness i will never verbally admit: that i am ever weary of the existentialist life i have devoted myself to and that that weariness poses itself as love.)
i don't know if i love you. i don't know if you love me. and the times don't permit me to find out. i have to move on, i have to move on.
i only wish i could, and that i could tell you.
if it is so, then i have loved you.
i won't take a pencil to my past and say it never was so. it was. we were in love.
but now i face a clash of "es muss sein"s and "it can be"s. in this train, speeding towards a cliff that is graduation, i would expect it to be normal that the passengers make hasty decisions and pour their souls all over the floor, hoping to stain something, someone, to be preserved after the collision. such is my mind. do i love, do i dare? do i love, must i love? it feels like my brain is irrupting with lust, guilt, and fear; it's this vichyssoise of emotions that stinks of indecisiveness, and i don't want to be the one on the train who dies while stumbling over what his last words will be.
on one hand, i am as much of a lover as i am of a thinker, as much as an emotional surgeon as i am a poet. i want to carry out unresolved emotions--be them either juvenile or to no virtuous ends--for the sake of making the first surgical incision; revealing what lies beneath the surface, illuminating.
on another, inherent in my faux solipsism is the utter solitude of mind, and i need to feel Sartre's bad faith to combat that isolation. for nights i seek to exist as "the one you love", and not as my self.
(it is a weakness i will never verbally admit: that i am ever weary of the existentialist life i have devoted myself to and that that weariness poses itself as love.)
i don't know if i love you. i don't know if you love me. and the times don't permit me to find out. i have to move on, i have to move on.
i only wish i could, and that i could tell you.
when we didn't lose at music
so friday was a complicated day. it was way hectic, involving me making a mad dash to my car more than once--forgetting my keys one of those times--and carrying bags of things for other people, leaving behind things i should have brought in the first place.
it involved my cello starting up that noise he's been making lately, resulting from my bridge moving too low, when i played an F# (high and low).
it involved a hot bus ride to san pedro that should have taken 45 minutes, but really took almost 3 hours.
it involved being excessively bored on said bus ride, having forgotten my book and my ipod.
but, that being said,
it also involved a long bus ride nearby the boy i have a tiny crush on.
it involved being with tina and mikey and ana for hours.
it involved ana finding a crack spoon, singing with it as a microphone, and taking a picture with it.
it involved skipping 6th period with allford to practice with tina (and azia) upstairs in the soundproof cello room.
it involved teaching tina the care cup and designating a symbol for mikey's crossing the line.
it involved eating an amazing salad at hot's with mikey, tina, spencer, and annas.
it involved taking our senior panorama picture.
it involved teaching jamie the other way to solve the f2l.
it involved tina making a wayyy dirty statement.
it involved getting home at midnight after hot's and my parents not saying anything.
it involved walking into Lit with starbucks and without a backpack (or anything but the starbucks)
it involved my cello deciding he didn't want to make those ugly noises during our performance.
it involved us performing exceptionally well.
it involved us receiving excellents from our judges. :)
so, to quote mikey and mr. parsons (who are, by far, two of my favorite men)
Mikey: "You can't win at music!"
Parsons: "But you can lose."
and we didn't. <3 style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">
it involved my cello starting up that noise he's been making lately, resulting from my bridge moving too low, when i played an F# (high and low).
it involved a hot bus ride to san pedro that should have taken 45 minutes, but really took almost 3 hours.
it involved being excessively bored on said bus ride, having forgotten my book and my ipod.
but, that being said,
it also involved a long bus ride nearby the boy i have a tiny crush on.
it involved being with tina and mikey and ana for hours.
it involved ana finding a crack spoon, singing with it as a microphone, and taking a picture with it.
it involved skipping 6th period with allford to practice with tina (and azia) upstairs in the soundproof cello room.
it involved teaching tina the care cup and designating a symbol for mikey's crossing the line.
it involved eating an amazing salad at hot's with mikey, tina, spencer, and annas.
it involved taking our senior panorama picture.
it involved teaching jamie the other way to solve the f2l.
it involved tina making a wayyy dirty statement.
it involved getting home at midnight after hot's and my parents not saying anything.
it involved walking into Lit with starbucks and without a backpack (or anything but the starbucks)
it involved my cello deciding he didn't want to make those ugly noises during our performance.
it involved us performing exceptionally well.
it involved us receiving excellents from our judges. :)
so, to quote mikey and mr. parsons (who are, by far, two of my favorite men)
Mikey: "You can't win at music!"
Parsons: "But you can lose."
and we didn't. <3 style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">
25.4.07
when i wasn't amazing
so i've been playing cello since 7th grade. and i can't even play through st. paul's suite.
so i can write poetry, once in a blue moon and only in mediocrity.
so i can work adobe programs, but art is a world for artists, and i have no creativity.
so i can do math, but can't survive in a class i've already taken.
so i got into swarthmore, but i have nothing to contribute.
i don't have passion, i don't have opinion, i don't have strength, i don't have talent.
i'm afraid to go. everyone is going to have something. everyone is going to have that one word they can be filed under in that old man's card catalog in New York. Leland: music. Maeve: art. James:
i'm not really part of your intelligencia, mikey. i'm sorry. i'm not. maybe i stuck out because our school is fool of california fools. and i was of the less foolish.
i can't write anymore.
so i can write poetry, once in a blue moon and only in mediocrity.
so i can work adobe programs, but art is a world for artists, and i have no creativity.
so i can do math, but can't survive in a class i've already taken.
so i got into swarthmore, but i have nothing to contribute.
i don't have passion, i don't have opinion, i don't have strength, i don't have talent.
i'm afraid to go. everyone is going to have something. everyone is going to have that one word they can be filed under in that old man's card catalog in New York. Leland: music. Maeve: art. James:
i'm not really part of your intelligencia, mikey. i'm sorry. i'm not. maybe i stuck out because our school is fool of california fools. and i was of the less foolish.
i can't write anymore.
22.4.07
20.4.07
when i went to pennsylvania
and the history books forgot about us
and the bible didn't mention us
and the bible didn't mention us
not even once
you are my sweetest downfall,
i loved you first, i loved you first,
beneath the sheets
of paper lies my truth,
i have to go, i have to go
god i love that song. so much.
i got back from penn today. for all who didn't know: that was where i was. i was visiting that which is the best place on earth: swarthmore college. je sais que je vais là. absolutement. it's a great feeling of comfort, to know i can send a rejection to the other three schools...
i made two friends who i'll actually be seeing when i go there; they're early decision students. easy to say they know they're going there too. leland kusmer and laura backup. great people. of course the joel part of me emerged a tiny bit...and i backed myself into a dangerous corner. but anyway, we went treasure hunting and were the first people to find it. we're that cool.
from left to right: the first quaker i've ever met, me, and the handbell visionary
and the bible didn't mention us
and the bible didn't mention us
not even once
you are my sweetest downfall,
i loved you first, i loved you first,
beneath the sheets
of paper lies my truth,
i have to go, i have to go
god i love that song. so much.
i got back from penn today. for all who didn't know: that was where i was. i was visiting that which is the best place on earth: swarthmore college. je sais que je vais là. absolutement. it's a great feeling of comfort, to know i can send a rejection to the other three schools...
i made two friends who i'll actually be seeing when i go there; they're early decision students. easy to say they know they're going there too. leland kusmer and laura backup. great people. of course the joel part of me emerged a tiny bit...and i backed myself into a dangerous corner. but anyway, we went treasure hunting and were the first people to find it. we're that cool.
from left to right: the first quaker i've ever met, me, and the handbell visionary
i'm torn. i love swat. but gogo loves didi. and my dance loves her swing. and i...love mikey. (couldnt come up with anything clever just yet) i'm afraid to love swat or swatties.
but now either way i'm missing a part of myself.
listen, this was going to be a blog about how much fun i had watching people fence on a bridge, making liquid nitrogen ice cream, talking to older swatties, walking around the forest/grass amphitheater, watching a jazz concert in lang music hall, watching the track team race a mile through the library, listening to two a cappella groups perform in a bell tower, or winning a treasure hunt, but now it wont be. (though that will suffice for me being wrong)
i wont put up pictures of the things i saw or of the campus.
i will when i can?
but now either way i'm missing a part of myself.
listen, this was going to be a blog about how much fun i had watching people fence on a bridge, making liquid nitrogen ice cream, talking to older swatties, walking around the forest/grass amphitheater, watching a jazz concert in lang music hall, watching the track team race a mile through the library, listening to two a cappella groups perform in a bell tower, or winning a treasure hunt, but now it wont be. (though that will suffice for me being wrong)
i wont put up pictures of the things i saw or of the campus.
i will when i can?
12.4.07
when i felt alone
my parents wonder why i'm so distant from them and think they've done everything right. they don't realize how much pretending parts of my life don't exist affects me and my perception of them. if i'm not fully here, then i'm not able to be touched. that's why i don't touch them. because i'm not here anyway. that's why i don't touch anybody. that's why it's so hard.
i blame them for me being so cold on the outside.
i blame them for me being so cold on the outside.
