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.