Adventure!

I changed the layout.
Go me.

That night, when I pretended

To be a asleep, I knew it meant

The end of us.

I meant for it to be cute

But it was a nightmare.

I talked to you,

Told you I loved you

And you told me to drown myself,

Fuck off and die.

You were supposed to love me.

You were supposed to protect me.

Strange but you were always the one

I needed the protection from.

You were always the one trying to hurt me.

I don’t know if I miss you.

You tried to kill me, twice.

You knew school shooting statistics

The way I knew Shakespeare.

After Virginia Tech you

Declared I was your

Number one victim,

Your dream kill.

An entire year and

I wonder why I couldn’t leave

Or worse why you stopped loving me

And not the other way around.

You simply stopped calling

Didn’t give me a reason

For the harsh goodbye

And told me to fuck off.

You tried to kill me.

I tried to save you.

And the worst part,

I still don’t know who succeeded.

The thing you want most always happen at the least likely time.

Found the journal but now I have so much taping in to do that it's become a full day project. Oh well. It's not like I'm up for anything else. I wonder if when I'm all old and dead if anyone will ever read it.

Guess I'll have to just wait and see.

[ Wake Up ]

The weather these days is too warm.
The high yesterday was:103.2
The low was: 99.8

I am thinking in snow but all my thoughts keep melting before they have a place to even land.
Today's high is 100:2
Today's low is 97.1

Right now I'm swimming inside myself. Literally.

I was writing something beautiful in my head last night on fever-shot thoughts, but now I can't remember it for the life of me. I was thinking anything to try and make me sleep. I wandered through the dog-yard and pulled up names wishing one of them would come in and jump up on my bed.

Oh how badly I wanted to be home. Oh how badly I wanted to feel anything but sick and alone.

And right now, all I've been thinking is how little this school cares for me. I called campus security because I really thought I belonged in the hospital and they said no, they wouldn't give me a ride to the hospital unless the hospital gave them permission. I called the hospital and they said "what are you talking about. We don't have time to make those kinds of phonecalls." I didn't know what to do so I just started crying and then I couldn't stop crying. Eventually exhaustion overtook.

I have a final in twenty minutes in Japanese but I can barely think in English. I didn't write my paper that's due today either. But regardless, I think I am still smiling. I think I am still happy.

I feel guilty about all that's been left undone. Right now I just want someone to bring me some flowers and a getwell card. I almost feel as sick as that time right after surgery. But now I don't have an entourage of people to come say "get well! we miss you!"

No Kerri, Johnny, Noobs and Ben to say hey girl, you still look beautiful.

I miss that.

But I've made new friends who've taken good care of me, even if they can't be by my side.

[ Pass Out ]

Just so I remember in the morning. Anyways these are some thoughts for me to me but some first paragraph excerpts from stuff I'm sort of working on / on the back burner...

.Through The River.
The first 5 chapters of Through the River are absolutely hysterical. You lose it after that. Go back, rethink, rework, rewrite. What ever happened to the rabbit that started this all. Tacura Yellpin III. That's 150 pages too many to lose. Get rid of the love aspects or at least make them way way way more subtle. Rework the yellow-girl. Actually evil people are over-rated.

Give me a fairy tale with a multi-dimensional villain. That would be out and out revolutionary. Better yet, give me a fairy-tale where the boys need saving. That would be feminist. Better yet, give me a fairy-tale that doesn't start with Once Upon A Time. That would be a miracle. Better yet, give me a fairy-tale that doesn't end Happily-Ever-After. That would be shocking. Better yet, give me a fairy-tale where someone walks away unhappy. That would be realistic. Better yet, give me a fairy-tale where everything isn't neatly resolved at the end works out in the end. That would be life-like.

Oh wait. Isn't that what you've already done. Genius.
Go back to your old voice. Go back to Kate, the little girl. Why should she have to grow up?

Kate had fallen through the river. Not fallen into the river and was all wet, or anything as seemingly possible as that, but rather something much more absurd and ludicrous. You see, Kate had been running through the forest, fleeing her pursuers, and had tripped. The root over which she fell sent her careening several feet upon which she should have fallen into the river.

