I bury myself in the leaves to sleep
The sun so strong and rage so deep
I keep waking to find I've been dreaming again
And the sound of the ocean is not a plane
And far away they talk about me
In newspaper columns they write about me
round dinner tables and cocktail parties
I'm a heroine and a tragic figure
I'm a heroine as I'm lying here
Beneath my sky
And sometimes
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes
Sometimes I wonder
Why we're always coming down
And why we need to touch the ground
And why I didn't keep on heading
right on up to heaven
I miss my sky
Here from below the clouds are shadows
Not the golden mountains I used to fly through
Here from below the sky's a painting
In a child's room with the future waiting
But not for me
I look up at the birds flying overhead
My sentinel's true but the signals dead
It's been 500 days of hope and sorrow
500 nights with no tomorrow
And the poetry and the best of me
And the heart and the spirit and the sex of me
All fell into the azure sea
In the tailspin with the last of me
And my wings, and my song, all that I knew is dead and gone
I'm weak and tired but my will is strong
And my hope lives on, my hope lives on?
But sometimes,
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes
Sometimes I wonder
Why we're always coming down
Why we need to touch the ground
Why I didn't keep on heading
Right on up to heaven
I miss my sky
I miss my sky
Heather Nova
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
along the way
Whitney, what are you doing. Really what are you doing. That little spasm in your stomach just now, thats called HUNGER. What are you doing here wiggling out of your impossible hoodie that's gotten too warm, mooching internet?
You're crazy just remember that. Almost as crazy as the people who willingly choose to read these ravings of a mad woman.
Hopefully I will have an easier time making my way out of Ogden today. Last Tuesday
I took a bit of a detour. I caught the inbound instead of out bound 603, jumped quickly out of it to throw myself into the outbound route. 25th something boulevard was announced and I pull the string and get out. After I shut my backpack I turned around in a full circle to find I was not on Washington blvd but Harrision blvd. I shrugged and thought whatever. This is familiar. I'm close I'll walk.
25th avenue is what some would consider ghetto. I can feel more at home in a rundown place like that then I can up on the hills in Bountiful or East Layton. The people may be corrupt according to some but there is usually a humility in them that isn't found anywhere else. It was a smoky part of town. I saw a man with tired eyes stagger past me with a Santa Claus sized beard carrying a drink in one hand. A beady eyed man passed me who was bundled up from head to toe, pushing around rickety cart of all sorts things you can think of. A girl around my height came out of her old house with a homemade pie in her hands to get it to a neighbor.
Town houses usually just look ordinary to me, white brown or gray boxes. These were the exception. I saw a house that looked like it was smack in the middle of ST. Petersburg with a domed roof. It was ornamented with green and yellow patterns and it had at least two spires. Another was a turquoise house on a corner that was a little larger than my house. The house had separated arched roofs and victorian niches and columns and a tentish --uhhh I don't know the real term --a tentish something that was built above the door which extended outward to about five feet. They don't build things like that anymore. I seriously wanted to sketch these houses if I had the time to. My mom wouldn't approve, she could not believe that I walked 25th alone(such a gross place). Likewise she renewed my love for the song 'Just a Girl' by no doubt.
The street that I thought was Washington was actually Monroe so I naively pressed on assuming it had to be close. I went on for three more blocks and let the 603 pass me because Washington had to be close. I stopped a guy walking around to ask if I was close at all to Washington, I was taken aback by how blue his eyes were. Don't take this from a perspective of a girl, but an observer. They weren't bright like most really blue eyes are but just straight navy blue. It was like - whoah. He told me it was about eight blocks down hill. My backpack started getting heavy.
When I found Washington my bus passed me, then stopped in traffic in front of a stoplight. I was about three fourths of the way to it when it picked up and left me again. I was getting really tired and cold and hungry and collasped on a bench in front of what I think was a church but I could be wrong. Then I saw this taco stand on the curb. 2 tacos 1 dollar. All I wanted was a drink but I noticed how happy the man at the stand seemed when he cooked, so I got tacos too. Most people I see behind a counter when they cook look like they are thinking about tall bridges or high cliffs.
I collasped again at the bench at the bus stop. Once i finished my food a clean looking girl came and sat by me holding a sprite like I was. We started talking when she said she was broke. I admit I looked at her teeth when she said that but I didn't see any yellow stains from alcohol or smoking, or brown from the harder stuff. She didn't say it in self pity, she said it like she would the time. I asked her if she had anything to eat today. She said a little bit. I made her take two dollars to get something later.
I talked to her on the ride home and foundher name was Kim and she was on her way to Bountiful to earn some money from relatives until she got her first paycheck from quest. I have to say we both talked like it was a normal conversation because I've been exposed to a lot of situations like this before and she wasn't seeking attention. It's only because I was asking.
Kim said it felt good to be out on her own even if it was expensive. Said it was good to pay bills even if they were hard to pay. I thought about that. She used to live with and help assist her mom who has cancer but she says shes 23 now and she needs to take her own space. it was hard for her to always be around someone so controlling. She helps out as much as she can but her mom gripes at her that she has been abandoned when there are two others there at home.
It's weird with her mom cause she abadoned her when she was little cause she was getting into more and more meth.
I told her I was coming from school and she got a look in her eyes. She said she wished she would have finished. College i asked and she shook her head and said highschool. She said she had dropped out because it was hard since her mom needed her so much and couldn't quite take it. I shrugged and said you do what you have to do, i think you're going to get there.
She said she likes where she lives in Ogden and it's better than bountiful where she grew up. They may be poorer but they don't have the same elevated attitude you find in the rich. They know how to have what they have cause it might not last.
I hear so many storys like this that are so unfortunate and they ask will I make it out there. I want to say yes but i don't always know. I think she has a good shot though. She talks about it like she's not going to give up.
When I got off of the bus and walked down through my neighborhood it didn't feel real at all. I got in my house and Lindsey was doing her nails. Tvs were left on and I thought why do we get all this? Why do people like Kim get passed on their parents consequences and have to work three times as hard just to get where her parents originated? Why do I get this?
Ramblings upon ramblings to shoot off from here but I need to get back. I could go on, mark my words there is so much unsaid.
You're crazy just remember that. Almost as crazy as the people who willingly choose to read these ravings of a mad woman.
Hopefully I will have an easier time making my way out of Ogden today. Last Tuesday
I took a bit of a detour. I caught the inbound instead of out bound 603, jumped quickly out of it to throw myself into the outbound route. 25th something boulevard was announced and I pull the string and get out. After I shut my backpack I turned around in a full circle to find I was not on Washington blvd but Harrision blvd. I shrugged and thought whatever. This is familiar. I'm close I'll walk.
25th avenue is what some would consider ghetto. I can feel more at home in a rundown place like that then I can up on the hills in Bountiful or East Layton. The people may be corrupt according to some but there is usually a humility in them that isn't found anywhere else. It was a smoky part of town. I saw a man with tired eyes stagger past me with a Santa Claus sized beard carrying a drink in one hand. A beady eyed man passed me who was bundled up from head to toe, pushing around rickety cart of all sorts things you can think of. A girl around my height came out of her old house with a homemade pie in her hands to get it to a neighbor.
