run your lips across your fingers

i never wake up alone.





i'm not complaining, but in a way i am.
I just read something that someone posted somewhere, that they were happy that their lover had decided to put on some music for "this rainy monday morning"

we never listen to music in the morning. or in the evening.
we just let happen.

it's this sense of stagnation, of complacency that makes my ears burn.

my quick fix life-arson tendencies are starting to sound better and better
(and better and better)

I haven't listened to music in a month.





do you ever get the sense you're dying? like, you know what living is, and you're just not doing it?

I compare my life of workschoolworkeatsleep
no conversation, all nothing

to the first time in my life I lived on my own
so fucking scared that I had no time to feel stagnant, for all my panic and fighting to live, make myself ok on my own


I was living. and now I've come down to this. this this this this.


how do I get out? how do I stop my panic attacks of death to feel the panic attacks of life again?

What happened to being so brazen? In reaching towards brazen, I'm tempted towards self destruction now...

so wake up, and press yourself against whatever you find to beautiful and trembling with life.




Yesterday my friend came to see me. She's quitting the mentoring program we're in, she's having a lot of trouble. I wanted to hug her for telling me. For saying that she was ok with me knowing that she wasn't ok, and that somehow it helped her to talk to me.











who should I talk to? (when I can't even open my mouth)

silencio

how can I see the world if I can't even keep my head on straight?

my lover, almost everyday of our time together, has told me that I am beautiful, goddess like,

fucking exquisite.


so, this morning, I looked into the mirror and tried to see his seeing.



this morning, I looked in the mirror and saw how I could be beautiful

so I'm thinking

I should probably go back to seeing somebody. Like a doctor somebody.



like a psychiatrist.

lol





this coming from the girl who would adamently refuse her mother's suggestion to see somebody (I just needed her to know that it had to be on my terms) Medication is something that frightens me (which is not to say it's bad, it's just not something I want to do) and her persistance in shoving it down my throat makes me sad and slightly angered.



but I've been on it for years.



thanks mom.





maybe seeing someone would help me get a handle on my overwhelming desire to flee EVERYTHING.



e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.



It was the last one that pointed out, to my chagrin, that I have a fear of commitment.

It was the most odd moment when I realized she was right, despite trying to get closer to people my whole life I was afraid of commitment in certain aspects of my life.



For instance: I will never have a career.



I think my professor said once that the career is the enemy of life.

I liked that. Even thought he's sort of the department eccentric (which he wears proudly) I dig his zest. he's just this insane cat that spouts the most amazing one liners.



why can't I indulge the multiplicity that I am?

how is that not fucking beautiful? But I find his enthusiasm and his unabashed linking of rhetorical studies to life to be something I've always been looking for in academia. I need the life I live and the things I study to be connected.



This is why I think I should have gone to a technical school.





But anyways, he told us to never have a career, and I think this is something I've felt and believed in for a long time, but was never brave enough to embrace.



I'll make money somehow. Teaching, designing, I'll work my hands to the bone if I have to, serving dishes, cooking, cutting flowers, pulling espresso, smiling my customer loving smile (because, you know, if you do it right, customer service is amazing. I've made many friends working as a barista. *it only works if they acknowledge that you are just as human as they are*)



but I'll do whatever the fuck it takes to make enough to live.

so I can live

with much free time, so I can do what I love

and not feel trapped

reading and playing and creating and trying to make my little patch of the earth a better place.





I'm thinking that after I've graduated, I'll study graphic design. Maybe apply for grad school in education. Maybe just move to new york and be a waitress.

I see myself moving to new york. Or maybe I'll move into San Francisco.

work for some coffee shop in North Beach and pick up my tourist tips.

all this talk has me optimistic... for about 5 seconds.



you see what I mean?



maybe I'll stop constantly fantasizing about being somewhere else.



I've been playing my guitar a lot lately. I learned some new songs this week.

I should be happy, right?







right?

houses move (and houses speak)

I think I'm in love with the word escape and every concept that dangles from it's multiplicity of curves and unabashed lines, and this is the point when I realized that this morning. sitting on this bed,
the summer air that speaks of winter weather,

I've been escaping my whole life.




I'm experiencing this sensation that I experienced my first semester in berkeley where I'd start writing out a cohesive thought and then I'd just start writing the word nothing for every noun.


ways to defeat.


why am I so out of control?

Isimultaneously can't be alone for more than 24 hours without trying to climb up the walls and etching patterns on them as I ascend...
but I crave alone.

Fuck, let me talk about something more concrete.

Summer school is killing me. I think my professor is determined to make half the class fail. I was looking at the syllabus for the same class in the fall, and there is less work for the semester long class than there is for the summer class.

Where does this make work?
Why would you just assign a 10 page paper to your 6 week class and not your 3 month class.

fuck you prof.

(and as I write this, my brain, in it's true time sensative explosive manner, throws out "you've never actually listened to music. You're fake"
thanks brain)

but yeah, so I have a meeting for my group project in several hours, and I'm so done with the class that the only thing that's really encouraging me to go is the fact that 12 people's grade depends on this.

***
The weather today makes me miss the winter when everything was wonder and flurry and I was too caught up to stop writing


but it's summer now, despite the weather, and I've learned to shut my mouth again.
It's a pretty easy skill.