.The Shortcut to the Northwind.
Oh dear. What ever happened to Hazel and Andrew. Space pilots of the best kind. What ever happened to the holes in the skies that you could fly yourself into if you knew the right angle. Second star to the right. Whatever happened to all the wars brewing. Whatever happened to Mikan. And the emo plot-line that was fun to write as a twelve year old and still fun to read as a nineteen year old. That's another 120 pages for you.

Some people say that stars are holes in Heaven’s floor. While others say that they’re balls of fire. Yet others still insist that they are people imprisoned within the sky waiting for an eternity to end. But stars are neither holes, nor fire, nor prisoners; they are the shortcut to the Northwind, and very few have ever traveled there.

.Rock.
Kali and William. It wasn't much of anything, but it's better than a blank page. So you don't know about the music industry or tourring or any of that stuff. The dialogue was pretty amusing. The laughter, definitely real. Television Script? That's at least 90 pages of pure dialogie. That's at least 5 episodes. Obviously, aimed at girls.

Kali: You called my house and talked to my mom?
William: I couldn’t just show up
Kali: You’re such a mama’s boy
William: You find it cute.
Kali: And charming.
William: Yes. I am Prince Charming.
Kali: No, Prince William.
William: That position is already taken by some guy in England
Kali: so is Prince Charming
William: By who?
Kali: that guy in Cinderella
William: that was his actual name? I always thought it was figurative
Kali: It was his name
William: Interesting.
Kali: I suppose you could share the position with him.
Kali: What is it?
William: I’m thinking up a proposition
Kali: which is?
William: I will be your Prince Charming, if you will be my Cinderella
Kali: I would love to if –
William: – if what?
Kali: If I can forgo that whole evil stepsister thing
William: I suppose we can arrange a deal. I am a prince after all.
Kali: doesn’t that make me a princess?
William: Not until we get married.
Kali: GROSS. NO WAY.

.?????.
And what about this new novel. This new character. The voice is so incredibily raw. Don't you want to put your ear to the stereo and see what he has to say? So when are you going to make some time to listen. Because it isn't every character that comes walking, talking out of your pen saying things like this one. It isn't every character that says, here I am, come meet me as you are. And it isn't every character you meet wandering out of your pen that declares things so unashamedly. And maybe he doesn't know where he's going, maybe he only knows where he's been. But he'll take you there if you have the time to listen. You may not know all of the story, but some of it's already reverberating in your heartsong so hurry up and listen before the next track starts playing. And it isn't every heart that can see the pain, but you can, so you'll listen. Cause someone out there needs this story.

I think that if someone were to kill me, I wouldn’t hate them. It’s not that I want to die - that’s not it at all. I’m quite happy being alive. What I mean is I wouldn’t be sitting up there in Heaven going Hey God, come on now, how about striking him down already. I think I’d be doing the opposite, you know? Like asking God to forgive the guy and asking Him to help the guy find his way in life. Maybe I could even be this person’s guardian angel. Maybe he killed me just so someone in the afterlife would care about him, even if he thought it’d be in a negative way. You know it’s funny, I keep thinking he and keeping writing he but what if it’s a her? What if a she kills me? And what if we could have all just been friends?

.Enchantment Reawakened.
And then your favorites. Where are Elairah and Rynn? You haven't seen much of them. Enchantment Reawakened. Where are West and Anders? So what, the ending of the script got rushed and should have lasted another fifty pages, but it was never a movie script to begin with. When are you going to take the time to flesh out the faces that you've come to love and turn that into a novel. Because the story-line may have had a big gaping hole, but other than that it was really really solid. It was really really fun. Actual conversations.

[ teaser currently unavailable. ]

Start Running

It starts with a simple statement: the truth and then it grows and spreads like the seeds of trees and soon you're seeing it sprout up all over the place trying to be that little burst of color that catches your eye, or at least tries to.

Don't you know that the world is watching you. Doesn't the world know that your watching it. Everyone is just looking for the perfect moment to strike. Everyone is waiting for the gunshot. The best possible time to go. Take the lead. Run. Faster. Faster Faster Faster.

I'm running off of a migraine. My fingers are merely expressing that which they know. Not expressing just digesting the air that's in me that makes up these hollow words/worlds.

I am creating beauty. I am taming the beast.

