This place was always dark, the City where we live. None of us were born into the City with its stony tress, wrought iron flowers and cement born flora. Eventually all pass into the City, but I've simply found the people who want to stay. Every day usy, productive, stressful, but fun, every even constant music pours from every speaker. Occasionally a few will partake in different activities, and some will break their routines for a taste of change. But the City has rules, rules that must be followed.
The people that reside in the City, that care for the City like flesh and blood, have not met yet. You see something terrible is about to happen to the world they built to be a sanctuary.
At the corner of 9Th and Main there is a theater. The Hourglass stands four stories tall, not necessarily looming, but proud and elegant, commanding the attention of all that pass. The blend of architecture call to most the idea of Greece's, Paris's, and London's love child, no quite sure whose it is. On the bottom floor is a set of offices lining the lobby, hidden behind trick doors and thick red walls. As director and owner of the Hourglass, Gabriel Dammel sits checking over the cast list. His office is nothing like that of conventional business men as it appears to be the back of a theater most of the room shadowed in darkness. Posters adorn the walls, made by past students, dancers immortalized in the City because of his skill, his vision. There's no one else in the theater at one in the morning as he reaches for his bottle of brandy, but withdraws when something out of place catches his eye.
James Alexander Michaels is running in a pair of white gogo boots and torn fishnets, his black mini skirt slightly riding up his long slender thighs with each stride. Some contruction works call out to him, "Hey baby!" Good thinks James Alexander and thanks his effeminate genes for the sixth time this week. It's one in the morning, but in the Razor Bubble its forever 11pm, hours more to party, the night still so young. But the tall, dark, and lovely tranny is broke, flying solo and tonight the bouncer is Samuel "Wasp" Jackson, who rarely works but enforces his fifties ideas on the guest list. For a minute he's disappointed, they were supposed to have a new DJ, but then he notices Carla Mendez, the most attractive tramp in all the City, chatting up the bouncer. With a short sprint, James Alexander slips in unseen, ready and willing to give his soul over to the music.
Margo Brown appears plain to most people, particularly boys. Instead of hanging out with other girls her age, young and hip 17, she spends her nights writing. Her second novel titled, "The Crushing of the Cage" is coming along in short bursts of inspiration that don't seem to last more than a page, is due on Friday. On this glorious Wednesday morning she looks out her apartment window, the City clearly visible. She can see the other girls having the time of their lives, losing their hearts to one night stands. Whatever Margo rolls her eyes and continues writing, I have a deadline to meet.
Across the street from the Razor Bubble, sits the faded blue apartment building. Mostly abandoned only the boldest tenants or the fresh and innocent newcomers of the City live there. In a tangle of limbs, smoke, and a half forgotten sheet, Lucinda Violet Williams wakes in a cold sweat. Another nightmare, another death she had to play witness to. A boy to her right wakes up for a moment, fighting sleep to cradle the now terrified girl. A second boy lights a cigarette, Camel no. 9, and goes to the window. Lucinda Violet sighs and tries to find her way back to the hallways of broken children; abandoned lovers and lost souls. The boy at the window takes a deep breath, "Luci, I have something to tell you."
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
There are those who use Twitter obsessively, people who use Twitter generally (like me), there are those who hardly go on at all (normal people) and there are those who have no idea what Twitter is or what it is for.
Twitter is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddO9idmax0o
Basically.
Which is great if you want to know what your friends are up to, what they think is interesting enough to link to, so on and so forth. But Twitter is like any other site, i.e. Myspace, Facebook, etc. It is what you make of it. So I don't understand why these comments have to be posted on this video:
< http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALbH63Ali9U
Twitter is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddO9idmax0o
Basically.
Which is great if you want to know what your friends are up to, what they think is interesting enough to link to, so on and so forth. But Twitter is like any other site, i.e. Myspace, Facebook, etc. It is what you make of it. So I don't understand why these comments have to be posted on this video:
< http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALbH63Ali9U
- You suck bitch !!!!!! Give up comedy and choose another carreer, preferably porn or prostitution !!!!! Do you spit or swallow ??? YOU FILTHY CUNT !!!!
- twitter is the most fucking idiotic thing cause in all reality.............WHO GIVES A FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- so stupid, and annoying.wow.
I don't care about other people thinking (quietly) Twitter is stupid. That's fine, go ahead hate it. It's the "you're stupid for liking it" bit that they seem to HAVE to say. It's sickening, and what's worse they don't care they come off to other people as sickening and disturbed. It escapes me entirely. I know people like this, who put down whatever you like just because they don't like it, or they can't understand it. I find that to be so trashy. I hate those people, but I'll continue to pretend to be their friend.
It's war is what it is.
Life to the outcast, death to the offspring
Originality, the approach towards it, varies generation to generation. My generation seems more to prone to swallow it whole, occasionally savoring the flavors that pass down the tongue of experience. Previous generation, let's say, my parents generation, wants to whip it with the thick leather belt of tradition. "No daughter of mine-!" While listening to a member of the older generation lament on his past, I realized how different we ALL are from one another and that is superb.
