19th February 2013

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don’t panic.

my throat is filled with acidic bile today.

i feel like there is something terribly wrong with everything around me and i can’t put my finger on what. i kind of wish there was something blatantly wrong so i could point at it and go, “THERE! THAT’S THE THING!” i wouldn’t need to make it go away, but at least i could identify it. there’s something about a problem being unknown that will make any person uneasy. the unknown is a natural fear.

i suppose it’s just standard, regulation emptiness. which i’ve been feeling for a while, just not to this extent and not this isolated.

so fuck the internet. fuck facebook and twitter and okcupid. and when i say “fuck the internet”, i don’t mean “whip it out and stick it in” but make it cry out in pain.

we plaster our anguish all over these little sections of the web, socially and mentally masturbating to the rhythm of the latest hot track. not much has changed since the days of livejournal except it’s easier and more acceptable to do.

i’m not this cynical, i swear, i’m just having a bad rainy day.

i have found no relief. there’s never enough time to stave off the stress and not enough substances to stave off the responsibility. i find myself standing listless in hallways and staring into refrigerators, but it’s not food that i’m hungry for.

give me a real connection. one that doesn’t burn itself at both ends. one that can be quiet and simple and clear.

the only constant i have is myself.

19th February 2013

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It’s Been A While…

Sometimes I look at the life that I lead and wonder where all the magic went. I stare at my toes, recounting them to make sure I’m not making up a 6th toe or running out of things to look at. I sit on my porch smoking cigarettes watching traffic go by and make up little stories for each car. That guy works the night shift and he’s late, that woman is headed over to Twisted Tree, that bus is obviously headed toward the mall, etc.

I think about the darkness. The seasons. The temperature of the air and the movement of the wind. I wonder if I’m making a mistake by not falling in love with the life I lead on a constant basis.

I find I create the most when I am alone and dying to say something. In the bast, this has also lead to some creative self-destruction, which I suppose is an oxymoron.

On most days, I’m not looking to prove anything. On most days, I’ve decided that showering is generally a bad idea, too. In a way, I could say that I spend the majority of my time not making the best decisions I’ve ever plotted, but none of us are flawless.

I want to say so many things all at once so much these days that I can’t seem to formulate sentences properly. Most of this is middle school drivel, hoping I could say what I feel to the people that I adore but knowing that they’d never give it the weight it deserves. (Ahem, BOYS.) Some of it is weightier…or just less…er…insipid.

I question my place in the world so often, occasionally in a literal sense. I get overwhelmed when I think of the people in my life or the places I’ve been, the things I’ve done. So I try not to think of those things and instead focus on the only constant I’ve had over the past 24 years, myself.

The pay back isn’t immediate. I wade through a lot of trash talk to come to a peaceful place in my head. A lot of giving up happens, too. 

I guess in this dark room there isn’t much to say except that I have become indifferent. Not apathetic, there are things that move me. Just,…unlikely to give a shit. (The difference being that indifference has an aloof connotation, whereas apathetic has a misanthropic connotation. Still hardly a difference, but it’s there.)

More later, folks.

1st January 2013

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Ten days into the new world.

There’s a lot I’ve got to say and not much time before it all jumps directly out of my brain and is gone forever. Not that I get attached to saying the right thing at all, though.

Picture yourself in your bedroom. Half of the room looks like an Ikea catalog and the other half is littered with debris from some grotesque war with the closet or even the garage. Boxes lay half open with their contents pooling around them, drawers spit up clothing and jewelry, and a mug of coffee stands neglected on the edge of the nightstand. You sit on your bed, observing the scene, pants in your hands and jewelry twinkling on your chest. All your music sounds like stale Christmas cookies stolen from the coffee table. No matter how long you look at this, you feel there is no proper place for anything strewn across the room.

I’m not half dressed in my messy room (my pants are actually on), but this is probably the best metaphor I can come up with for how I’ve been processing information in the past 2-3 months. And at the very least, how I have been feeling about the year coming to a close.

It’s been a strange and twisted 12 months. Some amazing, some tragedy, but more strange (read as: new) out of it all. 

One thing I don’t want to do as I change calendars is recount what this past year did for me. (Okay, so maybe I’ll touch on it a little at some point.) I’ve spent so much time looking back already when I really ought to be looking forward and using my time constructively. Another thing I don’t want to do is speak with empty words. As any writer knows, we are able to say very little with a whole lot of words. And as a poet, brevity speaks volumes. What I do want to do is move forward using the lessons I have learned and hope that they become my tools for shaping my future into an honorable, productive, fulfilling adventure.

Remember that we are fighting to live. Every day, with every moment, we are deciding to live the life we choose. From the food we eat, to the route we take to get back home, to the people we spend our time with—there is a huge impact on how we go through each year. This doesn’t mean that we are fighting AGAINST something (er, unless you count death) or that we are the only thing yearning to stay alive. Cigarettes are known to be cancer-causing—-yet even the people that are educated about this will stick one in their mouth. Fast food turns your digestive system into gelatin (no, guys, not literally) and McDonald’s still makes bank at the end of the business day. I’m not saying that people choose to be in pain all the time, but happiness starts and ends with the little things. And knowledge IS power.

I can’t change the world until I change myself. I’ve made mistakes, walked away from good things, overslept on opportunities, sabotaged my own progress and many other things that indicate I’ve messed up. And seeing as I’m not even 25 yet, I’m probably going to do a little more of that before it all seems to settle into the right place. But I’m not about to wait around for things to get straight to make them that way. 

For the petty crimes I’ve committed—tardiness being everyone’s favorite to point out, I apologize. I can’t take back any missteps but I will learn to appreciate the path I walk.

The things I have learned in the past year show me that there is medicine in the very way we breathe. There is forgiveness begging to hold us in everyone’s eyes. I am in awe of the place in time, history, and space that I have grown into. There is a remarkable world out there and we need to do our best to tend it while we can. (There. I said it. Stop looking for the meaning and live it.) As uncertain as the universe may seem and as ephemeral our lives appear to be, it is important to make every second of our’s count.

Enough brain vomit. Let us drink and be merry. Bring in the new year with mirth and prosperity. I await the dawn when hope rises in the east.

24th September 2012

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I dwell in Possibility – (466)

Tagged: artadvicebetterimaginationPoemspossibilitiesreadingschoolwritingEmily Dickinson

15th September 2012

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you know what would be great?

birthday nug.