Town houses usually just look ordinary to me, white brown or gray boxes. These were the exception. I saw a house that looked like it was smack in the middle of ST. Petersburg with a domed roof. It was ornamented with green and yellow patterns and it had at least two spires. Another was a turquoise house on a corner that was a little larger than my house. The house had separated arched roofs and victorian niches and columns and a tentish --uhhh I don't know the real term --a tentish something that was built above the door which extended outward to about five feet. They don't build things like that anymore. I seriously wanted to sketch these houses if I had the time to. My mom wouldn't approve, she could not believe that I walked 25th alone(such a gross place). Likewise she renewed my love for the song 'Just a Girl' by no doubt.
The street that I thought was Washington was actually Monroe so I naively pressed on assuming it had to be close. I went on for three more blocks and let the 603 pass me because Washington had to be close. I stopped a guy walking around to ask if I was close at all to Washington, I was taken aback by how blue his eyes were. Don't take this from a perspective of a girl, but an observer. They weren't bright like most really blue eyes are but just straight navy blue. It was like - whoah. He told me it was about eight blocks down hill. My backpack started getting heavy.
When I found Washington my bus passed me, then stopped in traffic in front of a stoplight. I was about three fourths of the way to it when it picked up and left me again. I was getting really tired and cold and hungry and collasped on a bench in front of what I think was a church but I could be wrong. Then I saw this taco stand on the curb. 2 tacos 1 dollar. All I wanted was a drink but I noticed how happy the man at the stand seemed when he cooked, so I got tacos too. Most people I see behind a counter when they cook look like they are thinking about tall bridges or high cliffs.
I collasped again at the bench at the bus stop. Once i finished my food a clean looking girl came and sat by me holding a sprite like I was. We started talking when she said she was broke. I admit I looked at her teeth when she said that but I didn't see any yellow stains from alcohol or smoking, or brown from the harder stuff. She didn't say it in self pity, she said it like she would the time. I asked her if she had anything to eat today. She said a little bit. I made her take two dollars to get something later.
I talked to her on the ride home and foundher name was Kim and she was on her way to Bountiful to earn some money from relatives until she got her first paycheck from quest. I have to say we both talked like it was a normal conversation because I've been exposed to a lot of situations like this before and she wasn't seeking attention. It's only because I was asking.
Kim said it felt good to be out on her own even if it was expensive. Said it was good to pay bills even if they were hard to pay. I thought about that. She used to live with and help assist her mom who has cancer but she says shes 23 now and she needs to take her own space. it was hard for her to always be around someone so controlling. She helps out as much as she can but her mom gripes at her that she has been abandoned when there are two others there at home.
It's weird with her mom cause she abadoned her when she was little cause she was getting into more and more meth.
I told her I was coming from school and she got a look in her eyes. She said she wished she would have finished. College i asked and she shook her head and said highschool. She said she had dropped out because it was hard since her mom needed her so much and couldn't quite take it. I shrugged and said you do what you have to do, i think you're going to get there.
She said she likes where she lives in Ogden and it's better than bountiful where she grew up. They may be poorer but they don't have the same elevated attitude you find in the rich. They know how to have what they have cause it might not last.
I hear so many storys like this that are so unfortunate and they ask will I make it out there. I want to say yes but i don't always know. I think she has a good shot though. She talks about it like she's not going to give up.
When I got off of the bus and walked down through my neighborhood it didn't feel real at all. I got in my house and Lindsey was doing her nails. Tvs were left on and I thought why do we get all this? Why do people like Kim get passed on their parents consequences and have to work three times as hard just to get where her parents originated? Why do I get this?
Ramblings upon ramblings to shoot off from here but I need to get back. I could go on, mark my words there is so much unsaid.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
in the blue of my oblivion
You should probably worry when someone hits on you who has your same unconventional last name. jk It wasn't that bad actually. I talk to strangers like old women do. You got a mind and two ears to funnel information into it, I talk.
My tendency to overexaggerate began in junior high. I couldn't always pluck out the right words to will the listening into hearing. In response to that I'd make a detail larger, then level it off to be 'smaller' again.
I know few people who try to listen in the truer sense. What I don't like about most modern day conversations is that the listener expects to be entertained right away. That's what televisions are for, to watch something that's interesting with them. You can always change the channel. I used to feel like I had to be a television set when I was younger to get attention. It's not a test, if someone doesn't feel like they've got their listening's worth go watch tv. People don't need to be funny or charming to earn your listening. Hearing is one of our primary functions let's use it for a change eh?
I like listening to people. I don't believe that small talk is small. Even if they are only talking about the weather, the last class, the traffic. I want to see what they choose to point out about the topic. What kind of expression comes from them in their own personal culture. That is what i aim to understand and can only find through this so called small talk.
This man Bob Lomax, yes L-O-M-A-X, talked to me at the transfer point this morning. No ordinary introduction at all. I liked that he forgot it's 'impolite' to try to talk to those who don't know you. Everyone else at the stop did what he could to exit the conversation. I believe the man was mentally challenged. It was the saddest thing to me to hear him say oh I'm sorry if I'm talking too much, I do that sometimes. Since when has it been so expensive to listen??? No one should have to feel like that ever if they talk this honestly and unspitefully. He told me he thinks he made three new friends today but he really won't know til later.
He was the only person I saw with an honest smile this morning. All anyone else could do is push him around like some social leper. I think a society will lose a lot when it forgets the simplest of things like common decency and listening... It's so sad.
My tendency to overexaggerate began in junior high. I couldn't always pluck out the right words to will the listening into hearing. In response to that I'd make a detail larger, then level it off to be 'smaller' again.
I know few people who try to listen in the truer sense. What I don't like about most modern day conversations is that the listener expects to be entertained right away. That's what televisions are for, to watch something that's interesting with them. You can always change the channel. I used to feel like I had to be a television set when I was younger to get attention. It's not a test, if someone doesn't feel like they've got their listening's worth go watch tv. People don't need to be funny or charming to earn your listening. Hearing is one of our primary functions let's use it for a change eh?
I like listening to people. I don't believe that small talk is small. Even if they are only talking about the weather, the last class, the traffic. I want to see what they choose to point out about the topic. What kind of expression comes from them in their own personal culture. That is what i aim to understand and can only find through this so called small talk.
This man Bob Lomax, yes L-O-M-A-X, talked to me at the transfer point this morning. No ordinary introduction at all. I liked that he forgot it's 'impolite' to try to talk to those who don't know you. Everyone else at the stop did what he could to exit the conversation. I believe the man was mentally challenged. It was the saddest thing to me to hear him say oh I'm sorry if I'm talking too much, I do that sometimes. Since when has it been so expensive to listen??? No one should have to feel like that ever if they talk this honestly and unspitefully. He told me he thinks he made three new friends today but he really won't know til later.
He was the only person I saw with an honest smile this morning. All anyone else could do is push him around like some social leper. I think a society will lose a lot when it forgets the simplest of things like common decency and listening... It's so sad.
Friday, January 06, 2006
overkill
I don't know quite what he did but Kenny, my supervisor, got written up for something that upset a coworker. All I know that the girl was about to quit over it. Other than that I don't know much about what went on. I know the kid gets cocky at times, and I'm usually telling him that he is such a guy with all the showing off he does. From what I've seen of his character though, he's usually empathetic and responsible unless he ods on coffee (tis dangerous for the kid).
It got taken care of today. He takes a lot of pride in his position at work, so expectedly he came out of the office completely stone faced went about robotically for two or three hours after. Later on in the shift he lightened up, fast. Dramatically fast. He was laughing and joking as usual but he had a sort of resolve in his eyes. I've only seen that kind of control before, and it rarely at that rate with the same confidence. Even then you can sense that the person has temporarily removed from it , to evaluate later on when time is better suited. Definitely something you'd have to witness to understand and respect.
