Tuesday, January 29, 2008
March 8th, 2004
I don't remember what day I started this. But today is Monday. It's warm outside and my feet are sandled and unsandled. Grass under my skin, cool air, through my hair. And I'm happy. Probably and most likely the happiest I've been in a long time. Free from cold air and ice, free from curly-haired guys. Figures though, doesn't it? Karma or a good omen. But who knows? And I don't care right now. Just happy to be happy. J.P. can write pages of thoughts. But his heart is freshly broken, and mine is beginning to mend. Back to old journals and here again. I can write, I can. I've read it myself and I feel it all again. It's good to have this, it's good to know. "But what's good in knowing the day you'll die?". Except perhaps to live your last day. I live everyday, and I almost said I die every night. But I don't. I live in my dreams. So that I'm ready for tomorrow. And I'm ready now. For whatever may be the next step, not the last step. Just the next to prepare me for the next. And then, perhaps, more. Jorge, asleep and snoring. Ray contemplating geography, pencil, paper, and book. J.P. no where to be found in a sea of books and whispers. And me. Where am I? Here and there, but nowhere. Oh. There I am.
May 25th, 2004
And now to fill more pages. My scattered thoughts are more scattered, but there is always room to write. So much has changed since this all started. A maybe-Ambri is nothing now. I'd never even dream. And the past is more clear. I realize what had all happened and how I had thought. Young and naive. So cliche. No shit. I can't wait for Summer, and Summer won't wait for me. But this Summer has to change everything. I need so desperately to work. Earn money and move on. Move. So much to consider. And Ray calls. To tell me to relax. Focus on finals. Save the future for the future. So I listen. But it's all still there in the back of my mind.
May 25th, 2004
Been busy. Been good. Been tired, but I wish for insomnia. More time, less work. More ink. Two weeks. But too much to do and no time to do it. Thoughts can still lead to ideas I had shared with Spencer. That lonely world we created, that was so much more real than all this. Too busy to write. So I want to read my own stuff. Read it and remember what it was like to have the time to write.
March 20th, 2006
March 20th, 2006
And suddenly I'm dying for my pen. And these tears sting inside my head. But why do I want to cry? I don't even know. I just know that it's good to feel again. I still miss outside. But I can still feel the warm air. And now I am glad to have this spot to write. Slow and nice a rhythm, a beat, to compliment this music I hear in my head and out loud. Quieter now and my light is dim. My heart, so confused. My head, so numb. My pen, is it broken? I want to write hard and good. Or even soft and bad. I blame my pen for my head's mistakes. Stupid isn't it? And I can hardly breathe. So I'll shut my mouth and suffocate. Breathing deep inside myself. My own poison. In my lungs, through my blood.
And now I come to realize I'm still breathing. And I don't want to stop. It's good to breathe and good to be. But just me. No one else here to interrupt, my pen can fly and so can my thoughts. More rhythm, less rhythm. It doesn't matter how I write. It's good to move. Move on. My thoughts are switching from one thing to the next. And Spence is still there. So deep in my head. He'll never be gone. But he's so far gone. So what now? Did I finish that closure in my last three words? Yup. I know. So does he understand what I meant when I said it? I just feel like he wasn't listening. Maybe I didn't say it loud enough. Or maybe he's grown deaf. So now it's time to move on. Maybe he'll catch up. But for now I'm finally on my own. And I'm good with that. He still doesn't understand. My pen and paper. Such better listeners than him. He doesn't know how much I've grown and maybe he won't. I can still smile. It's been so long since he's been gone.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
February 7th 2005
02/07/05 1:51 pm
Lonelier. Still. Brought on by my own self now. And I've tried too hard. But at least I know. Back to having no one. But still wanting. And it feels as though no one will ever be good enough. My attention is turned to my clean right wrist. So uneven. So pure, un-aldulturated, but still screaming with sin. This was the tool. The tool for the down bringing of it's twin. Punishment so deserved and so desired. And not just for itself. But for me. For my mistakes. I wish I could scream out-loud. My throat is burning to speak. My eyes burning to cry. But the fire that I know will come if I do, is much worse than this pain. If I begin, I'm afraid I'll never stop. My pulse is no longer just that, now it is a consistent knocking. My blood pleading to be let free. Pressure, unearthly pressure. To just make a slice, let just some out. Relieve just a bit of the pressure. But could I be happy with just that, or would I still want more? Always. More.
