it was late at night
you held on tight....

you wide eyed girls, you get it right. 


No one seems to appreciate that, it's much easier to get chewed up and spit out.
I'm sick of feeling nothing and when I feel something it's actually nothing.

what makes this fragile world go 'round
was she ever lost, was she ever found

if anything.... it's the complete self-centeredness that assaults me personally
over and over and over again it doesn't seem to stop.

I realized today that sometimes I love the most heartbreaking moments, I become fixated on them  because it means I actually felt something.  I'm not even upset that they occured because it all adds to the beautiful tragedy fantasy in my head. The one that never seems to play out quite like I want it to....

setting fire to our insides for fun

when you hear the song that reminds you

or songs

or every song you ever did listen to

for there is no such thing 

as a song that doesn’t touch your soul 

in some sort of way

it shuffles its way into your heart

and digests 

and whatever you see

or whoever you are with

how the song finds you will make all of the difference 

nothing important here

I don't know what it is, just a craving to write.  Some sort of satisfaction found in the presentation of hidden thoughts strewn in the dark corners of the internet.  But no, I want to write something more.  I've said it before and I'll say it again - a wise person once suggested that you should write the book you want to read. Which I tried... until I realized I didn't know what I wanted to read.  What I ended up was writing was laughably awful.  I just want to write a story, one with meaning.  Why does that seem to be so hard to do?

Empty

Empty.
It was empty.
I looked at the clock and it was empty.
I heard the strum and it was empty.
I looked into his eyes and they were empty.
I reached into my soul and it was empty.
Empty.
Everything is empty.

it happens

played the game

lose your face

nothing to it. 

bound to fight 

out of sight

slipping memories in the shade.

push and fall

don’t stand tall

let it wreck you.

never leave

heart on sleeve

suffer softly underneath. 

losing faith….forgetting of this place

it was so free now no surrender

walking forth

crushing force

don’t you know you’re subject to

can’t ignore

peace and war

none the former

i will leave 

can’t i see

all the touches here are there.

never know 

what they were for 

when you were still standing here. 

only fade

your face a shade

slipping memories.

your voice can’t stain

your laughing shape

only traces. 

in and out….how’d things get so cloudy now

and i’m just wasting time counting sheep instead of dreams. 

shaken hope

never know

what has happened to your soul.

keeping clue 

just to prove

you existed.

Cigarettes

Cigarettes.

A crutch for the chronically stressed.
A release from an anxious mind ludicrosity.
Inhale the poison, exhale satisfaction.

Why have they been on my mind so much lately?

breathe it in, breathe it out
let it surround you
mind in haze, peaceful place
soon control you

It's the feeling of it between your fingers.
It's the feeling of it on your lips.
A distant memory of the past.
The comfort of the familiar scent.
It's the smoke seeping out of your lungs.

My mind is craving it but I know it will not provide the satisfaction I want it to.

radiohead melodrama

if i could be

who you wanted

if i could be

who you wanted....

I haven't listened to Radiohead in awhile.  Not that they could ever be irrelevant...they just haven't be on my radar.  But tonight I listen.  

What the hell happened may be the question I ask myself forever. 

To build something off of nothing but that nothing was supposed to be something but it was really nothing.  

The worst part is that this species of humans CANNOT seem to understand what they do to make us feel utterly insignificant.  Since when did common courtesy become rocket science? 

It's unfair that I have to sit there feeling shitty and heart achen (for broken would be too strong) and they just get to turn everything off and float through life.  I don't even have as many emotions as normal girls do!! 

How many people can say they cried through an entire airport and all the way until the layover?  The poor guy sitting next to me didn't know what to do.  He handed me his extra napkin and snacks with a pitying smile, but that small gester restored some faith in the kindness of strangers.  And even without me crying on her, my second neighbor bought me a 3rd Bloody Mary.  I guess that worked out ok.  

  

I honestly don't even know how to properly write about this.  That's been an issue for me lately.  God, I just need to leave - I abhor this transition state.  

it's the best thing that you ever have, 

best thing that you ever had, 

is gone away....

keh

I'm confused.  I didn't want to miss anything when I left.  I don't know what this is but it all feels so large.  I guess I will find out soon enough.  But what if I don't?  It's very possible there will still be so many questions left unanswered.  Ug. How dare life.  Some things make me wonder if this is all wrong.  I don't think I've given it a fair chance to know yet though.  I've let go of some ideologies.  Is that bad or good?  Too many questions.  But I am excited with the prospect.  Just extremely nervous.