11.4.07
10.4.07
when i took a nap and dreamt of the rapture
i know 3 posts within an hour is a lot, but i'm in that sort of mood.
so i took a nap when i got home because i was tired, and i had a weird ass dream, narrated by people who sorted of sounded like simpsons characters. the rapture was coming and we had to find a place to go or something like that. the dialogue was incessant and i couldn't disturb it, but i could add other people talking at the same time or in the gaps. there was a tree house we had to go to in order to survive, but it was going to fall down so we climbed down an enormous ladder. turned out there was no rapture, anyway.
i was genuinely scared to death, as i usually am in dreams that involve religious shit like that.
when i woke up, though, i had the funniest realization. the tv was on and it was a commercial, but then the simpsons came back on. sure enough, it was the episode where homer predicts the rapture, but at the wrong time, and takes everyone onto a mesa to be saved, only to realize he predicted the wrong time.
my dream had been narrated by the television. that is scary. and awesome. that's never happened to me before; at least never that tight of a situation. all the dialogue was there, and the dream kept up with the plot.
i'm blown away.
so i took a nap when i got home because i was tired, and i had a weird ass dream, narrated by people who sorted of sounded like simpsons characters. the rapture was coming and we had to find a place to go or something like that. the dialogue was incessant and i couldn't disturb it, but i could add other people talking at the same time or in the gaps. there was a tree house we had to go to in order to survive, but it was going to fall down so we climbed down an enormous ladder. turned out there was no rapture, anyway.
i was genuinely scared to death, as i usually am in dreams that involve religious shit like that.
when i woke up, though, i had the funniest realization. the tv was on and it was a commercial, but then the simpsons came back on. sure enough, it was the episode where homer predicts the rapture, but at the wrong time, and takes everyone onto a mesa to be saved, only to realize he predicted the wrong time.
my dream had been narrated by the television. that is scary. and awesome. that's never happened to me before; at least never that tight of a situation. all the dialogue was there, and the dream kept up with the plot.
i'm blown away.
when i remembered how mad i am at my cat
i really am. i'm sick of having him stay in my room 24/7. i'm sick of the litter box and how it smells. i'm sick of his food dish and how it smells. i'm sick of sneezing at the cat hair in my bed. i'm sick of how stuffy my room gets. i'm sick of how i can't leave my door open without him trying to get out every 5 minutes, as if i had forgotten he had tried it before. i'm sick of not being able to sleep without contorting my body to suit him. i'm sick of him banging in to things all night. i'm sick of hearing him meow and step all over things i need to keep clean. i'm sick of how afraid he is of the vacuum i have to use to clean up his messes, where he runs away so much that he often spills more things. i'm sick of hearing him try to lick his stitches even though he has an e-collar on and therefore only licks the plastic and makes the most fucking annoying sound. i'm sick of getting cat hair on all of my things. i'm sick of getting litter all over my feet.
i'm fucking tired of this cat. why can't he get his fucking stitches out, and go back outside.
i really am. i'm sick of having him stay in my room 24/7. i'm sick of the litter box and how it smells. i'm sick of his food dish and how it smells. i'm sick of sneezing at the cat hair in my bed. i'm sick of how stuffy my room gets. i'm sick of how i can't leave my door open without him trying to get out every 5 minutes, as if i had forgotten he had tried it before. i'm sick of not being able to sleep without contorting my body to suit him. i'm sick of him banging in to things all night. i'm sick of hearing him meow and step all over things i need to keep clean. i'm sick of how afraid he is of the vacuum i have to use to clean up his messes, where he runs away so much that he often spills more things. i'm sick of hearing him try to lick his stitches even though he has an e-collar on and therefore only licks the plastic and makes the most fucking annoying sound. i'm sick of getting cat hair on all of my things. i'm sick of getting litter all over my feet.
i'm fucking tired of this cat. why can't he get his fucking stitches out, and go back outside.
when i felt subconscious love and noticed a curious issue with House
why is it that in every House episode, they go through a long list of life threatening diseases with horror-struck faces and panicked demeanors only to find out the it's something simple and totally curable, only in unfamiliar circumstance? like today...they thought a man (on a plane, mind you) was going to die of a disease they wouldn't be able to get him meds for in time (they'd have to land), but then realized he was just a bad scuba diver who had a case of the bends...while a lady who they thought had some brain aneurysm or something like that turned out just to have accidentally sniffed fumigation toxins... i'm sure real life isn't that simple? i don't know, maybe i haven't seen enough episodes of house--because lord knows i don't watch much tv--but it just feels awkward when you can trace the formula of a show.
and now for something completely different.
i made a great discovery today in orchestra. as we were playing st. pauls suite--as we usually do, nothing special--i happened to glance over to the second violins. i was sitting in kyle's seat (in front, on the right and next to angie) because phoebe wasn't here and it was my turn to fill in, but i didn't want the first seat. plus, angie's fun to sit next to, when i'm not accidentally hitting her viola with my bow. anyway, i glanced over at the second violins and this one violinist caught my attention. i would have expected the one kid i had a crush on to be the one that i paid attention to, but it wasn't him. actually, it doesn't matter who it was, because that's not what this is about. the only important factor is that he is a boy, therefore i am open to being turned on.
it's needless to say, then, that it wasn't looks that got me. it was this look in his eye, this absolutely focused attention on the music. it wasn't utter passion like green, or a kind of floating like yo-yo ma, but it was a simple fascination with the music, like someone stumbling over their first look at someone who just might change their life, and has already got their heart between their fingertips. i haven't felt like i did for those few seconds in a long time. it was subconscious love. not for him, but for that look. for that birth of passion, for that curious love.
it made me look around and think; there are plenty of dumb asses in the class. dumb boys who do dumb things like mess with the thermostat or hit each other in chairs or spin the stands and then watch things drop onto the floor. they're different though--they must be--from other dumb boys, don't you think? they're violinists. doesn't that say something? and i don't mean this to glorify string players, i mean musicians in general. when someone truly picks up an instrument (yes, that instrument can be your voice, you two) and feels that curious love i saw in his eyes, he or she proves that his or her life is not empty of meaning or passion.
i couldn't help but start to picture some of these boys with their friends. some of them are hardcore skaters; in that young way, yeah, but also in the involved way, where they read skate magazines all day and are completely obsessed. can you picture a typical skater picking up a violin and feeling the vibrations of the wood? it also makes me wonder what their friends, or other people, think of them. wouldn't you expect violinists to sort of be ridiculed by those kinds of people? i earned a tiny bit of respect for a lot of the boys i used to really dislike in 4th period today. a good bit, though.
somewhere, deep in my heart i know i have more of a passion for my cello then i realize. even though i don't practice every day and i give up when i can't do it and i wont play solos...some part of me loves it more than anything else i've ever done. dare i say i'm a musician at heart? a musician who hasn't bloomed yet. i'm not mikey, who has blossomed and bore fruit time after time, but maybe i will be.
god, do i want to marry a musician. our hearts would sing.
why is it that in every House episode, they go through a long list of life threatening diseases with horror-struck faces and panicked demeanors only to find out the it's something simple and totally curable, only in unfamiliar circumstance? like today...they thought a man (on a plane, mind you) was going to die of a disease they wouldn't be able to get him meds for in time (they'd have to land), but then realized he was just a bad scuba diver who had a case of the bends...while a lady who they thought had some brain aneurysm or something like that turned out just to have accidentally sniffed fumigation toxins... i'm sure real life isn't that simple? i don't know, maybe i haven't seen enough episodes of house--because lord knows i don't watch much tv--but it just feels awkward when you can trace the formula of a show.
and now for something completely different.
i made a great discovery today in orchestra. as we were playing st. pauls suite--as we usually do, nothing special--i happened to glance over to the second violins. i was sitting in kyle's seat (in front, on the right and next to angie) because phoebe wasn't here and it was my turn to fill in, but i didn't want the first seat. plus, angie's fun to sit next to, when i'm not accidentally hitting her viola with my bow. anyway, i glanced over at the second violins and this one violinist caught my attention. i would have expected the one kid i had a crush on to be the one that i paid attention to, but it wasn't him. actually, it doesn't matter who it was, because that's not what this is about. the only important factor is that he is a boy, therefore i am open to being turned on.
it's needless to say, then, that it wasn't looks that got me. it was this look in his eye, this absolutely focused attention on the music. it wasn't utter passion like green, or a kind of floating like yo-yo ma, but it was a simple fascination with the music, like someone stumbling over their first look at someone who just might change their life, and has already got their heart between their fingertips. i haven't felt like i did for those few seconds in a long time. it was subconscious love. not for him, but for that look. for that birth of passion, for that curious love.
it made me look around and think; there are plenty of dumb asses in the class. dumb boys who do dumb things like mess with the thermostat or hit each other in chairs or spin the stands and then watch things drop onto the floor. they're different though--they must be--from other dumb boys, don't you think? they're violinists. doesn't that say something? and i don't mean this to glorify string players, i mean musicians in general. when someone truly picks up an instrument (yes, that instrument can be your voice, you two) and feels that curious love i saw in his eyes, he or she proves that his or her life is not empty of meaning or passion.
i couldn't help but start to picture some of these boys with their friends. some of them are hardcore skaters; in that young way, yeah, but also in the involved way, where they read skate magazines all day and are completely obsessed. can you picture a typical skater picking up a violin and feeling the vibrations of the wood? it also makes me wonder what their friends, or other people, think of them. wouldn't you expect violinists to sort of be ridiculed by those kinds of people? i earned a tiny bit of respect for a lot of the boys i used to really dislike in 4th period today. a good bit, though.
somewhere, deep in my heart i know i have more of a passion for my cello then i realize. even though i don't practice every day and i give up when i can't do it and i wont play solos...some part of me loves it more than anything else i've ever done. dare i say i'm a musician at heart? a musician who hasn't bloomed yet. i'm not mikey, who has blossomed and bore fruit time after time, but maybe i will be.
god, do i want to marry a musician. our hearts would sing.
6.4.07
when i freaked out
oh my god i hate allford so much. HATEHATEHATE. it's spring break and yet what do i have to be working on every damn day?
senior project
hamlet lit review
hamlet lit project
the metamorphosis
wtf, this week was supposed to be about relaxing, taking time off, and enjoying the last few months i have here in california.. not me working. on homework. every day. so i can keep my grades up so swarthmore doesn't freak out and decide not to let me in.
and it doesn't help that i can't sleep because of whatever disease i have. ha!
oh my god i hate allford so much. HATEHATEHATE. it's spring break and yet what do i have to be working on every damn day?
senior project
hamlet lit review
hamlet lit project
the metamorphosis
wtf, this week was supposed to be about relaxing, taking time off, and enjoying the last few months i have here in california.. not me working. on homework. every day. so i can keep my grades up so swarthmore doesn't freak out and decide not to let me in.
and it doesn't help that i can't sleep because of whatever disease i have. ha!
