Impossible

Can't get a dial-tone.

An American Prayer

Do you know the warm progress
Under the stars?

Do you know we exist?

Have you forgotten the keys
To the kingdom

Have you been borne yet
& are you alive?

Let’s reinvent the gods,
All the myths of the ages

Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests

[have you forgotten the lessons
Of the ancient war]

We need great golden copulations

The fathers are cackling in trees
Of the forest

Our mother is dead in the sea

Do you know we are being led to
Slaughters by placid admirals

& that fat slow generals are getting
Obscene on young blood

Do you know we are ruled by t.v.

The moon is dry blood beast

Guerrilla bands are rolling numbers
In the next block of green vine

Amassing for warfare on innocent
Herdsman who are just dying

O great creator of being

Grant us one more hour to
Perform our art
& perfect our lives

The moths & atheists are doubly divine
& dying

We live, we die
& death not ends it

Journey we more into
The nightmare
Cling to life
Our passion’d flower

Cling to cunts & cocks
Of despair

We got our final vision
By clap

Columbus groin got
Filled with green death

(I touched her thigh & death smiled)

We have assembled inside this ancient
& insane theatre

To propagate our lust for life
Flee the swarming wisdom
Of the streets

The barns are stormed

The windows kept

& only one of all the rest

To dance & save us

With the divine mockery
Of words

Music inflames temperament

(when the true king’s murderers
Are allowed to roam free
A 1000 magicians arise in the land)

Where are the feasts

We are promised

Where is the wine
The new wine
(dying on the vine)
-Jim Morrison

Impossible concentration.

Fuel

I can only tell you what it feels like:
Disturbed emotions
Steel knives in my windpipe.
Drowning in hallucinations
Fueled by fastidious paranoia.
Eruptive, crushing, clawing
A feeble mind to pieces.
But I know he'll resurrect me
He fucking hates me
And I love it.

"I used to be self-conscious about my height, but then I thought fuck that, I'm Harry Potter"

Several hours later, I awaken. I find that I am back where I began: in the middle of two unfamiliar bodies on the floor in a familiar basement. Confusion overrides my expression, but I decide getting myself fed is more important. My growling stomach agrees with me, and so I begin my journey towards the stairs once again. When I get to the kitchen, I notice that the fluorescent shadows that once speckled my table have now completely absorbed it. I rub my eyes. The image still remains, but I am too hungry to make sense of it. Opening up the fridge, I find to my dismay that its contents are empty. It seems I will be making the trip to the market sooner than I had planned. Without changing clothes, I slip on a pair of sneakers and open the door. I make the necessary trip of three flights of stairs down towards the exit. When I push the door open, what I see nearly knocks me back inside. Shining lights of radiant violets, bright greens, neon pinks, and luminous yellows sore past me, around me, and even through me. Everything else can only be described as sublime. Where sidewalks once were, fields of grain are paved instead. Where roads once existed, a crystal blue river made of cellophane flowed in its place. The sky is now purple with red undertones. A sun no longer exists. I am standing in what feels like an alternative universe. Before I can even begin to make sense of my surroundings, I call attention to a tug on my wrist. Looking down, I find a crystal blue transparent creature with black beady eyes, a tubular shaped body, and no other distinguishable features to speak of. Its hands and feet are the shape of thin pencil tips. I can see my skin through its tiny, fingerless hands. They feel warm on my bare skin. “You’re going to be late,” it said, tugging on my wrist in a westward direction. (Preview)

Plausible 2.0

Cherry blossom month
There are petals in your mouth
Tugging my heart strings

Soiled powder nights
Rule: go to sleep when birds wake
I want a pet rat

Drawing from the well
A fish that has sprouted wings
He keeps the dream close

How to see reality on drugs

1st draft of short story:
Involved an elevator ride up to the office with three people (Tom, Chaz, and Lucy) and a pregnant woman named Darcy. Tom is a cubicle mouse who has finally reached the point in his career where he can move beyond his office cage to greater things. Chaz is the son of the man calling the shots, the boss if you will. He's a douchebag. Then Lucy is the love interest of Tom, snobby but sensitive to the needs of others (how does that work?). Then, the elevator stops. The lights go out. Tom's freaking out because he's late to his big meeting. While he's freaking out, Darcy goes into labor.

2 days before due date of short story:
Ditch concept of 1st draft and begin a Thanksgiving tale about an overly religious family who is blind to different ideas/worlds that surround them, and the son who's just trying to get them to move past that.

