| (no subject) |
[Feb. 27th, 2009|07:57 am] |
"I longed for a
power of vision
which might
overpass that
limit; which
might reach
the busy world,
towns, regions
full of life I
had heard
of but never
seen: that
I desired more
of a practical
experience than
I possessed;
more of intercourse
with my kind,
of acquaintance
with my variety
of character, than
was here within
my reach..
I could not help
it: the restlessness
was in my nature,
it agitated me to
pain sometimes..." |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 9th, 2009|02:08 am] |
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how many of us go searching for homes and wind up in a sea shell with our own echo repeating itself.... |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 24th, 2007|02:49 pm] |
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he told me to come over and bring my guitar and my camera. he was wearing his maroon jacket and i was wearing vegetable gown. lived in a metallic house where we could see our reflections so clearly, that it was cutting so deep into me, deeper than any knife. i spent all my money on a piece of music. i lost something that was such a big part of me that i kept trying to find it in other people, but nobody else had it. it's hard to realize that it's never coming back. the way you trace your fingers over your grandmothers antiques sends birds down my back, i can always feel their wings fluttering. how you open your eyes and peel away roses, it's hard to accept weeds now. the way the wind pushes your hair is silent but has so much sound, the subtlety that grabs at me, and the way you walk; each step on a piano key, pressing down onto the ground so lightly with a stomp, everything you do is from another world. you don't have to create anything, you are so much creation already that i am just trying to document part of it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 23rd, 2007|02:07 pm] |
i met these people in hawaii, i forgot their names, but i thought they were really pretty and asked if i could take their picture. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 6th, 2007|10:22 pm] |
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i sailed all day on a banana boat serving dream catchers to the fish. i served you with a golden platter and you refused. i couldn't help but stare at you, if you looked back even once it felt like you were touching me with what i would imagine your hands to feel like; wise and complicated, but so soft and still, the way my own hands tremble when i hear the piano. the distant music sounds like a mystery in the mind of a child, but i think the thing we forget is that the man who wrote it was a child, with such a secret that he died singing with his mind. the baby talks in a language we don't understand and i think that is why we love them so much, they scream and stare straight into the air talking, even though we don't see anybody there. the earth talks in a language we don't understand, and as we start paving and building we push the language aside and pretend it is talking in our own language. it adapts our language in order to survive, the baby adapts our language in order to survive. and as the plants take over the freeways and cracks the concrete, the babies grow into adults who grow into elderly and they start talking in the language they had almost forgotten, the words they thought they had lost. |
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| speak for me |
[Jan. 19th, 2007|04:22 pm] |
do you remember passion? it's burried beneath a concrete world. have you forgotten compassion? are you in the middle of an ugly war between yourself and a giant machine? are you so tired you can't even dream anymore?
fuck this city, and fuck this filthy air. let's build a-frames in the woods and just live there. we'll all eat berries and build fires every night and forget this mistake we call modern life.
i believe in something, but i don't know what it is. it's either the future or the end. it's every reason that i do or don't get out of bed.
we live in the unhappy shadows of skyscrapers freight trains and malls to a soundtrack of nuclear warheads and bombs. addicted to power, addicted to authority, money, and success ... so far gone, without our addictions, do we even know how to live?
the sun is shining thru distance, bitter clouds that make me choke and cough and scream. sitting here along watching acid raindrops fall, this is not the life i want to lead. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 8th, 2006|10:50 pm] |
i want to be young again, he thought to himself
as he watched two of his students enter a bedroom
arguing, but he knew what was behind it. he wanted
to be clumsy and care so much, he wanted to feel
skin in his mouth for the first time, whisper i love
you between moans and actually mean it. he wanted to
believe that rings actually meant something. 25 cent rings
that mean i want to kiss you during a movie with sugary
soda in our mouths, giving us secret pains that will
be discovered months later.
