Pour me a heavy dose...

An Institute of Higher Yearning

2011-07-27T03:07:00.000-04:00

I just want to go home. Step inside the door and feel the weight of world made bearable by a backpack just fall off my shoulders. I want to sit down on an unfamiliar couch that feels invitingly informal. My shoulders would drop a few inches more and I'd exhale everything I've wanted to bare. The wanting would be done and maybe we would have a conversation or two while watching this glowing-awkward box as the focal point of our words. We could speak whole sentences with no destination but a closer proximity. We could float them up to that place that tangles prayers like a dream catcher. I could whisper to you the stillness I feel in this place and you could nod with your eyes instead of your head. We could both think this novel and choose to read between the lines. We could pretend to go at full speed when everything happened in slow motion. We could live a memory life, slowed by age. We could break our ribs and let our hearts grow in the same syncopation. Inhale until we teemed like blow fish and exhale to take flight like falling. You could throw stones at these glass exteriors. You could give them veins and bring them to life in the breakdown. We could hold hands for the first time knowing. You could prove that walls can't stand between us. We could sit while the past dismantled to the floor and choose to fix the pieces in better places. Or maybe we could just comb through the shards for a scrapbook sharper than the rest. I'd leave my fingerprints all over the pages just to say I'd been there but had never lingered. I'll happen there again, to show you my hands, when the dust settles. You can take me to print and validate every time we've ever fallen.

Where the Earth Cradles the Sky

2011-07-05T23:42:00.000-04:00

There's a place I discovered in the alley heading from Court St. to Kantner Hall that I want to share with the world. I was contemplating Midnight in Paris, the bricked rues to which the cities lay claims, the commencement of my 4th year in Athens, and the importance of footsteps to Cagean symphonies. I happened on a stretch of brick to my left that met the vertical bricks of the building that lined it. Here there was an ordinary drain pipe that I'm sure has outlived any student I have known to walk these same bricks as I. A small, yet lively, puddle had formed under the pipe where years of rain nestled so closely and oft that the brick had reformed around the years of puddles.

So here I was, an alley at dusk after a great film, and I just stop and watch this small body of water dance. An old muse, to which I've dedicated such time to through my life that I now consider it more of a friend, captured me once more.

This groove in a small heavily traversed alley is representative of decades--even a century of rain fall. It's a cradle for the sky. A nest of all eternity. Soul mates, fitting puzzle pieces of the city together since the advent of the town. A place where a gaze can be flattened into the environment it usually streamlines through. Well, I'm not sure of this at all but there is pleasantry to it.

Though that's not even as I prefer to think of it. I much rather prefer to think of myself as a body of water, which is all too 90-some-odd% true. I like to think I know the stability of earth wrapping around me. The comfort of running into an old friend so many times that we both just melt into one giant puzzle piece. The lines are blurred, the brick is seen only through the puddle. Nestled as they are they continue because of one another, whether in spite, spirit, or sublimation. They could not exist any other way.

Why would they want to?

Late Night Write

2011-01-11T11:53:00.000-05:00

It was stupid, even childish. One little thing went wrong, I felt flaky, and I felt failed. The mask was slipping away and the camouflaged flaws flashed neon lights. I felt undependable and incapable of self control. I wanted to be held not buoyed. Furthermore, I wanted this to not be shrugged off. My standards may seem high but they’re what I have. Cheapening the strong emotional response to failure, however minute the failure may have seemed to you, was only making it worse.

Now I was failing everywhere. I couldn’t communicate the situation or the effect to the degree I felt necessary. Maybe I was detailed enough, perhaps I just would never be able to make you understand. I know that if I had allowed the attention to be spared just a few more moments upon myself a great conjunction of catharsis could have resulted. This novelty felt selfish with you. It was a kid complaining about apple pie without ice cream to the kid who hasn’t had a meal all day.

Instead, I decided it would be much more proactive to switch roles. I did for you as I wanted done for myself. I comforted you and assured that everything would be okay. I catered to your needs no matter how minor they may have been. I felt that I was taking control of my own emotion by taking control of your comfort. That was until there was nothing left for me to do. We sat a moment in silence.

It was a silly little moment where I could feel the weight tottering above me. The claustrophobia had returned and the need to flee was a new necessity I was all too obliged to fulfill.

Failure, an actual entity. I felt like I was swimming in an oversized coat. It was as if I had shrunk, but my clothes had not come with me. I couldn’t breathe and my vision started whirling.

Anxiety attack. I reach for my door and pull myself inside. The handle clicks shut and all I can see are a deprecation of thoughts. I shrink against the door. The weight has become unbearable. I’m shaking through it with shallow breath. Gravity calls me down to the ground as the door behind me guides my back. Insults and insinuations are hurling back and forth within the static room. Flashes of memory and potential narrative flash between black space and my, now, sepia toned vision. Nothing feels real but all feels dire.

I failed this task.

Well, it’s a stupid student run organization. You’re just having trouble adjusting back to school. Probably jolted by the many changes that had occurred basically at the same time. School start, re-acquainting with roommates, reacclimating to a live-in boyfriend, leaving home after starting to feel comfortable, the shit Christmas that was. I don’t deal well with change.

I failed to communicate

I didn’t want to be selfish. You just have to be strong. This will pass. In comparison to what could be happening in your life, you should feel lucky to have this be your down-trodden state of madness. Really if you break for this there isn’t much hope for the future—figure it out.

I couldn’t control the situation

A physical response isn’t always something that you can mentally control. It could be any number of outlying factors. The important thing is just to breathe. This will actually be funny at some point in time. The melodramatics of a 20-something with nothing-problems rooted in her perfectionistic, overachieving, never feels good enough psyche. Why isn’t my life a sitcom?

I failed at eating

Put the card back in the deck. Half the time I don’t believe myself that you had any disorder. I’m more than tempted to declare that card a comfort to your current self so your current skewed eating looks better than a lack of self-control.

I failed at an eating disorder

13 year olds with crushes on movie stars are somehow able starve themselves yet you couldn’t continue it. What does that say about your resolve?--- it’s a good thing you eat now. Though sometimes I believe you’ve just exchanged one disorder for another.

My expectations of any relationship are too high. Fail

If they don’t meet your expectations you don’t want to lower them. In addition, you’re dwelling on this. Just focus on the breathing, try not to think, and calm down. You’re fueling your own fire.

All the while these audible noises are coming from the living room and I begin to feel paranoid that I’ve drawn attention to myself. This paranoia is both upsetting and intriguing. On the one hand I desperately want not only to be heard but to be saved by myself and on the other I’m ashamed of this reasonless tantrum that has so physically manifested. This puts the tears, the heaving surface breaths, and blackness on hold. The pins I feel heating my skin cool until I’m frozen.

I look around and all is still. The same as it always is, tantrum or not. The climax feels cheapened. Nothing has changed, this has all happened in my head, and the only souvenir that remains is this shakiness. I’m not even sure if it’s a shakiness that is visible. The buzzing silence of an unchanged world by my dramatic moment courses underneath my muscles. I’m sore and exhausted. I imagine what I look like.

A crumpled ball on the floor, leaning against a door below a Katy Perry poster, nauseated by lack of oxygen, and demonstrating the calm reddened eyes that explain an inability to care anymore. This vision of myself, out of myself, is quite a funny one. I start to worry that someone might actually have heard me and come to “check up”. I reach up to lock the door, only to find that it’s already been locked (either as a result of muscle memory or a black out occurrence). How funny, blackout anxiety. How terrifying.

I shake either as a result of muscle fatigue or temperature and truly dissolve into a text book case of madness. I’m laughing but only insofar as I’m crying. I’m judging and counseling and crumpled helplessly all at the same time.

I realize how sad a notion it is that I can’t even allow myself the luxury of a natural breakdown. One unprecedented by motivation. A happening that refuses to be kept in the closet and instead topples out on its targeted victim.