And don't ask me what any of this means in the morning because after a certain point my brain shuts down and I run on auto-mode. I keep chewing on the same ideas. I don't know how much more I can suck out of them.

Lets just go fly a kite.
Now Take Off.

there is snow on the ground and little footprints running across the tenders of my heart. And it's strange, but for the moment, this is the only place I'd really like to be. Right now, I think I am more than a little confused.

Where to go, where not to go. What to do, what not to do.
So much time. So few viable options.

So I'm just gonna say, bring it on. Because right now, i'm ok with living 100% in the future.

I don't really know what it is I want anymore.
I don't really know what it is I'm dreaming up.

ごめんあさい。
私はちょっと寝てください。

I want to write a happy poem and not be the only one doing it.

vent on.

I'm tired of a class where everyone comes in with their newly penned suicide. I want a poem that doesn't scream I want to die. I want a poem that screams, live! live! live! I don't want another poem about how your wrists are paintbrushes, all you need to do is cut them and let the masterpiece unfold. Let someone else find you in the bathroom your work unveiled. I want a poem about soccer games, singing in the rain, dinner parties and birthday cakes. The wish you made on your 7th birthday.

I want a poem that reminds you how much you want to live you forget you ever felt any pain. I am tired of reading your suicide notes. Your one night stands. You wrists cut like wedding bands the night after you find your husband cheating. I am tired of people saying I want out of this life. I'm tired of hearing that you want to die. Because so and so doesn't love you. I'm tired of the poems about drugs. I'm tired of the poems about sex. I'm tired of the poems with endings that leave me depressed. I want a poem to read that makes me feel inspired. Makes me freel on fire. Makes me want to go find a stranger and say, You should read this, It'll improve your day. I want a poem that doesn't scream I feel alone but scream here I am! Here I am! And we can all be together.

I want a poem that doesn't feel like a hundred days of shit weather. I want a day that feels like a volcano. Bursting forth with fire. I want to feel that alive when I read what's inside of your soul. I don't want the drum of your heart to be faintly pulsing, I want to hear it rushing. I'm tired of suicide. I'm tired of poems that are screaming for endings.

I want a poem written entirely with beginnings. I want poems that make me feel like I'm swimming inside of God. I want a poem that doesn't leave a stain on my heart but says, go on, do it, reach for the moon you'll find yourself there sooner or later but if you don't reach, you won't grab it.

I'm tired of suicides. I'm so tired of dead bodies lining up pages. I'm so tired of seeing your unashamed faces when you pen another one night stand. I'm so tired of seeing you feel so uninspired by the blood that's flowing through your veins.

So stop harping on sadness and start signing your name with hearts and stars. If that's what it takes to break your suicide streak than do it. Or sing yourself a song at the top of your lungs running down Columbus. I'm tired of living in a city of frowns.

I just want to see else somebody smile.
I'm tired of having to go back to the mirror and say,
Hey, put on your armor, put on your strong heart
Cause you have to go make ten thousands people day
Because they don't know how to do it themselves.

And yes, you may think that's selfish of me. But twist my words around and you'll see - all I really want is for you to be happy.

vent off.

I want to save the world.
I want to save the Earth.
I want to save the humans.
I want to save the animals.
I want to save the plants.
I want to save us all.

I want to be the light at the end of the tunnel.
Hold on, your almost at the exit.
Hold on, I'm coming to save you.

These days I feel like I've drifted from who I am. I want to fall back into myself, except this time, fall deeper. Think the thoughts that keep me from sleep, so I'm forced into day dreaming of all that I can become. I'm going to do things I'm afraid of doing.

I got a dog sledding job. And I am so incredibly pumped.
But the big question is, how can I use this to help the world.
The real question is, what can I do to change the world.

Tomorrow doesn't exist.
I need to act here and now.

But which call am I supposed to take up arms for?

Love. love. love.
And if love were the currency of the day we'd all be trilllionaires.

Love isn't a commodity.
Spread it all around.

I don't know you, but I love you.
I don't need this money, here go ahead and have it.

Put the guns down.
Enough.

Circled. Again and again and again.