But this member of the past didn't think so. He saw himself as different from most people and that it should be "corrected" with his death. The girl sitting next to me watches me open my mouth to ask why and mouthed, "Don't say anything."
Fine, I thought, I'll leave the man to his misery and considering how I feel towards this man I'm not going to put too much thought into his suffocation of self.
It would appear the generation previous is still hunting for the approval of a society long since past. Still clinging to morals and values that seem to no longer apply. So that generation is attempting to shape this generation into what it was supposed to be. Our generation doesn't seem to care for that idea at all and is proceeding to make as many changes as humanly possible to the "good old days". Is this curse we have to face as the years fly past? Are we doomed to repeat that history?
God I hope not.
But this member of the past didn't think so. He saw himself as different from most people and that it should be "corrected" with his death. The girl sitting next to me watches me open my mouth to ask why and mouthed, "Don't say anything."
Fine, I thought, I'll leave the man to his misery and considering how I feel towards this man I'm not going to put too much thought into his suffocation of self.
It would appear the generation previous is still hunting for the approval of a society long since past. Still clinging to morals and values that seem to no longer apply. So that generation is attempting to shape this generation into what it was supposed to be. Our generation doesn't seem to care for that idea at all and is proceeding to make as many changes as humanly possible to the "good old days". Is this curse we have to face as the years fly past? Are we doomed to repeat that history?
God I hope not.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The LaNoira Family (Part One)
Note: There are approx. 20 people mentioned in this story. The following is the history of the nine oldest children in the LaNoira family, particularly Edward Gabriel, Lucinda Violet, and Julian Michael who appear in The City.
"Are you going to think of me as a giddy old bat if I forget a few bits, children? I've told this story so many times to you before."
Demitri scowled, "And in so many different ways." He said it low enough for his siblings, the other eight who were legitimate LaNoira. They stood around the den, dressed in black coats, watching Grandmother Marie tell the story of their family to the adopted LaNoira children. Lucinda Violet had asked for them to place bets on how many fallacies they would find tonight.
"Xavier LaNoira married Lydia Pierre in 1907* on the hill overlooking the Oxford Graveyard. It rained constantly the day the ceremony was to take place and Lydia's mother begged her to accept the church as a substitute. Xavier's father hinted consistently the suit was priceless as it has been in the LaNoira family for centuries and if it got wet, "Well, it isn't going to get wet, right my boy?" Both bride and groom were getting impatient and irked. When the guests were distracted by Lydia's younger siblings putting on a small performance in another room, Xavier grabbed the priest and the three of them ducked out through the back into the rain. 'Lydia,' Xavier asked, holding her gently, rain cascading from his hair, the suit now ruined. 'Is this what you want?' Your mother laughed at that, a laugh that sounded like a harp being lightly strummed. 'Yes, Xavier. You are what I want.' They were married happily underneath the rotted willow, and even the priest claims that lighting flashed across the sky when they kissed. They died together in bed at 90 years of age**. That's seventy happy years of marriage" Grandmother Marie laughed warmly, exciting the children before her. Of the seventeen LaNoira children, only nine were of blood to the LaNoira line. They each bore a crude black cross, the birthmark of the family and carried the crest with them whether on a chain of white gold around their neck or attached to their keys. The oldest and forever their parents pride and joy, Demitri and Isabella, were brought up in the Victorian ways. Due to the absence of the actual mother and father, they acted as loving parents and on rare occasion cruel siblings, only ever in jest, and managed the family affairs. Isabella was a blur of white satin as she left the room once the death of their parents was mentioned. Edward Gabriel, the third son and fifth child, shook his head, red dreadlocks dancing.
But Grandmother Marie continued her tale to the seven LaNoira children seated on the ground before her, ignoring the obvious but subtle discomfort spreading between the older eight.
"They lived a happy life, beautiful people attract beautiful people, remember that children. You attract what you are." Here the youngest Lily Anne giggled. "And you are such lovely-"
"Grannie Marie, tell the story!" Derreck whined.
These are Grandmother Marie's lies:
* They were married in 1965. The year is the only fault in this part of the story.
**They died by suicide, within a day of each other. Xavier hung himself at the place where they met and were married, Lydia swallowed 18 sleeping pills, ("one for each of my sweet dreams", she wrote on a blue post-it) and jumped into the lake near the LaNoira home.
"Are you going to think of me as a giddy old bat if I forget a few bits, children? I've told this story so many times to you before."
Demitri scowled, "And in so many different ways." He said it low enough for his siblings, the other eight who were legitimate LaNoira. They stood around the den, dressed in black coats, watching Grandmother Marie tell the story of their family to the adopted LaNoira children. Lucinda Violet had asked for them to place bets on how many fallacies they would find tonight.