I'm really great with general. I hate specific.
specific means shit gets taking care of
and addressed
and brought to surface.
and lord knows that that is something I've never done.








so maybe I'm the one who's not worth it.

it's summer and the wind is speaking

today was so much in my brain.

today, there was a high school moment of stress reduction.

I never write anymore. I do play music though. Sometimes.
I'm writing a song.

so I think I am fucked.
(because I fucking ♥ angst)
way to go html skillz


but I'm stuck.
I don't listen to music anymore.
I don't make art anymore.


I honestly think I've gotten so used to feeling a certain kind of sadness in the form of anxiety/nostalgia/angst** that I don't feel normal if I'm not sad. I would say the feeling is like constantly being on the verge of catharsis...
it's like the plateau stage of emotional orgasm.

**which right now is being embodied by this song



I miss a lot of things. I miss missing.
I feel like I'm losing control.
i feel i feel i feel (which is something that I could never scorn)


understand/holdmyhand

and I'm off to bed.

I love writing this nonsense

don't take me for a cracked window pane

(some sad song)

in the church

one day you'll get hurt

in the school

teacher's such a fool

and if they would ever come

around here

they would ever come

blame it on my style

take a pill

don't tell me how to feel

bad news

and tunes

sing it from the high

singing some sad song

Uncle Sam

playing in the sand

understand

hold my hand

time is never going to stop

running

never going to stop

take me to the top

of the trees

don't take me for a cracked

window pane

bad news

and tunes

are shining from the high

singing some sad song

don't rehearse

this is the last verse

in the hearse

going through your purse

and if they would ever laugh

not here

they would ever laugh

blame it on my style

once again

don't take me for a ride

in the rain

bad news

and tunes

shining from the high

singing some sad song

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

three weeks ago in the car, (solana avenue midnight wanderlust, trying not to collapse) I heard this song for the first time in over two years.

I started sobbing.

I feel different and I don't like it.

I'm more irratated than anxious.

I'm worried and worried that there is more sobbing in my future.

(I just need to figure out if I can love you and love myself at the same time)

all I can promise is to try

and I'll try

and I'll fight

oh ambiguous angst blog..

finals are making me sad

but
this text is making me happy:

"Oh man, so much for grounding...are you okay? i promise i'll drive you to the ocean when this is all over"


i.love.my.man.

remembering winter

my love is building a building
around you,a frail slippery
house,a strong fragile house
(beginning at the singular beginning

of your smile) a skilful uncouth
prison,a precise clumsy
prison(building thatandthis unto Thus,
Around the reckless magic of your mouth)

my love is building a magic,a discrete
tower of magic and(as i guess)

when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall

crumble the mouth-flower fleet
He'll not my tower,
laborious,casual

where the surrounded smile
hangs

breathless


e.e.cummings
____________________________________________________________________

I went from hopeless/speechless with pen in hand as the late nights always settled in the colder dusks

to this.

all because a tender heart walked into a library and i with my
broken head
my fire craving burnt hands
my self-detinating techniques
decided to speak because the door was squeeking and he made a funny face.
(it really was funny.)

he ended up in my bed three weeks later. on our first date. that's what the last poem's about.
thats why those who know think I'm crazy.
all people want to see is sex
to see my bed as lure
and questionable morals.

because true love waits

(i.
think
I've
been
waiting
my
whole
life)



it makes me smile to think
we still haven't had sex yet (yep-virginIamstill)
it makes me so sad (really fucking sad) that before I could get one word of that poem out on the phone,
the need to doubt, criticize, question, the will to dissapprove conquered anything I could ever say about the first time I'd been touched in over a year.




the first time I'd listened to in rainbows and felt in rainbows

we stayed up the whole night, a week before finals, a week before the end of a semester of moving, changing, growing and feeling utterly lost.

a semester that someone wrote him as a verb, his movements/motions used to fill an empty space

a semseter I spent grasping at anything and fell. and was falling.


I don't know what I was thinking
I wish I could tell you what I was thinking when I asked (I asked.) but I can't remember.
he was tired, and I think I said, "well, are you taking the bus or are you spending the night here?"

(isthatok?)

I can only tell what I know, and what I know is what I feel. it's that poem. it's his heart and it's a fucking miracle.


(writing keeps me from dying, i think)

wishit.

I wish I'd written the morning after you went home ->
after I crashed but before I took the train to the city,
I remember the shower, taking your knots out of my hair,
smiling in the myriad of deep stains you painted on my lips.
sanguine by my choice, my eyes, my pride.
my lips tingled that whole day,
remembering your mouth, and touching the words
/areyougoingtokissme/?
as they stumbled out of my breath.

and I never thought to write it down.

I wish I could turn all of the clocks
all of the faces
back back back
turn the leaves from burnt orange
to the moments we spent laughing,
I like to say we became friends in my bed

you touched my face,
your hands framed my face the whole night
laughter poured over us,
they'll say the stars were jealous
and I like to think we were relieved that it didn't have to mean
what it meant.
sitting up in a century old window, watching the day turn to amber

our hesitant hands....

I couldn't/wouldn't/ hold
myself back after you let yourself go
teenagers in the backseat of my bedroom.

the virginity of at all inspired prayer as I hoped
that you were as real as you
felt.

The next day, I shrank, a mess
still brazen in my pride,
but blinded by
v.i.b.r.a.n.t.
glow

kissing your forehead
(seemslikeaonenightstandtome)
I knew you heart tender



"every thought you have is beautiful and deserves a home in someones head"