The laughing turns solely to crying. I delve even further into emotional extremity. Heaving sobs at a frequency where I try to move my body to secure a muffling pillow. I’m a sack of bricks. A sad sack of Stephanie and there is no way my body is moving. I have no choice but to conclude and become over it.

Man was that weird. I have to find tissues, I have to get the tissues to me. Finally raising to my feet, a surreal experience indeed, I witness the aftermath within my body. My skin is offset in color, a palid dewiness with goose bumps and palsy wrists. Tears have been unkind to my eyes and the redness extends out from my veins onto the surrounding area. Lashes are clumped by dew and paired with swollen frames. I fan myself hoping to drive the redness away. It remains, however, stubborn as it is—I swear it even darkens.

I leave my room with an immense feeling of fear and stagnancy. Nothing has happened in the living room while a hurricane devastated a wall away. The sepia tones had diminished and left only traces on the walls, the floors, and the furniture. I beg in my mind for them not to look at me. One look and the trump will be played. I’ll have no choice but to show my hand and take responsibility for my gamble.

Are you okay?

Shit. I muster up the weakest of all smiles as if to call more attention to my predicament.

Yeah, I’m fine.

I can’t even get through the sentence without sniffling.

Rooted in Multiplicty

2010-07-21T20:21:00.000-04:00

"...my work is most successful when I'm falling apart a little bit in front of you..."--- Julie Tolentino.

This is the phrase I've been looking for within my own muses. I'm attempting to unravel myself in front of you in order to show you how to unravel your self. I become your object for self discovery. The vulnerability I'm catering to, displaying more than hearts on sleeves or candid cliches, is a developmental tactic. Fighting off my own barriers has been liberating, though a seeming producer of anxiety attacks and hurtful epiphanies of displaced moments in time.

I've long thought that the give/take of interactions warranted an equilibrium. Physicality shows that in speaking/listening we mediate our language through our body: hand gestures, breathing patterns, heart rates, and facial expressions. Conversation, the dialectic exchange/receive procedure personified, is naturally something of a give and take, push and pull entity. As person a enters person b's space, person b natural moves back a bit (though how much is dependent on the individual's space bubble/comfort with confrontation).

This banter has always provided thought provoking insights into the human condition. The fragility even the strongest of persona's possess within defense mechanisms and other insecurities are amplified and often projected.

Undercutting projections is what I am attempting to do, through somewhat of a middleman scenario, within my work. Two theories meshed together in potentiality.

One: to critique an existing situation reaffirm its existence. What does this mean? Over exaggerate and expand upon what's obviously at work. Re-itteration in re-presentation [re-representation].

I've often brainstormed that I should mix a little Lewis Carroll into my work. Communicative exchange to have a use rate--- perhaps tie a little tag to my neck that says "Use Me" or "Share Me" or "Neglect Me" or "Watch Me" just as the liquid in Alice in Wonderland says "Drink Me" and the biscuits say "Eat Me". Each produces an action that in turn produces a chain of reactions. This is very much how I interpret conversation, at both its most basic and complex levels. By drawing more attention to the purpose of the exchange we begin to critique the event: macro and micro, motif and motivation.

Two: to critique an existing situation represent in opposition. A more normative response to understanding or critique. The offer of something different to either make a point concrete or crumbling is a frequented method of debate.

This is me when I openly succumb to vulnerability in front of an audience, open myself to objectification (sometimes passively demanding it), in order to provide a better understanding of vulnerability as a universal trait. I become of screen for projection, unidentifiable as an individual until after the performance, stripped and white washed until the only thing left to see is a reflection of the viewer. Opposing any identity, forces the projection, and then (especially in intimate pieces) becomes a critique of the individual itself. Simultaneously, vulnerability is the loudest of what is being viewed. This opposition to that stasis of what we interpret the 'self' to be (reference phrases and connotations of strong sense of self or concrete beliefs or rooted opinions) in turn critiques from an all over approach.

A multiplicitous identity is hard to place, as multiplicitous often seems synonymous with instability. Plurality, however, is hardly without root or foundation. The whole may seem shaking when denounced to parts but with a multiplicitous media, mediation, and motivation the bonds prevail the whole to be consequential to its various parts. The dialogue begins in a presence through absence. We escapade through muted audio and shouting caps locked subtitles. We dig to the roots. We find the stability branching off in every direction under the ground.

Yours Not Have Myself

2010-05-20T01:32:00.000-04:00

I've been winning a losing battle for some time now. Day-to-day I've been watching the numbers flip in an arbitrary fashion and this entire time I've convinced myself losing was winning and vice versa. The relativity I'm feeling extends down many an understanding: one of family, one of banal circumstance, and dare I say the relativity of physics.

I'm grounded in this gasoline haze, hoping the trees will sway into a cartoon form or the breeze will dissipate into writing. I'm loosing grips as far as I'm accessing new handles. I'm losing touch while gaining ground. I no longer can tell which way the signs are pointing and I'm just failing to contain my beliefs "that I'm fine, everything is okay....". I'm losing strength, gaining speed, and heading for a confrontation.

I feel. Even when there is void or absence a presence is created. A silence prompts so much giberish that talking is all the better. The bearing of weakness, quite transforming to a bare weakness, is neither making me stronger, more reflective, or more okay with the situations.

I'm well-adjusted. A keen social sense and placation to a P.C appropriation surfacing above the internal instability. I've stood here for so long quivering, I've been born and re-born a thousand times in the eyes that pass me, judgment, and ridicule. I let you see yourself and have often found that those who find distaste in a first impression often have swirled themselves twice over in admonishment.

I'm dealing. I want to scream and I've pruned in the rain as a result of my own demise. I've reduced to tears and have trembled under the weight of the footsteps that pass and subsequent curious eyes that are too busy to do anything but graze. I'm an obstacle, to them and myself. A burden that must be trespassed in order to go on through the day, through life.

I'm frustrated with my lack and furthermore yours. I feel like all I'm feeling are excuses that don't belong or aren't contextualized. When I ball up, it's an invitation. I like your problems more than my own, because it means that I'll have something else to roll around in my mouth when the silence seeps in.

I'm balancing, best as I can. Yet, I feel unable to comprehend anything but a distant regret or a lackadaisical attempt at disavowal. You don't want me here and frankly I want to leave. Just like I've wanted to scream or stand on a chair or project across the room how much it hurt to be tossed aside. I've wanted to apply a sense of confession to the feeling, or lack thereof, of self worth. I haven't spoken for myself because I haven't deserved it.

I have use value. What can I say? Reuse. Reduce. Recycle. Patterns are an easy routine.

When the words float so elegantly on my tongue, the traffic clears and the sounds I have either ignored or been ignorant to for so long come sprinting (as I'm sure they will) onto a nearby ear...then perhaps we will finally make sense of this wreck.

I've never been NOT okay...or maybe I've just been playing on double negatives. Maybe this is me, and maybe this is what I've been reassuring myself I will always have.

The Whole Hole Returns Wholeheartedly

2010-03-30T18:25:00.001-04:00

My thoughts are racing, almost yelling at me to do something. Just something that will make these circles actualized in a presence of social worth. Retreating, I'm finding it difficult to hold on. Suddenly, I'm slipping back into the hole, the bad habits, the thoughtless thoughts and in differential distance. I'm becoming the distance and walls have been re-erected so fast that I'm caught in the middle of the blockades. Half-in, Half-out...incessantly falling from the sky and crashing with the tides. I'm crying and stopping and blocking and wrecking and writing and wishing all the same. So well hidden, so well controlled, so long hiding, and so adjusted to adjusting. Breaks. Break Away. Breathe.
The words and confessions so far into my throat that the oxygen has stopped mid-escape. Between the bars, my catharsis is silenced and sneaking. The hairs on my neck stand as it breathes for me and becomes me. I feel the retreat and I feel the silence. Studying. I'm starting to study again, that vow of silence sleeping upon my lips in hopes of a discovery; the same of which strategic conformity alongside deception steered so long ago.
No one spoke, just as I did not speak. We acted. We acted like everything was fine. We projected that binding as far as the glue did hold whole. We projected the whole when the pieces fell and we were left what we perceived was the whole but was only projection.
We slid. Slide 1 *click* 2 *click* 3 *click* 4... the pieces scattered on the floor with all to see and none to hold for they were no longer pieces---as pieces can be only that which construct a whole and that same whole was what stared us down from that elusive wall, was it not? We stared back blankly at that whole hanging down the wall. We stared quite through the hole purposively.