"Xavier LaNoira married Lydia Pierre in 1907* on the hill overlooking the Oxford Graveyard. It rained constantly the day the ceremony was to take place and Lydia's mother begged her to accept the church as a substitute. Xavier's father hinted consistently the suit was priceless as it has been in the LaNoira family for centuries and if it got wet, "Well, it isn't going to get wet, right my boy?" Both bride and groom were getting impatient and irked. When the guests were distracted by Lydia's younger siblings putting on a small performance in another room, Xavier grabbed the priest and the three of them ducked out through the back into the rain. 'Lydia,' Xavier asked, holding her gently, rain cascading from his hair, the suit now ruined. 'Is this what you want?' Your mother laughed at that, a laugh that sounded like a harp being lightly strummed. 'Yes, Xavier. You are what I want.' They were married happily underneath the rotted willow, and even the priest claims that lighting flashed across the sky when they kissed. They died together in bed at 90 years of age**. That's seventy happy years of marriage" Grandmother Marie laughed warmly, exciting the children before her. Of the seventeen LaNoira children, only nine were of blood to the LaNoira line. They each bore a crude black cross, the birthmark of the family and carried the crest with them whether on a chain of white gold around their neck or attached to their keys. The oldest and forever their parents pride and joy, Demitri and Isabella, were brought up in the Victorian ways. Due to the absence of the actual mother and father, they acted as loving parents and on rare occasion cruel siblings, only ever in jest, and managed the family affairs. Isabella was a blur of white satin as she left the room once the death of their parents was mentioned. Edward Gabriel, the third son and fifth child, shook his head, red dreadlocks dancing.
But Grandmother Marie continued her tale to the seven LaNoira children seated on the ground before her, ignoring the obvious but subtle discomfort spreading between the older eight.
"They lived a happy life, beautiful people attract beautiful people, remember that children. You attract what you are." Here the youngest Lily Anne giggled. "And you are such lovely-"
"Grannie Marie, tell the story!" Derreck whined.
These are Grandmother Marie's lies:
* They were married in 1965. The year is the only fault in this part of the story.
**They died by suicide, within a day of each other. Xavier hung himself at the place where they met and were married, Lydia swallowed 18 sleeping pills, ("one for each of my sweet dreams", she wrote on a blue post-it) and jumped into the lake near the LaNoira home.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Bacon Burgers and Book Reviews
I have no phone. For now. I will probably not have one for a while considering who my parents are. But it's fine. I only spoke to one person really, eventually I was going to crash and be silent, for an extensive period of time.
I spoke to my school counselor today. It's wonderful. It's fantastic. It's so unfail I could die from sheer joy. But I won't. There is much work to be done. (I feel like my own fairy godmother, beating mice into submission.) I might not have to go to community, no I lie. I DO NOT have to attend community college. I really, really don't. I was being lazy and underestimating myself.
The truth is I am a delightful, luscious, almost ineffable human being. (and you apparently did not know it.) I can't wait for next year!
As I sit here enjoying this delicious Bacon (i know, shameful) Burger someone is taking an impossibly long time doing whatever the hell it is they are doing behind me (you know....) If they are trying to get my attention they are going to have to do better than that. This burger is delicious!
The school I presently attend has been ordering new books, and since I frequent the library I get to peruse. This is probably the first time I have ever looked at a selection of books so seriously.
FIRST: Finally they leave the vampire subject alone and are now working on fouling up zombies, high schools and teenage romance (more so than usual). It's ridiculous. The nonsense piles up, fillinfg the shelves and no one can find anything adequate to read.
SECOND: The level of writing is sickening. No wonder no one even attempts to speak properly these days. I know, I know, I too am at fault of grammatical errors, but the sentences in some of these "books" are tragic.
Then again I have no real say yet what should be printed and what shouldn't. YET. So I shall watch, be disgusted, and ensure that I stay clear of the scum of the mas-no, it's too mean. I won't write it, but we're all thinking it.
Restoring the Diva to her(his?) former glory,
Z.E. Daniels
NOTE: There is not a single depressing thing.
I spoke to my school counselor today. It's wonderful. It's fantastic. It's so unfail I could die from sheer joy. But I won't. There is much work to be done. (I feel like my own fairy godmother, beating mice into submission.) I might not have to go to community, no I lie. I DO NOT have to attend community college. I really, really don't. I was being lazy and underestimating myself.
The truth is I am a delightful, luscious, almost ineffable human being. (and you apparently did not know it.) I can't wait for next year!
As I sit here enjoying this delicious Bacon (i know, shameful) Burger someone is taking an impossibly long time doing whatever the hell it is they are doing behind me (you know....) If they are trying to get my attention they are going to have to do better than that. This burger is delicious!
The school I presently attend has been ordering new books, and since I frequent the library I get to peruse. This is probably the first time I have ever looked at a selection of books so seriously.
FIRST: Finally they leave the vampire subject alone and are now working on fouling up zombies, high schools and teenage romance (more so than usual). It's ridiculous. The nonsense piles up, fillinfg the shelves and no one can find anything adequate to read.
SECOND: The level of writing is sickening. No wonder no one even attempts to speak properly these days. I know, I know, I too am at fault of grammatical errors, but the sentences in some of these "books" are tragic.