In between rag offs Alex called me over to tell me that she had the weirdest dream about me getting seasick out in the parking lot. Savers turned into a big twisted carnival and well yeah, that's about as explainable as it gets.
As if it weren't bad enough that corporate decided to start selling new stock for Christmas we're selling valentines junk now. I do mean junk. Little tacky address books with sugar high looking cartoon girls on the front. The little book became the running joke the other night, a really bad one at that. Everything from TWO YEAR OLD'S fun printed socks to neon post it notes. Post it notes? Post it notes! Cookie making sets? Cheap dress up necklaces and a whole load of completely useless holiday unrelated product. Makes us feel really proud to indivually price the things between checking and put them on display.
Not quite as bad as the little advertisements for the book about the company's history titled: Pass it On. It says something like 'if you enjoyed the thrill of the Da Vinci Code, and were taken away by the magic of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, then you'll love Pass it On. A book about... A book about BLAH BLAH BLAH. I've thumbed through it on slow days and most of it is just historical documentation. Tall statement there. During training I learned aboutthe company's beginning and I will call it ordinary. Nothing too special. The founder was too strong headed if you ask me.
What a bunch of BS.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
the less I seek one source for a definitive the closer I am to fine
Again another year. It's boundaries aren't even visible but I feel for it's edges before the start and after the end. The last and the first pinch together oddly but there's the right amount of contrast for them to evenly match.
It reminds me of something that Billy Collins wrote. The relationship of the end to the beginning and the bridge between them both. the middle takes the most chapters but is the least recognized. It gets dronwed out by the spur of the start and the abrupt stop of the end. Things are usually expected in clearly formated formulas but they rarely ever hold that much predictability. Middles should have more of a focus set on it especially when it is present but it doesn't stand out as much because it's all between the lines.
I am trying to learn a way to better focus and treat whatever I come across or am involved in, whether it's a hobby or situation. I want to make the most of the ability to be concious but in everyone there is an inherent laziness. So the resolution for this year sounds simple but remains far from being so. Learn to measure. I want to learn how to portion myself and my time out better, not by inches but with the abstracts everything that exists is drawn by. No kidding when they say when it rains it pours, this doesn't have to be seen in a pessimistic way. You got to take it and spread it all out evenly, save some for when it won't come so easy.
Things to be done, places to go, starting to get more of what people call a schedule, and I forget what it's like to have a constant one. I've been opening most of the time at work since I'm one of the three that has enough of an anti - schedule now to open. Hours are getting sparse again which I don't mind at all after having too many, and I earn enough as it is. But I'll be another closer again once I start school (next week holy crap crap crap!) Millions of things to get done and REsend but my best is all I can do, and I hope that's enough to make the cut.
I'm fading in and out, staying up late is getting difficult for me past midnight. I usually sanction myself to an early bedtime but this is like a vacation this week with only working two days. I just want to know why I only yawn when I 'm only a tad bit tired.
It reminds me of something that Billy Collins wrote. The relationship of the end to the beginning and the bridge between them both. the middle takes the most chapters but is the least recognized. It gets dronwed out by the spur of the start and the abrupt stop of the end. Things are usually expected in clearly formated formulas but they rarely ever hold that much predictability. Middles should have more of a focus set on it especially when it is present but it doesn't stand out as much because it's all between the lines.
I am trying to learn a way to better focus and treat whatever I come across or am involved in, whether it's a hobby or situation. I want to make the most of the ability to be concious but in everyone there is an inherent laziness. So the resolution for this year sounds simple but remains far from being so. Learn to measure. I want to learn how to portion myself and my time out better, not by inches but with the abstracts everything that exists is drawn by. No kidding when they say when it rains it pours, this doesn't have to be seen in a pessimistic way. You got to take it and spread it all out evenly, save some for when it won't come so easy.
Things to be done, places to go, starting to get more of what people call a schedule, and I forget what it's like to have a constant one. I've been opening most of the time at work since I'm one of the three that has enough of an anti - schedule now to open. Hours are getting sparse again which I don't mind at all after having too many, and I earn enough as it is. But I'll be another closer again once I start school (next week holy crap crap crap!) Millions of things to get done and REsend but my best is all I can do, and I hope that's enough to make the cut.
I'm fading in and out, staying up late is getting difficult for me past midnight. I usually sanction myself to an early bedtime but this is like a vacation this week with only working two days. I just want to know why I only yawn when I 'm only a tad bit tired.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
scarecrow crying
I heard it over the television one day.
I t adds to why the bottom low ‘class’ parallels the top high ‘class’ in behavior. They dive to the same extremes, spend insane amounts. Take on the same reckless behaviors, one has everything in surplus, the other splurges the same way because there doesn’t seem to be a way out. Like the ignorant rookie up against the guru and in ways they’re the same by the standard of eased approach.
The obvious is studied just in case something was misconceived. The researcher takes the pulpit, summarizing those common responses we’d have slid easily past. Ashes to ashes. Scrutinizing over the simple. However I think that simplicity can actually be very dynamic. ‘And’ is simple but look it up, the definition takes have a page.
I watched a report on Good Morning America where Dr. Drew (despite his slight controversial reputation for what he offers in the field of televised professionals) had a few cryptic words to share.
"After any kind of a relationship ends the body will produce the same biological reactions as it would to a death."
Whoah. A small duh in my head but whoah.
The hardest graves to visit are the ones of living, the ones who died away from you by petty circumstance.
People know they and the flow of things are the one with the shovels plastered in grit. Human habits take care of it. Your arms ache from digging down. The witnessing of decay is exhausting. The old stakes become stumps, the matters disintegrate into scraps.
Particularly grim I know. But I don’t see the losses as hopeless, though I do try to walk my life on that silver lining.
I got seashells once as a gift from a friend who has long since moved away. One was a starfish with rounded horns on the top, the other was a tightly wound brown shell.
Being verbally awkward I couldn’t quite explain it to you all at first. Not everything lasts, but not everything loses. What happens will happen, but there is something that remains. It came to mean something to me, those shells. More than an old fascination with them. The time span of relations we can’t go back always or fit back inside them into the old shells because of a growing... Grown from the knowing of it all.
I read the time as 12 dollars and 32 cents. i’ve worked too long.
I t adds to why the bottom low ‘class’ parallels the top high ‘class’ in behavior. They dive to the same extremes, spend insane amounts. Take on the same reckless behaviors, one has everything in surplus, the other splurges the same way because there doesn’t seem to be a way out. Like the ignorant rookie up against the guru and in ways they’re the same by the standard of eased approach.
The obvious is studied just in case something was misconceived. The researcher takes the pulpit, summarizing those common responses we’d have slid easily past. Ashes to ashes. Scrutinizing over the simple. However I think that simplicity can actually be very dynamic. ‘And’ is simple but look it up, the definition takes have a page.
I watched a report on Good Morning America where Dr. Drew (despite his slight controversial reputation for what he offers in the field of televised professionals) had a few cryptic words to share.
"After any kind of a relationship ends the body will produce the same biological reactions as it would to a death."
Whoah. A small duh in my head but whoah.
The hardest graves to visit are the ones of living, the ones who died away from you by petty circumstance.
People know they and the flow of things are the one with the shovels plastered in grit. Human habits take care of it. Your arms ache from digging down. The witnessing of decay is exhausting. The old stakes become stumps, the matters disintegrate into scraps.