Lonelier. Still. Brought on by my own self now. And I've tried too hard. But at least I know. Back to having no one. But still wanting. And it feels as though no one will ever be good enough. My attention is turned to my clean right wrist. So uneven. So pure, un-aldulturated, but still screaming with sin. This was the tool. The tool for the down bringing of it's twin. Punishment so deserved and so desired. And not just for itself. But for me. For my mistakes. I wish I could scream out-loud. My throat is burning to speak. My eyes burning to cry. But the fire that I know will come if I do, is much worse than this pain. If I begin, I'm afraid I'll never stop. My pulse is no longer just that, now it is a consistent knocking. My blood pleading to be let free. Pressure, unearthly pressure. To just make a slice, let just some out. Relieve just a bit of the pressure. But could I be happy with just that, or would I still want more? Always. More.
June 21st, 2006
June 21st, 2006
It's still early in the night. I can smell it. I can taste it. My thoughts, abstract. Heart- heavy, but not weighted. I know what's going on and I won't stop it. It'll find its way. I remember these feelings, though not freshly. The summer does it. Brings sweet love and pleasant moments. The winter made me bitter and it always ends, like the cold. Let's keep it warm now, and sweet. Because it is fair and I want it. Smiles, erupting from that deep sacred place. Under my heart and under my gut. I know it is good. So good for me. It feels stronger, better and all-the-more dangerous. So shame on me for allowing all this to happen. It's the rush. The feeling of not knowing is what I love. And this is even stronger than most. Good for me to find this now in such a dull and wasted time. No longer wasted. Now I can feel it all making a difference. And that I really love.
It's still early in the night. I can smell it. I can taste it. My thoughts, abstract. Heart- heavy, but not weighted. I know what's going on and I won't stop it. It'll find its way. I remember these feelings, though not freshly. The summer does it. Brings sweet love and pleasant moments. The winter made me bitter and it always ends, like the cold. Let's keep it warm now, and sweet. Because it is fair and I want it. Smiles, erupting from that deep sacred place. Under my heart and under my gut. I know it is good. So good for me. It feels stronger, better and all-the-more dangerous. So shame on me for allowing all this to happen. It's the rush. The feeling of not knowing is what I love. And this is even stronger than most. Good for me to find this now in such a dull and wasted time. No longer wasted. Now I can feel it all making a difference. And that I really love.
Exact Date Unknown.
March 2006
Early morning. Head full and tired. Sleep won't come. Angry yawn. No surprise. I am young. Know me. I may be small but you need me. I stare at that empty bowl and feel my empty high. Residue. Memory. My mind misses those links. The connections I feel. With you and them. Alter me. Alter this. I love this alter. Now. I didn't go so far. Here I am. Why. Held by these invisible ties. They pull me back when I least expect it. I ask you but I'll never expect you. You are me. I don't know you. Be me. Broken lines. Never beating the way I feel. Be me.
Early morning. Head full and tired. Sleep won't come. Angry yawn. No surprise. I am young. Know me. I may be small but you need me. I stare at that empty bowl and feel my empty high. Residue. Memory. My mind misses those links. The connections I feel. With you and them. Alter me. Alter this. I love this alter. Now. I didn't go so far. Here I am. Why. Held by these invisible ties. They pull me back when I least expect it. I ask you but I'll never expect you. You are me. I don't know you. Be me. Broken lines. Never beating the way I feel. Be me.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
03/20/04
Back at the college, and the sun has set. Glad to be alone. Finally with my thoughts. I stare at my sandled feet under the light as the bugs crawl past a cigarette butt that makes me want to cry. I want to go back to Venice, but not back to the boy. I want to go back to Davis, but not my broken heart. I want to go back home, but where is it now?
It's becoming Summer, it's late and it's still warm.
Hello my darling.