Of Late

To see the world morn over the same individual is an interesting phenomenon.....

At work the other night, the DJ played a set of Audioslave vs. Linkin Park songs back to back.  I'm not sure why, but it felt sadly powerful.  The songs melded into one another and their voices belted out heartfelt lyrics that made you want to cringe.  I stopped and listened for a moment - do these people understand the aftermath of their decisions?  It's crazy to think that people cry over the death of strangers but it's more understandable when you imagine how many people lived each day listening to a certain voice with certain words with certain instruments at a certain rhythmic tempo.  It becomes so much more than just a random fame obsessed Hollywood star.

----------

Dancing in the night
starry eyed and laughing
climb the treehouse
swing from its branches

clinking glasses
smoking cancer
slow dance now
and wrestle me later

drown and suffocate me
in an act of love
never thought I'd still be thinking of you

Dallas

I've been wanting to write about this for a long time but I haven't been sure quite how to.

On the drive out, nothing happened that was very eventful.  We got to see our great aunt and uncle, we talked a lot, and listened to the audio rendition of The Beautiful and the Damned.  I hadn't realized how much I had missed spending time with Carissa, nor how much our lives had grown apart since we were young and under the same roof.  I also had forgotten how similar we are and how nice it was to be around someone so like minded (is that self-praising to say? I don't mean it to be).

We got there late, after making about 35 U-turns on the unnecessarily and insanely confusing Dallas freeways.  The next morning, we got coffee around the corner and then I worked while Carissa helped Paige get ready for the wedding.

Later, we arrived at the wedding - practically late of course - but settled into the very last pew just a few minutes before the opening chorus started.  It was an elegant and beautiful ceremony, absolutely perfect for Audrea.  At the reception, Carissa and I immediately grabbed cocktails and appetizers and went outside to enjoy the humid Texas evening air.  "We have to take pictures of us for mom", I kept saying as I knew she wanted them.  I took a total of one picture at the ceremony, none with us in it.

We quickly met some of the absolute nicest and coolest people.  After a few minutes of talking, we had already been invited to 3 different households.  I guess there is something to be said for Southern hospitality.  The reception was fun - we danced hard and long until it was time to leave.  As the bride and groom were exciting under our petal showers, a real Texas shower began with ground shattering thunder and lightning.  We both became extremely excited and I danced under the rain.  Rain feels so much more refreshing in humid climates.

Back at Paige and Caleb's apartment, many of us continued the celebration.  It was the first time I had drank with Carissa, which I realized was an unusual happening for siblings to take place so late in life.  We played beer pong, joked, laughed so hard. Carissa and I talked about so many things I never thought we would - misbehavior of the past and such.  Up until 4am, we all crashed in the living room and woke up late to make a large breakfast feast.

Returning to the Taylor's later that day, we said our hello's and enjoyed the immensely large family gathering.  We went to the lake and lazily spent the day cliff jumping and relaxing in the bathtub-like water.  It was a simple and pure day.

We later plotted our night plans. Pre-game, Brewery, and then Piano Bar.  If only it happened that simply.  I fell to my weakness for free alcohol and was extremely drunk at the second step in the plan.  We won at cornhole (or so I think) and then moved on to the Piano Bar.  One moment I'm upstairs with the guys and the next I'm sitting below drinking the shots and Bachelorette bowl out of penis straws that Paige purchased.  Paige got on stage and straddled the piano bench while I blacked out.  I blame it on Paige and her damn bachelorette bowl.

The next morning, I awoke to find myself in an obnoxiously bright and color coordinated Golden State Warriors outfit.  I turned to my side and saw Paige's naked body.  The rest of what happened I will keep vague but it was relayed to me as these string of events.... Paige blacking out and punching a homeless man, Lauren almost getting hit by a car, Lauren throwing up quietly on Carissa's lap in the back of an Uber and more..... all in all, I ended up being dressed with coordination while Paige was stripped completely.

I will never forget how hard we all laughed about the night's events.  It had been an extremely long time since I had gotten trashed like that, but alas, what is a cheap girl supposed to do in lew of free things (until I looked at my credit card statement recently and found an interesting charge from a certain Piano Bar.....)?  The drive back was eventful.  We saw so many awful accidents, one in which we felt we could have almost been apart of.

Why am I writing this?  There was something unique I felt on that trip.  Something that made me depressed for days when I got back.  An emotional connection to a life that was not my own?  Or, to spending time with my sister in a way I honestly haven't done in years.  It also may have been spending whole days with all the awesome and fun people and realizing sometimes that contagious kindness and craziness is hard to find.  I'm not sure what it was, but I will never forget it.  