Particularly grim I know. But I don’t see the losses as hopeless, though I do try to walk my life on that silver lining.
I got seashells once as a gift from a friend who has long since moved away. One was a starfish with rounded horns on the top, the other was a tightly wound brown shell.
Being verbally awkward I couldn’t quite explain it to you all at first. Not everything lasts, but not everything loses. What happens will happen, but there is something that remains. It came to mean something to me, those shells. More than an old fascination with them. The time span of relations we can’t go back always or fit back inside them into the old shells because of a growing... Grown from the knowing of it all.
I read the time as 12 dollars and 32 cents. i’ve worked too long.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
a reversed monday
I found it and I couldn't resist. Not kidding here. LMAO. It's a book about a 'sultry wench' about the burning des...Romance novels usually make me grind my teeth and begin stabbing motions at how false they are just adding to our pop culture fairy tales. but whoooi. I bought it cause it made me laugh so freaking hard. Not bad for 50 cents, keep my bookshelf warm.
It's actually called 'Whitney, My Love'. Anna and I almost exploded after all the gigglings.
lol.
Yep. I'm agonna get my sega up and running. Also I just added a dreamcast (which I made a killing on) to the pile of the old nintendo gadgets I'm collecting. System, hookups, controller, memory card for an insanely low price. What put the cherry on my unnatural natural high on monday was the coincidence of good songs coming one after the next on the radio while I was driving about.
Got me in the most giggly mood, was it really a monday?
Trying to figure out new year plans but I've drawn a second blank. Change of plans. Anna and I will figure it out though, hopefully before new years. Keeping my fingers crossed.
It's actually called 'Whitney, My Love'. Anna and I almost exploded after all the gigglings.
lol.
Yep. I'm agonna get my sega up and running. Also I just added a dreamcast (which I made a killing on) to the pile of the old nintendo gadgets I'm collecting. System, hookups, controller, memory card for an insanely low price. What put the cherry on my unnatural natural high on monday was the coincidence of good songs coming one after the next on the radio while I was driving about.
Got me in the most giggly mood, was it really a monday?
Trying to figure out new year plans but I've drawn a second blank. Change of plans. Anna and I will figure it out though, hopefully before new years. Keeping my fingers crossed.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Hmm
Nothing like the smell of fresh capitolism in the morning eh?
New retirement laws. And a pretty little notice had to be given on thursday to the Utah Government to stick with the old plans.
Oh I loved the new SLC restrictions passed on how we are permitted to use and build on our own land, how we can build our own homes that we live in. I can understand the width standards so that we can better love our neighbors for not battling over space. You think you own that land bud? No you own the subtle right to report a trespasser, that and only that.
Did any one else find the beauty in fining high school students $150 a cussing? For cussing? Do you realize the inflation here when the old $10 words like eminence and phantasmagoria are outrageously less expensivethan the most primal of words?
anyone else giggling?
New retirement laws. And a pretty little notice had to be given on thursday to the Utah Government to stick with the old plans.
Oh I loved the new SLC restrictions passed on how we are permitted to use and build on our own land, how we can build our own homes that we live in. I can understand the width standards so that we can better love our neighbors for not battling over space. You think you own that land bud? No you own the subtle right to report a trespasser, that and only that.
Did any one else find the beauty in fining high school students $150 a cussing? For cussing? Do you realize the inflation here when the old $10 words like eminence and phantasmagoria are outrageously less expensivethan the most primal of words?
anyone else giggling?
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
The red isn't the red we painted, it's just rust
Ever wonder why the throat is targeted? Has little to do with the jugular and more to do with the passage. An eye for an eye, cut them with words and theywill return the favor. It's the jagged messages you split them with that makes them thirst. The memory of the wound and the will to share it with the giver...Just a dainty dose of irony here. I'm beginning to realize how cliche irony actually is...At each other's throats... It'sall figurative all this. I have not this kind of combat.
Monday, December 12, 2005
B e t t e r V e r i s i o n o f M e
The nickel dropped
When I was on
My way beyond
The rubicon
What did I do
And of the games
That I can handle
None are ones
Worth the candle
What should I do
I'm a frightened, fickle person;
Fighting, crying, kicking, cursing
What can I do
Oh, after all
the folderol
And hauling over coals
Stops
What will I do
Can't take a good day
Without a bad one
Don't feel just to smile
Until I've had one
Where did I learn
I make a fuss
About a little thing
The rhyme is losing
To the riddling
Where's the turn
I don't want a home, I'd ruin that
Home is where my habits have a habitat
Why give it a turn
Oh, after all
The folderol
And hauling over coals
Stops
What did I learn
I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face
Oh mister
Wait until you see
What I'm
Gonna be
I got a plan; ademand, and it just began
And you're right, you'll agree
Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
Here it comes
A better version
Of me.
-Fiona Apple
(extraordinary machine album)
When I was on
My way beyond
The rubicon
What did I do
And of the games
That I can handle
None are ones
Worth the candle
What should I do
I'm a frightened, fickle person;
Fighting, crying, kicking, cursing
What can I do
Oh, after all
the folderol
And hauling over coals
Stops
What will I do
Can't take a good day
Without a bad one
Don't feel just to smile
Until I've had one
Where did I learn
I make a fuss
About a little thing
The rhyme is losing
To the riddling
Where's the turn
I don't want a home, I'd ruin that
Home is where my habits have a habitat
Why give it a turn
Oh, after all
The folderol
And hauling over coals
Stops
What did I learn
I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face
Oh mister
Wait until you see
What I'm
Gonna be
I got a plan; ademand, and it just began
And you're right, you'll agree
Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
Here it comes
A better version
Of me.
-Fiona Apple
(extraordinary machine album)
simplicity on the surface, but the darkest pit in me is pagan poetry
Thoughts and words flow past me like moving water, shapes to my body remaining swift and coolled.
What continues is not mine to cease right here at least,act now and it spirals into a self destruct. I remember what it's like to take it by the shreads and fragment... By the stains which still bleed. There's a wonder in the way things go, the flow of it all despite the way it grinds against me... My tapping fingers plead with my mind. Responding back : give it time, just give it time and how could I know to answer? scrape down towards that sanctumn within, while others tunnel toward their own. Speaking to myself like a stranger.
But you never really know now do you?
I go through life not knowing. The things I do know can be counted on my hands. Everyday tells me to erase the last, and the case history dissolves over night. All that remains is the skelton of this brittle record. Tally marks driven down the walls... We guess well enough but we cannot be the things we believe. Not that the effort is waste. The effort is the fuel, it shapes. People function on theory alone, what has truly been proved over to a human mind is all I have to ask. Even fact must be taken with a faith. It's not the reason that makes the connection, it's the receptivity colliding with the inner skeptic. I'm grateful at times that I'm not convincing, I don't slow my own way with the surity of the ego. This world remains an illusion to the purpose we all must find. In our human skins we skirt around what we are, what is. "habits take habitat." We pretend not to be.
In this human skin there is nothing I can know to the core, the final layer. We are all bandaged to the point of disguise even to ourselves... What can be known?
Sometimes I ask myself if there is something left... I can't force my sight to span the miles. I can't pretend to hear these thin speeches. I cradle this shy variable. I ask myself if I only speak in whispers but I need to listen a little closer for my own response.