Ongoing thought while this is occurring:
I probably should eat something.

It's Cool, We're the Government

Study: Alcohol 'most harmful drug' followed by crack and heroin
http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/11/01/alcohol.harm/index.html?hpt=C1

David Nutt whom was fired from his position as Chairman of the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs, the a body designed to advise the government on scientific evidence and the classification of drugs.

On several occasions the government has asked the ACMD to reassess some drugs' classifications, and when the scientific findings didn't match up with what the government wanted them to show, they promptly ignored them and did what they wanted anyway.

For example, the government asked if cannabis should be reclassified to a stricter classification, the ACMD said no it should stay where it is, the government which clearly only asked the ACMD in order to use their opinions as political capital to push the change through was upset that it didn't say what they wanted, ignored it and increased the classification anyway. (this is the story of how the UK ended up with cannabis being classified the same as speed)

Anyway when Prof Nutt and some other high ranking scientists on the Council spoke out about the government's wilful ignoring of scientific evidence the government fired him, and others resigned in protest.

La Novela Nada? I think not.

Kitten, not everyone's keen on lighting candle 17, the party's done, the cake's all gone, the plates are clean
The chauffeur's leering from the cheerless mezzanine
And in just one year, the straight world can pay to see what they have been missing
-Okkervil River


Oh me oh my, oh me oh my, what a lot of funny things go by!

Plausible

There is a line we draw to help us
Find pieces of ourselves
Along the way of life
In which the artistry is thick
But the ink is spoiled, sometimes
Crossing the centerfolds
Of grander views, highlighting heights,
Where the lies we share are ultimate truths
That shape our tomorrows.
Possessed minds, fiendish fiends
Backdoor beauties, what are these
But friends you sit with at the bar
When sorrow is drinking you out of a shot glass?
So when the lightning strikes,
Be ready to remain.
It's the trip, the part you'll like the best.
Don't try and fight it
You'll just wither up and die.

Let Me Come Over, I Can Waste Your Time (I'm Bored)

You nabbed my heart
There have been only
Clear skies since then
And it stops me dead,
What once was
Replaced by what is
(He's got a warm soul, this one)
This feeling, I know
It burns in my chest
Infinitely real as these
Berry kisses, milky white fingers
Your skeleton
I want to drape it in Spring.



I have been listening to The National a lot more lately for some reason. I think it has something to do with Matt Berninger's voice and his songs. Their lyrics are very simplistic. However, their simplicity has a certain depth that both captivates and confuses me. I recommend "Afraid of Everyone" or "So Far Around the Bend", which I've quoted in previous posts. Cool. Yeah. I'm late for short story writing class.

Walking Against the Wind

Walking corpses

Skeletal horses

Trample on dreams endearing.

The sun, it will not rise

The body, it will not rise

Ships are setting sail for finer shores

What’s on the other side?

Don’t worry love, you don’t have to know.

These days I speak with my eyes closed

Like a broken hearted lover, oh the way

You’d touch my hand and call me baby

Yes, it pushes me through the storm

I somehow manage the harsh winds.

But darling, a home can only stand

So many earthquakes, seismic waves

Eventually, it has to collapse.

Oh, but spring will come again,

These winters are never forever

I’ll see them cherry blossoms soon

The sun, it will rise

The body it will rise

Our lives are meant for bigger things

Whose road we will go down together, hand in hand.

Let Me Back Inside!

I wrote a haiku about a cat. I don't remember where I put it but I wrote one. It was funny and clever and interesting and made me feel better about being up at 4:30 in the morning. I don't even have homework or a reason to be awake. Isn't that funny?

Lost Coastlines pt.2

Insomnia. A rarity. It's a pleasure I won't be able to enjoy for much longer. Goucher's only 5 days away. I'm excited but also,

I don't know.

Realizing and Exercising

I realized it's been quite some time since I last made a post updating on anything/writing anything/......anything. So, here we go. Let's do this for real.

THUNDERCATS GOOO!!

Anyway,

The closing for my family's new house was today. This means that it officially belongs to us. Yep. That's right. The owners have vacated so now it's just sitting all pretty and vacated like, awaiting our move (which is Thursday. Pretty exciting). It's actually quite spiffy looking. In addition to having a rather mountainesque interior (cedar floors+ceilings. warm colors), it's 2 acres large. That's right. 2 acres. We even have a huge, beautiful garden to go along with its largeness. I had to admit I was impressed with my mother's decision. For $450,000, she did me proud.