Then again I have no real say yet what should be printed and what shouldn't. YET. So I shall watch, be disgusted, and ensure that I stay clear of the scum of the mas-no, it's too mean. I won't write it, but we're all thinking it.
Restoring the Diva to her(his?) former glory,
Z.E. Daniels
NOTE: There is not a single depressing thing.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Think of it this way
I could get mad. I could be really annoyed with the fact it seemed like you never wanted to be happy with anyone else but you and even then I was a disappoint despite not having even said a word yet. I could be relieved that I no longer have to deal with your nonsense and jealousy but the first time it happened I should have said fuck off and/or good-bye. I wanted to.
But I didn't. Why?
Why did I fight for you even when I was barely conscious? Why did I text you just to see if you text back? Why did I block you for no apparent reason? The list goes on.
I hate blaming things on my age. But it's part of the reason I don't have the experiences you've had, or the common sense you do. I'd like to, I'd love to learn half the things you know. I was raised by people who decided trial and error was the best method for teaching children. Extreme punishment (or so I find) when a mistake was made despite there being no prior knowledge of the degree of wrong that just occurred. I learn fast, but I make a lot of mistakes. I'm so unaware of so many things that I don't even know where to start to attempt to fill the void of knowledge. I guess answering the questions would be a start.
"Fight for you" meaning try and convince you I'm not a total failure, just a note. If I were a total failure then why would you have stayed even though you already made up your mind to drop me? Did I or did I not prove my worth when I made an effort for you? I texted you to see if you would text back because I was curious to see if you would. Why? Because you act and think (to some extent) frighteningly similar to my old boyfriend. The other guy I actually loved. I wanted to see if you would just cut me off like he did. Curiosity. The other more recent issue, blocking you. I thought you were getting sick of me, so I would leave. Why? Because I was getting too attached to you, and it was unhealthy for me. Why? Because there would be a point I would need your constant attention, I couldn't do without it. Hmm...
But I'm younger than you, and that's why I couldn't have you anymore. That's wrong. I couldn't have anymore as what you were. So I took care of it. I destroyed it, even though it hurt me in turn. It had to be done. So forget these past two months. It's easier that way. Because then I can maintain the veil, and you won't feel a thing for me. I haven't changed. I still feel the same way I did when I first heard of you. You've already done it. I can tell. I know how you feel, and that's good enough for me.
AFTER: I'll just go on lying, painting different masks to catch the attention of different people. But I promise I won't feel a thing for them and I have a tendency to keep my promises.
But I didn't. Why?
Why did I fight for you even when I was barely conscious? Why did I text you just to see if you text back? Why did I block you for no apparent reason? The list goes on.
I hate blaming things on my age. But it's part of the reason I don't have the experiences you've had, or the common sense you do. I'd like to, I'd love to learn half the things you know. I was raised by people who decided trial and error was the best method for teaching children. Extreme punishment (or so I find) when a mistake was made despite there being no prior knowledge of the degree of wrong that just occurred. I learn fast, but I make a lot of mistakes. I'm so unaware of so many things that I don't even know where to start to attempt to fill the void of knowledge. I guess answering the questions would be a start.
"Fight for you" meaning try and convince you I'm not a total failure, just a note. If I were a total failure then why would you have stayed even though you already made up your mind to drop me? Did I or did I not prove my worth when I made an effort for you? I texted you to see if you would text back because I was curious to see if you would. Why? Because you act and think (to some extent) frighteningly similar to my old boyfriend. The other guy I actually loved. I wanted to see if you would just cut me off like he did. Curiosity. The other more recent issue, blocking you. I thought you were getting sick of me, so I would leave. Why? Because I was getting too attached to you, and it was unhealthy for me. Why? Because there would be a point I would need your constant attention, I couldn't do without it. Hmm...
But I'm younger than you, and that's why I couldn't have you anymore. That's wrong. I couldn't have anymore as what you were. So I took care of it. I destroyed it, even though it hurt me in turn. It had to be done. So forget these past two months. It's easier that way. Because then I can maintain the veil, and you won't feel a thing for me. I haven't changed. I still feel the same way I did when I first heard of you. You've already done it. I can tell. I know how you feel, and that's good enough for me.
AFTER: I'll just go on lying, painting different masks to catch the attention of different people. But I promise I won't feel a thing for them and I have a tendency to keep my promises.
Losing it, right?
"You're consistently not good enough. You'd like to change it, and that's cute. That's wonderful, that's probably even flattering, but it's impossible. This is your limit and your limit has been reached. So stick with what you're good at. Watching everyone else have their grand moments, be there to cheer them up when they're down. You're fullfilled your purpose long ago, and any time you spend past when you were supposed to expire is just going to be constant failure."
It's sad. I want to give in to that voice. I want to believe it so bad, because then something would make sense. I could close my eyes and sleep forever. It's not him necessarily. It's knowing he'll be happier, he'll forget me, and that's one less person who wants a memory of me. It's so slittable. It's so fantastic.