What continues is not mine to cease right here at least,act now and it spirals into a self destruct. I remember what it's like to take it by the shreads and fragment... By the stains which still bleed. There's a wonder in the way things go, the flow of it all despite the way it grinds against me... My tapping fingers plead with my mind. Responding back : give it time, just give it time and how could I know to answer? scrape down towards that sanctumn within, while others tunnel toward their own. Speaking to myself like a stranger.
But you never really know now do you?
I go through life not knowing. The things I do know can be counted on my hands. Everyday tells me to erase the last, and the case history dissolves over night. All that remains is the skelton of this brittle record. Tally marks driven down the walls... We guess well enough but we cannot be the things we believe. Not that the effort is waste. The effort is the fuel, it shapes. People function on theory alone, what has truly been proved over to a human mind is all I have to ask. Even fact must be taken with a faith. It's not the reason that makes the connection, it's the receptivity colliding with the inner skeptic. I'm grateful at times that I'm not convincing, I don't slow my own way with the surity of the ego. This world remains an illusion to the purpose we all must find. In our human skins we skirt around what we are, what is. "habits take habitat." We pretend not to be.
In this human skin there is nothing I can know to the core, the final layer. We are all bandaged to the point of disguise even to ourselves... What can be known?
Sometimes I ask myself if there is something left... I can't force my sight to span the miles. I can't pretend to hear these thin speeches. I cradle this shy variable. I ask myself if I only speak in whispers but I need to listen a little closer for my own response.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
wash away...
Communication has it's limits. Truly.
What sets those limits? Expectations. Perspective. Perception. Bias. Behavior. I talk to each person a little differently as I begin to know them.
What is it? The exchange of ideas, but rarely the linking of them?
Or is it that the ability to listen is slowly becoming lost?
Tangents again...
Half empty or half full. The glass is still a glass with or without content. Maybe the speaker only wants to link the emptiness to the half instead of the other way around to make a lighter observation. Either way it is the same amount, is capable of holding the same measurements.
I hardly know what I'm talking about here. Cashier lunches are so lonesome... Just some of the things I think about when I'm in that dull hospital white breakroom. Just to occupy myself with scraps of matter. Little scribbles in my lil green notebook which someone drew circles and squares on. (hey you...) jk
It's hard to have a life when you're employed.
One of you is going to have to suffer RS alone again as I'll be working.
To anyone who cares I got my first smiley face tonight. I balanced my firstest time ever.
An electrical mishap took a huge bite out of my outlet today and almost killed a neighbor. Fireworks in my bedroom, who else can say that?
wow.
We were hoping that the electrical damage was the smell. A hair appointment told my mom about a bad room smell caused by faulty wiring in the wall which caused the insulation to burn. The guy thought that a rat may have come in the wall and electrocuted himself by chewing through the wire. Yummie. No rat. But I have a really cool hole in my wall and a screen. Hehe.
I feel like a ronchie husband. I've been sleeping on the couch everynight.
Have you ever been despite the odds unexplainably with peace? I don't know how to put it. Purpose faith and contentment maybe? Who knows.
What sets those limits? Expectations. Perspective. Perception. Bias. Behavior. I talk to each person a little differently as I begin to know them.
What is it? The exchange of ideas, but rarely the linking of them?
Or is it that the ability to listen is slowly becoming lost?
Tangents again...
Half empty or half full. The glass is still a glass with or without content. Maybe the speaker only wants to link the emptiness to the half instead of the other way around to make a lighter observation. Either way it is the same amount, is capable of holding the same measurements.
I hardly know what I'm talking about here. Cashier lunches are so lonesome... Just some of the things I think about when I'm in that dull hospital white breakroom. Just to occupy myself with scraps of matter. Little scribbles in my lil green notebook which someone drew circles and squares on. (hey you...) jk
It's hard to have a life when you're employed.
One of you is going to have to suffer RS alone again as I'll be working.
To anyone who cares I got my first smiley face tonight. I balanced my firstest time ever.
An electrical mishap took a huge bite out of my outlet today and almost killed a neighbor. Fireworks in my bedroom, who else can say that?
wow.
We were hoping that the electrical damage was the smell. A hair appointment told my mom about a bad room smell caused by faulty wiring in the wall which caused the insulation to burn. The guy thought that a rat may have come in the wall and electrocuted himself by chewing through the wire. Yummie. No rat. But I have a really cool hole in my wall and a screen. Hehe.
I feel like a ronchie husband. I've been sleeping on the couch everynight.
Have you ever been despite the odds unexplainably with peace? I don't know how to put it. Purpose faith and contentment maybe? Who knows.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
like butterflies
I think splurge is the right word for today. And every now and then indulgence is wonderful.
Did I mention I’m a music geek?
Anna and I went on a music spree and completely disarmed the employees at graywhale with my purchase. We also swung by savers for Anna’s costume of the wenchy mother in law I said I was going to spend money insanely, and I did. I came I saw and I owned.
Positive reinforcement was muchly needed, as anticipated. The day took a different tone once it flowed onto the later hours. Angelo, the operations manager walked out. From what I was told he took off his vest and threw down his manager keys down on the office desk. Walked out and left just like that.
Kara the supervisor was promoted on the spot.
We’re talking about a responsible level headed man here. In the short time I’ve had to get to know him I haven’t known him to act rashly.
It wasn’t much of a surprise. I’ll say this ahead of time I love the people I work with but we have a sneak for a store manager. Something Scott said probably broke the scale. Halloween does get messy but it’s nothing that he couldn’t handle. Scott is slowly collasping the company but this time he’s not even meaning to. I want to know why, and I will.
When Anna and I were discussing costume ideas Angelo brushed past us. I sent out a quick hello. It made me laugh cause he has a hard time recognizing people out of uniform. A quick squint and a pause and then he responded and laughed at himself. Just casual. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Anna and I went on to buy the ugliest moo moo we could find and giggled ourselves to death.
I heard the news a few hours after getting to work. Of course I had to have it repeated twice. Not to say we were close friends or anything like that. He was a good leader though, he kept things in line. He’s not immediately friendly, but he has his own way of connecting with people.
It brought back this general topic. You expect departure to be foreshadowed. You think when people are about to leave you might hear them grumble under their breath every now and then. You hear a rumor which you deny. The person says leaving is a possibility and with a little time they’re gone.
It doesn’t work that way.
No flags are flown. There is no soundtrack in the background leaving you to put two and two together and not come up with five.
I think it’s like that when somebody dies. They just blink out one day and you find out the day or the week after. Truth rushes in on you and you can’t take down the speed. You’re expected to soak it all in.
You think back to the moment when you last saw them. Maybe you called them up to borrow jumper cables and they the only person you could think of. It could have been a meeting, and you forgot to say hello. You pass them on the street and wave casually back.
And then poof.
Makes me want to treat each moment with better care if I don’t know when part seven is almost through. It’s so fleeting.
When I was little I tried to hold still when a butterfly came close. I wanted it to flutter right onto my palm so I could watch the wings as they quivered. Their wings looked to me wispy paper with tiny paints. A slight movement would be enough to startle it. I never wanted to catch them and keep them captive. I just wanted to hold them. They were so fleeting but I still adore the creatures.
And so these little butterflies are like moments, quick to flee but beautiful both in their coming and leaving. They are so beautiful in movement. Time is precious.... I don’t know when one is about to scatter away from me so I hold each one tightly but not too tightly to crack it. My only hope is to help enhance it and help it to live well enough so that I can always recall it back to me when I shut my eyes to this changing world.
Did I mention I’m a music geek?