I don't have pictures of this new house to post at the moment as I have misplaced my digital camera (again). Oh well. That will be a problem I will remedy soon enough.

In other news, I've taken a break from writing poetry and other things to spend time outdoors and explore my surroundings. It's very lovely here, very picturesque. Although I miss dirty jersey, I don't mind my new habitat so much anymore.

I wonder what that means for the future.

Inhibition

In the shadow of youth,

She wears her shyness like a dress

Overflowing patterns

That swing with every step.

Driven by necessity,

She crafted herself out of stone

So that every time you look at her,

You'll never know she feels alone.

But lady I've spotted all the egg shells

I've counted every crack.

Mother of the blueness, angel of the storm,

I will remember you in your opaqueness.

The vase of flowers by the bed.

Your bare blue knees at dawn,

These ruffled sheets, and now you're gone

And I am going too.

Thunder Storms and Calicos

I find when I dream,

It is always of closeness

Of pervasive affection that my attention

Gobbles up, an integral hand

Stroking my cheek as I drift, I am drifting

To our bedroom where you lay plotting

Out sketches, concave figures,

The way I look in a dress. Famished fingers

Stretch up, meeting with mine, enclosing

Around them. We made this home

Out of neither sticks or stones but bones

Our very skin, two beating hearts.

It is all I think about when I'm gone.

But at least when I dream,

It is always of closeness, so that

Home is never too far.

Upon Seeing Inception...

LAZR-BEE

Providing hours of amusement for my kitty-cats and me.

For Mike

If you ever read this, I hope you think of me (for I am always thinking of you).

Here I love you
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.


Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.
-Pablo Neruda

New Territory

I have officially moved (so long, dirty jerz). I am staying with my Grandpa in Pittsboro while my family and I wait to move into our new home in Chapel Hill. I haven't been doing much of anything. I sleep, I read, I try to write and fail, and then try again a few hours later and still manage to not come up with anything at all. It must be the weather. It's been raining ever since I got here. The cold is a pleasantry long sought after (Jersey's blistering heat wasn't much to my liking).

I've been having dreams of home.

My dreams (usually filled with zombies and the like) have now transitioned into something I can't decide is warmth to my heart or a tease. Take last night for instance. I dreamt I was with my Jersey friends at the GSP (Drew, Bryce, my beau, Ridgewoodians, etc), sipping Chai at Teavana. Well, I don't think it was Chai (I'm really going on what I typically drink). No, it had a pinkish tint. Chai tea does not have a pinkish tint. Therefore, it could not have been Chai tea. Awesome. Now that I've figured that out, on with the story! So, we were all drinking this mystery tea and talking about how delicious it was. Suddenly, we all began to talk about the past. My friend Niles and I chatted about all of our high school afternoons spent at Citizens field where we would talk about nothing in particular. After that, Drew, Bryce, Alex, Mike and I talked about our super special awesome fun times together (killer snapple bottle in NYC when we went to see Paula, late night pool parties, Streetlight, Morristown, everything). Ethan and Jeremy discussed the summer when they were camp counselors. Meghan and Andrew reminisced about amazing concerts they had been to. Then, out of nowhere, I stood up and said, "Listen, guys. This has been amazing. But I'm moving soon. All this talk of the past, well, it's downright depressing. Can't we talk about something else?". Then Niles reminded me I had already moved, that this was just an inner sub-conscious desire to remain with people and places that made me feel comfortable, that I knew inside and out. Then I woke up to the sound of rain and one of my cats nibbling on my toes.

On a different note, I started reading "Pride & Prejudice and Zombies". It's pretty awesome.

P.S: I don't get the best service at my Grandpa's house (screw you, Verizon!). So, for those of you who haven't had the best of luck reaching me, I apologize :(

Countdown to Goucher: 27 Days

Oneironaut

Restless dreaming, summer heat
There was you, your figure
Growing smaller and smaller
As the car drove away, carrying me
Farther and farther away,
Trembling for your presence.
And now, now days feel longer and I,
An empty station, when trains are parked, asleep.
But to you my dear, I make a promise.
This will be the last of days waiting, no smoke
Looking for a home and drifting into us,
Choking our hearts. No silhouettes will dissolve
No eyelids will flutter into the empty distance.
Even though I'm miles away from where you are,
Distance ain't got nothin on us, babe.
I'm the blood in your veins, and so I go along
With you, I float along, whispering,
"Love, we're going home now"
And like summer we will arrive
on our honeysuckle feet, back in our bedroom.