Journals

I was going through my old notebooks and journals today and was surprised to learn that I haven't at all changed since I was a little girl.  In them I found writings and stories following similar themes to the ones that I write now - accounts of me wanting to solve everyone's problems, wanting to run away, and me being "misunderstood".  It made me laugh to read some of the pathetic yearnings of my young heart even though I still understand those feelings.  It shocked me a little to read how willing I was to put aside my own heart ache if I only I could be there for someone else and to be cared for by them.  I realize now what an unhealthy and emotionally detached pattern that has set in my life.  I remember feeling like I had so much passion in me and nowhere to express it in jr. high and highschool.  Definitely not in such a place with superficial friendships and judgment.  I always knew there was more out there than just doing what society expected of you, but I didn't know how to verbalize that strong feeling of discord at that age.  I wrote down so many song lyrics - in fact I used to keep a comprehensive list of all the songs I liked after I fell in love with rock and alternative at 13.  I spent so much time comparing the lyrics in songs to happenings in my life.  I even found the lyrics of a song by Linkin Park printed out and all marked up showing how the words completely dictated my feelings of a specific situation.  Ah, Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington in the span of a few months; best friends and rockstars.  Even though I was never that attached to either it makes me so sad that they made that decision after having such long and profitable careers.  I don't understand how people have the strength to take their own life.

I found this and it made me laugh:

"I love diners
I hate suburbs
I love cats
I love green
I'm insecure about the things I used to be good at
I get bored easily if I'm not stimulated
So many day-to-day things feel like conspiracies
I feel guilty when I'm unproductive
I love the sun
I love coffee
I hate being selfish and I hate selfish and prideful people
I want to create my own job
I hate wearing shoes
I love butterflies
It's kind of creepy that I'm making this list at midnight at Denny's
It takes me multiple months to process anything
Sometimes I feel nothing in the moment
I'm unfortunately lazy
I always want to fix people
I like learning random things"

Sometimes I wish I still wrote in a journal instead of here.  I never will return to notebooks again though because I know I would never write.  My hand gets tired way too quickly, I like editing things over and over again, and I don't want to have a paper trail.  I like being right here.  Sometimes I read through this blog and it awakens so many emotions I had forgotten about.  Ones that I probably never dealt with properly.  I write purposely vague for a reason.  There's no other way for me.

Running Tangents

Honestly, when I leave, I'm partially most excited about being alone.  Being what I want to be; no longer putting up with the BS that is our infamous millennial culture.  I'm honestly so appalled by it at times.  Not wanting to sound arrogant but being so uninterested in befriending or dating half the people I meet.  My co-worker thinks I'm so "cute and innocent" because I mentioned the concept of going on an actual date the other day.  Why are we so barbaric now that we depend on the matching magic of Tinder and sending out masses of dick pics on Snapchat in an attempt to satisfy carnal desires?  My generation is obsessed with approval from strangers, unhealthfully controlling relationships, and the need for constant complaint.  Since when did we get so completely self-centered and forget about anything greater than ourselves?

Long tangent.

When I leave, I will start over in a place that I may not be able to start over in.  I mean it will be difficult - I don't know if I will even be able to communicate.  But at least I won't have to think about auditing my behavior all the time.  No more fear of "slacking", not showing consideration towards "normal" values, or conforming to societal standards.

I sound angry.  I realize that in the majority of the things I write I sound angry.  I'm really not.  I guess I only write about things that frustrate me and unfortunately that doesn't take much.

I am excited, so excited about going, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that I was a little anxious.  I already feel pulled in so many directions here, which hopefully I will escape, but I know some of those will follow me.  I mean, I may be essentially working two full-time jobs.  Luckily one I can automate - this freedom is one I've always desired.  Yet I know there will be many difficulties presented with it and I know I will really have to dedicate all that I have.  Sometimes I just doubt that I have a very much to give.  The process of organizing my brain is ridiculously and unnecessarily difficult.  When did my neural synapses get so tangled?  I may have become dumber since starting college.