Anna and I went on a music spree and completely disarmed the employees at graywhale with my purchase. We also swung by savers for Anna’s costume of the wenchy mother in law I said I was going to spend money insanely, and I did. I came I saw and I owned.
Positive reinforcement was muchly needed, as anticipated. The day took a different tone once it flowed onto the later hours. Angelo, the operations manager walked out. From what I was told he took off his vest and threw down his manager keys down on the office desk. Walked out and left just like that.
Kara the supervisor was promoted on the spot.
We’re talking about a responsible level headed man here. In the short time I’ve had to get to know him I haven’t known him to act rashly.
It wasn’t much of a surprise. I’ll say this ahead of time I love the people I work with but we have a sneak for a store manager. Something Scott said probably broke the scale. Halloween does get messy but it’s nothing that he couldn’t handle. Scott is slowly collasping the company but this time he’s not even meaning to. I want to know why, and I will.
When Anna and I were discussing costume ideas Angelo brushed past us. I sent out a quick hello. It made me laugh cause he has a hard time recognizing people out of uniform. A quick squint and a pause and then he responded and laughed at himself. Just casual. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Anna and I went on to buy the ugliest moo moo we could find and giggled ourselves to death.
I heard the news a few hours after getting to work. Of course I had to have it repeated twice. Not to say we were close friends or anything like that. He was a good leader though, he kept things in line. He’s not immediately friendly, but he has his own way of connecting with people.
It brought back this general topic. You expect departure to be foreshadowed. You think when people are about to leave you might hear them grumble under their breath every now and then. You hear a rumor which you deny. The person says leaving is a possibility and with a little time they’re gone.
It doesn’t work that way.
No flags are flown. There is no soundtrack in the background leaving you to put two and two together and not come up with five.
I think it’s like that when somebody dies. They just blink out one day and you find out the day or the week after. Truth rushes in on you and you can’t take down the speed. You’re expected to soak it all in.
You think back to the moment when you last saw them. Maybe you called them up to borrow jumper cables and they the only person you could think of. It could have been a meeting, and you forgot to say hello. You pass them on the street and wave casually back.
And then poof.
Makes me want to treat each moment with better care if I don’t know when part seven is almost through. It’s so fleeting.
When I was little I tried to hold still when a butterfly came close. I wanted it to flutter right onto my palm so I could watch the wings as they quivered. Their wings looked to me wispy paper with tiny paints. A slight movement would be enough to startle it. I never wanted to catch them and keep them captive. I just wanted to hold them. They were so fleeting but I still adore the creatures.
And so these little butterflies are like moments, quick to flee but beautiful both in their coming and leaving. They are so beautiful in movement. Time is precious.... I don’t know when one is about to scatter away from me so I hold each one tightly but not too tightly to crack it. My only hope is to help enhance it and help it to live well enough so that I can always recall it back to me when I shut my eyes to this changing world.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Oouff
One of the few Yu Yu Hakusho episodes I've seen was one where a particular opponent's downfall was he couldn't feel pain. If his pain couldn't be registered, he would not be able to distinguish a mortal blow.
I picked up my painting again after a month's negligence. I sat on my legs, keeping my knees and ankles as crooked as can be. A few hours later I got up and ouch. I don't notice discomfort and find comfort when I'm tensed or stretched weird. So as I stood up my knees felt like creaky doorknobs.
Needless to say after four hours of curling and remolding my joints and six hours of standing, my knees are now mashed potatoes.
I haven't enjoyed myself with painting like this for some time now. The process is so time consuming, I'm beginning to see why it took some artists years to finish a portrait.
I was hoping to hit up Graywhale again and get my own paints so that I could return the ones I have. But... Long story short it makes things easier to not have a credit card or bank account, because a certain organization needs records of every financial asset I have. Mommy can't cash it in for me so there goes my Saturday excitement. I need an insentive to pummel the Halloween Havoc everybody wants a costume NOW.
Yes I do want to spend fifty dollars on official bootlegged cds... I don't have no credit card. I don't have no credit.
I need to work on college now. Cancel spring enrollment. Apply to Weber. Hassle up my transcripts out of the highschool. Get my FASFA back in action. REGISTER.
Yes. I'm being a little silly putting it off aren't I?
I picked up my painting again after a month's negligence. I sat on my legs, keeping my knees and ankles as crooked as can be. A few hours later I got up and ouch. I don't notice discomfort and find comfort when I'm tensed or stretched weird. So as I stood up my knees felt like creaky doorknobs.
Needless to say after four hours of curling and remolding my joints and six hours of standing, my knees are now mashed potatoes.
I haven't enjoyed myself with painting like this for some time now. The process is so time consuming, I'm beginning to see why it took some artists years to finish a portrait.
I was hoping to hit up Graywhale again and get my own paints so that I could return the ones I have. But... Long story short it makes things easier to not have a credit card or bank account, because a certain organization needs records of every financial asset I have. Mommy can't cash it in for me so there goes my Saturday excitement. I need an insentive to pummel the Halloween Havoc everybody wants a costume NOW.
Yes I do want to spend fifty dollars on official bootlegged cds... I don't have no credit card. I don't have no credit.
I need to work on college now. Cancel spring enrollment. Apply to Weber. Hassle up my transcripts out of the highschool. Get my FASFA back in action. REGISTER.
Yes. I'm being a little silly putting it off aren't I?
Friday, October 21, 2005
passing into
One of the things I love most about work is the diversity. Somehow despite our different personalities and ways, we combine so cleanly...
I get along with them not as coworkers but as people. There's Suzie always ready with a friendly smirk. She's been clean for a year and a half. Keisha's little uns are proof that black babies are cuter than anything else. (They even waddle!) Margaret has a way of getting things done assertively without having to maintain that superior kind of air managers send out now and then. Erica's warm like most Southerners and lets me borrow a bit of Tennessee. Kenny's the hidden intellectual who shrugs at college, I don't know how he can stand straight black coffee. I've had coffee twice. I knew it was useless since I knew half of what I was drinking was sweetner, but it depends on it's flavor I guess. Larry's a vetran, for his years in the armed forces, and the company. Brianna, heh, she can make anyone laugh and forever curses Eve for menopause and high heels. Angelo is into blue grass, you can hear him hum while he closes the place.
Working alongside people who make a living out of retail... Some of them get a look in their eyes when I talk about setting off for school. As if I had asked them a question rather than made a statement. There's not a look of regret there, but I think I see a flash of remberance.
I like this environment. Despite the uhhh track record of store 1103. Here I'm viewed as an equal, their aim is not to make people feed their superiority with inferiority.
When October ends I'll have a rough time adjusting back to the flow of things. I've settled into Halloween too well... I won't want to hand in my labcoat for the vest...
Speaking of which I hope I can get a morning shift on Halloween. It would suck to have this perfect of a costume and have to grumble to myself 'all dressed up and no where to go'. I was one of the first ones to request it but I have no guarantee.
Tommorrow (or today if it's like oneish in the morning) I get paid. I'm going to be spending quite a bit of it too. I ration my spending usually but... I'll indulge a little more this time.
It's beginning to feel like autumn once again. I'm pulled outside by the feel of it alone. The colored leaves help to keep me patient for the first snowfall.