I only wish I could stay

The secret glue that holds
All things together
Path of wild abandon
Stay with me forever?
Share absolutely everything
Being so new, you
Angel of the blueness
Went missing
When did things change?
There, the days last rays
Cruising like sharks
Across the horizon
Then, a gap in things
You clench your fists
Crushing the daisies
I left by your bed
Drug-dry irisis
Shaking
Trembling
And then it came
Pounding fists
Against the shower walls
Your screams
Your pleas
For more
There needs to be more
My coffee shudders
Hush now, don't you worry
I'm not trying to wreck your life
I'm only trying to make mine better

It's Simply Ridiculous

That I should have to pay an aeon to fight for me. What an arrogant bastard (Final Fantasy X reference. Yojimbo. Anyone get it? Anybody?)



It's okay. I'm still a cool person. Promise.

Older, Newer

I go to sleep when the birds wake up.
Mornings are so hard on me.
Better to skip through it, playing
Musical chairs with time and place.
Who knows where I'll end up?

You tolerate the chainsaw-snoring,
Night-terrors in the afternoon.
The mild earthquakes of emotion.
We love each other for different reasons
But the outcome is still the same.



I dreamt of chickens.
Chickens pecking at my hair
Chickens walking on my chest
Chickens flying around the room
Chickens resting on my head.
And when I awoke the next morning,
I found chicken eggs laying on my bed.


Oh, hai. I'm a year older. This means I can go to bars and buy alcohol. What's next?

Feeling Strange (Like Cereal or Wet Toast)

My mom finally sold the house. We will be moving to North Carolina at the end of the month.

It's all coming so fast.

I wish time would slow down, that I could savor the few weeks left I have in Ridgewood more than I should have prior to the closing. However, it doesn't quite work like that I suppose. So, as I throw things into boxes that my mom insists I should sell, I wonder where the 20 years of my life spent in Jersey went.

I've been reading a lot of Sylvia Plath lately. I think this poem by her is fitting for the mood of this post:

A Life

Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.

Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.

At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy

As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.

Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.

A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly

With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.

The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.

Another Sleepless Night

It's official. I've thoroughly fucked up my sleeping schedule. Even after I rest, I feel exhausted. It's a trap, see. If I don't sleep, it's unhealthy (insomnia ain't no good for my mood). If I do sleep, I'm still feeling drained after 12 hours of weird-zombie-apocalyptic-dreams and scenarios I'm terrified will transpire. All I can do is listen to slow and steady Okkervil River songs to coax me to bed in hopes waking won't feel as bad as when I collapsed. I for one think Will Sheff is a brilliant singer/songwriter. His lyrics are quite powerful and leave a mark on your thoughts after you finish listening. Recently, I've been listening to "Love to a monster". I myself haven't had experience with nasty breakups (I've been in love and have had my heart broken, but not quite the way Sheff is describing it in the song). I really love the song not because of how emotional it is, but because the lyrics are just so beautiful. Sheff has such a way with words (it's like poetry, the kind I wish I could write). So, here's to you Will Sheff. Now, if only I could sleep...

My Baby, My Darlin'

"I was made for you"
Happy Birthday, Mike!

Late night flights in and out of consciousness

Pills enough to make me feel ill. Cash enough to make me well.

Whimsical Writings

This defines so many aspects of everything I've ever experienced:



Please, please do this (rules of healthy conduct for me to follow):
1. Please, do NOT go to sleep at 7AM (or not at all. I know you think you're getting shit done, but your body is screaming "EXHAUSTION! EXHAUSTION!")
2. Please, do NOT attempt to walk around barefoot in the city. It isn't a better alternative to shoes (though fuck, those ones you wore yesterday tore up your heels). Also, people will probably think you're a hippie or just homeless.
3. Please, know your drinking limits. Your liver's just gonna go along with what you're doing, even if it's slowly deteriorating. You need to show some restraint (though your 21st is fast approaching, making posting this rule rather useless).
4. Please, please...MORE CHRONOTRIGGERPLAYINGHAPPYFUNTIMES! YEAH! (that didn't make any sense. I apologize).

