it's a sad and beautiful world.

Listening to Muse's "Blackout" makes me want to sob. It's such a haunting, almost bordering on heart-aching ballad, that has somewhat nostalgic tones for me (It's a little hard for everything in my life to not be connected to him. Even when we're through)

It makes me feel like dancing, a sad, mournful ballet. Belting out the eulogy of lyrics. It's orchestral sound gives it power, and the vocals, the lyrics give that power the ability to enter you. I love how he semi-contradicts himself with the common phrases, "don't grow up to fast and don't embrace the past" and continues with "this life's too good to last" where he goes from a concentrated point, to a broad, encompassing statement, and then stabs the listener with "I'm too young to care. It makes me feel similar to Sparklehorse's "Sad and Beautiful World" in the sense that you have paired this beautiful, yet sad song, with these tragic words and vocals.

and I'm too old to dream....
So yeah, I like the song


You know, I know I'm a better writer than this.

That song makes me fucking ache. Tinges and twangs of pain. What empathy.
What am I aching for? This inability to pin anything down really frustrates me.
I'm picking my classes, and I don't know what I want. I guess I just need to see that it's going to take time to figure life out, and picking my academic major isn't going to solve any of life's greater philosophical questions.
accountability. Why did you pick that major? What are you going to do with that?
fuck if I know. I thought it would help me become a better thinker...
I guess it's, in the grand scheme of things, not a huge deal.
I think I just need to concentrate on getting out on my own. I think once I move, things will come together for me.

So, evidently everyone in my family thinks I'm naieve. This angers me slightly, partially because they might be right, and partially because they are mistaking my open-mindedness for myopia. My dad/stepfather says I need to "toughen up", and yet all they want to do is shelter me. My family has been bugging me a little bit on this trip. I love them very much, but they sadden me sometimes. Sometimes they are so unnecessarily cruel to one another (myself included) I'm trying to work on this, to be more consciencious of the things I say and the actions I take. It's a little hard to understand but I'm moving soon, and I think time alone will really be good for me. In many aspects. I'll touch on this later.

enter clever title here.

I'm sitting across the room from my Aunt Grace, age 93. I try not to make it noticable, but I'm making a study of method and study she uses while going through the stack of papers she has next to her. She's going through the ninty odd years worth of papers my late Uncle, her brother, had procured during his life, in effort to organize, arrange, and compress. As her shaking hands are grasping at receipts, yellowed magazine pages, and smeared letters, it dawns on me that my aunt is really fucking old.

But then she speaks, and I can't tell the difference in all the twenty years I've known her, her voice is like a child's. The way she speaks to my mother suggests she has all of the time in the world.

So, as you can tell, this trip's meant a lot of things to me.

It's funny, even as I write this, I'm afraid I'll get her wrong. With every word she speaks, I compare it to my words and think, "is this wrong?", and when I listen to her I feel, know, that she is beautiful.

Well, I'm going to write more often. You have my word.