We pinned down that wall with that whole; squared to the corners of the wall and frame, squared to the binding background, squared to the corners of our eyes and the telos of our soul. Yet, still not quite right in it's squareness it remained, with the remains forgotten beneath it. And this is how it ended? Purposively. Without resolve and without fight....but with the frightening epiphanic moment that the whole was not right, no matter how squared or opaque or pinning it was to that wall. The whole was just a hole, that didn't hold at all.

And now...now I begin to fall. The whole and hole so blurred that seeing is no longer believing but feeling--that pit that drops inside of you when everything begins to break, when the cracks tear further along the surface, and the calm settles over the nerves. That feeling of non-existance or more so wrong existence; where you remember stable ground but as far as you can tell you've been falling forever--that feeling. That one where your pulse begins to slow, your breathing shallows, and every muscle in your body begins to relax, just as you realize you might need to brace upon that fast approaching impact? As you fall quicker and quicker and harder and faster, it's that feeling of a sickly sweet smile and the muscles that hold it up on a falling face. The feeling of never returning again. The feeling of complacency. The feeling of hiding your hands, never to touch or be touched again, never to taste nor smell, never to fly but only to fall.

This is the feeling of a whole hole returning, wholeheartedly.

Embrace in Raining Retrograde

2010-03-02T19:33:00.000-05:00

Streets. They careen against the falling sun and straighten out with the rise. A connection. A place we go to find ourselves, to find someone we knew long ago, or to assert who we are; who we think and want to be all at once.

A passage. Time is past. It dies and all we can be is driving. All we can be is driven. All we can be is that state of controlled lost. We listen to our self or we block it out by blaring someone else's words to which some part of us is attached; singing along we make them our own. Grasping to understand, even when we are running. Forward and side to side, but mostly backward. How many times are you returning behind the steering wheel. Creatures of habbit; we work in a retrograded state of return. Turn left at the next light, unless it red then continue straight-- we'll get there some day.

In the passenger seat, I'm a melted shotgun twisting to become the car. Let my eyes be the side window. Let me feel the wind billowing off the lakes. Let it sting and make the tears burn from my eyes as I drive back. 0 to 60 in 20 seconds: I've learned how to operate, how to adapt, how to become the car. Melted and twisted silver frozen behind a seatbelt.

I'm full of blanks; small spark followed in smoke. I redefine constantly and find myself traversing more boarders and using more lines. On the edge, just waiting for a push of encouragement, I've envisioned it. I swear I can hold the feeling without ever experiencing it before; my throat in my stomach, the rush of air, and the deep embrace of dark. It feels squishy and surrounding this forgetfulness, this forgiveness. Squishy and surrounding, but what to do with it?

This is not the time. There is no burning passion, just stinging eyes and I can't seem to see anymore through all the haze. The cold front is coming in and the pressure in my head is building. It's all building toward something I can not see, even with my brights it is hidden for me...from me.

Slips. Slippery slips back in your retrograded return. Who are you now?

Hold me in the asphalt, surround me---- I want to curve with the road for once. Envelope me...

Watch it. Watch the heavy rain dance on-- careen with me, curve with me...

Embrace

Running on Recycled Air pelted by Rain

2010-01-26T03:19:00.000-05:00

The sky was dark today, despite the slight raise of temperature. Water fell from all corners of this murky city. Being sensitive to my surroundings or perhaps just part of a universal punch line, my internal reflects the external. Why does this happen? Are we simply just looking for points of assimilation wherever we can see? Wherever we can feel? Today I felt it--
Today I realized I've been feeling it. And maybe tomorrow I will accept that I will continue to be feeling it.

Water; a staple to life, dimensionless, yet will strangle every empty corner beside boundary.
Today I tried to run from water. I wanted to run from life, find refuge in some make believe or a hope that time might run a little slower.

So, yes...it is too true. Today I ran from water but ended up running through it; the drops fell harder, faster, and stronger. Had I walked, my vision wouldn't have blurred form the rain, the drops would roll off carelessly and quite certainly with little trace left behind. Today running was facing them head on. Today the rain was stinging with a tone of truth and an afterthought of bitterness twinged with regret. Today running was staring at my feet to clear my vision because all I really wanted to see was stability. All I wanted to see were the marks I left in the mud. I wanted advancement by standing still and I wanted to stop time by running through it.

Today, running through life, was bounding into puddles of epiphany---What do you know? My feet got wet.

Today life soaked through my shoes, wrapped around my laces, and allowed me to think that I was sprinting out of it. It knew better but, then again, so did I. Now I'm left with wet shoes, statuettes of socks, cold feet, and wasted hours.

And I'll run again, because the thought of staring at my feet just gives me the opportunity to run into something

Not the Car but the Road-- a Commentary of Chance *Of Change

2010-01-12T01:29:00.000-05:00

The vehicle of life is a tricky thing. Understated in fine tuned curves: it exists as both the box surrounding us, the road beneath us, and the journey we think we have mapped out. Our environment changes us by challenge and the uncanny ability of those anti-shock tires to adapt to a bumpy road or ease over speed bumps at our own pace. But i'm not interested in the vehicle now, maybe later...now i'm interested in the rules of the road.

The lines on the road of life, that guide us along the way, seem opaquely yellow but they lie dormant on the ourfault, excuse me, asphalt. Stagnant in the boarders that define them, we follow their rules. We don't dare to pass over that yellow line for fear that something lurks around the bend. The unknown danger of an oncoming car, an oncoming life, the bright lights of anticipation or warning.

I don't extend this analogy too far, by all means when operating an actual machine STAY INSIDE THE LINES. But when operating within the matrix of life, those yellow lines are not impossible obstacles that leave only conformity in their end result. No, those lines are quite beneath you. They guide almost to a fault where the driver knows exactly where to go, provided an appropriate vision, and really has no free space of chance.

Swerve over the road of life, crash into someone new, leave your mark on the world. Yes, chances are that you may be forgotten, violently erased in the fissure of time and memory, you might just lose who you think you are in the crash...but you might just find something better. If you don't like it, take it in for repair...you are greatly salvageable.

Don't mistake ever changing as continuous negation. View it instead as a plentitude of growth, revisted as needed by memory. Let the oncoming cars enlighten you, not only to their own journey but also to the faults/highlights within your own.

You'll find the greatest impacts come with high speeds and a bit of recklessness. Take a chance, hold your breath, and delight in the unpredictability of off-roading.

2010 is hardly perfect vision

2009-12-27T00:31:00.000-05:00

As the year begins to fade into memory and anticipation fills our minds with the thought of what's to come, I can't help but be reminiscent. I'd like to reflect and say this has been a growing year...one where I hardly recognize the me I used to claim. I see me shining through the dying haze of 2009, almost as if from a movie. I'm waving to the the person on the boat so elegantly drifting from the dock into the horizon surely to be engulfed by the embracing mist.
A third in the past, a third in the now, and the last of me heading for the future, It's strange to stand in three places. I feel my feet secured to the dock but my hair is blowing in the breeze and the sound of sails billows above my head, and between the two I'm also the distance. I'm not one to fear, but these feet seem to be sticking to 2009 in the comfort of familiarity. I have no idea what these winds bring, but I know 2010 will be one to remember. So many things, school on top of having my own house (which of course I'm sharing with wonderful friends) on top of marching again (if they'll have me) on top of more school....oh and back track to Scotland and a potential spring break in Canada, now fast forward to more school and a mile marker b-day *** dear god it has come far to soon and not soon enough at the same time.
Truth be told, I'm not sure what 2010 has in store for me but I'm along for the ride **afterall I can't fight it, the boats already set sail--no use fighting the tides.