Confession Weather

We sit out on the porch, sipping our wine in silence. You've grown taller yet so have I. There's so much to talk about but neither of us say a thing. I think we both know it'd be a futile endeavor. Then, just like that, you make a comment about the humidity. Why couldn't we have drank inside? The flies are growing irksome. You follow that comment up with a poor transition into worldly affairs. What do you think about the oil spill? I shrug and make a drunken, incoherent reply. This reassures you that I'm paying attention so you keep talking. Did you hear about the Icelandic Prime Minister marrying her girlfriend? What about the mother of two in Iran who's to be stoned to death? And that 86-year old bedridden woman in Oklahoma who was tasered by police because she took an aggressive posture in her bed? So funny.

At this point, I'm barely registering what you're saying. I simply nod my head, my thoughts moving on to a song I can't remember the name of but whose lyrics are clear in my mind. You move on to your life. School is going great. Every night this semester you've blazed and gotten outrageously high. Your professors totally love you. The only downside right now is that your photography skills haven't shown any improvement.

I think you're pulling at straws here.

What of what you're saying am I going to care about? What will I affectionately respond to? Red or white? I think the answer's pretty clear to you but you keep going. Family's moving soon. Last summer's fling doesn't show any desire of wanting to return to where you two left off. Your voice has changed. Drastically low, soggy and sad. Lyrics aren't so clear anymore. What was the name of that song again?

Then you ask the question that sobriety prevented you from conjuring. The snake in the garden: "At what point did you know you were in love?". That one I registered. It was the way you asked, eager for the truth yet sub-consciously doubting your ability to handle it. I stroke the rim of my wine stained glass, run a hand through my hair. It'll be hard but someone's gotta do it. Finally, after a long enough pause, I reply: "I don't quite know. It's hard to say, really. I guess it happened after I wrote him a long letter in February when we decided it would be best if we were just friends. It was when I finished writing it that I realized this was the first time I had ever written a boy a letter about how I felt. What was that? No, the card I made for you on your eighteenth birthday doesn't count. This was different. Why? Well, I guess it was my naked desperation. I wanted him so badly to understand that no matter what, I didn't want to be without him. It didn't matter if we remained just friends. I've never met anyone like him before. After I realized that, there was no going back. I was in love."

You sit there quietly for a few minutes, fiddling with a stray hair. It's a sign of anxiety. I've struck a chord and I know you'll never admit that that was difficult to listen to. You already knew that he and I have been dating for a while now. You knew, yet the after-effect didn't become apparent until after the first "Yes, I do" to your "Do you love him?". It was like this night was premeditated, a live-action roleplay of what's been going on in your head for weeks. You then get up and sit right back down. You're pretending to seem unsure of how that really affected you but don't worry, I already know. I'm beginning to feel like an awful hostess so I offer you some more wine. You ignore the munificent peace-treaty and instead begin reciting new words you don't know the definition of that you encountered in a book composed of philosophical essays that I think you told me about a week ago. Magnanimity. Truculent. Cantankerous. Lugubrious. Your intoxication has certainly deepened but there's more to it. There's always more to it with you.

When you're finally finished, we're both silent for a long while. Then I begin humming the song whose name I can't remember. Soon the hum develops a voice and I'm quietly singing the lyrics. Slow, steady, fervently. Then, shortly after I begin singing, you begin to sing along with me:

Rain is millions of tiny speech bubbles unused
The collected breaths of mutes
And all our silent exhalations
Where we should've put words
Or words we had no one to tell
Emptied from clouds like clearing horns spit valves
Coming back to us now
To remind us what we meant to say
Or that we meant to say something

P.S

"While it is not true that sharks do not develop cancer, they do have a remarkable cancer shield."
http://www.elasmo-research.org/education/topics/p_bite_on_cancer.htm

Cancer shield: You must be level 75+ in order to equip

Sorry, guys.

Try, Try Again

I know you're a serious lady
Living off a teacup full of cherries
Nobody knows where you are living
Nobody knows where you are
-The National


Free People has a full staff (they'll hold onto my application in case someone leaves/gets fired). DeComp didn't think my work appealed to their magazine, which is fine. That was a shot in the dark, really. Sometimes it takes a shitload of misses before you make a strike.

In other news, I wrote a few more poems. Yeah! Awesome! Cool! Now I'm trying to find some good reads for the summer. Any suggestions?

