i want to be the wind.

(via...

Mon, 20 Apr 2009 17:28:14 -0700

(via wastingwords)

http://www.themorningnews.org/archives/the_non-expert/does_he_love_you.php/
:)

The only reason I know I want to live is because I’m posting that I don’t.

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 13:40:46 -0700

The only reason I know I want to live is because I’m posting that I don’t.

"The function of art is to disturb. Science reassures."

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 03:59:10 -0700

“The function of art is to disturb. Science reassures.”

- George Braque (1882 - 1963)

I can't swim in the silence of you skin; please let me in.

Fri, 10 Apr 2009 01:26:36 -0700

neverxworld:

I was going through my old, unfinished stories this afternoon & re-reading everything that I’d abandoned; analyzing the story lines. Were they bad, or did I just give up for no reason?
The latter is more likely.
Why did I never continue any of them? The farthest I had gotten was 15 pages in. Then the words just cut off.
The truth is, I never had enough discipline to finish anything.
I still don’t.
I had begun the search through my old stories looking for one in particular. One that stuck out in my mind and kept popping up at odd times recently; one that I had actually liked.
But it was nowhere to be found.
Should I keep searching? Or should I let sleeping story-corpses lie and not disturb the ghosts of old ideas?
It may be too frustrating to rifle through the crevices of my brain for the words long ago transcribed.

I’m in a similar position. So much of my writing is left unfinished or barely started, but just recently, I’ve realized how afraid I am of letting things end. It’s why I want to die young—so I don’t establish anything, whether inside or outside myself. I’m scared of rooting myself into something, scared that it’ll break. And in books, I don’t finish books, and I don’t finish my writing, because I am afraid to part with everything, to say goodbye. I don’t know if it’s anything you could relate to, but it’s not always a “lack of discipline.” Don’t be so eager to put yourself down. <3

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn.

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 16:14:03 -0700

neverxworld:

Stumbling around on the internet, I came across an article written by an anonymous book lover. He records an anecdote about how, while on the train one day, he caught a young girl reading over his shoulder. She then proceeded to tell him about how she was an English Lit Major, and read constantly. But she was never able to find anything that she loved as much as what she read when she was 12 years old. The author then goes on to talk about how true that statement is; how avid readers never really find anything that changes their life so much, as the book that really got them started reading.
This whole thing just struck me as very true. I mean, I read all the time. There is never a moment where I am not in the middle of at least three books. But as much as I love them all, there really has never been a book that changed the way I look at things so much as A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. What a beautiful, beautiful book. It’s one of the first books I can remember reading, and holding close to my chest after finishing it, because I just didn’t want to let it go.
I still have that book; the pages are yellowed and folded. Maybe today I’ll pick it up and read it again.
Who knows? Maybe it will change my life once more.

P.s.- I’m really afraid of my feelings for you. I’m not sure what to do.

Three books in total influenced my belief systems and how I am now, but there is no book in the world that will ever touch me as much as Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn. It sounds so juvenile and needlessly “girly,” but it isn’t. At all. I loved it. It’s in my treasure box, still, after five years. I tear up just thinking about it. Beautiful book. I will never, can never, forget it.

Another note to self.

Tue, 07 Apr 2009 17:05:00 -0700

Another note to self.

When I was little, I had wanted to be a pop star. When I was a...

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 23:05:40 -0700

When I was little, I had wanted to be a pop star. When I was a little older, I had wanted to be a writer. When I was persecuted for that dream, I had wanted to save the world;

and still,
on nights like these,
I find myself wishing that I had wanted to save myself.

…Well, so much for my heroic ambitions.

NOTE TO SELF:
Skip the nightmares,
rewind the dreams,
and hit replay.

The Opposite Of Music.

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:22:28 -0700

neverxworld:

Fuck that book. Fuck it and everything written between it’s covers.
It’s is absolute and utter shit.

Of course it isn’t, and I’m just bitter. But let me have those few moments of resentment towards some bits of paper please.

Real life doesn’t work that way. I’m sorry to inform you Mister Author Man, but parents with manic depressive disorder do not get better from Electroshock Treatment. They do not come out of the induced coma fully willing and able to be a decent guardian again. It does not work like that.
What really happens, is that they forget who you are. They call you by the wrong name for a month; forget your birthday and how old you are; lose the ability to think rationally; and are never the fucking same again.
You end up mourning the loss of a parent as if they’d died. But physically, they’re still there. The shell of the person they were. The ghost of a ghost, haunting you. Taunting you.

So I really shouldn’t have read that book— that’s the basis of this entire entry. Now I’m going to be mopey and introspective all night. Fabulous.

I hope your dreams will be sweet tonight and that your life will be sweeter soon.
Goodnight, dear. <3

neverxworld: ofelia: I’ve been in such a rut for what I feel has been all my life now. I don’t...