that sort of love hides under your skin, you grow with it
and it hurts. it gets hidden in your bones, under your skin,
you gotta dig real deep. you remember when the girls would
call and giggle into the phone, ask you how you were 3 times
because they couldn't think of anything better to say. now
your wife is on the other line, you click over, nothing but
old words yelled through the receiver. this is what happens
in the end. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 8th, 2006|08:32 pm] |
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you've got the soul of dove and the body of a leopard. this place is covered in sin and i'm covered in ash. i've got nowhere to go and every bed of snow ends up melting. i've got nowhere to go so i fall into the arms of the horned one with tattoos like a poem. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 19th, 2006|06:52 pm] |
I don't look at the clock and he hums, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. The way he breathes sounds like a song, so if he ever stopped, the music would be dead. There is no time for me to go home, and the truth is, I don't remember how to tell time. 2:00 is his fingers, and half past 4 is his eyes. The way he smiles is 7 and his laugh is the time the sun rises. I thought there was nowhere to go, because the roof where I slept was taken away, and the room I called home is so far, but he has become home. How did I end up growing roses in this concrete garden? He picks them up like they are children and he pulls the petals out towards the sky, and then he hands it to me. I stick it in my hair and remember how I felt life times ago when he sang to me on his 12 string guitar, but he doesn't remember. He outlines America on a map and says he is determined to find the America he was promised. He has spent 18 years in this country and all it has done has raped him and scarred his belly. He says to me in-between inhaling the November sky like a kiss, why doesn't she love me the way I loved her? I grew up singing about her, sweet land of liberty, drawing her dress on white paper, red like blood, blue like tears, and white like lies, and putting my hand over my heart just for her. And for what? For what? He then proceeds to smile at me and say, maybe she didn't like me because the dress I made her never fit right, with a laugh and he grabs my shoulder not like a crutch, but like another land for him to find the promises he never received in this one.
When he says America I don't know if he is talking about the place where we are driving over right now, or the girl with golden hair that he draws over with black ink. I don't know what he means, but I know I can give him the freedom both Americas could never live up to. We have gone looking for the answers, and in-between peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and clementines, I see some sort of hope rise with the sun. By the time she sets she is hanging on a thread, like a star on a string. He sleeps and I drive, using the steering wheel as a place to tap my jittering fingers. He sleeps and dreams of golden hair and strawberry lips. We pull over on a dusty road that is like a desert out of a dream, like My Own Private Idaho. I get out of the car and shape my index finger and my middle finger like a V and look through them. This road will never end, it probably goes all around the world. I say it softly as he gets out of the car, and then I yell it. IT WILL NEVER END. When I first saw River Phoenix on the screen I knew he had my heart, I knew it. He looked right into the camera and straight into my soul, and even though he is gone, I feel like he is in my very bones. How crazy, I never even knew the boy. I dream of us in South America, laying on a golden beach with his siblings and eating mango's. I dream of us carving the seeds into necklaces and giving them to one another. I dream of him converging outside of a club and I wake up sweating. Isn't it sad the things we are promised? Isn't it sad how we are always in love with the wrong people? We will always be traveling, and I will never let him go. I know it is 2 AM because I can see his chest moving up and down like a life, the softness of writing with ink on the belly of somebody you love.
*
Do you know what is is like to have a beautiful day? The world is written on your face and you feel so breathtakingly alive. The wind from the water is orgasming onto your body and nothing is wrong. We ran over the sand like we were blooming magic out of the grains. God was pulling his voice out of your hair, golden strains in my mouth. The sky opened and closed like a pair of beautiful blue eyes, and her eyelashes brushed along side my cheek. You ran into the surf like it was the horizon, and the orange backdrop dripped all over your bones and I could see your skin sinking into your blood. You were drenched in light, you were illuminated by love, you were tasting the juice called alive, you were teasing the ocean into letting you live in her, you were catching butterflies with your arms, you were melting me into your stomach, you were drawing on my heart without moving, you were shaking, you were dying and living and crying and being born, shifting souls and finding the one inside of you. You were becoming the sky and you never came back down. |
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| old |
[Nov. 7th, 2006|02:07 pm] |