3.4.07
when i wrote to rid you from my bones, god
no it really hurts. god this really hurts. fuck that bold and resolute james, who wanted change so much. who sought the forests for creation and enlightenment.
fuck you, james.
fuck you, time.
fuck you, impermanence.
i've been too distant from myself to realize what it means to travel into the future. to separate the triumvirate, to no longer manipulate the La times.
i've been too determined to stir up change by shock therapy to feel the shock. my life was a bathtub, i added the hair drier, and, smirking at the lack of change, stepped in the water.
it fucking HURTS.
and fuck anyone who made this time less enjoyable. fuck allford for making us lose so much of our fleeting lives.
if i believed in you, god, i would be cursing you for creating such an impermanent universe, for liquifying life and thinking that that was ok. why couldn't you be smarter?
i dont want them to go. i dont want them to go.
i hate that i've always been too afraid to feel, and that so many people will never know just how much i loved them.
no it really hurts. god this really hurts. fuck that bold and resolute james, who wanted change so much. who sought the forests for creation and enlightenment.
fuck you, james.
fuck you, time.
fuck you, impermanence.
i've been too distant from myself to realize what it means to travel into the future. to separate the triumvirate, to no longer manipulate the La times.
i've been too determined to stir up change by shock therapy to feel the shock. my life was a bathtub, i added the hair drier, and, smirking at the lack of change, stepped in the water.
it fucking HURTS.
and fuck anyone who made this time less enjoyable. fuck allford for making us lose so much of our fleeting lives.
if i believed in you, god, i would be cursing you for creating such an impermanent universe, for liquifying life and thinking that that was ok. why couldn't you be smarter?
i dont want them to go. i dont want them to go.
i hate that i've always been too afraid to feel, and that so many people will never know just how much i loved them.
2.4.07
when i didn't get into amherst, cried, missed annas, and then copied castro's blog to get my mind off things
Freshman Year:
I hung around with Porter kids; mainly Jamie, Shant, Jonathan, Ali, Azia, Leslie, and Ben, who I played cello with in 8th grade. I rode the school bus every day, and made friends with a few kids who sat by me: Margarita, these two twins named Shimshone (who I would always compete for grades against) and Josh (who I had a big crush on), and their friend Sean. In Bio, I had a huge crush on Stephen, who knew this redheaded girl who came out to me the same day I came out to her named Amy. Amy joined with the porter kids' group, as well as this girl named Tina. Occasionally this guy Joe would eat lunch with us, bringing his quiet friend whose name I could never remember...Annie?...Andrea?...I went to Amy's huge birthday party where I met Shannon. Shannon and I got close; she introduced me to her friend Juan and we dated for a while. I went out with him and his friends; Cameron, this long-haired guy Ulysses, and this familiar looking girl named Maeve. I met this quiet girl Sanam and her friends Katie and Allison, who liked Amy. I had Tennis with this girl named Michelle who was really smart. I missed playing Cello so my mom brought me to work to introduce me to her coworker's son who also liked to play an instrument though a random one...flute?...for some reason, where I met Raymond, the only gay guy I've ever met out of nowhere.
Sophomore Year:
I had Netzley for World History, and there I met this guy I didn't like very much named Spencer, who had really red hair and wore noisy jackets and made rich republican comments. I had weight training with Amy and this freshman Ana I knew from orchestra in middle school. Juan met my friend Raymond, and they started dating. I was best friends with Olivia, a girl I used to like in middle school. Her, Margarita, and I were always together. Olivia met Juan's friend Ulysses and crushed on him. She also met my friend since Kindergarten, Brendan, and they kind of dated, but then he transferred to Cleveland and became friends with Ulysses. I went to Julie's over winter and met her friend Cedric who was going off to college soon. I went to Raymond's birthday party with Olivia and met his ex Hugo, who I dated but never got to hang out with. I had this girl Abby in my Calc class Amy and I talked to quite a bit. She talked about her friends Anna and Eric (who i saw once and I thought was a less-attractive version of my childhood friend Kevin) once in a while, but mostly we talked about sex. There was this funny guy with long hair who sat on the other side of the room I didn't really know. Jamie was in Yearbook and tried to introduce me to this girl i somewhat recognized named Anna Harley. I don't remember why, but my second semester French class had different people, and Anna was in it and so was this other quiet girl who read a lot. The first thing I ever said to her was "Is that a good book?" (referring to Life of Pi) and she said yes. She turned out to be Abby's friend, Anna Castro. I met this guy named Sean at the park one day, and I immediately fell in love. Jamie brought me into Yearbook as an honorary member because I was sooo going to be in it my junior year, and I helped make stamps. She introduced me to the Yearbook adviser, Mrs. Allford, who I thought was nice.
Junior Year:
first semester-
I had every class with an Anna. (except English) Therefore, we became the Triumvirate of Love. I was still dating Sean, love of my life. In Yearbook I met Taylor, who is one of the most awesome people alive. I had Physics with Abby and Anna and Eric, who I grew to have an innocent crush on. (he was a more attractive version of Kevin, I was wrong in 10th grade.) Jason was also in Physics, a fun guy who was in our US History class, too. I started to love reading more and more and therefore grew closer to the Annas than my old friends, and they started doing things without me, too. Anna talked about this show, Arrested Development, that was supposedly really funny. Olivia watched it, too, and so did Azia. Azia and I were getting closer, because her bus merged with mine (or mine with hers) and we sat by each other and talked when she wasn't asleep. I had French with Anna, Anna, and Tina, where I met Anthony, a boy who is truly hilarious. I also met Allison Quach and the 6 of us had a soap opera planned out. Annas and I BSed through Shumate's class, and still got really good grades on everything. I didn't even do one of our projects because I hated it so much. A+
second semester-
I tried to take orchestra 7th period, but Ken said they only offer it to people in 4th period, too. Damn Physics. I met this girl with a pink mohawk named Phoebe who played cello and was sad I couldn't join them. Abby, Anna, Eric, and I would study physics at Abby's house all the time, and it was always a riot. And Eric was always attractive. I got really close to Katie in English, since she sat next to me. We promised to go to prom together if we didn't have dates. Anna Castro, Abby, and I ate lunch in Physics every day. Weirdest part of junior year. I swear. But amazing, nonetheless. Mr. Van was always hilarious. I noticed Anna Harley was that girl who used to each lunch with me in ninth grade whose name I could never remember. Embarassing. She started to date that guy Jason from Physics and Shumate's. Castro introduced me to Mikey, who was that long-haired funny guy from my Calc class in 10th grade. He worked at starbucks and turned out to be a great guy. I finally met the infamous Suejung that Jamie often talked about, and realized how amazing, kind, and smart she is. I learned to hate Yearbook, cried, and vowed to never take it again. Over the summer I went to Boston with Sean and Olivia, and stayed at Olivia's aunt's. We visited colleges, and I fell in love with Boston College, Wellesley (I know it's a girls school, but it's the prettiest thing I've ever seen), and Amherst, which I didn't get into. Anna, Olivia, Sean and I surprised Leslie by kidnapping her and taking her to Huntington and tea in Pasadena because we love her that much. I hung out with Castro over summer a lot (while Harley was in Canada), and I rekindled friendship with the twins and Sean Delshad, and learned to like that redhead, Spencer.
Senior Year:
first semester-
Took yearbook again. Why? I don't know. And AP Lit with Allford. And spent 6th period there, too. Mikey, Annas, Tina, Sean, Eric, and I are all in Lit together. Joined orchestra with Phoebe, Tina, Mikey, Ana, and met Kyle (mini-me) and Angie, two people I've grown to love. Harley let me borrow her cello for free since I had given my old one away. I became a peer college counselor and met Jessica and got to know Ryan better. While on a break with Sean, I met this cute guy named Samir and convinced him to join yearbook. We dated for a month or two. I met this girl in yearbook I had never seen before named Maggy, who is also in Lit, and she turned out to be pretty great. Maggy is best friends with Maeve, who I met back in 9th grade, and they were both in our Econ class. Michelle was also in Econ, who I met in tennis, and her mom is co-coordinator of Everybody Reads, which Castro introduced me to, and that Suejung also goes to. Anna, Anna, and I entered the Questbridge scholarship thing, and all became finalists. Castro won a full scholarship to Amherst. Margarita brought this guy Corey who doesn't know Azia's middle name but wants to to where we ate at lunch, and Shant brought this girl Sam. Amy started drifting away, being married to her girlfriend Lexy. Abby, too, being married to her boyfriend, Preet. I missed both, but still stayed good friends. Leslie had deca so we never really saw her; she was always working her ass off.
second semester (until now)-
Leslie's back and she brought joy with her. I had a huge crush on Mikey--a stupid, pointless crush--because he's basically exactly what I want, but I got over it and now he's one of my best friends. The Triumvirate features him quite often. Shimshone, Spencer, Sean, and Elush are occasionally part of my life due to the transitive property, and I'm cool with that. Annas and I did fashion show, where I was reunited with the amazing Anthony, and then I realized how much like Joel in Eternal Sunshine I am. ("Why do I fall in love with every girl who pays me the least bit of attention?") Minus girl, add boy. Yeah, Anthony had my mind for a bit, he's damn gorgeous. In yearbook, I've had a chance to get to know Maggy more, and I've decided that she's pretty great. Madeline also emerged as my favorite underclassmen on the staff; she's way cool. Even Danyial found a place in my heart, I swear Yearbook creates this unspoken bond Harley speaks of often. I'd defend Danyial with my life, even if he doesn't know that. Him or anyone else on the staff. Except Allford. She's constantly pushing the limits of her cruelty. Whenever you think she can't get worse, she does. I have no respect for her any longer. None. Abby broke up with Preet, and is starting to talk to me more; I really missed her. Tina and I are like this *crosses fingers* from Lit and Orchestra, god I love that girl. I grew away from Olivia, Shant, and Jonathan, but I still kept Margarita, Ali, Amy, and even Corey around. They're there for me when i need it. Jamie Young is and always has been my amazing blonde bombshell, babe of robotics. Azia and I are going to prom because she's awesome like that. College letters came and this web, constantly tangled around and inside itself looks like its going to stretch out all over the country in a few months.
Jamie's probably going to Berkeley, Azia might go to Cal Poly, Castro will be in Amherst, Harley will be at i-don't-know-where-but-it's-not-swarthmore-and-thats-the-point, Sean will be staying here, Mikey will be at Reed...
I'll be at Swarthmore, alone.
Fate is definitely circular, we always end around where we started, but altered in some way. college is the next turn of the wheel, and I'll build a new web, blahblahblah...
But this hurts, it really does. it really does. it really does.
i promise, it hurts.