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 17:55:50 -0700

neverxworld:

ofelia:

I’ve been in such a rut for what I feel has been all my life now. I don’t really understand who I want to be anymore. As I’m getting better, my identity is ironically so much more confusing, my identity including who I am now and who I want to be in the future.

I don’t know your dreams. I feel selfish, because I either don’t remember them, or I haven’t even asked. Maybe I’m scared that your dreams are similar to how mine were,

but I don’t know.
Just be safe. Be well.

I love you.

P.S. “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
I have faith that you, as already a good person with good views and good ideas and artistic talent, can live up to that.

Touch hearts. I know you can.
And you can change people, you know.
Be the change, and you might surprise yourself.

I see potential
in who you are,
and who you will be,

if you can learn to see it, too.

You are so fucking sweet. Seriously, I don’t know what I would do without your friendship. You’ve helped me through so many times; I can only hope I’ve been half as beneficial to you as you’ve been to me.
And don’t ever, ever feel selfish. You aren’t. I’m sure we’ve talked vaguely about our dreams before, but never too deeply I don’t think.
To be quite honest, I’m sure my dreams are close to what yours used to be.
But to be even more honest, I’m glad they’re my dreams now, and not yours anymore. You deserve better dreams.
And thank you. Thank you times infinity for all the compliments you’re slinging left and right. It makes me feel special.
If I can learn to see what you see in me, perhaps I’ll be alright.
If you can learn to see what I see in you, you’ll learn to fly.

So strange that I just wrote about flying,
when I hadn’t even seen your response yet.

You have been extremely beneficial.
I love talking to you, I do.
You understand the things I say, and you’re there for me.
You are empathetic and articulate and wonderful.
And know that I don’t compliment falsely,
and that it would be a crime to me to do so.

Honestly,
Everyone hates my singing voice.
I only sing songs that I, myself, have the desire to sing.
The desire wouldn’t be there if I didn’t sing from the heart. <3

Darling, I know you will be alright.
Maybe you don’t want to be just yet, but I know you will be.
I will do anything I can to ensure that.

I’ll write a real entry, I swear…Today was better....

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 17:46:07 -0700

I’ll write a real entry, I swear…

Today was better. I’m calmer today; emotionally healthier. Concerned with myself, and not dependent on anyone else.

I love this liberty.
At least, today.

I’m relishing my independence.

I’m breathing well; freely,

which reminds me,
I shouldn’t be in this good of mood.

I fell in the shower today. Got a tightness in my chest and couldn’t breathe. I started doubling over after my chest started cramping, and I got dizzy.

I passed out, and what’s strange is, I finally came to with my head up against the bathtub. I was lying perfectly flat but for my neck. I woke up sputtering.

The door was still locked.
The shower was still running.

I don’t really understand what happened.
But I know something’s wrong.

I’m going to the doctor’s soon, get things checked out. I’ve been having problems with chest pains for a while now.

Things aren’t right,
but for some reason, things like this slip my mind. They don’t bother me.

Do I still want to die?

I need to remember to keep my head above the water,
and instead of drowning, to fly.

neverxworld: Basically. I’ve been in such a rut for what I...

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 17:09:24 -0700

neverxworld:

Basically.

I’ve been in such a rut for what I feel has been all my life now. I don’t really understand who I want to be anymore. As I’m getting better, my identity is ironically so much more confusing, my identity including who I am now and who I want to be in the future.

I don’t know your dreams. I feel selfish, because I either don’t remember them, or I haven’t even asked. Maybe I’m scared that your dreams are similar to how mine were,

but I don’t know.
Just be safe. Be well.

I love you.

P.S. “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
I have faith that you, as already a good person with good views and good ideas and artistic talent, can live up to that.

Touch hearts. I know you can.
And you can change people, you know.
Be the change, and you might surprise yourself.

I see potential
in who you are,
and who you will be,

if you can learn to see it, too.

wastingwords: Manage me,I'm a mess.Turn a page,I'm a book half unread.I want to be laughed...