I've spent a lifetime perfecting this illusion. But it's an illusion to the wrong people. I can't control that. What am I supposed to focus on? What am I supposed to be? Because nobody seems to want enough me to give me a clue. It was a dream, it was a dream, and nothing more.
If that's the case, then I've decided.
It's sad. I want to give in to that voice. I want to believe it so bad, because then something would make sense. I could close my eyes and sleep forever. It's not him necessarily. It's knowing he'll be happier, he'll forget me, and that's one less person who wants a memory of me. It's so slittable. It's so fantastic.
I've spent a lifetime perfecting this illusion. But it's an illusion to the wrong people. I can't control that. What am I supposed to focus on? What am I supposed to be? Because nobody seems to want enough me to give me a clue. It was a dream, it was a dream, and nothing more.
If that's the case, then I've decided.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Update: Sipping Orange Juice like Fine Wine
Even in summer this house is freezing. I have the space heater on high and I'm still cold. If you love me, you'll notice there's actual color on the page, as opposed to the drab, dreary colors it used to be. That's something you probably don't know about me: I LOVE color. And clothes...but that's not why I'm here.
I'm in an extremely good mood. No need to fear, just whatever follows in posts to come will most likely not make sense. (But seriously, have they ever?)
Changes
Definitions
Observations
Questions
and, most importantly!!
Elongated Metaphors
You'll see, and you will love it.
You are dismissed.
ZeD
I'm in an extremely good mood. No need to fear, just whatever follows in posts to come will most likely not make sense. (But seriously, have they ever?)
Changes
Definitions
Observations
Questions
and, most importantly!!
Elongated Metaphors
You'll see, and you will love it.
You are dismissed.
ZeD
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Tilt your head back and close your eyes
It's ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Though it is seemingly pointless, there is a reason for the madness and I forgot that. Well, I forgot two things.
1. (Probably the most important) I write for myself. It shouldn't matter to me so much what other people think of the words I arrange on a screen. There are few exceptions, and even fewer I actually allow to circulate in my mind and distract me from my daily life (or absence of). The second I stopped for myself, was the moment I lost sight of what I really wanted. What's that you may ask? The purpose of my writing is to have an outlet for everything. Everything being anger, sadness, the happiness that I suppose gets me so high that a cease to be an acceptable individual of society (or seemingly so). I've trying to please other people and I'm done with it. I should be trying to please myself, which is technically impossible.
2. I forgot what two is. Maybe it'll come back to me before I finish writing. (It didn't return.)
The only kind of people I like are artists. Not particularly painters and writers and so on, but the people who care about the way a sentence is phrased and the words that are chosen. The kind of people who can look at something, understand it and know how to heighten the expression one is trying to convey. This is to me a factor in determining how intelligent a person is, for it is nice to know something, but it's another thing entirely to know how to use it. I don't think it's necessarily attention I want from the people I do, but the opportunity to learn something more about the people I've chosen to attach myself to. I shouldn't sit and beg for it, but rather take my time and enjoy the brief (or the elongated) moments I do get.
Anti Matter- N.E.R.D
1. (Probably the most important) I write for myself. It shouldn't matter to me so much what other people think of the words I arrange on a screen. There are few exceptions, and even fewer I actually allow to circulate in my mind and distract me from my daily life (or absence of). The second I stopped for myself, was the moment I lost sight of what I really wanted. What's that you may ask? The purpose of my writing is to have an outlet for everything. Everything being anger, sadness, the happiness that I suppose gets me so high that a cease to be an acceptable individual of society (or seemingly so). I've trying to please other people and I'm done with it. I should be trying to please myself, which is technically impossible.
2. I forgot what two is. Maybe it'll come back to me before I finish writing. (It didn't return.)
The only kind of people I like are artists. Not particularly painters and writers and so on, but the people who care about the way a sentence is phrased and the words that are chosen. The kind of people who can look at something, understand it and know how to heighten the expression one is trying to convey. This is to me a factor in determining how intelligent a person is, for it is nice to know something, but it's another thing entirely to know how to use it. I don't think it's necessarily attention I want from the people I do, but the opportunity to learn something more about the people I've chosen to attach myself to. I shouldn't sit and beg for it, but rather take my time and enjoy the brief (or the elongated) moments I do get.
Anti Matter- N.E.R.D
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Dissection of a ZeD
There's a veil between what a person wants to show and what they really are. The moment the veil is removed, even for a second, a decision must be made. The viewer must either continue with the discovery of the now unmasked individual's personality or replace the veil and watch from the safe distance of uncertainty and amusement. Once the veil is removed and the person knows there is more to the stories then just mere thoughts, that there is some truth in the madness, something is lost, and something is gained. At a certain point the oppurtunity to return to the veil vanishes and the viewer must face the reality of another person being more or less than what they expected.
I don't want to disappoint anyone.
So don't take off the veil.
I don't want to disappoint anyone.
So don't take off the veil.