Bile and Lemonade

She is softly cloaked in shyness

and secrets he could not extract

by simply touching her thighs

with his sauce-pan hands.

She is speaking in tongues.

Lipstick-smeared honesty, fingers

fluttering to her throat, gasping for air.

He stares at her tiny breasts.

She is leaving him, newsprint future

full of expensive jewelry and taller

buildings. She is scared of heights.

He wonders about the bill.

She is gone in a cloud of Chanel, a

gift that he did not give to her. Now

he sits with the bride of quietness.

No sawtooth grin. He is still hard.

Later on he’ll return home and

have too much beer and jack off to

the scent of Chanel she left on his skin.

Then he'll go to bed and try not to think.

Such are the great moments in mistranslation:

asked for dinner, got dessert.

A Lovely Description

Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, it is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver. ~Jack Handey

Battling the Pink Robots

My mom and I were talking about North Carolina tonight. The house she's looking at leads out to the woods in the back. There is a creek. There is a kind of guest house. It has a lovely interior, seems worth the price. She might try and buy chickens since it's a large property. She seems to forget we have five cats that love the outdoors and killing things that live outdoors.

Speaking of our cats and things relating to them, there are two raccoons now living in the attic in our garage. I know this because the two raccoons I encountered a few nights ago (sans clothes) scattered to the garage and when I tapped the ceiling with a broom the day after that incident, noises of something moving about could be heard. One of our cats, Mr. Sniffles, sometimes sleeps in the attic. I think he has made friends with the two raccoons that live in the attic.

Recently, I've been editing a short story I wrote for my Intro to Fiction class this past semester. It is titled "Moratorium". I realized my main character, Maya, doesn't have much of a back-story. There's not much to relate to. No one really knows anything about her life and why she made the decisions she did. If I expand on that, it could be a good piece. It could be. I think (does any writer ever really think their work is good? Is J.K Rowling shaking her head, ashamed, every time Harry Potter comes on TV? Does Stephanie Meyers proofread?).

Listening to The National's "So Far Around the Bend" right now. It is a pretty song, strange lyrics. I miss Mike.

Oh yeah. Happy Father's Day to all you Dads out there!

The Old, The New

"There are only two people you can trust in this world: a friend and a lover. But since this girl is neither, then my answer to you would be no. However, you've gotta trust someone when there's no one left to trust in a world gone mad. If not, you'll just end up as a stray cat wandering the streets alone. And that...is a frightening way to live."-Seiko

Seiko was probably the best character I ever came up with. The sarcastic, ass-kicking ninja. I forget who I modeled him after. Looking back, some of the stories my friend Jen and I wrote together were rather awful. Reading them now, I can't help but laugh. There are definitely a lot of quoteable portions, however. Seiko's dialogues make up some of those portions. And lets not forget the infamous grammatical mistake: "KITSUNU IS PREGNANT AND YOU'RE TELLING ME TO GETS UP TETSUO?!"

Hey, Jen and I thought it was absolutely hilarious. If you don't, well, your face. That is all.

A Startling Evolution

Caress me golden senseless
Forging ahead, a wild fire
At least, that's how it began


I shouldn't be up this late. My body still hasn't reached a level of normalcy where being awake at 5am is okay. I should be resting. I should be. Instead, I'm writing. I'm unclear as to why I've chosen writing over sleeping, but it seems almost like an imperative. I find that if writers don't write about something, anything, their sanity begins to plummet. The same goes for any artist. If a musician does not play, if a painter does not paint, and so on and so fourth, they lose it. Well, how could they not? All art is a form of expression, a way for people to get their emotions across. If you can't do that, it eats away at you. If I couldn't write, being home would be messy. I say that because if I have nothing to occupy my time when I'm home, I have too much time to think. And that is a danger in and of itself.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder junior year of high school. My dramatic mood fluctuations needed a name, so they were given one by the best medical authorities. Now mood swings for me submerge because of the way I perceive things. What my mind likes to do is twist and tangle "situations" until I can only see the negatives. Thus, my mood plummets. I put 'situations' in quotes because most of the time, I'm not reacting to anything major. Typically, they're minor occurrences that carry no significance. I never used to label them as minor, however. No, everything had a hidden meaning, a secret truth. They were never pretty ones either. I would analyze and scrutinize and mope and sulk. That's how life used to be.