You are my element
and you wrap me in your arms
as I breathe in deep, your scent.
Summer scent that makes me real
and I can feel
every inch of my own skin
breathing in
that summer scent.
My skin is wild for that scent
that warm scent that melts the Winter's ice
that warm scent that leads me home.
Perhaps a poem,
perhaps a daydream.
But it's so real
in my nose
and I can feel
it on my skin.
I want to go out
the door's right there.
Let me go.
I miss that scent,
my element.
Goodnight carpet, goodnight walls, goodnight bed, goodnight roof.
Hello moon, hello grass, hello air, hello breath.
It's becoming Summer, it's late and it's still warm.
Hello my darling.
You are my element
and you wrap me in your arms
as I breathe in deep, your scent.
Summer scent that makes me real
and I can feel
every inch of my own skin
breathing in
that summer scent.
My skin is wild for that scent
that warm scent that melts the Winter's ice
that warm scent that leads me home.
Perhaps a poem,
perhaps a daydream.
But it's so real
in my nose
and I can feel
it on my skin.
I want to go out
the door's right there.
Let me go.
I miss that scent,
my element.
Goodnight carpet, goodnight walls, goodnight bed, goodnight roof.
Hello moon, hello grass, hello air, hello breath.
02/22/04
I'm a drug he says. But one that won't kill him. An herbal drug, so much more good than bad. And he's high off of me, smoking me down til I'm nothing. What a waste.
And after reading the stylized writing of The Virgin Suicides, watching the film in my head all over again, I feel nostalgic and obligated to express myself.
I can taste summer if I close my eyes and think hard enough. But what good will that do? Now, in the dead of Winter? It's sometimes hard to even believe in a Spring, let alone a Summer after that. Not that I'm so caught up in the silent cold of Winter. I just know that my dreams are only dreams. And I may never feel Summer the way I did before. The sun will never shine the way it does when I close my eyes. My music hardly sounds the same. But it's still Summer in my memories And my memories are better than any photo album. Mixed cds he made me are the soundtracks for each and every thought. I dig them out sometimes and the nostalgic smell attacks me. Knocking me to my knees. I wouldn't get up if I didn't have to. I could die, as long as my memories were there to mute death's rattle. I doubt I'd even know.
Sometimes I surprise myself. When my heart skips a beat at the sound of my telephone. Or when I wake up smiling, only to realize he doesn't exist anymore and my euphoria is false. I'm such a joke. He wouldn't do this. And I don't even know why I would pretend that he does. It would never make a difference. Keep dreaming, right? But "Dreams they're for those who sleep. Life, it's for us to keep."
I'm living right now, as my music becomes the soundtrack to these thoughts and soon these memories. This is all a phase. Years down the road I'll look at today- the same way I look at the years that have passed me already. It's all a phase. Because nothing is constant, all will change. My entire life has been proving this to me. Mocking my attempts to stop the smallest change. Laughing when I collapse in exhaustion. What a waste of time- my attempts at saving my world from the pollution that is change. Change brought on by my self. My own self destruction. It's amazing, the way my life resembles life of Mankind. All of the self destruction and hardly any of the understanding. But who could have thought it would go this way?
Writing for writings sake, nothing but raw thoughts to move my pen. Intention to come back and read this soon.
And after reading the stylized writing of The Virgin Suicides, watching the film in my head all over again, I feel nostalgic and obligated to express myself.
I can taste summer if I close my eyes and think hard enough. But what good will that do? Now, in the dead of Winter? It's sometimes hard to even believe in a Spring, let alone a Summer after that. Not that I'm so caught up in the silent cold of Winter. I just know that my dreams are only dreams. And I may never feel Summer the way I did before. The sun will never shine the way it does when I close my eyes. My music hardly sounds the same. But it's still Summer in my memories And my memories are better than any photo album. Mixed cds he made me are the soundtracks for each and every thought. I dig them out sometimes and the nostalgic smell attacks me. Knocking me to my knees. I wouldn't get up if I didn't have to. I could die, as long as my memories were there to mute death's rattle. I doubt I'd even know.