I gotta feel you in my bones
"Forgive me," Why am I always asking to be forgiven? Why am I constantly apologizing for things that aren't my fault? "Forgive me, I am my father's child." "Forgive me, I didn't know." Forgive, forgive, forgive...not anymore.
It doesn't make sense. In case you haven't noticed, most of the things I do, don't make sense. It's where I excell. That isn't to say there isn't a purpose in it. There usually is. Maybe in some small part of me I knew things were going to get bad, so I started it now. So I wouldn't absolutely lose all self-control when something big happened. My parents have been in the process of getting a divorce for two years. The divorce isn't the big thing. It's the acceptance that it wasn't my fault, even though I asked them to get a divorce. They each asked me what I thought I should do. After watching my parents fight for years, and then how the seriousness of each fight and the difficulty of keeping my sisters in ignorance (because they were ten with this began, twelve when it got ridiculous) I said, "It would be better if you got a divorce." There was no stable home life to worry about destroying with not having two parents in one house. I love having two houses. Instead of wondering what life would have been like had they stayed together (which is what they do, all the time, and they take out all the hate towards the other parent on me) all I see is this being our life now. Nothing is going to change what happened, there's no point in dwelling on it. I wish my parents would settle and divide. More importantly, I don't want to be with my sisters.
Don't get me wrong. I love my sisters. I know they care, and I try to help them in small ways, since I can't always help them in major life changing ways at the moment. But they would be happier without me. I've noticed that they get along with both parents when I'm not there. I get along with my mother, (if you know me, then you know this is a big deal). I've tried to be an active memeber, I've tried to please everyone. But I can't love people, I don't trust, and I don't trust them with anything. I don't know what a "family" is supposed to be like, but I've always felt that this wasn't it. It's just a bunch of strangers, trapped by a strand of DNA. "You have to love your parents." I think you have to love them, like you would love anyone else. You step back, see all their faults, all their strengths, and you decide to love them, you decide to respect them, you decide to put your life in their hands. Maybe love is something else that escapes me, but that's how I see this.
I've been far more dependent on friends than family. The people I consider friends have always told me my faults, and have always helped me change into a better person. They have never lied to make me feel better about myself. Though they don't run behind me and point out all my flaws, they tell me what I'm good at to. I don't feel like a puppet with them, I don't have to do anything to please them. I can be myself and I don't have to worry about them saying it isn't right. For that, the honesty, I do everything I can to make them happy. Whether it be buying them lunch or just telling them that they mean everything to me. I have this family and friends thing backwards. Or maybe there's no real difference. I just made a family of my own.
"A family is to provide food, shelter, and love for their members." You have no idea do you?
All Over You- The Spill Canvas
It doesn't make sense. In case you haven't noticed, most of the things I do, don't make sense. It's where I excell. That isn't to say there isn't a purpose in it. There usually is. Maybe in some small part of me I knew things were going to get bad, so I started it now. So I wouldn't absolutely lose all self-control when something big happened. My parents have been in the process of getting a divorce for two years. The divorce isn't the big thing. It's the acceptance that it wasn't my fault, even though I asked them to get a divorce. They each asked me what I thought I should do. After watching my parents fight for years, and then how the seriousness of each fight and the difficulty of keeping my sisters in ignorance (because they were ten with this began, twelve when it got ridiculous) I said, "It would be better if you got a divorce." There was no stable home life to worry about destroying with not having two parents in one house. I love having two houses. Instead of wondering what life would have been like had they stayed together (which is what they do, all the time, and they take out all the hate towards the other parent on me) all I see is this being our life now. Nothing is going to change what happened, there's no point in dwelling on it. I wish my parents would settle and divide. More importantly, I don't want to be with my sisters.
Don't get me wrong. I love my sisters. I know they care, and I try to help them in small ways, since I can't always help them in major life changing ways at the moment. But they would be happier without me. I've noticed that they get along with both parents when I'm not there. I get along with my mother, (if you know me, then you know this is a big deal). I've tried to be an active memeber, I've tried to please everyone. But I can't love people, I don't trust, and I don't trust them with anything. I don't know what a "family" is supposed to be like, but I've always felt that this wasn't it. It's just a bunch of strangers, trapped by a strand of DNA. "You have to love your parents." I think you have to love them, like you would love anyone else. You step back, see all their faults, all their strengths, and you decide to love them, you decide to respect them, you decide to put your life in their hands. Maybe love is something else that escapes me, but that's how I see this.
I've been far more dependent on friends than family. The people I consider friends have always told me my faults, and have always helped me change into a better person. They have never lied to make me feel better about myself. Though they don't run behind me and point out all my flaws, they tell me what I'm good at to. I don't feel like a puppet with them, I don't have to do anything to please them. I can be myself and I don't have to worry about them saying it isn't right. For that, the honesty, I do everything I can to make them happy. Whether it be buying them lunch or just telling them that they mean everything to me. I have this family and friends thing backwards. Or maybe there's no real difference. I just made a family of my own.