Today, I can say with a certainty that I've improved heaps. I'm not who I once was. I'm off medication, doing well in school, and am content with where I've ended up. There are times, however, when the monster in the pool still manages to surface. I've gotten to the point where this can be tolerated without having some sort of breakdown. I can say with a certainty that that is the case.

I wonder what I'm hoping to find this time though, what truth I'm looking to expose.

Forging Through Sickness

I awake in an ocean of pillows
He is still speaking of summer
Does the heat make you behave badly?
I breathe in his throaty yessss
And suddenly I feel parched
Drowning in the sweaty Sahara of cotton
And his overuse of drug-store cologne
Cheap. Dirty. No high expectations.
A kiss on my neck that tells of things to come
The evening of extravagant delight
Where is my lipstick? I feel much too young
Darkness is supposed to evoke pleasure
All it does for me is deepen my paranoia
He rubs my shoulder, index fingering my throat
I wait for the cued "I love you"
Instead, "I love what you do to me"
Please, don't romance novel your way inside
No more of this banana splitting my ego
Simply fix me. Fix me with your fingers
I slide my palms down his rolling Irish hills
While we're both thinking of someone else

Cramping, potential vomiting, fetal position. Grounded, am I still grounded? This will soon pass (it always does). At least, I hope so.

I'm Afraid

That my dreams are mimicking a reality that isn't too far off

Passions

I went to see a foreign film tonight called "The Secret in Their Eyes" (El Secreto De Sus Ojos). It's about a criminal-court investigator named Benjamin Esposito who, in 1974 in Buenos Aires, took up a case revolving around the rape and murder of a beautiful woman. He never forgets about it as he grows older, how he passionately pursued the killer, and what he learned about himself along the way. The first scene is of Esposito at his desk, gray-bearded, writing and assembling his recollections of this case that continues to fascinate him after twenty-five years. The film centralizes around the use of memory and how it can haunt us with missed opportunities. For Esposito, these missed opportunities regarding a love that never happened make up a meaningless, unhappy passage of time: the underside of obsession. This doesn't just go for him, though. Time stops for the beautiful woman's husband, Morales, who waited every day after work at the train station for a chance of spotting his wife's killer. Then there is Irene Menendez Hastings, Esposito's cautious superior who, after failing to get Esposito to confess his feelings for her, goes into a loveless marriage and continues on with a seemingly passionless existence, becoming a powerful judge in 2000. From scene to scene, the film has a vital swing to it. It is powerfully and richly imagined. It is a genre-buster that successfully combines romanticism with the utmost in realism. It's probably the most excellent film I've seen in a very long time. I highly recommend it. Two-thumbs up.

Momma deer kicks dog's ass, radioactive bananas, and other unrelated news

Below is a video I found on reddit of a mother deer beating the crap out of a woman's dog. I can't tell from the video if the dog was going after her young or if the mother deer attacked him for no good reason. Either way, a mother deer conquering a dog is quite unreal. I thought it was nifty.

In other news, Free People still hasn't called me back about whether or not I have a job. It's been about a week. I think Meghan and I are going to go in today and ask if we got the job. Not that it matters at this point in time since it hasn't been confirmed yet whether my family will be moving or not (if the engineer's report does not go well, my mother will be staying in Ridgewood for the summer unless another buyer shows interest).

Also, bananas are radioactive. Enjoy the video.

Soldier

The day was gray when I found you
Soil coated with soot and ash
Carrion birds and rotting corpses
A dumping ground for our soldiers
You were sitting by the well
Clutching your fallen father's hand
No comforting words would rise you
Sorrow's poison had your legs
How did it come to this?
No bell tolled, no sirens rang
The shots came from all directions
And in the morning the sun revealed
The blood on the leaves and grass
Oh, but I'll suck the marrow out
There is hope beyond these gates
She is praying at her bedside
For your safe return home

Sun Blisters

My sunburn is slowly going away. My mom has a potential buyer. Our house may get sold this summer after all. I am having tiny existential breakdowns at the thought of moving. I have lived in Ridgewood for twenty years and that has suited me just fine. I would have been okay with moving somewhere like NYC. At least I'd still be close to everything. North Carolina is where my mom wants to go. I'm not ready to leave just yet though. I do not want to go to North Carolina, but it seems it may be inevitable.

I did not think I would be nervous about moving. I am starting to feel nervous about moving.