At least I am escaping.  Since I was little, I always felt the need to run away.  It's this inherent emotion that perpetuates many of my decisions and desires without necessarily attaining my consent.  I can't explain it - I just always need to run.  I wonder if someday I will find the place that I don't need to run from anymore.  

and then my entire life passed before my eyes
it was a haze
full of joy
full of uncertainty
full of laughter
full of longing

Dreams

Is it truly possible that we dream of what we want our reality to become?  Of course, it's plausible, as I often dream about what's on my mind at a specific time.  But what about when you know you haven't been thinking about something - even purposely not - and it continually persists to bombard your dreams?  I feel like my subconscious mind is being violated by this desire that I don't necessarily feel aware of when I navigate the idea during the daytime.  Then again, I've never been one to have a good connection with my feelings.  I don't like it - it throws off my entire morning when I wake to reality.  I want it to stop.

dreaming of you

your beauty I miss
beauty so distinct
mind sharper than diamond
eyes brighter than stars in heaven
I feel your touch against mine
a warmth from the point of contact
how I remember talking about our dreams
I loved to smile into your eyes
to make you smile forever I'd be ok with
you wanted so much you couldn't have
you had so much pressure
that worldly persuasion towards a way of life
you were free of that
we were free
until we broke it
our selfishness collided
it destroyed us
now we walk separate
this strenuous path of life
but I still dream
dream of you

Checkbook Rhymes Pt. 3

Doctor my eyes
they want to be alone
they've seen so much
but they want to see more
I miss the days
of the boys of summer
even though
I've never actually been
it's just a dream
of another time
one riddled with just as much discord
with just as much heartache
it's always just a dream

Delta

Dust was flying into the open windows as my car billowed down the desolate gravel road. "4th street" had a slightly deceiving name, as those kinds of street numbers usually correspond to a city grid - of which this couldn't be farther from.  My body and lungs were already covered in dirt and I hadn't even stepped outside yet.  I stopped the car to wait for instructions and realized the absolute stillness of it all - the golden sun lowering in the sky, the powerful gusts of wind, the distant horse neigh.  Incredibly calming after my long journey.

I was welcomed with a large gust of wind and a group of hombres relaxing on the front porch of the tack house.  One with a guitar, another with a beer, and others in jovial Spanish conversation.  They looked up at me, surprised to a see a guera.  We had a friendly conversation that made me embarrassed by my pequito español and I became conscious of my tight clothes and light eyes.  A calico cat rubbed up against me and my worries instantly left.  They gave us beer and we went out to do what we came to do.  Unfortunately, the wind was too strong for a trail ride.  I petted Delta's soft nose as she explained to me how the hell I was supposed to ride this thing.  I set out around the ranch, terrified, but enjoying it.  When she made us trot, I fell off, for there was nothing to hold onto with this type of saddle.  Ironically, I was more bruised from other happenings that week then I was from the fall.  I saw some cats playing and knew my time on the horse was over.  I quickly drank my beer and went in search, yet they had evaded me.  

Back at the tack house, she immediately told all the hombres that I had fallen.  We all laughed, I scolded her for telling.  They demanded video footage of which there was none.  I told them I wanted more cats, they informed me that the calico was a new mother to an extremely fresh litter.  I had a hard time understanding why I was not informed of this upon my arrival, and instantly had five tiny kittens on my body at once.  Kitten therapy has saved me more than a few times. 

We sat on the filthy and littered porch as the sun dipped below the horizon.  The dirtiness was refreshing - no one cared about trivial cleanliness or organization.  One hombre enjoyed a massage, another stretched out his legs after a long day of work.  One was still singing and playing guitar.  Another attempted to converse with me but hardly spoke a lick of English.  We all talked and laughed, the old womanizer had arrived and had many dirty jokes to share.  I sat back with my cats and beer and enjoyed the stillness more as we were plunged into night darkness, without the single speck of electricity present.  Just our voices and laughter carried out over the calm night, and I felt wholly content.  I reached down to pick up the momma cat and was pleasantly surprised by the feeling of enlarged nipples ready to feed.  My fascination for breastfeeding was gratified as I gave the babies back to their mom and watched them all suckle her while pushing with their paws to receive more milk.  Perhaps one of the cutest natural wonders of this world.  

We said our goodbye's, hugs and kisses, and I knew I would miss the simple serenity of this place.    

Checkbook Rhymes Pt. 2

The hills no longer green
my daily commute turned dull
summer is coming -
we can no longer show our color
that is what they rustle to one another
super bloom passed
oh the joy that it brought
to my eyes each day as they wandered not on the road
the hills have eyes, too
they see how we stare at them
gleefully in the midst of their glory
yet they also see
the disdain in which we view them in the heat of the year
they are saddened deeply by their unstellar performance.

I just need to make a note that I literally dreamed I stabbed and slashed someone into pieces.  I cut off every part of them, even each of their individual fingers.  Those were like chopping carrots.  Naturally, it was all the in self-defense, but what the fuck does dreaming something like that say about the dreamer?  Furthermore, I dreamed all that while sleeping in the middle of the woods.  I may have problems.    