So here's to the horizon...may we never stop chasing it and may it always remain elusive, for what's the adventuring in knowing?

Drop the Match! It's already burning...

2009-12-18T01:00:00.000-05:00

I am absolutely terrified. And then there is this piece of me, there is this peace of me. So convincing and bold, I dare say it takes me for a ride. It makes me believe that this tarnished glint paves the road to silver. You know that lining we've all been grasping through broken fingers of a broken hope. Lined with an impatient dew, yearning to grasp...we gasp.

Give me air

Have you ever seen a tea pot tarnished? Swirls of a translucent copper stained by pools of gasoline-like puddles, shimmering side by side with pure silver, hazy but, if given the chance, lethally brilliant.

Blurring the line of classification, the tarnish swirls so nicely into the silver, I begin to wonder as the silver's reflection seers.

Silver: something of a retired tradition. of memory. Of propriety. Of Secrets reflected back into the eye, kept by the ear, and made messy by the heart.
2.That of the elite. A symbol of financial well-being. Live long, BUT prosper.
--------Silver is a tricky thing, something that sucks you into its own superficiality. The ultimate tease, it is cruel and unattainable. No matter how hard you search, your reflection will always search back...burn into those eyes. The only thing you'll ever find in silver, is the same empty space between those eyes, that same empty space you're looking to fill.

We search through silver for that look, for what is a void to be filled with anything but a void? It has long been evolved from the game it once was. No longer a mission, it now stands as an impossible certainty. Why then? Why do we berate ourselves with this charade?
------Voyeurs, hoping to see someone or something in that glimmering edge... Hoping that whatever we find validates this tea party we hold unto our self---validates this life upon which we have purchased, this life we own. The same that we leave on the shelf, to only be touched with inquisitive opticality.

Don't you see...silver gazes upon us, eyes empty with desire and a reflection awaiting an answer. So we look. We look deep into those eyes and feel; in control, corporeal, and, most importantly, desired. We stare into silver to feel and to know we are still feeling. And though it is a phantom feeling...We swear it's there.
Let go. Let grow. And breath--- I'll take the tarnish; I'll take the time; I'll take the truth...
and I'll be better for it.

~Take your tea pot off the shelf. You'll be happier unhaunted, dreaming in tarnished swirls of gasoline-like puddles, accompanied by squiggled perfections of flamable reflections. Let it burn!

Riding the Breeze like a Bullet

2009-12-09T22:25:00.000-05:00

True to my tells, I'm writing and have yet to fully admit why. When you think, or maybe it's just me, there are lots of me. Perhaps a better way to put it would be there are many facets or components of myself that think and react differently. I'm assuming everyone has these with the advent of phrases such as 'fighting with oneself'. Honestly? I often feel like the outward me is just the mediation of all these facets, that none of them are more indicative than the others. A little piece of my pieces seems to come through with every step on this breeze and every word in my head. So now is the wait.
Do we have any bets, because I'm not sure that I stand a bet's chance at this point. This is just so totally doomed, it's all going to hell, and when I'm through, when everything is thoroughly damaged, I will see it there.
Hold me. Hold my eyes close. Let me go and view the destruction. Let's see what kind of apocalypse I'll come with. Come to truly find how underestimated I am. How deep my secrets run. Scar tissue of steel and a heart of glass. But you'd never know because seeing is believing and I'm nothing but blanks.
As soon as you know how to read them, I run.

A long road: Severed in Silence

2009-11-30T01:35:00.000-05:00

I keep waiting for someone to save me. I'm not sure what leaves me feeling so helpless or continues time and again to catch my breath. I don't know what will solve these feelings or who will come on that shining white horse. Looking over the horizon, no mane is flowing in a stream of sunlight and no hoof beats are riding in on a breeze. I am sitting in this clearing of my life and I am just sitting. I have no reason to be there nor do I have reason to leave. so I'm sitting. Waiting, breathing, living.
Living?
I guess---
In transit, en route, invalid...wordplay. Each night the sun will set upon my dreams and reality will tell me when to wake and how impossible those oranges, yellows, reds, and pinks are in face of the day. I've been opening my eyes to hard blue realities, where you don't talk to me and I've loss much of what I worked towards for so long.
I miss you. And I want you to know---it's a plural you. You are the one who crossed the creek with me, the one I would run through corn alongside, the one I think I fell in love with (you hurt me perhaps past repair, I'm still reeling and I shouldn't remember you), the one who held my hand so convincingly you told me it could be real...but when the sun rose once again the promises of the night, the oranges, yellows, and reds were muted in the colors of today. of the morning. of your actions. of your consequence. My reality.
I can't love you singularly. You would hurt me and that would be more than I can handle.
but what's this you've handed me?

Retraction: an internal warfare

2009-11-08T03:07:00.000-05:00

No one hears the ticks. They just blur into the quotidienne white noise that floats udner the air. No one can feel the tension. No one can know. Understand. Hold your breath. Wait for the rhythm to slow, inhale, repeat. Continue until it doesn't feel anymore.

Perform yourself how you want. They can touch your mask, but not your essence. Without a barrier the critics words resound with shrill pains, stinging years after. Attack. Run. Run back inside yourself. Remember why you stay there. Find your comfort, stop apologizing and be.

There will always be one, one for you.

Will it matter? It matters. Remove. Remove everything that you feel has some sort of hold on being. Who you think you are, who you want to be, who you wanted to be, who you were and can never go back to. Run. Run the water over yourself and cry so you can no longer hear. Burn everything until it's untraceable. Reinvent, stage a differnet play. Even if you are the one person standing in the back, amongst a crowd of laughter stand strong. Even if they're laughing at you, play your role. Play the best damn role you have and hold on to it. Steadfast, for if you falter, you have already diminished. The you you were, is no more.

Once broken, no amount of repair will replenish the various voids and cracks. Your whole person is disembled. You become a ghost to yourself; only to return in glimpses of memory and manerisms. You lose.

And even then...It's not the same.

A hopelessness that must be explored

2009-11-03T06:27:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've been struggling for an identification. I'm struggling for the comprehension of so many broad concepts; language, labels, emotions. What are these things? We know them and identify them in their own existence but what's to say that it's concrete. Ambiguity and generality reigns supreme and I'm finding it hard to not be taken with the tide. Refusing to nod in agreement 'just because', I'm being devoured. Thoughts surround me and enforce a coat of indignation and resentment.

Unable to get past these things, everything is being depreciated. My head is bobbing not but a breath above water and I'm having that out of body experience where you watch yourself, in all of your faults and (for that matter) all the faults inherited by humanity. I'm encompassed. Confined and marinating. Literally drowning in my own confines. Trying to understand how I'm using my thought process, thoughts actualized in language, to somehow transform confines to fluid clarity, floating in free space.

I'm struggling with morality and self worth and whys and hows and pieces of the puzzle that are forming epiphanic moments full of lucid limitation. Experimentation is a hazy line to walk; where you're never quite sure of whether you're evolving the you you once were or are completely deviating into something that could be just dangerous or even worse redundant.

Individuality basks in the glow of those who have already traversed these ambiguities, where dirt is road and road is wilderness and none of us know where we are going until we've already been there. I think we make limits as protections. What's to be done if we fall from a peak that has never been climbed? Once broken, we can never be put back together just as before...we can never go back to being unbreakable. Boundaries make us invincible.

The only time I feel any freedom is when I find myself caught in a moment, free of self scrutiny, morality, boundary; free of judgment---free of society, only floating below my mind. These moments rush through my veins so quickly I know they will leave tracks, but it takes time for them to sear into the previously damaged tissue.

We're all fucked up, in one way or another. We all have therapies, most of which are to the disapproval of society. Some of us run away; we hide, we pretend, we rationalize. Others of us run toward; we indulge, we forget, we wake in the dawn of danger. We hurt you because we hurt ourselves.