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history is a long brown ribbon that gets tangled up, and dust hides in the corners of the ribbon, it stays there and watches events pass, people die, orchids bloom, until a young girl unravels it and wipes the dust clean. we built los angeles out of film, the exposed parts taped over and the black pieces as buildings. we put people on the freeway, because the cars had melted and turned into moonstones during a chemical reaction. in the dark everyone stood on tables and the white light looked like an angel, and i said that out loud and the girl next to me laughed. she talked about hydrogen and carbon, but all i could see were mercury clouds hovering over her desk almost begging me to laugh, almost begging me to savor innocence in my mouth. when i bite in, it fills my mouth like an effervescent balloon, but she tells me that eventually it will pop and only the faint taste of sugar will linger. but it won't linger forever, just in moments when i can smell summer and when the winds fill my clothes like it did when i was young, when i kiss hard and don't think about somebody else, the sweetness will be there toying with my tongue, with my heart, blowing it up to pop. so i told you that we needed to leave, we need to get out of this place where we will eventually look at one another like the europeans looked at the native americans. i don't want to be the gloomy weather that brings down the sunbeams, i said to you, or the house wife crying over her dead soldier, you said in response. so we built our city from pictures of ourselves, old negatives that colored out the real color of our skin, turning my face blue during a sunny day and your face red during a love scene. our friends looked like kites without strings, staying in the sky for however long they pleased. the ocean splashed against the trees and we taped it everywhere along the room with our faces overlapping one anothers. double exposures covering your eyes with deer, and fawn crying over my breasts, leaking out pain and loss into my life. we left the room and i smiled to myself, a little girls grin crossing over my pale face as i thought about the secret life of light, how it burns the dark film of our town. we made a gang, a pact like tom sawyer and you signed your name in blood, but i signed mine in red pen. we promised to keep the 3 freckles of light that were in our eyes there forever, even if that meant shutting our eyes for days on end. you nodded and pushed your brown hair out of your eyes and i saw them there, the three freckles aligned, shining, and i believed you that day. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 1st, 2006|01:52 pm] |
i feel it in my fingers, i feel it in my toes
love is all around me, and so the feeling grows
it's written on the wind, it's everywhere i go |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 17th, 2006|02:41 pm] |
up the punx, up the punx, up the punx! |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 14th, 2006|11:00 pm] |
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i had a dream that it was my birthday and i was hanging out with all these people and nobody told me happy birthday or gave me a present. i was outside my house at night and there were all these people in the front yard and the only person who told me happy birthday was brian. he gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 6th, 2006|11:04 pm] |
I sat across from a bug eyed girl with a grimy face and long, insect like fingers. She made her eyes wide and I could see her black eyeliner getting smudged every time her eyes came back down from their balloon like size. She eyed me like I was a black crow that had woke her up by cawing too loudly, she looked at me like I was the devil in a teal lace shirt, eating ice and minding my own business. There was nothing romantic in the way her boyfriend and her had been together for two years, and how they traded off each others coke for water. She scratched his back with her dirty fingernails and I felt like melting into the plastic beneath me, maybe things would be easier that way; not looking up, just turning off, letting people sit on me. Zooey would be the perfect companion for me in a restaurant with people like them. He would dismiss them the moment he heard them mocking me, and then Claudia would appear from behind the bathroom stall once I had excused myself to go to the restroom. She would take my hand and tell me that she had finally saved up enough money to run away, and run away we would, all the way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Stuff that happened to ME: treated like a criminal, looked down upon when I laughed too loud, felt stupid when I said what I felt, cried over a character, wanted to turn off my ears for minutes on end, felt the presence of an angel over the telephone, said to a boy with my eyes that hatred is passed on with your mouth,
Never have stepped foot in New York, but felt the presence of Tiffany's when I got off the train. I wanted to steal masks and hide behind hot dog vendors, ask them if they really enjoyed the taste of pig parts, and then give them daisies I had picked earlier during the day. I am young so I must not know what I am talking about, and the two years you have surpassed me by make your opinion so much more enlightened than mine.
Stuff that happened to HER: moved away from home, listened to Abbey Road on repeat for days, ate curried rice with peas, cut off all of her hair, said a prayer to the ocean, packed up her life, named her cat Arthur, missed home because it was gone forever,
I can always feel myself blistering up from feeling too many things at once. The answer is to curl up and lower my bed, lower it under the floor boards so I can hear the humming of the wood wondering where its arms went. I try to say sorry with a mouth full of longing, but each time I open my mouth, a shaky word comes tumbling out like shattered seashells, sharp and never to be put back together again. The dresses in my closet hold my body together, so I tie them tight as to not fall apart in front of total strangers. I swear to God I can taste a Goddess in my mouth when I love, and a God in my mouth when I sin, so I can't help but trust my mother more than my father.