Freshman Year:
I hung around with Porter kids; mainly Jamie, Shant, Jonathan, Ali, Azia, Leslie, and Ben, who I played cello with in 8th grade. I rode the school bus every day, and made friends with a few kids who sat by me: Margarita, these two twins named Shimshone (who I would always compete for grades against) and Josh (who I had a big crush on), and their friend Sean. In Bio, I had a huge crush on Stephen, who knew this redheaded girl who came out to me the same day I came out to her named Amy. Amy joined with the porter kids' group, as well as this girl named Tina. Occasionally this guy Joe would eat lunch with us, bringing his quiet friend whose name I could never remember...Annie?...Andrea?...I went to Amy's huge birthday party where I met Shannon. Shannon and I got close; she introduced me to her friend Juan and we dated for a while. I went out with him and his friends; Cameron, this long-haired guy Ulysses, and this familiar looking girl named Maeve. I met this quiet girl Sanam and her friends Katie and Allison, who liked Amy. I had Tennis with this girl named Michelle who was really smart. I missed playing Cello so my mom brought me to work to introduce me to her coworker's son who also liked to play an instrument though a random one...flute?...for some reason, where I met Raymond, the only gay guy I've ever met out of nowhere.
Sophomore Year:
I had Netzley for World History, and there I met this guy I didn't like very much named Spencer, who had really red hair and wore noisy jackets and made rich republican comments. I had weight training with Amy and this freshman Ana I knew from orchestra in middle school. Juan met my friend Raymond, and they started dating. I was best friends with Olivia, a girl I used to like in middle school. Her, Margarita, and I were always together. Olivia met Juan's friend Ulysses and crushed on him. She also met my friend since Kindergarten, Brendan, and they kind of dated, but then he transferred to Cleveland and became friends with Ulysses. I went to Julie's over winter and met her friend Cedric who was going off to college soon. I went to Raymond's birthday party with Olivia and met his ex Hugo, who I dated but never got to hang out with. I had this girl Abby in my Calc class Amy and I talked to quite a bit. She talked about her friends Anna and Eric (who i saw once and I thought was a less-attractive version of my childhood friend Kevin) once in a while, but mostly we talked about sex. There was this funny guy with long hair who sat on the other side of the room I didn't really know. Jamie was in Yearbook and tried to introduce me to this girl i somewhat recognized named Anna Harley. I don't remember why, but my second semester French class had different people, and Anna was in it and so was this other quiet girl who read a lot. The first thing I ever said to her was "Is that a good book?" (referring to Life of Pi) and she said yes. She turned out to be Abby's friend, Anna Castro. I met this guy named Sean at the park one day, and I immediately fell in love. Jamie brought me into Yearbook as an honorary member because I was sooo going to be in it my junior year, and I helped make stamps. She introduced me to the Yearbook adviser, Mrs. Allford, who I thought was nice.
Junior Year:
first semester-
I had every class with an Anna. (except English) Therefore, we became the Triumvirate of Love. I was still dating Sean, love of my life. In Yearbook I met Taylor, who is one of the most awesome people alive. I had Physics with Abby and Anna and Eric, who I grew to have an innocent crush on. (he was a more attractive version of Kevin, I was wrong in 10th grade.) Jason was also in Physics, a fun guy who was in our US History class, too. I started to love reading more and more and therefore grew closer to the Annas than my old friends, and they started doing things without me, too. Anna talked about this show, Arrested Development, that was supposedly really funny. Olivia watched it, too, and so did Azia. Azia and I were getting closer, because her bus merged with mine (or mine with hers) and we sat by each other and talked when she wasn't asleep. I had French with Anna, Anna, and Tina, where I met Anthony, a boy who is truly hilarious. I also met Allison Quach and the 6 of us had a soap opera planned out. Annas and I BSed through Shumate's class, and still got really good grades on everything. I didn't even do one of our projects because I hated it so much. A+
second semester-
I tried to take orchestra 7th period, but Ken said they only offer it to people in 4th period, too. Damn Physics. I met this girl with a pink mohawk named Phoebe who played cello and was sad I couldn't join them. Abby, Anna, Eric, and I would study physics at Abby's house all the time, and it was always a riot. And Eric was always attractive. I got really close to Katie in English, since she sat next to me. We promised to go to prom together if we didn't have dates. Anna Castro, Abby, and I ate lunch in Physics every day. Weirdest part of junior year. I swear. But amazing, nonetheless. Mr. Van was always hilarious. I noticed Anna Harley was that girl who used to each lunch with me in ninth grade whose name I could never remember. Embarassing. She started to date that guy Jason from Physics and Shumate's. Castro introduced me to Mikey, who was that long-haired funny guy from my Calc class in 10th grade. He worked at starbucks and turned out to be a great guy. I finally met the infamous Suejung that Jamie often talked about, and realized how amazing, kind, and smart she is. I learned to hate Yearbook, cried, and vowed to never take it again. Over the summer I went to Boston with Sean and Olivia, and stayed at Olivia's aunt's. We visited colleges, and I fell in love with Boston College, Wellesley (I know it's a girls school, but it's the prettiest thing I've ever seen), and Amherst, which I didn't get into. Anna, Olivia, Sean and I surprised Leslie by kidnapping her and taking her to Huntington and tea in Pasadena because we love her that much. I hung out with Castro over summer a lot (while Harley was in Canada), and I rekindled friendship with the twins and Sean Delshad, and learned to like that redhead, Spencer.
Senior Year:
first semester-
Took yearbook again. Why? I don't know. And AP Lit with Allford. And spent 6th period there, too. Mikey, Annas, Tina, Sean, Eric, and I are all in Lit together. Joined orchestra with Phoebe, Tina, Mikey, Ana, and met Kyle (mini-me) and Angie, two people I've grown to love. Harley let me borrow her cello for free since I had given my old one away. I became a peer college counselor and met Jessica and got to know Ryan better. While on a break with Sean, I met this cute guy named Samir and convinced him to join yearbook. We dated for a month or two. I met this girl in yearbook I had never seen before named Maggy, who is also in Lit, and she turned out to be pretty great. Maggy is best friends with Maeve, who I met back in 9th grade, and they were both in our Econ class. Michelle was also in Econ, who I met in tennis, and her mom is co-coordinator of Everybody Reads, which Castro introduced me to, and that Suejung also goes to. Anna, Anna, and I entered the Questbridge scholarship thing, and all became finalists. Castro won a full scholarship to Amherst. Margarita brought this guy Corey who doesn't know Azia's middle name but wants to to where we ate at lunch, and Shant brought this girl Sam. Amy started drifting away, being married to her girlfriend Lexy. Abby, too, being married to her boyfriend, Preet. I missed both, but still stayed good friends. Leslie had deca so we never really saw her; she was always working her ass off.
second semester (until now)-
Leslie's back and she brought joy with her. I had a huge crush on Mikey--a stupid, pointless crush--because he's basically exactly what I want, but I got over it and now he's one of my best friends. The Triumvirate features him quite often. Shimshone, Spencer, Sean, and Elush are occasionally part of my life due to the transitive property, and I'm cool with that. Annas and I did fashion show, where I was reunited with the amazing Anthony, and then I realized how much like Joel in Eternal Sunshine I am. ("Why do I fall in love with every girl who pays me the least bit of attention?") Minus girl, add boy. Yeah, Anthony had my mind for a bit, he's damn gorgeous. In yearbook, I've had a chance to get to know Maggy more, and I've decided that she's pretty great. Madeline also emerged as my favorite underclassmen on the staff; she's way cool. Even Danyial found a place in my heart, I swear Yearbook creates this unspoken bond Harley speaks of often. I'd defend Danyial with my life, even if he doesn't know that. Him or anyone else on the staff. Except Allford. She's constantly pushing the limits of her cruelty. Whenever you think she can't get worse, she does. I have no respect for her any longer. None. Abby broke up with Preet, and is starting to talk to me more; I really missed her. Tina and I are like this *crosses fingers* from Lit and Orchestra, god I love that girl. I grew away from Olivia, Shant, and Jonathan, but I still kept Margarita, Ali, Amy, and even Corey around. They're there for me when i need it. Jamie Young is and always has been my amazing blonde bombshell, babe of robotics. Azia and I are going to prom because she's awesome like that. College letters came and this web, constantly tangled around and inside itself looks like its going to stretch out all over the country in a few months.
Jamie's probably going to Berkeley, Azia might go to Cal Poly, Castro will be in Amherst, Harley will be at i-don't-know-where-but-it's-not-swarthmore-and-thats-the-point, Sean will be staying here, Mikey will be at Reed...
I'll be at Swarthmore, alone.
Fate is definitely circular, we always end around where we started, but altered in some way. college is the next turn of the wheel, and I'll build a new web, blahblahblah...
But this hurts, it really does. it really does. it really does.
i promise, it hurts.
30.3.07
16.3.07
when i thought about prom and then love
it's not unusual to assume that one part of prom is taking someone you care about, is it? no. so, obviously--since it's been the hot topic around school with so many people--i've thought a bit about prom and then love. the consequent thoughts were rather morose... follow my train of thought:
who am i going to bring?
the obvious answer would have been Sean McCullough, the love of my life. duh. I've been with the boy for the most part of 2 years and it would be easy to be romantic with him. But, I thought about it. I'm not in love as i was before. Maybe it's the knowledge of me leaving school or me being consumed by other, incontrollable lusts that make it so, but no matter what, it is that way. With that, on top of fifty other reasons to not bring him (him not liking dances, him not being very social, me being scared to death to be openly romantic with him in public [which i hate myself for, so much], or him not being really tied to prom), I realized he may be a bad choice.
who am i going to bring(, and then love)?
so, i'm back at this again. should i separate romantic emotion from prom? if i let my mind wander over characters my heart have recently skipped a beat for...the result is a deeper rooted problem, that's been there for so long.
it's so hard to explain how much it hurts to love or think you love someone this way. it doesn't go away, you don't grow out of it. it remains. the pain remains. my life feels empty, i feel empty. once again i'm left as an outsider. i'm different. i remember this. yvonne talked to me about it recently and i responded with such a distant reaction, because i had forgotten the killing urge to be heterosexual. i had forgotten how desperate life feels when you count down how many straight individuals you can "fall in love" with in a short time (and i use fall in love loosely, really i mean little of love, and more of attraction, youthful philandering). one, two, three, four. fourthreetwoone. strike through each name, each ineligible bachelor of sorts. and then i'm left with naught.
why should there be sympathy for me?
there shouldn't. it hurts within my own self. i'm not in any more pain than others in similar places. it's my own burden. this is just catharsis. maybe i can move on.
where do i go from here?