I'm just beginning to understand that our fevers burn us deeper than we'll ever know.

ungrounded: soaring in clarity without reason

2009-09-21T01:57:00.001-04:00

Currently I am not scared. Right now I know I can do this...that I'm making this work and wouldn't like it if I weren't working for it. Coded words are flowing and once again non-sense returns to this crazy crazy keyboard. Have I been here before? Words drip from my mind and roll off my sleeve, the same that has been housing my heart *and with this I'm okay. I'm trusting...and it hasn't been broken yet. I trust it won't be anytime soon.
I've safeguarded enough to know that this comfort, the same that I found so misleading and deceiving, is just what it is. Comfortable. I hear it projected through speakers--I sleep on it soundly. Blaring is just a difference in magnitude and magnitude a variance of magnificence. I'm ready. I won't say it because I want it to be sure. I'm pretty sure when its concrete it will be already known. Good things are happening with time. Slow is more meaningful. I'm attempting more than understanding I'm becoming. Emotions don't overcome nor overwhelm (but they are clearly guiding). Providing a tour of this sanction and a garden for which to continue growth.
I'm no longer 19, but I was once, I'm no longer haunted though I've had my fair share of disappointments, and I'm certainly not waiting around or finding backups for what I've attempted in case I fall.
Damn it, this time I'm going to fall. This time I'm trusting...I've been scared enough for it in the past that fear itself escapes me and instead I am free. Free falling. Most definitely not in moderation or fragmented realities nor in fairy tales or splenda'd dreams.
I. AM. AND. FOR. THAT. I. WILL. CONTINUE. FOR THAT I WILL FALL. because that is me soaring, for once these feet aren't touching the ground

2009-04-19T16:28:00.000-04:00

stephanie took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test!

""Highly optimistic and outgoing personality. Love..."

Click here to read the rest of the results.

this was weird and said a lot of true things, just by clicking on colors...you should try it out.

Hurling words without Air. Playing with Fire.

2009-04-14T00:32:00.001-04:00

Life is situational and there is only so much you can do with the situations that string together. We weave them and our reactions, in turn, break ties or strengthen knots or smooth tangles. We breathe life into this maze we walk. We step where we shouldn't and we strive for what we can not obtain. Dealing seems to be a theme always present. We settle for fear that pushing higher and harder will break the mold and end in mess. Comprehension is lost in words and phrases too simple to be true; we refuse to believe for we can not will not understand. We like to say we know ourselves, but with all the change...if not in us around us, in others, in the air we inhale, in the intonation of thoughts and memories better silenced.

Life is volatile...but this makes it worth living.

I know this isn't the storm before the calm, or the breaking light of any new revelation. I know these thoughts run rampant across the red bricks of Athens, and hold less power than elevated epiphanies found at the bottom of porcelain bowls or a brisk 8am one-socked walk. We are volatile...and as luck would have it, we hope.

Awake to hope and dream in torturous fits of it. Don't allow the weight to crush you or the fall to break you, don't buy but don't sell, and...be. allow. free from stillness yet supported by a consistent, instability. Dependable and stable in its unpredictability.

right before you jump, your breath may catch-- and in that moment

without breath

continuously catching

in that moment is life.
Understandable through absence and necessity. Life-
to inhale. and. breathe freely. again.

"We're going down...My Dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room" What a beautiful life spent waking to dreams and living in moments that take your breath away; Perspectively Yours

a rampant disconnect with a confused cohesion...

2009-03-06T02:07:00.000-05:00

I don't know what I'm thinking, and I'm hoping maybe this will come to some ending or some beginning or just something comprehensive so I can stop wondering what is being processed. The things I'm mulling over, the thoughts compiling on my tongue--unreleased to the world, are contained by silent lips. I keep them there. I taste them and run them over and over again. Exhausting every angle and utilizing all and any resources. My resevoir is running on empty and the sleep that fuels me is running scarce as well. How many f(x)= will continue to be variable, unstable, or volatile? Where comes the solution and am I to arrive to it or it to me?
Where the fuck is the pencil? #2 and it better have an eraser, because nothing in life is permanent: no solution solves but to find another question and nothing serves a function but a solution...so in the end any solution is a question or confusion in disguise and really just mirrors the original problem; mocking its ability to function, as a mere mirror reflection. What is real?
...but a partition of an imaginary number.
What is reality?
...but a biased state of cognition.
What is truth?
...but a denial of innovation.

I'll let you know when I get there...but little things always make the biggest difference. Now, all smiles and thoughts tucked away for a different night, it finally stops. The sense it doesn't provide is enough--I'll let you know when I get there---far away in the distance, my heart pounds detached from my brain...There are a great many decisions that are calling for attention. I'm keeping them in the distance. The darkness afar, farther still from the light I'm seeking.

Farther still from a resolution or any kind of closing...Farther still, I back away.

kick up the covers and lay down...mess up my bed with me

2009-02-26T02:01:00.000-05:00

Breathing in the fresh dew of midnight, I realized we all need something to hold on to. Oddly enough, at the time of this great epiphany (where cosmic wonders were becoming comprehensible beside non-languaged feelings of just-right) I was holding three trash bags. Trash and baggage: all that had been contained by my hand--and I realized that too many people are wanting to hold something else, but are too afraid to release. To afraid to slip...to slip into what? On the fall down, you might find something better to grab on to, and when you find it...don't let go. Don't be afraid to reach for it. Hold it. Don't let go--

Some hold their person. A person of years, months, weeks, days, nights, seconds...it takes time to grow. Time to fuse pieces of your soul, embrace the parts that have changed. Make them your own. Let go of parts that need to fall away. Others hold themselves, lift their faces above the crowd and, heads held high, go on by. Seeing. Knowing. Being. We move amongst each other. Hardly aware of what drives one foot in front of the other or fuels our motivation. We just keep going. Our knowledge is going. Moving on. Oblivious

We hold standards, goals, and morals. We cling to objects, concepts, and memories. Have any of us really slipped? Let alone fallen to a point where we, as people, are unable to support ourselves? Or have we just become dependent on this faux-feeling of faux-comfort? Comfort in this contradicting paradigm lulls us to a sleep. A sleep so warm, we sweat with anticipation and fear that, sometime soon, the sun will rise. Reality must be approaching. Don't Come. We fight it. Don't come. We cry in the faux-night of closed eyes, hearts, and minds. We fight reality.

And so it is. Life goes easy on us most of the time. And so it is. Shorter story, no love no glory, no hero in our sky. We'll all forget the breeze most of the time. And so it is. And so it will continue.

Open your eyes, surprise yourself with what you see. If you're lucky, whatever you saw, whatever you felt behind that shielding comfort of your eyelids, whatever you think was beyond here, beyond now, might just BE.

...standing in front of you. Reaching. Wanting. Wishing, just as you are.

but you have to let go to re-grab. You have to open your eyes to see. Leap before you can truly understand faith. And don't forget come daylight...

Try to unBREAK broken-- it won't happen

2009-02-19T01:04:00.000-05:00

...it won't happen. I know this. A piece of common knowledge not quite opaque and neither translucent. It will be what you make it, but will remain what it is. What it has always been, and even there ambiguity saturates and weighs heavily. For what it was to you, was not how I experienced it--nor is my reality held near to your heart. And, in a swimming sea of neithers and nors and in betweens, I didn't expect it to lie or become akin to the steady rhythm of an essence such as life. An essence in which a slowed or rushed beat, where what lies can be truth, can end and be final. Can become electrified by an outside source and will continue to beat on. breathe on. walk away. walk toward.

This creates misunderstanding and aggravation. This creates Darkness.Darkness is not comprehensive. Only to be understood as dark, the closest thing to nothing you can imagine. A nothing imagined everything, conceptually designed as a black depth containing unseen people. People grasping in the void for anything that might be in reach. For anything to connect. For anything to be amongst them, beat with them, breathe with them, walk with them. Words of wisdom float in the darkness, as invisibly apparent as the depth known surrounding. It claims TBA and reclaims it as a constant state of being.