"A family is to provide food, shelter, and love for their members." You have no idea do you?
All Over You- The Spill Canvas
Sunday, May 17, 2009
I'm a free man now, I don't need no strings
The way it flows into my mind is the equivalent of injecting a clear liquid flecked with brightly colored notes straight into the junkie veins. It shoots me up, gets me high, and makes everything return to a level of insanity I can function at and with. Without it even for a brief moment, what the world is really like without a soundtrack, slips out of the orbit of the norm and seems to be splitting apart at the seams. Music, in its sharps and flats, threads everything back together, every new song a dangerous concoction threatening and teasing to take you for a wild ride, no matter how peaceful the sound seems. It beckons, it bewitches, for a three minutes and forty two seconds the world can't touch you, for four minute and ten seconds, with Asher Roth and Cee Lo by your side the world can end right then and there, you can't be bothered. Melody with its poison mixed of heavy bass lines and special effects that only heighten not distract your experience, sends the relentless thoughts of an escape through an eternal sleep to trouble someone else. It's instant medicine, it's instant freedom, and at the right moment, it lasts hours not minutes. Trapped between the mesmerizing voices of lead and chorus, you're released from your anxiety for a moment. Music is like a lover, the kind that knows what kind of mood you're in, how to make everything better with just a few words. It dims the lights and takes us in to erase our troubles, not solve them, just save us from self destructing. That's what love is, isn't it? Knowing the rights and wrongs of someone else's personality, knowing what they need and how to take care of them. Knowing when to spoil and to deprive, it only aids us in the development of our being.
Music is my one true love. The one who will never leave.
Without it...
...nothing...
Be By Myself- Asher Roth feat. Cee Lo
Music is my one true love. The one who will never leave.
Without it...
...nothing...
Be By Myself- Asher Roth feat. Cee Lo
Saturday, May 9, 2009
and do what we do best
I've figured out it is entirely pointless for me to try and recapture any essence of my past selves. It's pointless because it's impossible. I've tried, I accept it. I won't fight it, I'll just learn from it.
I've also accepted my awareness of things that most people miss. Which means I miss most things most people get at a glance, always.
I could have been one of the social teenagers, I was on my way. Have yet to understand why I stopped. I know I don't want it as badly as I want to be myself as I am now. I'm almost jealous of Keeley's ability to flow the way I did in the beginning. Almost. I've forgotten how it's supposed to work, and I sort of don't care to learn. I look at them, looking at me. Do they think it's people didn't want to be my friend or that I simply didn't want to be theirs?
I feel bad. About something I did today. It's ridiculous. But I feel like I killed someone. Mmmm, so much money gone. And THEN! the delivery man makes a huge scene about my having one coupon, I didn't even know I needed a coupon, no one told me. I think he was mad I didn't tip him. I didn't because he was twenty minutes late and seriously the pizza sucked the cash out of my hand before I even had time to register it was there. On the upside I found money, so it doesn't really balance out.
I figured that at this age (when I was younger) I would have an assortment of talents, you know something one could turn into another better something. No such luck. It doesn't really make sense to me, because even the lowest people have something they're good at. What have I been doing so far? Not touching anything. And if I have been pressured into doing something, I do just enough to make it look like I did something substantial, please the people in charge and then leave as soon as possible. I don't like making mistakes, they eat away at me.
Then again:
No one is perfect. (I know, I'm just really really bad at a lot of the skills that would enable me to make it in this world.)
No one likes making mistakes. (Yeah, but no one replays it over and over till it becomes an obsession. While this would push people to try harder it completely discourages me from even waking up. I'll have to get over this eventually, but at the moment my mind is elsewhere.)
You'll be good at something. (And then I'll mess it up as flawlessly as possible.)
It could be worse. I could be insanely jealous of everyone else's achievements and hate them for being better than me. I could lock myself away entirely and just avoid talking to people with expectations, lives, and dreams so I don't ever have to worry about having my own be broken. I could, I could, and I have no idea what I will.
Probably do something drastic and scare the nonsense out of the few friends I do have.
Sexy- Black Eyed Peas
I've also accepted my awareness of things that most people miss. Which means I miss most things most people get at a glance, always.
I could have been one of the social teenagers, I was on my way. Have yet to understand why I stopped. I know I don't want it as badly as I want to be myself as I am now. I'm almost jealous of Keeley's ability to flow the way I did in the beginning. Almost. I've forgotten how it's supposed to work, and I sort of don't care to learn. I look at them, looking at me. Do they think it's people didn't want to be my friend or that I simply didn't want to be theirs?
I feel bad. About something I did today. It's ridiculous. But I feel like I killed someone. Mmmm, so much money gone. And THEN! the delivery man makes a huge scene about my having one coupon, I didn't even know I needed a coupon, no one told me. I think he was mad I didn't tip him. I didn't because he was twenty minutes late and seriously the pizza sucked the cash out of my hand before I even had time to register it was there. On the upside I found money, so it doesn't really balance out.