Stuff that happened to US: we fell in love, touched the gold frames around the park, blew bubbles within one another, the feelings weren't mutual, felt ourselves flying, we still laughed,
On the streets at twilight I could hear E. laughing, I could hear Lou Reeds smokey voice from inside the trees, like they soaked in his sound. I swear I saw Nicky and Pami, but then my eyes shifted to the sky above a world of debris; wild and spread out, a butterfly of pink and blue, it was almost as though it was saying "just keep listening child, just don't forget..." because just like that, the wings took off and the smog came back.
And that's the way it always is, the smog always comes back. It comes rolling in like a train you don't want to board, but you are forced to because your mother is pinching your wrist. It could be hidden for days, months, maybe even years, but it will make its way back. You think you have found this pink moon to rest your cheek to, but it will turn ash blue, it will float and tie itself to a string called letting go, and it will fly and the smog will block the path where it has gone. It will all tell itself over and over again in a kiss, the lines curving together to make an arrow, pointing straight, and directly, at you. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 30th, 2006|10:22 pm] |
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i want it all to leave. i want to be in peace by myself. god, just leave me a lone. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 25th, 2006|07:00 pm] |
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it's me and you. i don't know which one of us is who, but it doesn't matter, because we always end up blending into one another. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 24th, 2006|08:14 pm] |
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sometimes i feel like only a cold still life that fell down here to lay beside you |
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| right clothes wrong soul |
[Sep. 18th, 2006|07:29 pm] |
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i feel as though i am constantly battling everyone. this summer was nice because i didn't have to deal with it as much, but ever since school started....shit. it's as though i am defending things left and right, not always out loud, but in my head. i mean, why do you care if a girl shaves? it really is none of your business. and last time i checked, females could be artists too. damnit i have a headache. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 18th, 2006|06:46 pm] |
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i'm undoing the stitches, coloring around the lines, matching your face up to dots, recreating the sound, stretching myself to the end of the earth, but i forgot a pin to keep me down. |
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| why you always blow |
[Sep. 18th, 2006|06:19 pm] |
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You hang your shoes off your apartment balcony, the shoe laces reaching for the ground, but never, ever, touching. They were brand new last week, but they seemed to have aged months, even years, from the sun blaring on them and the morning dew that peeled away at their seams. When the accident happened, it was early and the sun was outlining the sky in a pale pink, the buildings looked like blue paper water colored onto skin. And then the buildings shook, your shoes tilted, you were sleeping, and they reached and they reached and finally they fell. After all of that time of them reaching, they realized that the bottom was never as good as the height of the bars that they lingered on. The strings on the shoes fell into the cracks on the cement and a bum stole the fake leather, pawned it for some weed. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 17th, 2006|10:09 pm] |
1. your name:
2. birthday:
3. place of residence:
4. what makes you happy:
5. what are you listening to now/have listened to last:
6. do you read my lj:
7. if you do, what is particularly good/bad about it:
8. an interesting fact about you:
9. are you in love/have a crush at the moment? with whom?:
10. favorite place to be:
11. favorite lyric:
12. best time of the year:
RECOMMEND
1. a film:
3. a band, a song and an album:
PLUS
1. one thing you like about me:
2. two things you like about yourself: |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 16th, 2006|06:15 pm] |
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it sucks being sensitive, sentimental, emotional, poetic, hands up to get slammed down. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 11th, 2006|08:21 pm] |
i'm tired, sick, and i am dizzy. i have been getting horrible amounts of sleep and all of this weekend i was sailing in nationals, and then after sailing i was babysitting 4 12 year old boys and one 9 year old until 12:30 am. have you ever been so tired that you actually get sick? yes that is my state right now. also, i have to get up for school at 6am. i am sick of people saying they are going to call and just not doing it, then acting like it is fine. it wasn't just once, twice, or three times. is it really that hard to call me? or can you only do it when you are high and drunk? whatever, i'm going to sleep.
she is the best |
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