This darkness is all we have, that's where it becomes everything. Our everything. It drives our search, our advancement, our pain, our success. Us, driven like cars, by an unmistakable force comprised of blackness and depth and unknown. It drives. We go. We live.

Life is TBA and we don't know how to deal with it so we rationalize it. or we run from it. or we dive towards it. or we bathe in it. We DEAL with it and that's okay.

Just know as you're groping in your own darkness, you are really reaching into another's plot of depth. Respect. Reach out. Go slow.

---yeah I don't know what this is about, but it's something. I'm not sad about it, nor indifferent...just learning. I don't see it as unfortunate, neither should you

...whoever you may be :)

We are stars in the same darkness of a deep nothing, blind to the brilliance beside us and tragically mistaking our own brilliance to be insignificant. Shine bright.

I'll find you.

...fall with me?

2009-02-10T17:57:00.000-05:00

As it was, and continues to be, raining in Athens, I walked outside of myself. Though I could have brought an umbrella, a canopy of protection, I decided to decline and feel the rain.

I let it fall on me. It dampened my hair, it dewed on my skin, and droplets fell from my fingers. I didn't mind and I don't know why. The rain was not liberating nor hindering. And it wasn't until my surroundings were dry, that I realized the moisture resting on my superficial. Outside, I felt outside. And Inside, I was really still outside just contained. Four walls, floor, and ceiling. Surrounded by dry, making the cool, comfortable dampness of Outside warm. Uncomfortable.

Inside makes Outside uncomfortable.

I think I was able to be vulnerable Outside. Too often I carry my own umbrella, I'll see but won't allow myself to feel. Without my guard, the drops hit...but I find they don't hit hard. When usually I see them fall through space, plummeting to an end. to the ground. I feel protected from the violence surrounding me. Without my guard, I see them dancing beside my feet in the puddle to the right, left, front, and the one's I've passed-- I know they've remained frenzied though I can no longer see them.

I often lose the opportunity to feel the cool dampness, because I am afraid of the return Inside. The discomfort when the cool warms. When the refreshing vulnerability wraps around you and sticks. Confines you like wet clothes, finding every freedom of movement and oppressing it with the scratchy fabric that refuses to release, refuses to breathe, and weighs down so much that all you can think about is becoming dry, conforming....becoming....

Inside.

I'm making an active choice to walk outside my comfort. To walk outside myself. To not focus on the Inside, but to relish walking on the Outside. To let past my guard or perhaps drop my guard all together. Baby steps.... I trust * but not with myself.

I'm always strong-- independence proclaims me. Proceeds me. Protects me.

...but in the end, while drops fall from the sky, just as we fall through life, I want to see dancing underneath me and company beside me, falling in a different space but falling all the same. Together.

so i answered 9 mult. choice....and it told me who i was

2009-02-09T00:50:00.000-05:00

Your view on yourself:
You are down-to-earth and people like you because you are so straightforward. You are an efficient problem solver because you will listen to both sides of an argument before making a decision that usually appeals to both parties.

The type of girlfriend/boyfriend you are looking for:
You are not looking merely for a girl/boyfriend - you are looking for your life partner. Perhaps you should be more open-minded about who you spend time with. The person you are looking for might hide their charm under their exterior.

Your readiness to commit to a relationship:
You prefer to get to know a person very well before deciding whether you will commit to the relationship.

The seriousness of your love:
You like to flirt and behave seductively. The opposite sex finds this very attractive, and that's why you'll always have admirers hanging off your arms. But how serious are you about choosing someone to be in a relationship with?

Your views on education
Education is very important in life. You want to study hard and learn as much as you can.

The right job for you:
You're a practical person and will choose a secure job with a steady income. Knowing what you like to do is important. Find a regular job doing just that and you'll be set for life.

How do you view success:
Success in your career is not the most important thing in life. You are content with what you have and think that being with someone you love is more than spending all of your precious time just working.

What are you most afraid of:
You are afraid of having no one to rely on in times of trouble. You don't ever want to be unable to take care of yourself. Independence is important to you.

Who is your true self:
You are mature, reasonable, honest and give good advice. People ask for your comments on all sorts of different issues. Sometimes you might find yourself in a dilemma when trapped with a problem, which your heart rather than your head needs to solve.

Weaving: Memories. Intermingling. Uncertainty

2009-01-31T14:42:00.000-05:00

Today I find myself missing my best friend on her birthday. Seriously, why weren't we sisters....it should've happened. hahah I think back to that one time when we were at Marc's house :) We were talking about sisters and Abby said "well we can be. My mom can be your mom". I responded by saying how weird that would be and she said "well technically, your mom isn't your mom either". We just cocked our heads in silence and then burst out laughing.
I miss you :(
:) I love you :)
And I hope you get your present soon, because it's pretty awesome...

Transitioning....I'm glad I've met the people I have, and am extremely grateful for my groups of friends on this current ice rink of a campus. As the days go on, I more positively view life, more often I see reason in the unreasonable, and question less the practicality in impossibility. Despite a heavy work load, and uncertainty in everything I'm doing--despite the fact that I sometimes feel myself failing or doubting, or wishing or wanting * I just know that everything is working out. I am happy and slightly proud of all of us, the solid bonds we've formed(but even more so the one's we've broken), and the way we help weave our lives, sharing string or wicker or whatever the hell you weave with.

Thinking about it, I guess we weave our memories and share them amongst ourselves. I like this sharing.
So thank you.

In another relative notation-- I feel a shift, a changing starting to encapsulate. Not sure if the change is going to take me, or whether or not I'll like it. It's stuck on potential...just resting. But I feel it's there. Not quite sure how I feel about that yet, but no worries. Ya'll are here to stay.

And I'm not planning leaving anytime soon :)

a rounded freedom--a full life

2009-01-24T15:35:00.000-05:00

I have no idea what I want from the life I'm living-- but something tells me it's all going to pan out. I want to look back and remember. Not question. Not want more or less from the times I can not change. I never go into something thinking...okay, so this is why and what I wish to gain. I simply ride the ride until I find myself wishing I was off.

I like circles, round about points with no end and no beginning. My life is a circle-- I don't know what the end result is going to be, and often find myself wondering when I'm going to choose to a straight path from clarified point A to distinct point B. When will the motion sickness take effect?

When I'm looking back, I'm not sure if I'm going to regret the loops I've jumped from or the spheres of my life *but I don't know how to live any other way. So, it will just have to work and be alright. I'm in this to have fun.

So I'll ride the merry-go-round, the ferris wheel, the yo-yo, and the ring of fire

I'll live in circles full of indecision and open options--with little commitment and little concern. Enjoying every moment...

...to the fullest

i've been watching, but i'm not a watcher

2009-01-20T20:45:00.000-05:00

The world seems to be floating in a busy stagnation. I mean nothing really seems to be changing but I'm feeling the constant need to move and to do. The only problem is the my indecision and lack of motivation. Nothing seems very appealing, and on the occasion it does--as soon as I start I'm anticipating a change of activity.

My thoughts won't leave me but they won't stay. I'm stuck in mid-thought, mid-stare, mid-breath. Mid-ground. I'm stuck waiting. Between two worlds of movement and stillness. I stand wrapped in placid calmness. Fighting for motion. Left just breathing.

I like the game, the chase, the race, the fun. I want a hurling force to send my world back into motion. I want a frenzied catalyst to set my world back on point. To pick up my feet and sprint on my toes. To melt the ice and feel the pavement. To live continuously without lull.

I want

Forever yours, Time

2009-01-09T01:32:00.000-05:00

Today was a weird day. There was no sun, yet rain did not fall. The weather was cold, yet the wind was not biting. And I survived the fast paced Thursday despite the risks it presented. It was just a queer ass Thursday. The first of many I am assured.