Identity

It's like when you read a story about someone else losing touch with his or herself, you start to question your own understanding of identity as an individual.  Do you have it all together as much as you think you do?  Are you able to write yourself down on a piece of paper or are you a wonderfully abstract imaginary?  I walked into my living room tonight and I didn't recognize myself in it; I was a foreigner to my own homestead.  I looked into the mirror and my stomach turned as though repulsed with the unfamiliarity of an intense gaze.  Not a negative repulsion, a neutral one.  It's been a while since I have viewed myself as a third party.  
Paul Auster is a mastermind.  I must read all of his books.      

Checkbook Ryhmes

Broken record

I can't sleep.
It's happening again - the demons haunting me.
The mistakes, the shortcomings. The unanswered questions, no - the annoyingly disregarded questions.
The lack of celestial comfort. The presence physical ailment with no known cause.
Such a broken record.
Lack of purpose here. I guess I have no place in my hometown, my love.
Clammer down, my dear, into a self-harming dream.

Love letter to Summer

Something about the winter weather brings me into a depressed state.  Yes, in Southern California even (don't make fun of my pathetic-ness).  I like the rain for about two seconds while it's over here making the hills green again, but is it time for summer yet?  The rain is gone (for now) and the sun is shining, yet it fails to warm the air that touches my skin.  It's like a cruel joke - the appearance of a beautiful warm summer day and you step out and it's anything but a happy temperature.  I hate the cold.  I hate wearing jackets on jackets on jeans on leggings while still being cold.  The idea that I almost considered moving to Seattle now seems like a cruel joke.  I mean I know it's still a possibility if I ever do decide to go to grad school.  And I do love it there but I know I would be utterly depressed as soon as the sun hibernated.  I need that warmth, that loving kiss on my skin.  I need the sun to motivate me to do anything, to be alive, to breathe!  I hate wearing clothes - the God awful restriction of of skinny jeans and jackets that make you too bulky to move and cold toes.  I love wearing cut off shorts and loose tank tops and running around barefoot.  The spring is like a sneak preview - the sun dresses and legs come out of hiding, and my official boycott on wearing pants launches.  The spring is merely a season to build the excitement of being drenched by life-giving rays day after day with the remnant and permanent taste of sea salt in your hair.  The summer is sexy.  I feel sexy - alive and ready to take on the world.  

I do have an appreciation for real seasons, however.  Maybe if I had grown up in a place - say Vermont or Maine - with sultry humid summers, crispy colorful autumns, thick white winters, and refreshing springs, I would shun California and all of it's obnoxiously permanent rays.  Seasons are good for the spirit and exemplify the transitions of the human soul.  Hardly changing weather makes us lazy, I can see that.  But what can I do about it?  I've been spoiled by the sun.  I've drank more of it than most of the country and I can't help but be drunk off it's warmth.  Summer come soon <3    

9 shades of green

I started writing the book I want to read.
And that's when I realized I had no idea what I wanted to read.
hahahaha.

I feel like I need someone to give me a great storyline and I could just go with it.  I think I could develop the thoughts, feelings, and cues well.  I definitely have enough of those.

On another note, I was reminded by a very gifted person the other day that you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.  I was also reminded of how I'm not totally ok with this statement of truth (risky to say, yet honest).  It's been affecting me more lately, as previously noted.  I really wish it weren't the truth but I find myself on occasion dreaming of running away with hardly a glance back.  And it's not at all due to unhappiness, no, I have quite a bit of joy.  And it's not from lack of care, no, I love the people in my life.  It's just what this implies about me.  What I don't want it to imply about me.  Not necessarily what's accurate about me, but what's true about the 4 out of 9 sides I show of myself.  Or the fact that I only show 4 sides.  The fact that I feel that I can't show the other 5.  That's what bothers me.  That those other parts wouldn't be understood.  I hate it.  I never thought I would say that word, misunderstood, but I just did and that's very much so my own fault.  It's just so hard to find what I want and I'm not entirely sure why.  I mean, I guess I'm used to being stereotyped.  Pressured by guys who assume that my hair color and smile mean I'm easy.  Inquisitive comments from customers about the "nature" of my work.  The origin of my upbringing.

I guess it's easy to slip into that sometimes.  And once you slip into it you make friends in it.  But honestly I don't feel like I had a choice.  It's what life has presented me with.  And I really am thankful, yet also ready for the next stage.  It's all quite arrogant and it always will be, unfortunately.