nowhere. suddenly i'm a shell of a person. suddenly my life feels unbearably light. suddenly there's no one pulling me down, and shared emotions prove unbinding...and i float away. i haven't been able to really feel for a long time. a touch is empty, a smile is purely a smile, a hug is cold. no one feels my real emotions. even when i used to hug Sean the way i did, i've had so much to cry into him, and i never did.
mine is an island universe.
prom will be empty, because my life is empty. i've been horrible to my friends. i've been horrible to hold things from them. i've been horrible to create this person they all think i am. deep inside i'm someone much different. my heart tells me so. somewhere inside a lot of me wants to scream for years and years, and somewhere inside a lot of me just wants someone to listen.
i've listened for so long i've forgotten how to speak.
even if someone listens i won't have anything to say, though i have the world to say. it seems that love has eluded me. platonic, romantic, and all. i don't know what i feel. i don't know myself. i apologize for all of my friendships. i apologize for everything. i've only been the sponge, and that must be why i have so many one-way friendships. i don't feed back any line hoping someone will tug on it.
mine is an island universe.
i've listened for so long i've forgotten how to speak.
but where do i go from here?
who will i love?
will i love?
i love?
love.
my stammering staccato is because of you. because you were never there.
it's not unusual to assume that one part of prom is taking someone you care about, is it? no. so, obviously--since it's been the hot topic around school with so many people--i've thought a bit about prom and then love. the consequent thoughts were rather morose... follow my train of thought:
who am i going to bring?
the obvious answer would have been Sean McCullough, the love of my life. duh. I've been with the boy for the most part of 2 years and it would be easy to be romantic with him. But, I thought about it. I'm not in love as i was before. Maybe it's the knowledge of me leaving school or me being consumed by other, incontrollable lusts that make it so, but no matter what, it is that way. With that, on top of fifty other reasons to not bring him (him not liking dances, him not being very social, me being scared to death to be openly romantic with him in public [which i hate myself for, so much], or him not being really tied to prom), I realized he may be a bad choice.
who am i going to bring(, and then love)?
so, i'm back at this again. should i separate romantic emotion from prom? if i let my mind wander over characters my heart have recently skipped a beat for...the result is a deeper rooted problem, that's been there for so long.
it's so hard to explain how much it hurts to love or think you love someone this way. it doesn't go away, you don't grow out of it. it remains. the pain remains. my life feels empty, i feel empty. once again i'm left as an outsider. i'm different. i remember this. yvonne talked to me about it recently and i responded with such a distant reaction, because i had forgotten the killing urge to be heterosexual. i had forgotten how desperate life feels when you count down how many straight individuals you can "fall in love" with in a short time (and i use fall in love loosely, really i mean little of love, and more of attraction, youthful philandering). one, two, three, four. fourthreetwoone. strike through each name, each ineligible bachelor of sorts. and then i'm left with naught.
why should there be sympathy for me?
there shouldn't. it hurts within my own self. i'm not in any more pain than others in similar places. it's my own burden. this is just catharsis. maybe i can move on.
where do i go from here?
nowhere. suddenly i'm a shell of a person. suddenly my life feels unbearably light. suddenly there's no one pulling me down, and shared emotions prove unbinding...and i float away. i haven't been able to really feel for a long time. a touch is empty, a smile is purely a smile, a hug is cold. no one feels my real emotions. even when i used to hug Sean the way i did, i've had so much to cry into him, and i never did.
mine is an island universe.
prom will be empty, because my life is empty. i've been horrible to my friends. i've been horrible to hold things from them. i've been horrible to create this person they all think i am. deep inside i'm someone much different. my heart tells me so. somewhere inside a lot of me wants to scream for years and years, and somewhere inside a lot of me just wants someone to listen.
i've listened for so long i've forgotten how to speak.
even if someone listens i won't have anything to say, though i have the world to say. it seems that love has eluded me. platonic, romantic, and all. i don't know what i feel. i don't know myself. i apologize for all of my friendships. i apologize for everything. i've only been the sponge, and that must be why i have so many one-way friendships. i don't feed back any line hoping someone will tug on it.
mine is an island universe.
i've listened for so long i've forgotten how to speak.
but where do i go from here?
who will i love?
will i love?
i love?
love.
my stammering staccato is because of you. because you were never there.
11.3.07
when i was lost.
I really don't know where i am anymore. am i happy? i'm happy when i'm with anna and anna and we're talking and talking and talking about things that matter, like sylvia plath and religion and literature and love... i'm happy when i see the tiny pieces of silver; the perfect particles of being; the moments when i can sit back and say la vie est belle.
la vie est belle quand Anna est son père maintenu vivait.
la vie est belle quand on a la foi dans l'humanité.
la vie est belle quand les amis se gardent ensemble.
but otherwise, am i happy? am i happy with the grey in between shining hours?
i don't think so. i think it ends here. i don't think i'm in love anymore. with him, with school, with man. people are so horrible, people are so cruel, people are so selfish. it's just hard to convince myself that it's not that way.
things are just falling out. falling out, like shaking a puzzle until pieces go flying. books make me sleep, music makes me cry (of desperation and failure, not of beauty), and knowledge bores me. where have my passions gone? the only passion i retain is misguided lust.
a note on misguided lust:
i grew up without touch. i've been denied that right the second i realized i was gay. i could no longer trust my body with male friends, and female friends were denied by my basic sexuality. as a result, i've built a thick bubble of personal space, beyond air. i can't get myself to feel being touched. i don't feel warm when i hug my friends. i don't feel warm when i hug my family. i don't feel warm at all. i need it to change. i want to feel loved, even though i don't. i want to feel needed, cared for, and wanted. i don't know how much there i really am for most people, and it makes me feel transparent.
i'm at constant conflict with myself. i'm afraid of myself. i want myself to go away. often i stop myself and wonder if i seemed too gay. because i'm scared that i do. often i stop and wonder if i'm secretly in love with certain boys. because i'm scared that i do. i'm weak. i will never get what i think i want or need, and subconsciously wanting it won't make the situation different. i'm weak. i'm weak. i'm weak.
he will never love me.
they will never love me.
i'm sorry for everything i do wrong. i'm sorry for my hypocrisy, my cowardice, my inaction.
i'm not happy. la vie est triste, ma vie est triste, mais peut-etre je n'ai pas le droit de dire cela.
I really don't know where i am anymore. am i happy? i'm happy when i'm with anna and anna and we're talking and talking and talking about things that matter, like sylvia plath and religion and literature and love... i'm happy when i see the tiny pieces of silver; the perfect particles of being; the moments when i can sit back and say la vie est belle.
la vie est belle quand Anna est son père maintenu vivait.
la vie est belle quand on a la foi dans l'humanité.
la vie est belle quand les amis se gardent ensemble.
but otherwise, am i happy? am i happy with the grey in between shining hours?
i don't think so. i think it ends here. i don't think i'm in love anymore. with him, with school, with man. people are so horrible, people are so cruel, people are so selfish. it's just hard to convince myself that it's not that way.
things are just falling out. falling out, like shaking a puzzle until pieces go flying. books make me sleep, music makes me cry (of desperation and failure, not of beauty), and knowledge bores me. where have my passions gone? the only passion i retain is misguided lust.
a note on misguided lust:
i grew up without touch. i've been denied that right the second i realized i was gay. i could no longer trust my body with male friends, and female friends were denied by my basic sexuality. as a result, i've built a thick bubble of personal space, beyond air. i can't get myself to feel being touched. i don't feel warm when i hug my friends. i don't feel warm when i hug my family. i don't feel warm at all. i need it to change. i want to feel loved, even though i don't. i want to feel needed, cared for, and wanted. i don't know how much there i really am for most people, and it makes me feel transparent.
i'm at constant conflict with myself. i'm afraid of myself. i want myself to go away. often i stop myself and wonder if i seemed too gay. because i'm scared that i do. often i stop and wonder if i'm secretly in love with certain boys. because i'm scared that i do. i'm weak. i will never get what i think i want or need, and subconsciously wanting it won't make the situation different. i'm weak. i'm weak. i'm weak.
he will never love me.
they will never love me.
i'm sorry for everything i do wrong. i'm sorry for my hypocrisy, my cowardice, my inaction.
i'm not happy. la vie est triste, ma vie est triste, mais peut-etre je n'ai pas le droit de dire cela.
6.3.07
when i caved in to desperation.
i can't be alone. i can't. my life is a sponge, it takes pieces of everything around it, without environment it is nothing. my home is empty, my heart is empty, my hands are empty. i know not what i feel. this is why i converse so often, i check my mail so often, i check various messages. i need to feel needed? or i need to feel like i exist by proving someone else has me as a part of their life...
maybe that's why i'm so akin to one-way friendships. i have hundreds of friends, but only to a small portion am i anything. i remember a brief smile, a brief conversation, and i give away my respect too quickly. i am too fast to love. this is why the windows, this is why the transitive, this is why.
if i were to truly give up anything for lent it would be all the contact i make. i would disappear into the forest. i should go camping. i need the trees and the wind. i need to ask the forest who i am. as solitude where my life lays. i no longer with to be estragon. i no longer wish to dwell in limbo, victim to any passing gust of consequence, dependent on distraction.
to build myself from the soil, that is to play my own god, that is to understand, and fill in the hollow parts of my soul.
i can't be alone. i can't. my life is a sponge, it takes pieces of everything around it, without environment it is nothing. my home is empty, my heart is empty, my hands are empty. i know not what i feel. this is why i converse so often, i check my mail so often, i check various messages. i need to feel needed? or i need to feel like i exist by proving someone else has me as a part of their life...
maybe that's why i'm so akin to one-way friendships. i have hundreds of friends, but only to a small portion am i anything. i remember a brief smile, a brief conversation, and i give away my respect too quickly. i am too fast to love. this is why the windows, this is why the transitive, this is why.
if i were to truly give up anything for lent it would be all the contact i make. i would disappear into the forest. i should go camping. i need the trees and the wind. i need to ask the forest who i am. as solitude where my life lays. i no longer with to be estragon. i no longer wish to dwell in limbo, victim to any passing gust of consequence, dependent on distraction.
to build myself from the soil, that is to play my own god, that is to understand, and fill in the hollow parts of my soul.