I'm falling in love with improv dance. But I'm having trouble listening. I hear myself and what I want to do--but everyone else is so foreign to me. I think its because I don't know many of them. They might as well be speaking Chinese or a quick Russian--because for every word I think they say *I am wrong. I'll find a balance.

I'm convinced that everything is just so weird now because everything is transitional. An awkward state of in between that I don't care to travel though, let alone rest in. It will pass--but the last six weeks have seemed similar to forever. I was hoping this week would be different. And, though it was...somehow, it still made week seven.

forever yours time... I await what the next week holds. I hope for you to be week one, because eight weeks is a long time. And as time goes on expectations and hopes are driven higher out of anticipation. Eight weeks is a long way to fall.

But week one. Week one is a beginning. Week one is closer to the ground.

--with a cherry on top

2008-11-10T14:23:00.000-05:00

I read a poem once that explained that we contain all our years at once. That when we turn 5 we are really just 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1 all at once. So the older you are, the more you are in terms of person, emotion, understanding, experience--and it goes on and on and on.

It's why you can be so mature and then have something small happen and feel completely defeated. It's why sometimes you get stupid again---you make mistakes big girls don't make, you cry when you shouldn't, you pout when you don't when you don't get your way.

Think of yourself as a sundae. Can you imagine 19 toppings on a sundae. It's overwhelming. Today I thought about how simplistic life was. When all I had was rainbow sprinkles, whip cream, a cherry on top, and a smile on my face, I had no concern or fear or sense of relation to that bowl. I was just living because that's what I was and I was just eating because someone placed it in front of me. When you're little you don't understand.

But I also realize that for everything I add, something is taken away. I know that I no longer have the innocence I once did. Things have become more messy and more murky in clarity. Ambiguity reigns supreme in Life's sundae.

Now. Life has given me 19 toppings. I'm not always sure what I'm supposed to do with this bowl in front of me, but I know I want it in front of me. I know that I've picked my toppings well. I know that anything contained with in that bowl is something I'm proud of, even if I shouldn't be. Because even moments I've regreted have made me. I've assembled myself. You know what....I'm a kick-ass sundae.

If I ever get overwhelmed, my bowl still contains the rainbow sprinkles, whip cream, and a cherry on top.

--and when I see my reflection, there's a smile on my face.

I smile...even when logic says to frown...I smile

2008-11-08T15:53:00.001-05:00

So--I bought a whole bunch of york peppermint patties today, and I thought about you for the first time in a long time. Which is weird because you are hanging above my computer in two pictures....nestled in the life I used to know and beside people I still love and care deeply for.

I thought it was weird how as soon as my hand touched the crinkled foil, I thought of you. I could see you eating one of them in my memory and how excited you got. I also think that it was strange, to say in the least, that it was that glint of a moment that sprang to my mind. How the world seemed to stop while I was watching you eat that york in all of your eccentricities, with a grin on your face and some rock band playing in the background. I hope that the next time I touch a york something else comes to mind

Like how my mom and I used to eat them when we were pulling out of the gas station. Those gas stations of the past that were labeled $1.26/gal unleaded. I would rather that memory because yours holds less value to me than the past price of gas.

I also thought it was interesting that only in the analysis do I feel any bitterness. That when the memory occurred I didn't feel anything, I just saw you eating chocolate with a slowed grin...it was complete indifference. I didn't acknowledge the moment, I didn't think about what led us here, and I certainly didn't think about how things would have been if things hadn't been and hadn't happened.

so thanks for the memories---even if they weren't that good *the yorks nestled in a closed drawer

I wouldn't have it any other way :) We've moved on...I'll open the drawer and eat them sometime--I'll think of my mom instead and if my thoughts turn to you, they'll be thoughts of indifference, just like the last...We've moved on

I'm sitting here alone in silence with the exception of my thoughts. With the exceptions of these words and the clacks of the keys as I apply understanding through letters. I'm trying to learn from the world. I'm learning from you, I'm learning from her, I'm learning from him. I read it in a book, I saw it on TV, I heard it through the grapevine. I'm not leaving, but I'm not staying. Damned if I know where I'm going or where I'll end up but....

I'm going with my music blaring and the top down....and as we pass---you know a smile will be on my face. Because that's what happy people do.

We smile for no reason.....and at the same time

We smile for all reason

.....as we pass among ourselves

2008-11-05T17:35:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I look at the world, and I really think "All of this is mine to make what I wish". Then other times I think "Shit, what am I making".

You hope that...somehow when its all said and done--someone will be better for it.

But who is this someone? This strange person you have yet to meet. The person who will become your best friend. The person you'll hate at first but grow to like. The person you've hated from the beginning. Who are you? What are you about?

Can I trust you, can I trust myself, can I be loyal to you? How will things end up?

Okay

first, breathe in and out and in and out---and do this so many times until you forget the difference in the exchange. Forget you're breathing. Forget that you're functioning or taking action and just do. Be a machine for one second of your day and allow yourself to work without thinking.

Don't open your mouth--just listen. Listen to the world. The world that has been speaking for so long---the scuttle of squirrels feet as they run past you, below you, above you. Listen to words being generated as they walk by. Listen to silence. Listen to your body, listen to your needs, listen to your wants.

There are so many other wonderful lives around us that we simply walk past. We don't acknowledge them and they return the favor. We drift by each other already cut-off. Already separated by the tiles between us. Smile. Smile at them. Make yourself known---acknowledge that there are lives outside yourself. We know they are there---but to actually recognize them as more than just living--to understand that they have thoughts, however different from your own, that rush across their minds. They have instincts and impulses that they deprive or indulge. They have regrets. They have successes.

To realize that they too are carving out a place for themselves in the now that becomes history....they are making decisions---discovering things about themselves---and maybe, if you're lucky...they are wondering about you.

And maybe that will be the only impact you have on them....maybe you will be their epiphany by simply existing. Perhaps you will be nameless, perhaps you will be that guy on the red bike who changed my life forever. And, yet again, perhaps you won't. Perhaps we'll continue to walk by each other in silence...

just dots on the pages of history will pass between us

........

but we'll always have perhaps and maybe. And in those words lays a potential energy; an energy as malleable as the world we are walking in. We can shape them....just as they shape ourselves.

........

Staring at the sun in all of its glory - a revelation of beauty

2008-10-24T13:35:00.000-04:00

So--when thinking about life in general, I tend to boarder on an edge. I usually am looking below me, around me, above me. I'm looking for answers and find instead questions. I'm looking for a pathway--but instead I find obstacles. I'm often overwhelmed by tipping myself over the edge and falling. When one moves their head so face, attempting to soak up every image, a dizzying effect is gained. Fear consumes with the thought; the thought of falling. I don't know what is at the bottom and I wasn't always sure who would catch me.

I think I've finally figured. It's where I'm looking that isn't making sense. The act of dizzying myself by looking. It's where I'm looking that is providing my own vertigo. It's, ultimately, myself who can always catch me and I will ALWAYS have me.

I have this one place. This one place where I'm standing in my life right now. I'm moving without deliberated motion. I'm choosing without making choices. And I can't explain exactly why everything is happening. Somethings are degraded by language and understanding. Somethings just are. Without rhyme or reason they exist, they affect, they alter, they change all together into something different. This is okay.

Right now I've decided to look at where I'm standing. It's a beautiful place, now that I've gathered enough sense to look at it. It's not always bright and daisy like, but the juxtaposition and chiaroscuro contained in my little plot of life is balanced. The composition is quite breath taking. I've decided to take it all in. To appreciate this plot of ground, to remain standing where I do, and to continue allowing life to serve whatever it may. I can deal with it when it comes. What cares do I have otherwise. I don't.

I am, overall, glad. Bursting with energy and anticipation for the next day. Knowing that I can breathe and live. Knowing that my plot of life is mine own and I may leave and then again I may return.

