i found a way to escape

and that is to share everything that ever meant something to us with other people

to know that they think these things are beautiful, and whatever we shared is not just appreciated between the two of us.

this is how i'm forgetting you and it will work.

deftones, comfortable painful, comfortably painful nostalgia

i am the clasp on a tragic chain of events. which i trigger within myself every so often, right after happiness, and then one song, and then another and another until i'm back three or four years in my bedroom in morgantown with all the lights shut off, the curtains taped shut, and one cd for hours. and high school.

all this figuring everything out, all this absolute confusion of teenage years, such gigantic changes having no context WHATSOEVER. no history lesson before it all. and then him and something stable and something i'd heard of before and something that felt right and made sense and fit. and waited, and made me wait in return. and the wait was worth it because i proved love to myself.

someone tell me something that makes me more willing to forget people. i have a mission i have a faith of some sort, i'm sure you could conjure something up that fits into it and it would make sense and i could be a little bit more free from myself. i could make it make sense to myself, but i've got to hear it first.

control.
something 600 miles away and two years ago is controlling everything i do today.

why do we hang on to what was. why does it have so much significance in our lives today? because that's how we came to be this way. our personal history, our ultimate, inherent ego.

because it was first. and god how i hate it's so much easier to come up with all the justifications for why the first should remain the only the best, that nothing else ever could be.

i see the difference between death and loss.

"and not since you left, have the waves come." my mouth goes dry. i become convinced i'm going to die tomorrow, i forget living for today because today is just a few more hours without you. the rest of my life just a few more years as the entirety of sans.

everything shifts. behind, beside, but it does not tear out from underneath me like i wish it would. i'm asking for an earthquake.

march, this month of mine

it is interesting how college makes us define ourselves--to deliver personal statements, identify our beliefs and values. I have reached a point in my life where i feel confident to cement my character with a mission statement. But there is something exceedingly wrong with this finality. It's as if I'm leaving behind the essence of who i want to be--losing a sense of openness so many tend to abandon when growing up.

. . . . . .

so many changes a person can go through in just a few months. i think i managed to to entirely lose sight of love, and while i would like to blame, i brought the situation upon myself. and yet amidst the revalation and cycles my body overturns, here i am again sitting at the edge of this murky brown river feeling the way i have thirty times before. it's just that now i have one more experience, one more phrase to think about.

as i look up, i see the long-necked geese flying swiftly overhead. with my head craned up like this and the early spring cools settles in with the gray blue dusk, i think of camping at age five. the orange tan canvas tents, ties flapping in the wind. arms out, running running running down to the lake. the same coolness, the same cloudy dusk but it was summer, and i had no expectations. absolute absence of cognition.

and now sitting in this grass, out open in the cloud and comfort cool. i am oh so ever ready, expecting for a meteorite to come soaring out the sky, blowing it all away right before my eyes. and before i know it, me with it, too.

dramatic

How can we have created all this art without some of it being real. A trail of footsteps leading up to a lamppost next to the river. narnia or something like it. Show me, please, I don’t want to have to lose everyone before I know that’s true. Over edified, cultured cultured cultured, and the snow all glittery white. So glittery, only like this when I was little living with mom and dad and leah, we could walk to the park. Ice sculptures on the sidewalk one week every winter. I’d ice skate on the cement and it was cold and it was night and it was okay. Oh my god the flood of memories of childhood. They haven’t gotten ahold of me for so long, but now they are choking me at the neck. A tidal wave of tears and the insatiability

One of the hardest things to do is be alone. But one person will never be enough. Do we need other people? Is it a basic human need? i wish i was a writer. i wish i believed i could do it, was good at it.



This is what it feels like not to be in love. this is what it feels like not to be in love.
The hollow cover enormously frozen over the snow.
Rushing, scraping out a valley like a flood.
Lays still with the crisp wind ripping through places where birds songs used to be.
A portal and a black hole for our memories.

I don’t hear my footsteps anymore.
I just think of you during my walk home.
Or maybe all I hear is my footsteps.
All I hear is my footsteps trying to replace the thought of you.

Comes with it a cloth of fakeness gagging voices
wrapping like a blindfold round more and more faces
Tightening limbs to the confinements we create from being distanced.
Convincing us that comfort lies in convenience—
to touch only what is within reach
and pretend pretend pretend it satisfies.

With age our needs do change,
and we will settle for what is near.
We will press the truth down to the end of our boots,
rub it soft into the leather
so that it becomes something external of our minds,
and we can ever try to forget each other.

The light is dim in January, and I feel right to sit beneath it.

i loved you so what

oh, ani.

half radiohead baked

if you listen to enough of "in rainbows" it's just like getting high.

intake. expenditure. exhausted. elevated.


wouldn't it be nice to know who you are. wouldn't it be nice to be understood by someone who did once understand you.

if i dim the lights and fill in the gray area with "house of cards" over and over

i am motionless trying to become emotionless save for the calm.


"i don't wanna be your friend
i just wanna be your lover
no matter how it ends
no matter how it started"

but quiet now for quite some time, instead.

the same thing said different thirteen times

I feel most real when i’m sitting among a few good people. Smooshed in the front of a big white truck with a diesel engine so loud you can hear it rumbling five hundred feet away. I love it so much when you can be comfortable together saying nothing.

I am happy I can feel this way again, but at the same time I feel that it’s just another part of my relapse, my lack of progression to a better state of mind.

thinking about how ten seconds of your life could last you ten years. for me those ten seconds are driving through the Arizona highways, asleep in the back of our rented car, my mother driving, father reading his science magazines up front in the passenger seat. Everything sand and dusty red so so bright, just trying to live. And doing it so.

this blog is an excuse for me to live the life I do. If I write about it, if I KNOW what I’m doing, then it’s okay to keep doing it, right?. I am comfortable with fucking up because I know I’ll always be okay with living alone on a farm somewhere surrounded by nothing but corn fields. I wonder if this is a sad thing. I fuck up to forget about him, and I just try to remind myself that he’s never going to hurt this way, so I just keep going.

thinking about a Cincinnati rooftop. I think about Charlie brown and blue rooms and security and knowing another person. letters pictures tears heartbreaks. My body’s composted them, turned them out into a wail back in Morgantown at a birthday party, against the wall outside at one o’clock in the morning and it’s freezing and I’m pounding the wall because I know I’ve lost the best. Those cincinnatti nights years ago. What I took for granted while I told myself it was really everything else I should be appreciating. I feel like something’s been pulled out of my skin. Like peter pan and his shadow.

Hello twenty. Hello knowing who you are, being comfortable with yourself because that is right and comes with age. But so much is still tattooed into me. sometimes I think I could feel it all again with everyone replaced and new. But I do not deserve it, and I still could never forget the first time.

Sometimes I look at maps and it frightens me to know that you can drop your finger on that map and go anywhere it may land. You can go anywhere, pick up and start walking, hope people are friendly on the way down to the pampas of argentina. but just because you can go anywhere, should you?
And then I start to think about how you’ll never see every place in the world, you’ll NEVER read every great book out there, you’ll never meet the people who might understand you best.
All this while there is never a guarantee for seeing tomorrow’s sunrise.

yesterday. “what does that mean?” that means my father played that song to me when I was a little girl, about to go to sleep to his guitar chords.

My god, it is all going away so much so fast, but yet it is still good along the way.