I was afraid of being nervous. Now I am nervous. I am doing my best to maintain control.

I think what I will miss most is being sure of where I am and where I need to go.

Shhh....I'm Watching Keanu...

I am an avid visitor on Reddit.com, a site that revolves around what's new online/in the world. To add to this description, the people who post on Reddit are (for the most part) very intelligent and share many interesting opinions. Anyway, frequent posts these days encompass a rather morose looking photo of Keanu Reeves (the one that is being shown above). Now I have nothing against Keanu Reeves as a person. He's a very handsome man and seems quite nice. He also apparently knows kung-fu, which I think is pretty fantastic. As an actor, however, I'd have to say he's a bit lacking.
A few nights ago, I watched "Constantine". It's based on Vertigo Comic's Hellblazer. Set in Los Angeles, John Constantine (Keanu Reeves), a chain-smoking cynic, has the power to see half-angels' and half-demons' true forms. He seeks salvation from eternal damnation in Hell for a suicide attempt in his youth, by sending half-demons back to where they came from with the help of his trusty sidekick Shia LaBeouf (known as Chas in the film). However, full demons have begun crossing over, taking possession of human bodies in preparation for the arrival of the Devil's son, who will institute chaos in the world. Constantine saves the day by slitting his wrists and informing Lucifer of his son's plans to conquer Earth. Lucifer then sends his son back to Hell to stop him from conquering Earth before he does. In the end, Constantine is cured of his lung cancer, and in the final scene is shown switching from cigarettes to gum. Aside from the unintentionally hilarious theological mumbo-jumbo, it's basically "The Exorcist" meets "The Matrix", only with very dull dialogue and situations. All in all, it was a ponderous bore and as David Denby said in his article "Devilment", it "turns wonders into garbage". Reeves' acting doesn't help either. It was his largest departure in my opinion, his most epic failure as an actor (not that he hasn't failed before. Remember how he single handedly ruined Shakespeare in "Much Ado About Nothing?")

Despite all this, we continue to love him. His acting is dry and unbearable at times, yet we can't stop watching his movies. It must be a Jedi Mind Trick.

Why? Gemini (Birthday Song)

Why? is one of my favorite bands. I've been listening to Alopecia and Elephant Eyelash a lot more than usual lately. It makes me feel nostalgic. It makes me feel happy and sad and unsure of myself. "Gemini (Birthday Song)" is one I have on repeat these days. Yoni Wolf's lyrics are beautiful and heartfelt. It feels weird listening to this song now because it defined such a different part of my life, when I was a whole other person. What do you think?

Kitten-Rooster

Feeling Normal Again

Mrow.

Late Night Extravaganzas

Last night, a funny thing happened. I had gone to the beach at Spring Lakes with my friend Meghan earlier that day. It was beautiful out, no complaints there. We spent three hours laying under the hot sun, listening to Beck and Architecture in Helsinki. However, when I got back home from our little adventure, I noticed I had burnt to a crisp (screw you CVS branded spray on sunscreen. Thanks a bunch for bailing on me). My inner thighs were lobster red and my stomach was blotchy (they still are, to a much lesser degree).
So I spent all of last night rubbing on aloe and trying to figure out the quickest way to alleviate the pain. This involved shaving cream (the internet told me to), vinegar, and ice cold baths. The best solution I found was walking around ass naked, as my house is always Siberia-like this time of year (and every other time afterward actually). So, satisfied with this solution, I went downstairs to grab a late night snack. My Mom had asked me a few hours ago when I was still wearing clothes to go find Yahtzi, one of our five cats. She isn't hard to miss because of her enormous size and strange coloring. Apparently she had gotten outside and hadn't come back in yet and my Mom wanted me to go find her and bring her back inside before she got hit by a car (she isn't a very bright cat you see). Once I got my snack of graham crackers and cheese, I went in search for Yahtzi, all the while still without clothes. I didn't go outside to do this out of kindness for my neighbors, but instead proceeded to turn the outdoor light on to see if I could spot her that way and bribe her to come inside with a can of tuna or something. Well, when I turned on the outdoor light in my backyard, I didn't see Yahtzi. Instead, I saw two raccoons. I stared at them. They stared at me. I waved. Then they ran away. A naked, sunburnt, twenty-year old girl waving to them was probably the strangest thing they had ever seen.

In other news, I'm still waiting to hear back from decomP about whether or not they liked my poetry. Cross your fingers.