I am happy. Happy with myself, my prospects. Falling epiphanies from the branches of my brain; I am happy. I am contented that I am in control of me. I am joyous that I can appreciate in the now, instead of looking back and regretting how I'm feeling at this moment. Wishing that I had lavished more of myself in the warm soil that is me, that is my life, that is my choice.

Challenge yourself. Just do it. Serve your eggs sunny side up and imagine a smile in the yolk. Treat yourself to inward thinking without feeling selfish. Indulge in everyones' company because they'll teach you (even lessons you won't want to learn will further your own process). Surround yourself in your moods' ambiance...and decide.

Decide whether you are happy or will become happy. If you aren't; Change. Change the world. Change your luck. Change your life. Move to a different plot of land until you are happier than you've ever been before. Do what is right for you and bathe in the feelings surrounding. Walk in the light of yourself.

Experience....just because you can.

And if you feel you can't Trust Yourself; Trust me.

You Can :)

We all fall down....so how shall we pick ourselves up?

2008-10-21T17:54:00.000-04:00

I live my life. The way I live it is the right way for me. If I didn't think it was the right way--I wouldn't allow it to be such a determinant factor in something so important. It is life, after all, that is all we have. We know of nothing but life....it is our world. We know not of death, we can not comprehend the opposite of being, and I can not see the backs of my eyelids though they are there-- Some of us live for this unknown. And others, still, live for the fear of not knowing. But there are those who are no longer in existance. I don't know anything about that--I can sympathize, I can hurt because of it, and I can see how a loss of their person affects my person.

All I can say is that I know of me. My life.

I just live. Just as I often just am. Just as I often just do.

I can not plot to hurt. I can not scheme for my own benefit. (...and further more what benefit have you seen me to reap from this situation *losing my brother, tearing my family, hurting you hurting me being sorry but not regretting not understanding...the same misunderstanding of life and experiencing an unbeing of being. An existence without name after all is a negation of language; a negation of being. But here I am. I'm still breathing, I'm still going, I'm still here, I still feel, I....I....I don't want to make things worse. I don't trust what is pouring out of my heart right now, but I know it has to go somewhere. Here is where it will rest.

I hate making this about me. Because, in the end, it's about us. But you want nothing to do with us right now, so I'm left with no other choice. No other alternative. I know you aren't ready for us yet, but I'm waiting for it. I'm ready for us. I'm ready to talk--but you need your time, and I can't control how much you may need. I can only respect it. I will respect the way you've initiated this, even though I don't support it.

In lieu of what has happened- I will not recount- I will tell you everything me has to say. I go through stages; through waves of emotions; sadness, indifference, anger, confusion, frustration, relief, release, anxiety--nearly everything but happiness. This situation, in my opinion, doesn't allow any breed of happiness for anyone-- I say this in search of insight, not to denounce your feelings or how you are going about this---but what solution does your equation produce? I'll trust that a complete separation solves something, but what?

Me: me feels-- and the thoughts coursing through my brain are disconnected through the shock you presented. Here they are...

-completely blind sighted. You didn't confront me before you cut me off. I'm hurt. Hurt more than I've ever hurt before. I'm sorry for the things I said. They were said out of frustration and anger--no doubt derived by the situation and actions taken. They weren't directed towards your person but the person you were in those few moments. I didn't agree with the situation or actions taken...but I still loved you all the while. And I still love you. I would never give you the disservice to talk about you when you couldn't hear what was being said. If I say something, I will not go behind your back. I knew the door was open--I know the walls are paper thin--but I never meant to attack you. I was venting and words are words. It was how I was feeling at the moment: that you over reacted, and took irrational actions because of anger. I talked to your little not to turn him against you, but to try to save you from a decision that I thought would make your (as well as other's) life harder. I really was trying to help. All I knew was that you weren't listening to me and maybe you would listen to him. Maybe you would listen to your brother. I was afraid for you and the actions that you could take. That was my motivation, my sole motivation in talking to your little about talking to you.

As for the man in the attack, I could care less how you handle that. It was another decision I didn't trust you to make out of anger. I was only trying to intervene to save something that I thought was worth saving. If I had known that my actions there would have hurt our friendship, I wouldn't have even said his name in your presence. The only thing I care about and can control is our friendship; and now I care about how I can make this up to you. What steps I can take in order to help to heal the damage. I know there will always be a scar--it can't be prevented, but maybe one day we'll be able to look back on the scar...Maybe I will be able to see it someday, say I'm really sorry, and maybe you'll hug me and say just don't do it again.

I don't understand you, but I still love you. I never intentionally instigated. That one time the man in the attack, came down and met me and the person who now occupies your old room....I really didn't say anything. The man in the attack saw you--and said what he said on his own. The only thing I've ever said to the man in the attack about you has been when you have been angry at him. When your angry with someone, you owe them the respect, the respect they deserve as a human being, to tell them that your mad at them for this this and this. You're allowed to be mad, to be mad for as long as you want, but you owe them notice--so things like this don't happen. So people, including yourself, don't hurt as much when everything blows up. So your angers' shrapnel doesn't penetrate as deep, so your scars aren't as bold.

I told you I would never choose between you two: the man in the attack and the brother I've known for the past three years. I also told you I was still his friend. You should have told me then that that bothered you. I wouldn't have let you see it happen--the friendship--I would have protected you from it. (I wouldn't have enjoyed this secrecy...but I know that you are worth it. I would have done it for you.) Contrary to what you have said, I still haven't picked. You two are NOT equal. I place you above him. You are my brother. You mean a lot to me. Even through this I worry about you and how you are taking this. I worry about your hurt and wish I were there to try to comfort you. I NEVER MADE A CHOICE. I was just being, as I often am.

As for our mutual friend from the north, I left the room. I didn't know how to handle it. I physically and mentally shut down. It's something about my defense system that I don't like. When things like that happen, I separate myself from the situation. I thought that she was going to stop breathing.....I was scared....I sat in the hallway and stared on. I REALLY THOUGHT THAT THERE WAS A CHANCE I WOULD LOSE HER! I regret leaving her and going to Bob Evans. I was wrong here...but part of me knew that the danger was avoided and I couldn't help her sleep.

I am really and truly hurt by how you have handled this. It really sent me a message to how you've valued our three year friendship. How you could even imagine throwing this away, without trying to work things out, let alone talk things out, upsets me more than I can express.

To me, YOU ARE WORTH IT. You are worth my time and energy. You are worth my trouble. Most importantly, you are worth my fight as is our friendship. It also hurts to know that if I make a mistake, you won't flat out tell me. I feel friendship is saying, hey you fucked up--just don't do it again. If I do it again, that's when you can say well....we kinda already talked about this. I know now that if I fuck up--you're dropping me...dropping me without warning.

As a friend, I will always tell you when I don't agree with something you're doing or how you're reacting, but that doesn't change our relationship. Or at least it shouldn't. I can be your friend and support you without supporting all of your decisions or actions.

I will take responsibility. I WAS WRONG. I shouldn't have done many of the things I did. I shouldn't have spoken in frustration or anger. I should have let you have your beef with the man in the attack. I should have minded my own business and trusted your decisions. I should have let you know clearly that I support you. I should have let you know that you will always be my brother and no one could replace you or top you in that sense.

So, what do you hope to come of this? Do we just part ways and awkwardly see each other, or can we handle this in a different way? I miss you. The saddest part to me is that if this situation was happening between me and anyone else....I would be talking to you about it. You would be the one to make me feel better. Now, I can't go to you and I'm hurt; sad; upset.

Overall I'm hoping. I'm hoping that one day you'll be able to stand in the same room with me. I'm hoping that one day you'll let me sleep on your futon. I'm hoping that you still love me the way I love you. I am still going to love you....I am hoping that you still love me--and are willing to get past this. I'm hoping that I'm worth more to you than you're indicating now. Or maybe I just hope that at one point I was. That at one point I was worth fighting for (as I feel you are), and maybe it was that one moment in time that will bring you to say that perhaps I still am.