I figured that at this age (when I was younger) I would have an assortment of talents, you know something one could turn into another better something. No such luck. It doesn't really make sense to me, because even the lowest people have something they're good at. What have I been doing so far? Not touching anything. And if I have been pressured into doing something, I do just enough to make it look like I did something substantial, please the people in charge and then leave as soon as possible. I don't like making mistakes, they eat away at me.
Then again:
No one is perfect. (I know, I'm just really really bad at a lot of the skills that would enable me to make it in this world.)
No one likes making mistakes. (Yeah, but no one replays it over and over till it becomes an obsession. While this would push people to try harder it completely discourages me from even waking up. I'll have to get over this eventually, but at the moment my mind is elsewhere.)
You'll be good at something. (And then I'll mess it up as flawlessly as possible.)
It could be worse. I could be insanely jealous of everyone else's achievements and hate them for being better than me. I could lock myself away entirely and just avoid talking to people with expectations, lives, and dreams so I don't ever have to worry about having my own be broken. I could, I could, and I have no idea what I will.
Probably do something drastic and scare the nonsense out of the few friends I do have.
Sexy- Black Eyed Peas
Friday, May 1, 2009
It's so attractive and sensual
I get it now.
I'm sorry I took you so seriously. I should have known better. I should have listened to my heart when it protested and said this is just a bad dream. I fall in love so seriously, so quickly. Maybe you're not like that and I still have a lot to learn about you. Do you want me to?
Now I'm hungry for your attention all the time. Which is unhealthy. I should have known better. I should have stopped at the start. Or I should have been careful.
Is there anything you can do to change this? I don't know. I don't think so. I'm heartbroken right now, once again. By the same type of person who did it the last time.
I give up on this silly love game. For good. I seriously can't take the stress in addition to everything else. I used to like it so much but now....I'm tired of lying to myself. I so tired of letting myself get swept away by people who can figure me out with a glance. I loved you. I think I still do. Or I'm just numb.
I meant it. Every word. Everything I said to you, I meant.
But you didn't seem to care.
You seemed cold, insensitive, distant, and neglectful.
Tell me what you really are. You keep avoiding this question and if I push it....you say things that only make me turn away.
I love you. I really do. Why?
You're intelligent, you're bold. You're beautiful. I wanted someone who would give me things to read, things to look up, things to learn. Even if it was about you, I wanted to know. I want to know everything about you. I could never get bored of you. But I think you're bored with me. I'm sorry. I'm trying to remember how to let the words flow from my mind, but I've been trained to not open up.
I'm not her.
I'm young, I just want to learn.
I want to learn how to please you.
I love you because I couldn't figure you out from the first conversation.
I love you because of your mind, what you've shown me so far. And if there was something bad about you, I would let you know how I felt about it.
I'm not a job. I'm not like everyone else. Stop trying to place and just try and see me for who I am. I'm a person. Weird as I may be, confusing at times, I'm original and I wish you would stop trying to force me under one of the names of your exes.
I'm half afraid you'll look at this and how you'll react. But you should know by now how I feel, and the other part of me feels that I need to let this out.
I love you.
She Wants Revenge- What I Want
I'm sorry I took you so seriously. I should have known better. I should have listened to my heart when it protested and said this is just a bad dream. I fall in love so seriously, so quickly. Maybe you're not like that and I still have a lot to learn about you. Do you want me to?
Now I'm hungry for your attention all the time. Which is unhealthy. I should have known better. I should have stopped at the start. Or I should have been careful.
Is there anything you can do to change this? I don't know. I don't think so. I'm heartbroken right now, once again. By the same type of person who did it the last time.
I give up on this silly love game. For good. I seriously can't take the stress in addition to everything else. I used to like it so much but now....I'm tired of lying to myself. I so tired of letting myself get swept away by people who can figure me out with a glance. I loved you. I think I still do. Or I'm just numb.
I meant it. Every word. Everything I said to you, I meant.
But you didn't seem to care.
You seemed cold, insensitive, distant, and neglectful.
Tell me what you really are. You keep avoiding this question and if I push it....you say things that only make me turn away.
I love you. I really do. Why?
You're intelligent, you're bold. You're beautiful. I wanted someone who would give me things to read, things to look up, things to learn. Even if it was about you, I wanted to know. I want to know everything about you. I could never get bored of you. But I think you're bored with me. I'm sorry. I'm trying to remember how to let the words flow from my mind, but I've been trained to not open up.
I'm not her.
I'm young, I just want to learn.
I want to learn how to please you.
I love you because I couldn't figure you out from the first conversation.
I love you because of your mind, what you've shown me so far. And if there was something bad about you, I would let you know how I felt about it.
I'm not a job. I'm not like everyone else. Stop trying to place and just try and see me for who I am. I'm a person. Weird as I may be, confusing at times, I'm original and I wish you would stop trying to force me under one of the names of your exes.
I'm half afraid you'll look at this and how you'll react. But you should know by now how I feel, and the other part of me feels that I need to let this out.
I love you.
She Wants Revenge- What I Want
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