1.3.07
me: i wish it were easier
anna: to what?
me: to anything.
anna: yeah, me too.
felt like a Godot moment to me.
though all of life feels like a Godot moment to me. habit is a great deadener, but what else do we do here? what do we do while we're waiting for Godot? (or night?) we do nothing. we waste and pine, waste and pine.
and every day is like the last. every day is like the last. and how do we know what we will think tomorrow? tomorrow? will we doubt today?
and every day is like the last. every day is like the last. will we doubt today?
it is all mere variation. mere alternation. mere deviation. nous naissons tous fous. quelques-uns le demeurent.
i have no faith. beauty is dying in our world; it only suffers when it is not recognized. will art not save us all? it can. art-ifact-ifice will save us. oh, ambiguity, why hath you forsaken me? oh meaningless repetition, oh empty hearts that feign beat, oh polished eyes that lack the ability to let go the shine...
to all the artists of the sun, to all the poets of the moon, stride on. do not be afraid. do not. and grab the hands of those at the riverbanks, pull them along in the current of truth. do not falter, you are the leaders of men. it is you who are the remaining sympathy, the soul of the earth. the only hope for the revival of the world is to rally the spirits together and proclaim that we truly are alive!
anna: to what?
me: to anything.
anna: yeah, me too.
felt like a Godot moment to me.
though all of life feels like a Godot moment to me. habit is a great deadener, but what else do we do here? what do we do while we're waiting for Godot? (or night?) we do nothing. we waste and pine, waste and pine.
and every day is like the last. every day is like the last. and how do we know what we will think tomorrow? tomorrow? will we doubt today?
and every day is like the last. every day is like the last. will we doubt today?
it is all mere variation. mere alternation. mere deviation. nous naissons tous fous. quelques-uns le demeurent.
i have no faith. beauty is dying in our world; it only suffers when it is not recognized. will art not save us all? it can. art-ifact-ifice will save us. oh, ambiguity, why hath you forsaken me? oh meaningless repetition, oh empty hearts that feign beat, oh polished eyes that lack the ability to let go the shine...
to all the artists of the sun, to all the poets of the moon, stride on. do not be afraid. do not. and grab the hands of those at the riverbanks, pull them along in the current of truth. do not falter, you are the leaders of men. it is you who are the remaining sympathy, the soul of the earth. the only hope for the revival of the world is to rally the spirits together and proclaim that we truly are alive!
26.2.07
la vie est belle.
i watched pan's labyrinth today. i tried not to cry, half because i was embarrassed to cry in front of sean. otherwise, i would have. it's tragic, but it's amazing. one of the best movies i've seen in my entire life. it is a beautiful film, though its message is deeply morose.
if i could link it to anything it would be life of pi, because at the end it is up to you to decide what you believe. the main disparity between the two, though, would be with life of pi your faith leans you toward the animal story...and with pan's, your humanity leads you towards its equivalent of the murder-cook story... i want to believe the magic so much...it almost hurts.
"CARMEN: As you get older, you'll see that life isn't like your fairy tales. The world is a cruel place. And you'll learn that, even if it hurts.
She throws the mandrake into the fire.
OFELIA: No!
CARMEN: Ofelia!! Magic does not exist!
She grabs the girl by the shoulders, shaking her.
CARMEN: Not for you, me or anyone else!"
i opened my lovely copy of Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, read parts, as inspired by miss harley, and discovered the map of the universe. what's particularly special about my copy when it comes to this map is the writing in pencil that takes me by surprise every time i run into it... a couple of stars are named, the galaxy becomes my galaxy, my love, my life. anna, eric, leslie, anna, jamie, me; we're all named. i suppose i should take the liberty of adding more stars...
when i found myself at this page i cried. because that page is beautiful.
gogo loves didi; didi is beautiful.
i watched pan's labyrinth today. i tried not to cry, half because i was embarrassed to cry in front of sean. otherwise, i would have. it's tragic, but it's amazing. one of the best movies i've seen in my entire life. it is a beautiful film, though its message is deeply morose.
if i could link it to anything it would be life of pi, because at the end it is up to you to decide what you believe. the main disparity between the two, though, would be with life of pi your faith leans you toward the animal story...and with pan's, your humanity leads you towards its equivalent of the murder-cook story... i want to believe the magic so much...it almost hurts.
"CARMEN: As you get older, you'll see that life isn't like your fairy tales. The world is a cruel place. And you'll learn that, even if it hurts.
She throws the mandrake into the fire.
OFELIA: No!
CARMEN: Ofelia!! Magic does not exist!
She grabs the girl by the shoulders, shaking her.
CARMEN: Not for you, me or anyone else!"
i opened my lovely copy of Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, read parts, as inspired by miss harley, and discovered the map of the universe. what's particularly special about my copy when it comes to this map is the writing in pencil that takes me by surprise every time i run into it... a couple of stars are named, the galaxy becomes my galaxy, my love, my life. anna, eric, leslie, anna, jamie, me; we're all named. i suppose i should take the liberty of adding more stars...
when i found myself at this page i cried. because that page is beautiful.
gogo loves didi; didi is beautiful.
22.2.07
21.2.07
i know i've posted this before, and that it was not even very long ago, but this poem is, possibly, the only good poem i have ever written in my life. i don't remember writing it, and that only convinces me more; it must have been just a burst of light. (allusion)
Somewhere,
inbetween the unattended spatter of a masquerade,
truly lay scenes of
shivering fortitude kneeling
or quivering lips delving
deeper
into cerulean melancholy.
exist
to mock.
Somewhere,
inbetween the unattended spatter of a masquerade,
truly lay scenes of
shivering fortitude kneeling
or quivering lips delving
deeper
into cerulean melancholy.
but, in (y)our somnolent world, those with postmodern bodies direct (y)our sentiments
-using cleverly, witterly-designed, redundant [but who notices?] rhetoric -
towards believing that those
em ty pl ys
aresolidoutright
exist
to mock.
i want and need college so much.
that statement isn't fair. nor does it accomplish anything. it is nothing but a wisp on the air, manifested by all sorts of feelings of doubt, weariness, pain and curiosity. i say it and i say it and i say it; i hear it and i hear it and i hear it. it's nothing new.
it is never spoken as if it's unexpected. it is never spoken to explain emotions. it does nothing. it does not bring may close. it does not cut february short. it does nothing. in that way it is empty.
it is not fair to reach out for what's out of reach and not first for what's reaching out to you. it is not fair to my friends, my loves, and my family to have my eyesight so focused out on the distance. it is not fair to be so absent. in that way it is harmful.
high school is as transient as life. it is as fleeting as life. sand through the sieve, sand through the sieve; therefore i need grab for handfuls and pray that the flow doesn't yet cease... it's not fair to point my finger at it and call it the past, i'm not time, i'm not god, i'm not even outside of its current.
it's only fair to embrace what's close and give it respect by protesting as it's torn from me, by wailing, crying, and screaming as if i'm losing my life itself, because i am, and i shouldn't treat it as if it were any less.
that statement isn't fair. nor does it accomplish anything. it is nothing but a wisp on the air, manifested by all sorts of feelings of doubt, weariness, pain and curiosity. i say it and i say it and i say it; i hear it and i hear it and i hear it. it's nothing new.
it is never spoken as if it's unexpected. it is never spoken to explain emotions. it does nothing. it does not bring may close. it does not cut february short. it does nothing. in that way it is empty.
it is not fair to reach out for what's out of reach and not first for what's reaching out to you. it is not fair to my friends, my loves, and my family to have my eyesight so focused out on the distance. it is not fair to be so absent. in that way it is harmful.
high school is as transient as life. it is as fleeting as life. sand through the sieve, sand through the sieve; therefore i need grab for handfuls and pray that the flow doesn't yet cease... it's not fair to point my finger at it and call it the past, i'm not time, i'm not god, i'm not even outside of its current.
it's only fair to embrace what's close and give it respect by protesting as it's torn from me, by wailing, crying, and screaming as if i'm losing my life itself, because i am, and i shouldn't treat it as if it were any less.
12.2.07
i've decided that i have two major flaws. i'm not suggesting that they are my only major flaws; these two have just made themselves considerably apparent over the past few days. they both deal with love; emotionally, platonically, and also intellectually. i suppose my statement of realization implies that i must take action to correct them, but i doubt it's really possible. rather i find that my statement here is simply comparable to a recognition of the works of the world, of the gaps in the scenery and the blocks missing in the sky. i'd walk under it even if i could see through the holes; i'd fall into the ditches as well as if i hadn't seen them. i am outside my own life and i'm merely describing what i observe.
i fall in love through the transitive property. sorry; you were right. it's not right. i shouldn't fall in love because i love you love him. but i do. and it's not fair. but, as i said, this isn't completely about men. i love you love books. i love you love music. i love you love opinions. there's just an obvious problem with those sentences: they leave no sentiment within me. they leave me empty, and maybe that's why i'm so dead to feel. apathia, aphasia, athambia, all are me; i'm full of for reasons unknown but time will tell as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattman quaquaquaqua the skull fading fading fading...
i fall in love from behind glass windows. my mind is behind my eyes, my thoughts are behind my perceptions, my passions are behind my fear. i've literally felt myself in love through a window; i've felt myself watch and wish, watch and wish. oftentimes if i look through the glass hard enough, i can eventually see myself looking through the glass at myself looking through the glass at myself. it's like emotionally standing between two mirrors: when you look at the infinite reflections, you start to wonder which is the real one and doubt that it might be you. this is me in love. one reflection loves one, one reflection loves another, one reflection loves another, and one reflection dies. parts of my soul fall to the ground every time one dies, until half of my face is missing, half of my heart is missing. with each one gone, my capacity for love diminishes, as if fate itself was imbibing my liquid captivation. once again i'm empty. i'm a drained vessel, a soulless observer, as transparent as the glass i look through. perhaps the windows look through me, and i'm the unnecessary middleman.
these are my flaws laid out as plainly as i can offer them. the deepest hope that resides within me is the hope that i can fill the gap they create with existential meaning someday, that maybe in that landscape with holes in the sky and ditches in the earth, i can walk in mid air, therefore nullifying any troubles from above or below. maybe, though i said i recognize that this is only a statement, not a resolution. this is no promise to grow, this is only as understanding as to why i falter, why oftentimes my soul shatters or my body caves in, why i am not yet a real person.