Sometimes you have to loop around a time or two before you know where it is you are or where you're going. I'm on sleepy head thoughts. Haven't been awake all day, metaphorically speaking. Here's a rewrite. I'm revolving around something. Haven't nailed down my center yet.

Inside the Fish

People, places, and moments
Come and go from me.
One after another, after another,
Until the next comes then goes.

The smell of rosemary and ginger
(Always in the kitchen, always during winter),
The faces of strangers I remember from my youth,
The voice of the peddler out on Boylston Street,
The way I sign my name -- just
Like my sister.

Not knowing who I am or
Where to go. Whether or not
I should say hello
Or goodbye or
Nothing
At all.

My hair in my face,
The look my mother gave my father,
The way our dog barked and
The thumping of her tail on the cabinets.

My aunts and uncles and grandparents
And all those that came before and with and after.
And all those that you wanted to stay, but didn't.

The taste of fall in the morning.
The taste of toothpaste in the evening.
The taste of regret still staving off the snow.

The note he gave me, buried in my wallet.
The apology he skipped, still haunting onward.

The hardest part about writing is that you actually have to write. Contact is everything. The way your fingers hit the keyboard, the way the muse hits your heart. I'm just not feeling much of anything story-wise these days and I fear that that's only because I've strayed so far from character names and actually trying to write something other than my own story.

If all I write are journal entries, does that make me egotistical and self-absorbed?

Finally got to a writing workshop and the writing prompt was "sex."


I'm way too tired to think anymore.
Sign out.

Running on sideways thoughts. They take you on an incredible journey around the bend, unfortunately you never really end up that much further off than where you started.

I've been pouring through pages highlighting phrases that make me heart think, make my head sink. Sometimes the best ideas are the ones you slowly figure out, unsure if they're right or wrong or neither. The best ones have no answer and just force you to try on another pair of shoes. See the world from a whole different point of view.

O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Romeo and Juliet I.i173-182

And it wasn't this that spurred on my thoughts rather just expressed them. And it isn't a revolutionary thought, in fact it's been stated pretty much since...well the beginning.

What if love is the cause of everything. What if love is "the root of the root and the bud of the bud / and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows / higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide..." (E.E. Cummings)

What if love had not opposite? Maybe hate, is not the opposite of love, so much as it is the absence of love. This is where the problem in my arithmetic begins to confuse me.

Hate isn't even so much an absence of love so much as it is too much love being applied to one thing, typically oneself. Love of self tends to overshadow our lives. It's not that we don't love other people we just tend to put ourselves first. Maybe fear is a more appropriate opposite to love than hate, although I don't think it is love's opposite so much as a roadblock. In perfect love, there are no such things as rankings. The question is, what does perfect love look like?

And honestly, I think this does it the best:

Perfect love is patient, perfect love is kind. Perfect love does not envy, perfect love does not boast, perfect love is not proud.
Perfect love is not rude, perfect love is not self-seeking, perfect love is not easily angered, perfect love keeps no record of wrongs.
Perfect love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
Perfect love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Perfect love never fails.
- 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

I find the whole idea of everything being born from Love somewhat comforting, somewhat terrifying.
And God is synonymous with Love. Throws another whole wrench in the system.
The scary thing is if you read about Jesus's works, he pretty much fits that bill.
Granted Corinthians was written after him, but regardless.

The whole God issue is a little too big for me to wrap my mind around.

I don't know. I walked myself in circles and spun myself a bit too much on this one. I think I even lost myself. I've got question marks floating throw my head like balloons at a birthday party. I'll keep thinking on this. Although I think this works better as a discussion outside of my head then in it.

In the end, I just want to love people, all of us.

Love is not a commodity. It is the only resource which is infinite. So why hold back?

XO

"You Are Still A Ghost To Me"
You used to grin like dolphins do
Call out to me with a playful flick of your arm
So we twirled about your kitchen
Lost in the sound waves

Hands and hipbones hugging
The bass lines of our hearts
Almost kissing in synchrony.

Later we played that song
You on your guitar and me, softly singing:
It was your hello that kept me hanging on every word
And your goodbye that keeps me listening for your voice around each corner. . . .
The notes skating out on into forever
Until your D string broke.

We restrung your guitar
But the harmony was forever
a little more discordant.