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 17:00:38 -0700

wastingwords:

Manage me,
I'm a mess.
Turn a page,
I'm a book half unread.
I want to be laughed at,
Laughed with,
Just because.
I want to feel weightless,
And that should be enough.
But I'm stuck in this fucking rut,
Waiting on a second hand pick-me-up,
And I'm over getting older.
If I could just find the time,
Then I would never let another day go by.
I'm over getting old.
And maybe its not my weekend,
But its gonna be my year.
And I'm so sick of
Watching while the minutes pass
As I go nowhere.
And this is my reaction,
To everything I fear,
'Cause I've been going crazy,
I don't want to waste another minute here.
Make believe,
That I impress.
That every word,
By design,
Turns a head.
I wanna feel reckless,
I wanna live it up just because.
I want to feel weightless,
'Cause that would be enough.
If I could just find the time,
Then I would never let another day go by,
I'm over getting old.
Maybe its not my weekend,
But its gonna be my year,
And I'm so sick of
watching while the minutes pass,
As I go nowhere.
And this is my reaction
To everything I fear,
'Cause I've been going crazy,
I don't want to waste another minute here.
This could be all I've waited for,
This could be everything,
And I don't want to dream anymore.
Maybe its not my weekend,
But its gonna be my year
And I've been going crazy,
I'm stuck in here.
Maybe its not my weekend,
But it's gonna be my year.
And I'm so sick of
Watching while the minutes pass,
As I go nowhere.
And this is my reaction,
to everything I fear.
'Cause I've been going crazy,
I don't want to waste another minute here.

I hear you, man.

But on good days, I’d rather be her: She’s fly,...

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 16:42:00 -0700

But on good days, I’d rather be her:

She’s fly, flesh and bone
No tucks or silicone
She’s touch, smell, sight, taste and sound
But somehow I can’t believe that anything should happen
I know where I belong and nothing’s gonna happen, yeah

[Chorus]:
‘Cause she’s so high
High above me, she’s so lovely
She’s so high
Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite
She’s so high
High above me

First class, fancy free, she’s high society
She’s got the best of everything
What could a guy like me ever really offer?
She’s perfect as she can be, why should I even bother, ah-a

(Chorus)

She comes to speak to me
I freeze immediately
‘Cause what she says sounds so unreal
‘Cause somehow I can’t believe
That anything should happen
I know where I belong and nothing’s gonna happen

(Chorus)

Despite your lack of blowing over, I'm always keeping faith.

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 16:28:13 -0700

neverxworld:

“I’m going to the doctor in about an hour. I packed a bag, and I’ll call you if they admit me.”
How many times have I heard those god forsaken words? 30? 40? Hundreds?!
I feel awful for feeling this way about you. Resenting you so much. But how can a child respect a mother who is never there? Who has abandoned her hundreds of times? She cannot; it is not possible.

There is so much more that I want to write. Things racing through my skull; bouncing around like loose Tetris pieces. But I’m afraid to put it all into words.
Reality is too harsh, so I’ll let these beautiful thoughts fester under rocks in the warped fantasyland I have created.

I keep staring at your screen name; hoping you’ll IM me.
I really should give that up.

Although I don’t know your situation exactly and haven’t been in a situation even remotely close to it, I really do understand the abandonment. I haven’t experienced it to your level, but I’ve often felt resentful of my mother for not recognizing my problems and not doing much at all to help me until I feel it was too late. She’s taking care of me now, by getting me treatment, but sometimes I wish she had shown me the kind of nurturing I needed before, and the kind of understanding. It’s funny, she deals with borderline too, but she’s too blind to hers, and to mine, to really comprehend what’s going on. Self-denial’s a bitch.

I wish I was as eloquent as you in my blogs. You’re a beautiful writer, a beautiful person, and a beautiful girl. I really wish you could see that.

As for him—I understand that too. I do, really, but be very careful. I get dependent and needy on people who show me the nurturing and understanding and love I’ve always wanted, and it always ends badly for me. Enjoy what you have of him, (even if it’s not much at the moment—it might be in the future), but don’t waste your time dreaming about him, and be careful as to not to be hurt in the end. People are cruel, but I understand why you like him.

I would too.

I want a story like theirs. En haut de la rue St-VincentUn...

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 16:12:00 -0700

I want a story like theirs.

En haut de la rue St-Vincent
Un poète et une inconnue
S’aimèrent l’espace d’un instant
Mais il ne l’a jamais revue

Cette chanson il composa
Espérant que son inconnue
Un matin d’printemps l’entendra
Quelque part au coin d’une rue

La lune trop blême
Pose un diadème
Sur tes cheveux roux
La lune trop rousse
De gloire éclabousse
Ton jupon plein d’trous

La lune trop pâle
Caresse l’opale
De tes yeux blasés
Princesse de la rue
Soit la bienvenue
Dans mon cœur blessé

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux
Les ailes des moulins protègent les amoureux

Petite mandigote
Je sens ta menotte
Qui cherche ma main
Je sens ta poitrine
Et ta taille fine
J’oublie mon chagrin

Je sens sur tes lèvres
Une odeur de fièvre
De gosse mal nourri
Et sous ta caresse
Je sens une ivresse
Qui m’anéantit

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux
Les ailes des moulins protègent les amoureux

Mais voilà qu’il flotte
La lune se trotte
La princesse aussi
Sous le ciel sans lune
Je pleure à la brune
Mon rêve évanoui.