i fall in love through the transitive property. sorry; you were right. it's not right. i shouldn't fall in love because i love you love him. but i do. and it's not fair. but, as i said, this isn't completely about men. i love you love books. i love you love music. i love you love opinions. there's just an obvious problem with those sentences: they leave no sentiment within me. they leave me empty, and maybe that's why i'm so dead to feel. apathia, aphasia, athambia, all are me; i'm full of for reasons unknown but time will tell as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattman quaquaquaqua the skull fading fading fading...
i fall in love from behind glass windows. my mind is behind my eyes, my thoughts are behind my perceptions, my passions are behind my fear. i've literally felt myself in love through a window; i've felt myself watch and wish, watch and wish. oftentimes if i look through the glass hard enough, i can eventually see myself looking through the glass at myself looking through the glass at myself. it's like emotionally standing between two mirrors: when you look at the infinite reflections, you start to wonder which is the real one and doubt that it might be you. this is me in love. one reflection loves one, one reflection loves another, one reflection loves another, and one reflection dies. parts of my soul fall to the ground every time one dies, until half of my face is missing, half of my heart is missing. with each one gone, my capacity for love diminishes, as if fate itself was imbibing my liquid captivation. once again i'm empty. i'm a drained vessel, a soulless observer, as transparent as the glass i look through. perhaps the windows look through me, and i'm the unnecessary middleman.
these are my flaws laid out as plainly as i can offer them. the deepest hope that resides within me is the hope that i can fill the gap they create with existential meaning someday, that maybe in that landscape with holes in the sky and ditches in the earth, i can walk in mid air, therefore nullifying any troubles from above or below. maybe, though i said i recognize that this is only a statement, not a resolution. this is no promise to grow, this is only as understanding as to why i falter, why oftentimes my soul shatters or my body caves in, why i am not yet a real person.
so i'm a coward.
this weekend proved it to me. don't get me wrong, it was great. it was amazing. i learned so much, whether it be politically, socially, psychologically, or emotionally. i know how to dance better. i'm more comfortable speaking in public. i know who aaron jabbarri is. i know more about the many issues currently plaguing our nation. i got to see ralph nader, nancy snow, and that other guy. i was surrounded by hot gay guys. i was hit on and checked out numerous times. i got spanked by a stranger. i had caucus with my friends.
(i love anna, eric, yvonne, james, tina, and ms. epps.)
but some of these things brought to light some of my own flaws:
i was hit on but i did not respond
i was checked out but i got no names
i was surrounded by gay guys but i made not a single new gay friend
i can speak in public, but i didn't enough
i love JSA, but this might be the first/last convention i attend
i love JSA, but i should have loved it for the past 3 years as well
i've made a huge mistake. and a bunch of huge little mistakes. and now i hit myself over it.
even my own feelings on my sexuality have taken a turn. i'm head over heels for someone i shouldn't be. what's worse is, i probably make that person uncomfortable. my friendships and my lovelife can be summed up as the consistent need for comfort. some part of me refuses to open myself to comforting. therefore you can see the tension within myself at causing another discomfort. especially someone i fell for.
this weekend was a success for my mind, for my experience, for my entertainment. but my internal happiness had been unconsciously weeping...something's wrong inside me and i can feel it surfacing, like the fish out of the mirror. i'm a coward. a coward.
no, not even the name of coward is left for me on earth. the curtain is down.
this weekend proved it to me. don't get me wrong, it was great. it was amazing. i learned so much, whether it be politically, socially, psychologically, or emotionally. i know how to dance better. i'm more comfortable speaking in public. i know who aaron jabbarri is. i know more about the many issues currently plaguing our nation. i got to see ralph nader, nancy snow, and that other guy. i was surrounded by hot gay guys. i was hit on and checked out numerous times. i got spanked by a stranger. i had caucus with my friends.
(i love anna, eric, yvonne, james, tina, and ms. epps.)
but some of these things brought to light some of my own flaws:
i was hit on but i did not respond
i was checked out but i got no names
i was surrounded by gay guys but i made not a single new gay friend
i can speak in public, but i didn't enough
i love JSA, but this might be the first/last convention i attend
i love JSA, but i should have loved it for the past 3 years as well
i've made a huge mistake. and a bunch of huge little mistakes. and now i hit myself over it.
even my own feelings on my sexuality have taken a turn. i'm head over heels for someone i shouldn't be. what's worse is, i probably make that person uncomfortable. my friendships and my lovelife can be summed up as the consistent need for comfort. some part of me refuses to open myself to comforting. therefore you can see the tension within myself at causing another discomfort. especially someone i fell for.
this weekend was a success for my mind, for my experience, for my entertainment. but my internal happiness had been unconsciously weeping...something's wrong inside me and i can feel it surfacing, like the fish out of the mirror. i'm a coward. a coward.
no, not even the name of coward is left for me on earth. the curtain is down.
6.2.07
i posted this a long time ago on my myspace blog (but who reads those?) and then realized that, since anna posted her horses essay, i should post my analysis on the proof of witches. i can be clever, too! a clever.....clever...clever albatross!
there are four main syllogism's in this proof:
1. all that burns is wood
witches burn
witches are made of wood
2. all that float on water weigh equally
wood and ducks float on water
wood and ducks weigh equally
then, implied is:
3. wood and ducks weigh equally
witches are made of wood
witches and ducks weigh equally
this proof, then, is applied to situation:
4. witches and ducks weigh equally
the accused weighs as much as a duck
the accused is a witch
now; is this argument valid?
well the first three syllogisms are, indeed, valid. assuming both premises are true in all three, the conclusions must then also be true. however, in the fourth case, assuming both premises are true, can one truly infer the conclusion? was it ever stated that all that weighs as much as a duck is a witch? indeed, this was not the case. what would have been valid could only be:
4. witches and ducks weigh equally
the accused weighs as much as a duck
the accused weighs as much as a witch
could this be remedied? i'm afraid not. for if one tried to correct the proof with a statement such that all that weigh as much as a witch are witches, that surely would create confusion, because the duck, then, would also be a witch and therefore defeats the purpose of any of the previous syllogisms because one could only discover a witch by weighing it alongside a fellow witch. the duck was also not prosecuted, so this could not be the case.
so we have arrived with our understanding that the 4th syllogism is not valid, therefore automatically making it not sound. but are any of the arguments sound?
the answer is no. for the arguments to be sound, each premise must be true. in fact, only one premise of each of the first two syllogisms is true. it is not true that all that burns is wood, because candle wicks burn and ducks burn and cakes and muffins burn.
(i can assure you that none of the preceding are, indeed, made of wood. for example a wooden muffin would indubitably taste horrid, be hard to chew, and give us splinters in our mouths. we all know that this is not the case, because muffins are light, fluffy balls of goodness.)
the 3rd argument is far from being sound since it uses two premises from previous unsound arguments.
this, therefore, invalidates the entire proof and, therefore, that young woman was prosecuted unfairly and Sir Bedevere should not be revered as a great logician; he is flawed.
as citizens burnt the innocent, the mistreated duck quacked silently in memory of a woman murdered by false logic.
{proof} of witches.
there are four main syllogism's in this proof:
1. all that burns is wood
witches burn
witches are made of wood
2. all that float on water weigh equally
wood and ducks float on water
wood and ducks weigh equally
then, implied is:
3. wood and ducks weigh equally
witches are made of wood
witches and ducks weigh equally
this proof, then, is applied to situation:
4. witches and ducks weigh equally
the accused weighs as much as a duck
the accused is a witch
now; is this argument valid?
well the first three syllogisms are, indeed, valid. assuming both premises are true in all three, the conclusions must then also be true. however, in the fourth case, assuming both premises are true, can one truly infer the conclusion? was it ever stated that all that weighs as much as a duck is a witch? indeed, this was not the case. what would have been valid could only be:
4. witches and ducks weigh equally
the accused weighs as much as a duck
the accused weighs as much as a witch
could this be remedied? i'm afraid not. for if one tried to correct the proof with a statement such that all that weigh as much as a witch are witches, that surely would create confusion, because the duck, then, would also be a witch and therefore defeats the purpose of any of the previous syllogisms because one could only discover a witch by weighing it alongside a fellow witch. the duck was also not prosecuted, so this could not be the case.
so we have arrived with our understanding that the 4th syllogism is not valid, therefore automatically making it not sound. but are any of the arguments sound?
the answer is no. for the arguments to be sound, each premise must be true. in fact, only one premise of each of the first two syllogisms is true. it is not true that all that burns is wood, because candle wicks burn and ducks burn and cakes and muffins burn.
(i can assure you that none of the preceding are, indeed, made of wood. for example a wooden muffin would indubitably taste horrid, be hard to chew, and give us splinters in our mouths. we all know that this is not the case, because muffins are light, fluffy balls of goodness.)
the 3rd argument is far from being sound since it uses two premises from previous unsound arguments.
this, therefore, invalidates the entire proof and, therefore, that young woman was prosecuted unfairly and Sir Bedevere should not be revered as a great logician; he is flawed.
as citizens burnt the innocent, the mistreated duck quacked silently in memory of a woman murdered by false logic.
1.2.07
30.1.07
what is this...this consistent desire for contact? must we constantly reach out into a haze, hoping to tap someone's shoulder? ha. picture the human race, one hand covering their eyes, the other arm outstretched in front, flailing around like it's a silly game. this is the world where we are all Time's person of the year.
i say this knowing i'm part of this generation. no, i'm not knee-deep in this bullshit, but i've stepped in it more than a few times. it really is easy to follow the status quo. it's like a stream; you just buy an innertube and lay back. all this hobbling around is is giving into (which is the right term?) reptilian urges, primal emotions, and the hobbesian state of nature. what else is vanity? what else is "idle chatter" as Heidegger called it? what else is selfishness? naught but shutting your eyes and shoving off from the riverbank.
this is where "my" is born. this is where the world inverts itself and, essentially, we are all alone. i've said it before and i shall say it again:
minor digression. but where do we go from here? dare i say i hope with all my heart that man will not fall into this spiral where even grammar is allowed to rot with the time until we, at infinity, would speak in inverted tones and hear negative pockets of air and think by forgetting and live by falling.
destroy your mirrors, save your souls from that liquid acquiescence. instead, fly, fly, fly...