Sometimes you sit in class and talk about something but instead of saying anything you just write down your response. This is sort of what happened. In my poetry workshop rather than telling people what I didn't like or what I thought was running through their head I just sort of doodled my own responses. The rest follows.



Then also because I don't know where to put it more slam scraps:

Enter.

I'm working on another slam. It's been awhile. I still haven't memorized the ones I've written. Whatever. Sometimes you pour out words just because the bottle is overflowing. You can't always catch them all, but oh if you could.



"Every good beginning comes from some other beginnings end..."

I am dreaming in a thousand different languages. I think I could talk to anyone at this point. Draw them a picture of my heart and say "read this" and get a smile as answer.The feeling flows from my toes to my nose. I've got a heart on that just grows and grows and grows. Someday, I'm going to swallow the entire world and show it a love it's never known.

Give me your heart / that would be the start / of something beautiful / la de da da da / and that's how the song goes / and this smile of mine / just grows and grows and grows...

Sometimes the purest moments get photographed in your heart just to be distorted by everyone else's reality. Shine bright. Shine bright. You shine oh so bright.

Sometimes you throw your cards down and walk away from the table early just to find it being played somewhere else. I wanted what I said to have some deeper meaning. But lately I can't quite capture what's on my mind, on my heart.

I'm a riddle who's answer escapes even the author.

Less is more.
All you need is sunshine, rain, and a little bit of lightening.
That's some pretty intense fire.

Exit

Life can be incredibly beautiful. What a fantastic weekend. Between the rocks and the stars and the pseudo rock stars I have a enough stories to keep me going for a long while. Life is one continuous motion. We're all just in it for the ride.

I think the best parts are those unexpected friendships. The ones where you didn't think what was going to happen does and it's totally serendipitous and it leaves you on a slow motion upwards ride. From on top the world looks mighty fine.

Lately, my biggest frustration is other people being unhappy. I want to snatch away their pain and just say "here! take my glasses! the world's much friendlier through different lenses." But you know how it goes. Sometimes what we see as beauty is another's tragedy.

Sometimes we trump around stories because we don't know what else to do with him. They're like explosions inside us and if don't let them out we threaten to tear ourselves a part. Or sometimes life is just so beautiful that we just need to share it. Not to compare it, but just to say. Wow. Aren't things amazing?

I saw a ghost last night. No joke. I'm still wigged out. The way the boundaries seemed to blur between the living and the dead. The past and the future. So much came together this weekend and so much finally ended.

Believe it or not, I think my favorite part was talking while doing dishes or sitting out on the back porch in the cold looking for shooting stars. Just one of those things where you are totally absorbed in the moment. Time seems to escape you and all that you become are words and stories and ideas and the future seems oh so infinite and everything seems oh so possible.

The glorious thing is, you wake up from your reverie and find out it is.

Live it.
Love it.
XO

I should be in bed. The stars are tap tap tapping their shoes above my head. Night is a glorious time. They're dancing me a lullaby that's too beautiful to fall asleep listening to. Have you ever listened to a song so completely that you've wanted to break down into tears. Not because you are sad and not because you are happy either, but because it is just so incredibly beautiful.

Threw on an old record and got so ecstatic; bliss. The way a song slips into your ear and reminds you of someone, something. You can't help but love the fluid of the movement. Air twisting and turning. Smiles bloom like flowers in the springtime. You can't stop the circle of life. The question is, how long can you stay on a high? The question is, does gravity apply to emotions? I'm starting to think I'm on a rocket ship to the moon.



I don't know where that came from.
I feel awesome
XO

That was me typing fast, not caring if things made sense.
They never do.

Our greatest tragedies are our biggest medals. We like to wear them as scars and souvenirs, showing them off to everyone we meet. See, what happened to me? See? And look, I'm still ok. Don't you get it. I'm fine. Have faith in me!

We're so fast to show our scars.
So quick to show the bruise.
Slower to show the blood
Slowest to show the wound.

Everyone loves a tragedy. We're all Shakespearean actors: To be or not to be?

Or worse. Our friends. The ones we lose or who get lost. Our bragging rights. Their pain, our momentary glory.

My friend had cancer.
My friend shot up with dirty needles.
My friend's mom died.