Sometimes I surprise myself. When my heart skips a beat at the sound of my telephone. Or when I wake up smiling, only to realize he doesn't exist anymore and my euphoria is false. I'm such a joke. He wouldn't do this. And I don't even know why I would pretend that he does. It would never make a difference. Keep dreaming, right? But "Dreams they're for those who sleep. Life, it's for us to keep."
I'm living right now, as my music becomes the soundtrack to these thoughts and soon these memories. This is all a phase. Years down the road I'll look at today- the same way I look at the years that have passed me already. It's all a phase. Because nothing is constant, all will change. My entire life has been proving this to me. Mocking my attempts to stop the smallest change. Laughing when I collapse in exhaustion. What a waste of time- my attempts at saving my world from the pollution that is change. Change brought on by my self. My own self destruction. It's amazing, the way my life resembles life of Mankind. All of the self destruction and hardly any of the understanding. But who could have thought it would go this way?
Writing for writings sake, nothing but raw thoughts to move my pen. Intention to come back and read this soon.
2/21/04
And suddenly I'm idle. I'm so tired of dealing with the same old drama. So I take a step back. Smart move, right? Maybe. But now I'm bored and no one is here to entertain me. That's what I get for turning down invites and canceling plans. Maybe I'll get something done now. Like writing in this journal.
It's raining outside, feels like lousy. Nice change in weather. I look forward to Spring.
I miss Davis.
I miss the crisp mornings and cool nights; the wet grass at the parks after the rain. It's been too long. I miss walking at night there, alone. No one worried there. And I loved the solitude. I miss the smell of Spencer's room, even though now just thinking of it brings bad memories and a sting of maybe tears.
It was comfortable once though-Always a good feeling. I wonder who lives there now. And the White Sands house, how it's doing. Katie, Sparky and the kids. I wonder if they miss me and if I'll ever get up the courage to call. I wonder if my plans will ever go through. The summer is getting closer. I'll be eighteen soon. Funny isn't it? How we had always assumed I'd go visit Spencer that day. And I'd move out. Thought wrong that's for sure.
I'm so stupid to even think that it's a possibility to be friends with Spence again. I don't even remember what had made us fight so much near the end. Or why I had acted the way I did. Such stupid mistakes, such serious consequences. It's amazing how much has changed since then. But I'm still me and I'm almost positive that Spencer hasn't changed much. He'll always be himself, nothing ever got in the way of that. I wish I could have been like that. But I was naive, and ignorant. I always played parts. Even the last time I saw Spencer I was just playing a part. I'm such an idiot, there's some more self-fulfilled prophecies for me to know.
It's raining outside, feels like lousy. Nice change in weather. I look forward to Spring.
I miss Davis.
I miss the crisp mornings and cool nights; the wet grass at the parks after the rain. It's been too long. I miss walking at night there, alone. No one worried there. And I loved the solitude. I miss the smell of Spencer's room, even though now just thinking of it brings bad memories and a sting of maybe tears.
It was comfortable once though-Always a good feeling. I wonder who lives there now. And the White Sands house, how it's doing. Katie, Sparky and the kids. I wonder if they miss me and if I'll ever get up the courage to call. I wonder if my plans will ever go through. The summer is getting closer. I'll be eighteen soon. Funny isn't it? How we had always assumed I'd go visit Spencer that day. And I'd move out. Thought wrong that's for sure.
I'm so stupid to even think that it's a possibility to be friends with Spence again. I don't even remember what had made us fight so much near the end. Or why I had acted the way I did. Such stupid mistakes, such serious consequences. It's amazing how much has changed since then. But I'm still me and I'm almost positive that Spencer hasn't changed much. He'll always be himself, nothing ever got in the way of that. I wish I could have been like that. But I was naive, and ignorant. I always played parts. Even the last time I saw Spencer I was just playing a part. I'm such an idiot, there's some more self-fulfilled prophecies for me to know.
Explained.
After a recent mental breakdown I've been going back through the pages of my life (via journals, blogs, etc). In order to not forget where I've been (the mistakes I've made) and where I'm going (which isn't where I've been) I'll be posting a lot of these old journal entries.
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