...fly from yourself and into the atmosphere
i say this knowing i'm part of this generation. no, i'm not knee-deep in this bullshit, but i've stepped in it more than a few times. it really is easy to follow the status quo. it's like a stream; you just buy an innertube and lay back. all this hobbling around is is giving into (which is the right term?) reptilian urges, primal emotions, and the hobbesian state of nature. what else is vanity? what else is "idle chatter" as Heidegger called it? what else is selfishness? naught but shutting your eyes and shoving off from the riverbank.
this is where "my" is born. this is where the world inverts itself and, essentially, we are all alone. i've said it before and i shall say it again:
Linking all, we have severed all. We have rendered the world an infinite archipelago of island universes.
We have birthed the times when glass protects, and spatial existence is obsolete. Yes, the wonders; yes the possibility! But what is lost when all is relative and we build ourselves out of manmade mud? Substance? Solidarity? Have we made real surreal?
What happens to identity when we write our own histories? Who are we when we control perception? Are we anything?
We sit in translucent boxes, running wires from each unto each. Every breath, every blink, every squint, smirk, or sneer is broadcasted. We are our own televisions. However, each breath, each blink, we could smudge and make gasps or gazes, screams or stares. And the truth is elusive. We see the intended truth. And so do they. Our boxes may be translucent, but we paint the inside. We are beautiful, always.
But, to become an ideal is to slaughter an ideal. And so beauty dies.
minor digression. but where do we go from here? dare i say i hope with all my heart that man will not fall into this spiral where even grammar is allowed to rot with the time until we, at infinity, would speak in inverted tones and hear negative pockets of air and think by forgetting and live by falling.
destroy your mirrors, save your souls from that liquid acquiescence. instead, fly, fly, fly...
...fly from yourself and into the atmosphere
29.1.07
fafsa = done
css = done
oh the irony of spending $150 applying for federal aid. ha.
i despise literature reviews. they take good books, separate them into words and phrases, and then engulf them in flames. sure we know them better than probably most people, but the love for them had been reduced to soot.
i should have read the chapter for government. now i officially have two days to read both 25 page chapters. i'm so stupid. so stupid. god.
i think my reading-passion may be coming back. i hope i'm right. when i read it feels like a part of me is asleep, the part of me that cries when phrases are formulated ever so eloquently, elegantly. the part of me that steals those phrases and keeps them in a little bag. the part of me that was born from illumination. i honestly think nicole krauss put him to sleep with her new york feel borrowed from her husband, his creator. he was born out of enlightenment, it seems contradictory for him to have to suffer from redundancy.
i'm sick of my so-called inspirations.
i want to be driven by the magic behind my thoughts, and not be inspired. i'm sick of living off of the world and not off of my own being. i don't want a muse. i want to be the muse of my words, not some sort of verbal middleman feigning necessity. i want to be alone.
in this way, among others, i don't know how long it will take me to get over being displaced. i wanted it more than anything, i still do, yet i'm not welcome. i'm not welcome.
css = done
oh the irony of spending $150 applying for federal aid. ha.
i despise literature reviews. they take good books, separate them into words and phrases, and then engulf them in flames. sure we know them better than probably most people, but the love for them had been reduced to soot.
i should have read the chapter for government. now i officially have two days to read both 25 page chapters. i'm so stupid. so stupid. god.
i think my reading-passion may be coming back. i hope i'm right. when i read it feels like a part of me is asleep, the part of me that cries when phrases are formulated ever so eloquently, elegantly. the part of me that steals those phrases and keeps them in a little bag. the part of me that was born from illumination. i honestly think nicole krauss put him to sleep with her new york feel borrowed from her husband, his creator. he was born out of enlightenment, it seems contradictory for him to have to suffer from redundancy.
i'm sick of my so-called inspirations.
i want to be driven by the magic behind my thoughts, and not be inspired. i'm sick of living off of the world and not off of my own being. i don't want a muse. i want to be the muse of my words, not some sort of verbal middleman feigning necessity. i want to be alone.
in this way, among others, i don't know how long it will take me to get over being displaced. i wanted it more than anything, i still do, yet i'm not welcome. i'm not welcome.
18.1.07
15.1.07
i don't know.
it's amazing how little we know of the world, of each other, of ourselves. if i wanted to go deep into it, i could prove that you (we) know none of the things we think we do, really. but, ignoring that, why is this ignorance inherent? why must we constantly stutter, think back, and wonder if what we thought or said was ever accurate?
it makes my whole body shiver with curiosity.
how is it possible to live without any sense of definity(i invented that word, i hate definiteness.)?
how often during the day must i answer "i don't know" when asked how i feel? basic human emotions are easy, beyond easy, to name, but i suppose the vast vichyssoise (ha, a vendetta remark for those who care) of emotions is hard to? why must our minds be reduced to broth? why must i answer "i don't know" when asked if i love him? i suppose the aforementioned soup du jour cannot name anything let alone love.
i feel these things, do i not; these longings, these desires, these weeping homunculi; and yet my words express none. they lay victim to the duality of man; to the bombardment of my hatreds, my reluctancies, my winged homunculi. there is a war in heaven inside of me and my words are of the third who do not pick sides.
therefore they, too, go to hell.
ah, the comedy of the tragedy we're in. when will anything mean anything?
i hate to say it, but i don't know.
it's amazing how little we know of the world, of each other, of ourselves. if i wanted to go deep into it, i could prove that you (we) know none of the things we think we do, really. but, ignoring that, why is this ignorance inherent? why must we constantly stutter, think back, and wonder if what we thought or said was ever accurate?
it makes my whole body shiver with curiosity.
how is it possible to live without any sense of definity(i invented that word, i hate definiteness.)?
how often during the day must i answer "i don't know" when asked how i feel? basic human emotions are easy, beyond easy, to name, but i suppose the vast vichyssoise (ha, a vendetta remark for those who care) of emotions is hard to? why must our minds be reduced to broth? why must i answer "i don't know" when asked if i love him? i suppose the aforementioned soup du jour cannot name anything let alone love.
i feel these things, do i not; these longings, these desires, these weeping homunculi; and yet my words express none. they lay victim to the duality of man; to the bombardment of my hatreds, my reluctancies, my winged homunculi. there is a war in heaven inside of me and my words are of the third who do not pick sides.
therefore they, too, go to hell.
ah, the comedy of the tragedy we're in. when will anything mean anything?
i hate to say it, but i don't know.
8.1.07
6.1.07
Gaze past the air, into loss, into lossNever again, I’m sure, will you be she
For fated mistakes, innocence the cost
The blood-red sight and memory, you toss
While in hell you watch for eternity
Gaze past the air, into loss, into loss
Poor girl, you stood still while the stars did cross
Virgin ripped from the earth; seeds into seed
For fated mistakes, innocence the cost
In escape, temptation bid you to pause
And I weep for your eyes that cannot weep
Gaze past the air, into loss, into loss
And when your skin, raked by the demon’s claws
Your blood-straight arms reached for heaven to flee
For fated mistakes, innocence the cost
Your view, poignant fog, cast by Satan’s laws
The light dims as you sit, enthroned as queen
Gaze past the air, into loss, into loss
For fated mistakes, innocence the cost
Poem #1 = finished. Help me edit, though, if anything needs to be fixed.
1.1.07
god. what it means, what it means.
i had a conversation with mr rosenfield...on facebook. yeah on facebook. but nevertheless, a conversation about the new year...and about how january 1st means so much more this year than it ever has. of course, he and i were referring to application deadlines...but as i think about it...it's much more than that.
this is 2007. this is the year of our birth.
and death.
on may 31st, 5 whole (or short) months away, we will die. though, life, like the novel it is or tries to be, writes foreshadowing into every day, every hour. i haven't even been accepted yet. but i cried last night, because i missed sean. i missed him so much i thought i was going to faint. and then i missed anna. and anna. and jamie. god i missed jamie. i've known her so long.
and then leslie, who i've known the longest of them all.
it's like losing limbs. how can i go on without them?
i know it's an old story. it's nothing. it's nothing. it's nothing.
but it hurts like...like
i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
except my eyes are open.
so i can't lift my lids so all is born again.
until august. then i am reborn.
i had a conversation with mr rosenfield...on facebook. yeah on facebook. but nevertheless, a conversation about the new year...and about how january 1st means so much more this year than it ever has. of course, he and i were referring to application deadlines...but as i think about it...it's much more than that.
this is 2007. this is the year of our birth.
and death.
on may 31st, 5 whole (or short) months away, we will die. though, life, like the novel it is or tries to be, writes foreshadowing into every day, every hour. i haven't even been accepted yet. but i cried last night, because i missed sean. i missed him so much i thought i was going to faint. and then i missed anna. and anna. and jamie. god i missed jamie. i've known her so long.
and then leslie, who i've known the longest of them all.
it's like losing limbs. how can i go on without them?
i know it's an old story. it's nothing. it's nothing. it's nothing.
but it hurts like...like
i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
except my eyes are open.
so i can't lift my lids so all is born again.
until august. then i am reborn.
just sealed the last application fee into an envelope. i'm done.
with everything. application-related. for now. haha.
SAT scores sent, apps sent, supplements sent, payments sent, fee waivers sent.
next comes CSS Profile and FAFSA. but that's later. and i've already filled them out.
college = ha.
so. a week left before school. what's left? oh...i don't know. I have to read and annotate Heart of Darkness...and write 3 poems for my 3 paintings and make a powerpoint presentation about them..hahaha...and all for AP Lit.
oh oh and what? what else do i have to do for allford? what's that? GRAD ADS? OMG REALLY?! YOU DONT SAY!
but at least anna's birthday is coming up. we better have some damn fun.
i think i'm going to go buy a 4 lb thing of licorice like the 2 i bought a certain miss jamie young. i need some.
with everything. application-related. for now. haha.
SAT scores sent, apps sent, supplements sent, payments sent, fee waivers sent.
next comes CSS Profile and FAFSA. but that's later. and i've already filled them out.
college = ha.
so. a week left before school. what's left? oh...i don't know. I have to read and annotate Heart of Darkness...and write 3 poems for my 3 paintings and make a powerpoint presentation about them..hahaha...and all for AP Lit.
oh oh and what? what else do i have to do for allford? what's that? GRAD ADS? OMG REALLY?! YOU DONT SAY!
but at least anna's birthday is coming up. we better have some damn fun.
i think i'm going to go buy a 4 lb thing of licorice like the 2 i bought a certain miss jamie young. i need some.
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