Conversation starters and stoppers. Do we ever stop to think what it is we're saying. The lives we trivialize for the moment's passion, that tiny spotlight on us.

If the game of life is a card game, don't deal me in. I don't want to win.
I'm tired of trumping around tragedies, masquerading them as achievements.

I'm tired of people harping on sadness.
That long wailing note.
The bell toll.
That empty chime.
Finished.
Done.
Dead.

In the silence, people think they know what you are thinking. I get annoyed whenever anyone thinks they have my riddled solved because hell, even I haven't gotten that far.

I get so frustrated some times.

People not understanding compassion, or just lacking it.
People not getting my goodwill or hijacking it.

And all that time people saying, here's my tragedy, look at it. Here's a microscope dissolve it under your lens.
I am tired of being the fucking hero. I am tired of untangling the strings in other people's lives then being left with nothing in my hands except the callouses I gained from working out the knots.

Do you know how it feels to be the one they forgot?

The thing is this. I'm not saying "dissect this." I'm just saying listen. "I'm here." Sometimes I put my thumbs on the keyboard and hit go on my brain. Sometimes I just start writing so you'd know I wasn't going insane. Letters are the blood cells of my brain. All they do is nourish me and reproduce.

What's this creature I'm creating?

I am not sure why I do what I do. Really, I just want to love God, but I don't even know how to. At night I don't sleep thinking I've missed the message or am failing to live it out - when I talk about the people I knew and loved and lost. Or the things I did or worse, the ones I failed to. When my life becomes more about me than everyone else.

I don't want to live with the spotlight on me. I want to live in the shadows. The man behind the curtain hoisting up others to fly. My biggest blasphemy, sometimes I think I could do what Jesus did. If I really tried hard. Sometimes I wonder if that's what we're supposed to. Just try really hard and fail by a lot.

I want to hold faith in the palms of my hands and say here, friends, examine.

I'm tired of highlighting tragedy.
Our lives are more than a list of failures.
Our songs more than low notes and minor keys.
I want to write symphonies that say "you are ok" and "you are loved."

I want to give hugs when I speak.
Wrap my words around souls so hard they can feel
The life seeping back into their bones.

I want to walk with a rhythm that says listen
You are a star that can glisten

Someday I hum hallelujahs and love poems
That flow out so far they hit the ocean
Evaporate by the sun then
Dissipate on everyone
A thousand I love you's a minute.

It's pretty beautiful you know
Love that melts the moon.

I want to stop lying. I want to stop saying I know so-and-so or this-and-such happened to me. If I could, I'd speak only of others. I want to mother the world. Say Baby girl, keep walking. Or better yet, keep talking. You're almost there.

You're almost there
You're almost there
You're almost there

But really,
Where is it that we're going.

And why are we in such a rush?

I wrote the poem above in response to a poem someone wrote me.


Then I wrote the above in response to a memory.

I am writing the coolest flipping book ever. All fact with a little fiction woven in. This patchwork of words is going to be an explosion of life. I can't wait.

Basic Idea is as it always was: I am telling the story of my summer. I am interweaving it with my journal and blog entries as well as a fiction story I am writing or I wrote. I may use the book I was writing this summer. I think that would actually work really successfully. How cool would that be. Then reader's could see the parallels and differences. Or I could do Enchantment Reawakened...simply for the fact that I love that story.

I guess this is what God must feel like. Imagining and loving His creation before it is breathed into existence. You pour over every little detail, making it just right. Of course you know it through and through. Of course God loves me for who I am.

Basic creativity 101.

Although lately I've been having really in-depth arguments about my faith and what it means to be Christian. Are we supposed to worship God by how we lives our lives? Lives of submission and serving others or are we supposed to go to Church and Worship God and forget what it was Christ actually did while on earth? Or is it our responsibility to find the noble balance between the two?

This question eats away at me the way water eats at the shore. I never really get anywhere.

But I will say this, even if I doubt how God should be respected and worshiped I do not doubt God's existence. I merely want to serve my God as faithfully as possible. Because even though I question, I believe - I know.

How beautiful was the sunset tonight?
They always did have a homeward bound feel.

Life at home is simple, elegant, and amazing.
Goodnight.