life is a short story

someday this will all make sense.

night

i'm writing my novel portfolio, and it's impossible. i'm alternating between writing for half an hour and sobbing for five minutes. i'm just spewing all my emotions onto a paper that's supposed to be partially analytical. i write like a girl... it's like anne sexton-
"a woman who writes feels to much... a man who writes knows too much."

the sweetest song

people like other people for all the wrong reasons.

oh. shit.

i have just been smacked in the face with life.

theme songs

better than me
are you
kinder than me
are you
sweeter smarter faster
you you you
prettier than me
stronger than me
lonelier than me
I want to get to know you
better and better

circles

here is the deal:
some days i am not full of lust or hormones. some days i am, but not all days. some days i'm mostly full of paper, and the implications of sexton and plath, and the blue and orange of evening, and the warm grays of both spring and autumn, and smells like juniper, and sunsets, and seeds that look like caterpillars. i want to fold 1000 paper cranes. i have been meaning to do that since i was about 11, but i never really got around to it. all this could possibly have the same effect as lust, (i think it's possible) but we don't really have the same mindsets when it comes down to it.
i'm frustrated. i want to tell you about beautiful things but i'm afraid you'll think i'm naive. or that it will all just bounce of you like stones in shallow water.

plastic bags + trees

when i'm in a good mood, i automatically want to be with you.
i really didn't accomplish much today, unfortunately. i feel like i have a million plans, yet i'm not doing anything. can i just have some time off life?

april:

i miss abbey bennett like i miss tarot cards! we are meant to be!
i'm pretty psyched because i'm going to write ridiculous amounts this month, and use my spare for art, and i've booked darkroom time, and go to the zoo, and learn bass. it has been a little too easy to ignore myself, but there is going to be some serious reclaiming being done. that will help more than anything.
i don't know if anyone else has noticed, but the grass is green under the snow.

i'm not catholic

i want to grow tomatoes
and raise bees.
praise be to the tomato growers
and the god
from whose hand
bees dripped.

it's late and i'm typing and i'm cold. NOT AMUSED.

the smallest things

I don't know if it's just my inner feminist, but I don't think society can ever be fully aware of the concept of female sacrifice. There are so many little things given up for other people that are never mentioned. You could drain a person like that.

Anne Sexton

I don't care! 'Sylvia's Death' is just amazing!

Witness

So, obviously I'm in denial. Why else would I be blogging at 8:30 when I haven't even started my essay and I still have two pages of a response to write? And on the note of denial: NO. no. M.I.A. canNOT be on the same night as our grad. This is not possible. I need to have a time-turner, like Hermione, and then I could do BOTH. Abbey! What are you going to do?!
The snow today was lovely, I thought. I thought I should've had a snowball fight... or made a snowman, or kissed you when it was still snowing. You know, stuff like that. Instead I tried to do English and walked back and forth from my house because I kept forgetting things. Then I walked through a veritible curtain of snow, and I couldn't see the end of Morley Trail from the school and every tree I walked under seemed to dump some snow on me. I had a moment of loving UNCONDITIONALLY and Without Judgement, but mostly without Restraint, which is surprisingly difficult, for anyone, I think. There's always fear, right?
Then when I got to school I saw you and I was really awkward because I didn't really know how to express it; how incredible this all is. And you.
French class was rad. J'aime manger les biscuits is still stuck in my head.
That has been my day so far. It did not suck.

MY HANDS ARE FILLED WITH NEWSPAPERS AND REALITY
TV SHOWS
REMEMBER ALL THOSE HUNGRY BEDFRAMES
EATING UP OUR INSECURITIES
WHERE WE LEARNED ABANDONMENT

(today i saw a postcard that said 'when you stopped loving me, i stopped painting.' i'm always afraid that it's the opposite of this postcard... i don't know why. does this even actually happen to people? why would you hinge something so important on one person?)

why bother

"i season myself with uncertainty
and watch my pot of regret bubble over...
my hands are filled with newspapers
and reality tv shows

am i doing it right?"

tuesday night/wednesday morning

i can't sleep. i don't even have cats for company.

ADDITION:
i'm feeling so absurdly neutral these past few days. zero strong emotions. i mostly miss the good ones, right. but you know; if you said jump...

mary

patron saint of girls who don't know how to take care of themselves.

7 heures du matin

i swear this is the last one.

C'est bon

MAREVA GALANTER/ Pourquoi Pas Moi

On roule à 160

i think this is probably the best as of yet.