I get along with them not as coworkers but as people. There's Suzie always ready with a friendly smirk. She's been clean for a year and a half. Keisha's little uns are proof that black babies are cuter than anything else. (They even waddle!) Margaret has a way of getting things done assertively without having to maintain that superior kind of air managers send out now and then. Erica's warm like most Southerners and lets me borrow a bit of Tennessee. Kenny's the hidden intellectual who shrugs at college, I don't know how he can stand straight black coffee. I've had coffee twice. I knew it was useless since I knew half of what I was drinking was sweetner, but it depends on it's flavor I guess. Larry's a vetran, for his years in the armed forces, and the company. Brianna, heh, she can make anyone laugh and forever curses Eve for menopause and high heels. Angelo is into blue grass, you can hear him hum while he closes the place.
Working alongside people who make a living out of retail... Some of them get a look in their eyes when I talk about setting off for school. As if I had asked them a question rather than made a statement. There's not a look of regret there, but I think I see a flash of remberance.
I like this environment. Despite the uhhh track record of store 1103. Here I'm viewed as an equal, their aim is not to make people feed their superiority with inferiority.
When October ends I'll have a rough time adjusting back to the flow of things. I've settled into Halloween too well... I won't want to hand in my labcoat for the vest...
Speaking of which I hope I can get a morning shift on Halloween. It would suck to have this perfect of a costume and have to grumble to myself 'all dressed up and no where to go'. I was one of the first ones to request it but I have no guarantee.
Tommorrow (or today if it's like oneish in the morning) I get paid. I'm going to be spending quite a bit of it too. I ration my spending usually but... I'll indulge a little more this time.
It's beginning to feel like autumn once again. I'm pulled outside by the feel of it alone. The colored leaves help to keep me patient for the first snowfall.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Watching from the sidelines
On the Sidelines
Games. Everyone plays them. It’s not in the polite society handbook to display one’s bare intentions. We have to be blinded by tact and particular word choice to advance onto anything else. This isn’t in my territory, I’m usually more empathetic and supportive towards someone than I am convincing. It’s both a curse and a gift. To be able to see so far into a person down to their basic hopes and fears, their instincts and impulses, strengths and insecurities. You know why. You can see their logic, you relate too well.
People think I’m random because I don’t usually format my conversations with subject relativity. I dart from one subject to the next instead of carefully leading them into it. I think I’m spontaneous. I don’t wait for the conversation to tip toe over to my own topics.
I’m glad I can’t read minds. It’s such an eerie power. One doesn’t always think what they mean or feel. Thoughts are infinite everyone has their own codes of thinking. I don’t always think in language. I explore multiple actions even ones I’d never carry out. Despite this everynow and then it would be sooo useful.
*sighs* Even now I’m bound by the chains of propriety, wearing it’s concrete mask. I wish it were more breathable.
I’ve always been a watcher. When I was in the forest I remained completely still so that I could continue to observe the wild life. I’m becoming another tree in this uncharted wilderness, watchful and constant.
I’m watching from a distance, from these velvet roped sidelines. Watching the world spin on it’s unstable axis. Quiet only on the outside.
Yet another area of my life where I’m caught between abstracts, between roles, between circumstance. Insider, Outsider. Either way it still exists. I’m only station agent, well notified. I’m not the engine, I’m not longer an engineer. It seems so short out there in the distance now, a tiny speck of black on that ladder we place on the ground. Only a witness whose seat is reserved.
Games. Everyone plays them. It’s not in the polite society handbook to display one’s bare intentions. We have to be blinded by tact and particular word choice to advance onto anything else. This isn’t in my territory, I’m usually more empathetic and supportive towards someone than I am convincing. It’s both a curse and a gift. To be able to see so far into a person down to their basic hopes and fears, their instincts and impulses, strengths and insecurities. You know why. You can see their logic, you relate too well.
People think I’m random because I don’t usually format my conversations with subject relativity. I dart from one subject to the next instead of carefully leading them into it. I think I’m spontaneous. I don’t wait for the conversation to tip toe over to my own topics.
I’m glad I can’t read minds. It’s such an eerie power. One doesn’t always think what they mean or feel. Thoughts are infinite everyone has their own codes of thinking. I don’t always think in language. I explore multiple actions even ones I’d never carry out. Despite this everynow and then it would be sooo useful.
*sighs* Even now I’m bound by the chains of propriety, wearing it’s concrete mask. I wish it were more breathable.
I’ve always been a watcher. When I was in the forest I remained completely still so that I could continue to observe the wild life. I’m becoming another tree in this uncharted wilderness, watchful and constant.
I’m watching from a distance, from these velvet roped sidelines. Watching the world spin on it’s unstable axis. Quiet only on the outside.
Yet another area of my life where I’m caught between abstracts, between roles, between circumstance. Insider, Outsider. Either way it still exists. I’m only station agent, well notified. I’m not the engine, I’m not longer an engineer. It seems so short out there in the distance now, a tiny speck of black on that ladder we place on the ground. Only a witness whose seat is reserved.
"Hold onto to nothing as fast as you can"
Not overworrying, it’s more like over thinking. I classify and reclassify. I blink I breathe. I act on such a small scale.
Yes, call me a schizo, Cause Tori Amos is my confidant, cause music is my consolation. I’m not even speaking, there’s only music in response.
To trying too hard-
"Been looking for a savior in these dirty streets, I’ve been looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets, been raising up my hands, drive another nail in, got enough guilt to start my own religion
Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Everyday
Nothing I do is good enough"
To my feelings of wanting to disconnect now and then. For stillness to return to my head for one moment.
"So I ran faster but it caught me here
yes my loyalties turned like my ankle
in the seventh grade
running after Billy, running after the rain.
These precious things let them bleed
Let them wash away these precious things
Let them brake their hold on me"
To melancholy in itself.
"The smart money is all hollow.
The moon is in the street.
The shadow boys are out
breaking all the laws.
You’re east of anything west
and the rain is making speeches
and the rain sounds like a round of applause.
Napoleon is weeping in a cornerless room
his invisible fiancee is in the mirror
The band is going home, it’s raining
hammers, it’s raining nails
It’s true theres nothing left
They all pretend they’re orphans.
And their memory is like a train
You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
The things you can’t remember...
Tell the things you can’t forget."
To childhood
"and through the walls they made their mudpies
I’ve got your mind I said
she said I got your voice I said
you don’t need my voice girl
you have your own but you never thought it was
enough of. So they went years and years like
sisters. Blanket girls. Always there through this and that
there’s nothing we cannot ever fix I said
Bells and footfalls and soliders and dolls
She and I were now.
Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what’s on it’s way.
And now I speak to you are you in there you have her hace and her eyes but you are not her and we fot at each other like blank ettes who can’t find their thread and their bare.
Can’t stop loving. Can’t stop what is on its way and I see it coming it’s on it’s way."
She doesn’t give me answers. I’m thinking in questions, she answers in two part harmony.
There are no answers. Only choices that solve and unsolve...
Yes, call me a schizo, Cause Tori Amos is my confidant, cause music is my consolation. I’m not even speaking, there’s only music in response.
To trying too hard-
"Been looking for a savior in these dirty streets, I’ve been looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets, been raising up my hands, drive another nail in, got enough guilt to start my own religion
Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Everyday
Nothing I do is good enough"
To my feelings of wanting to disconnect now and then. For stillness to return to my head for one moment.
"So I ran faster but it caught me here
yes my loyalties turned like my ankle
in the seventh grade
running after Billy, running after the rain.
These precious things let them bleed
Let them wash away these precious things
Let them brake their hold on me"
To melancholy in itself.
"The smart money is all hollow.
The moon is in the street.
The shadow boys are out
breaking all the laws.
You’re east of anything west
and the rain is making speeches
and the rain sounds like a round of applause.
Napoleon is weeping in a cornerless room
his invisible fiancee is in the mirror
The band is going home, it’s raining
hammers, it’s raining nails
It’s true theres nothing left
They all pretend they’re orphans.
And their memory is like a train
You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
The things you can’t remember...
Tell the things you can’t forget."
To childhood
"and through the walls they made their mudpies
I’ve got your mind I said
she said I got your voice I said
you don’t need my voice girl
you have your own but you never thought it was
enough of. So they went years and years like
sisters. Blanket girls. Always there through this and that
there’s nothing we cannot ever fix I said
Bells and footfalls and soliders and dolls
She and I were now.
Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what’s on it’s way.
And now I speak to you are you in there you have her hace and her eyes but you are not her and we fot at each other like blank ettes who can’t find their thread and their bare.
Can’t stop loving. Can’t stop what is on its way and I see it coming it’s on it’s way."
She doesn’t give me answers. I’m thinking in questions, she answers in two part harmony.
There are no answers. Only choices that solve and unsolve...
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Arriving Renewal
Concentrate. There are voices speaking and speaking your name. This world is lost to you . Relocate, complete another.
Ambition comes then flattens, like ocean waves sloping over the shorelined years. As the sidelines become straighter, I weave another thread between.
Answers spoke out in blank riddles. Each one is solved but most are unused. Each one starves for a turn, a priority, a name. Reaches for renewal.
Continue, another day is brewing early. Remember every arrival, continue.
Ambition comes then flattens, like ocean waves sloping over the shorelined years. As the sidelines become straighter, I weave another thread between.
Answers spoke out in blank riddles. Each one is solved but most are unused. Each one starves for a turn, a priority, a name. Reaches for renewal.
Continue, another day is brewing early. Remember every arrival, continue.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Fated..?
I’ve been hearing so much talk of the end of all days. Religious doom. Is it abnormal that I feel so naïvely calm? Is it this sudden feeling that everything will be alright when all is said and done?
How do I place ‘God’ , ‘Destroy’ and ‘Wrath’ in the same sentence?
Is it fair or unfair to halt the blossoming generation to be contained, shut down and denied the natural life process? These fruits of youth ripen from experience and time. Old age is not inhibiting in my mind. Knowledge can be gained, yes, but it’s worth must be learned to be treasured. You become aware of your mortality and the continuation of life then on a new level in that setting stage in your life. You not only understand but feel and experience. I still hold this, which I heard somewhere that with the weakening of the body comes the strengthening of the mind. Limitations are recognized, you are permitted a deeper pondering of your life to come when your life here ends with new awe. Know your limits and learn that you are not limited... Specific life stages have different flexibilities and options, this age does have it’s offerings. Oddly, I do sometimes look forward to my old age. I imagine myself silver haired, withered and sweetly worn with a long legacy to look back on, loving the bronzing sun as it sets majestically as I’ll look skyward. This generation and society fears aging and takes dangerous measures such as slicing open outward identity, stripping away and slicing up the face so that the wounds will slide into a generic acceptable appearance. All in a lust for an unattainable and unfulfilling fountain of youth. I have no reason to flee it, I will take every year I can if I know I have something more to add to learn to be. There is a responsibility to push to the end, to continue, and to grow.
Gods would be a different agenda. And our lives down here are so small and fleeting. Temporal always gives way to another permanence in the end.
When a door closes, another opens. When something ends something new begins. I hardly see the creation and destruction’s symbiotic relationship as dark and cynical as I discussed have previously discussed with one of you, but could not accurately explain then with all my thoughts unclothed and without words... I touch the pen against the page, tainting it’s perfected pristine color with lines and curves of ink. The softness and flexibility of clay is taken away when it is fired, but it becomes easier to keep if it is firm. A mother gives birth and the life she knew before ends transforms into something new because she now has another life to guide other than her own. Circumstance demands and simultaneously rejects. It is what change is.
Hmm.
I sit here complacently, moving with faith that with my ownership of my own soul I am bound for larger things and focused circumstance. Such a weird calm really, so come what may.
Fate itself is such a tantalizing subject So do I believe in predestination or independent destinies ? To think of my life as a bland calculation without choice, chance, or change is so listless and cold. Or maybe I could see it as a masterplan individualized for me?
I definitely lean more towards the liberty to decide. Maybe there is a very small number, say five destinies available that can be met through numberless branches of paths we can take. Like separate variables and values that arranged in several combinations can only have five outcomes (or five to keep this in measure.)
Choose your adventure books have six or more endings but around eleven or so beginnings... I really do believe that we are capable of as much good as we are bad. Could it be like this? That souls are natural magnets whose polarities are aligned with select fates? I would like to believe in destiny in a smaller degree.
How do I place ‘God’ , ‘Destroy’ and ‘Wrath’ in the same sentence?
Is it fair or unfair to halt the blossoming generation to be contained, shut down and denied the natural life process? These fruits of youth ripen from experience and time. Old age is not inhibiting in my mind. Knowledge can be gained, yes, but it’s worth must be learned to be treasured. You become aware of your mortality and the continuation of life then on a new level in that setting stage in your life. You not only understand but feel and experience. I still hold this, which I heard somewhere that with the weakening of the body comes the strengthening of the mind. Limitations are recognized, you are permitted a deeper pondering of your life to come when your life here ends with new awe. Know your limits and learn that you are not limited... Specific life stages have different flexibilities and options, this age does have it’s offerings. Oddly, I do sometimes look forward to my old age. I imagine myself silver haired, withered and sweetly worn with a long legacy to look back on, loving the bronzing sun as it sets majestically as I’ll look skyward. This generation and society fears aging and takes dangerous measures such as slicing open outward identity, stripping away and slicing up the face so that the wounds will slide into a generic acceptable appearance. All in a lust for an unattainable and unfulfilling fountain of youth. I have no reason to flee it, I will take every year I can if I know I have something more to add to learn to be. There is a responsibility to push to the end, to continue, and to grow.
Gods would be a different agenda. And our lives down here are so small and fleeting. Temporal always gives way to another permanence in the end.
When a door closes, another opens. When something ends something new begins. I hardly see the creation and destruction’s symbiotic relationship as dark and cynical as I discussed have previously discussed with one of you, but could not accurately explain then with all my thoughts unclothed and without words... I touch the pen against the page, tainting it’s perfected pristine color with lines and curves of ink. The softness and flexibility of clay is taken away when it is fired, but it becomes easier to keep if it is firm. A mother gives birth and the life she knew before ends transforms into something new because she now has another life to guide other than her own. Circumstance demands and simultaneously rejects. It is what change is.
Hmm.
I sit here complacently, moving with faith that with my ownership of my own soul I am bound for larger things and focused circumstance. Such a weird calm really, so come what may.
Fate itself is such a tantalizing subject So do I believe in predestination or independent destinies ? To think of my life as a bland calculation without choice, chance, or change is so listless and cold. Or maybe I could see it as a masterplan individualized for me?
I definitely lean more towards the liberty to decide. Maybe there is a very small number, say five destinies available that can be met through numberless branches of paths we can take. Like separate variables and values that arranged in several combinations can only have five outcomes (or five to keep this in measure.)
Choose your adventure books have six or more endings but around eleven or so beginnings... I really do believe that we are capable of as much good as we are bad. Could it be like this? That souls are natural magnets whose polarities are aligned with select fates? I would like to believe in destiny in a smaller degree.
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