wondering
Current mood: tired

it is not just me.  is it?
it is not just me that wants to make sense to everyone, with no one excluded,
is it?

8:25 PM - 5 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

alls i need
Current mood: good golly

this is awesome.  i couldn't be happier.

i'm going.   i can't fucking wait.

Fun Fun Fun Fest in Austin, TX. November 9

if you wanna go, let me know.  if you wanna run into me there, then lets.  you have my number.

5:56 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

new-home-sick
Current mood: Missy McMisserson

i just moved into a new house.  a beautiful one.  for a very low price.  i adore it here, and i have decorated it to make it very me.  to make it a home.  but it feels unfamiliar.  it needs memories.  good ones.  the best.  it needs my cooking.  it needs my footsteps and patterns.  it needs my friends.

sigh.
i miss a lot of you.  especially as i unpack boxes.  you'd be surprised at the things i have kept that remind me of you.  i nearly cried all night.  that's right.  i nearly cried all night.

love all of you.

9:11 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

tree swing
Current mood: quiet

I don't think you understand.  I want to be alone.  I love hurricanes.  I think it's the contradiction; great forces making themselves heard with the whisper of trees, an occasional coo swirling under the overhang, the static television rain.  A glass bottle outside rolls unfortunately lopsided against the pebbled pavement.  The television, off.  The lights, off.  Awareness, perked.  Windows unwillingly barred by boards allow a space for imagination.  I imagine a gentler outside.  The violent tree rejecting itself tantrums my resting delight of drama.  Not human drama, but that of nature.  The questionable science, the unquestionable intensity, and that subtly clear, but justly blurred moment where they cross, and people presume to call it "God".  Good.  Let them.  It's the closest they'll get to predicting it's next tango.  Whatever its name, these unwritten patterns, unwritten throngs of nature's indulgence, are the feasts before the fast.  Let the trees dance, the winds, sing, the rain, drum.  Soon, they will tire, fall, and winter.

6:02 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

have i told you lately that i loved you?
Current mood: nondescript

I guess I never realized how it felt to be steady.  Everyone I keep around is very inconsistent.  They appear like a blazing comet's tail and exit the same, leaving behind them streams of smoke and singed darkness.  Everyone, including me, screams at them to go away.  No, stay.  It's also how I operate, I guess. 

But I try my hardest to heal.  I'm very bad at doing this for myself, but I have been told that I'm like an angel by others.  I don't see it, but I try so see myself from an outwards view.  All I see are my misdemeanors against humanity and against anyone who loves me.  All I see are the faces, ever-changing, of the persons, each that I have clawed, urgently and without consent or intentions for repair.  I can't save the world.  At least that's what I hear.  I figure that if I can't save it, then I'll hurt it to leave my mark.  I'll score maps with my flaws.  At least that's how I feel when I resign my efforts.  One against all. 

I prefer one to one, when I'm an angel.  I have given myself to single souls, but I can't cope with several.  It crowds my mind, rendering me ineffective emotionally.  My actions exhibit intolerance in line with my discontent thoughts.  I see the person I am trying to love, and help, as having many changing faces of everyone else that I still love and haven't given up on yet.  I bear this. The names change accordingly.  I have to bite my tongue a lot, though it may seem otherwise, as those who know me may find me talkative.  It's at the surrender of Misunderstanding.  I seek to be clear.  Silence does not afford me (I'm speaking for me only) the fortune of happenstance clarity.  If I am silent, I feel that it is usually the case then that all are silent. 

You need me to talk; to question.  You enjoy laughing at my fumbling tumbling words which cause irreparable scars on that line where the joke became no longer funny and began to hurt your head.    I am not cool.  I never ask for you to think that I am.  All I want is to see you happy.  When I have done so effectively, when you have genuinely let me in, when you have let me love you, you may ask kindly to return the favor.  And you may ask me questions, too, about things that don't matter and things that I never thought of.  To question myself, I don't need you around.  Not always.  I don't need you.  But I like you.  More, even. 

A toast:  Here's to you being as concerned about me as I am, you.  Here's to you realizing that you scored my wings in your blight to defend yourself against the one who never intended to hurt you, until you attacked.  Here's to you ruining my desirable flights of fancy, taking my delicious green apple from my fainted hands, and swallowing it whole, savoring every stomach cramp that stabs your insides from the inside on your hobbling journey back into yourself.  I am pleased that you dined on what I cooked for you.

Here's to your digestion. 

12:54 AM - 0 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

i am not a child.
Current mood: adored by someone in china

love with me.

http://bubblegumgoods.com/

5:12 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

sword swallower

to tell you the truth,
your tired old words need a rest,
and a daring dream.

awaken alive,
propagate fiery chance,
ears and eyes agape.

6:55 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

must....have.....music...cough cough....
Current mood: worked

i have an addiction to music.  it is mainly because i am easily bored,  and i work from home.  as i work, i spend money randomly on iTunes to keep me interested in work.
it's a vicious and viscous cycle!
save me!!!!
i am working to feed addictions!

9:36 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

self-captive
Current mood: defeated

i run up to the stone arch, which is falling, boulder by pebble, and sloshing into the muddy unkempt moat.  my body crimps at the center, as lungs are too weak to keep me upright; i am forced to slump and hump my back.  seeking support, I drop my hands to my knees to brace myself as i fight to see through the spotted film of exhaustion.  my body is light from momentum's shoving sprint, but heavy at the sight of a dooming dungeon gate before me.  i drag my five-hundred pound foot forward and lurch against the hot thrusting winds coming from the gateway.  they sprinkle my cheeks abrasively, as my face warms a little more with each tilt upwards.  i know it is my blood coming out to meet the dusty steady punch.  my foot claps against the surface of the water as i break its tension, and i lunge forward into the opaque brown , sinking into the swampy bed to the height of my waist.  now lower than the gust's screaming reach, the water consumes me with grogginess and covers me in phlegm, as my chin rapidly descends for its role as a welcoming mat for my mouth.  i gag and dry heave, stopping myself quickly, for i know that my will is stronger, and my mission greater.  it takes me seven steps to cross, with each dropping me a body part deeper.  i reach the other side just as my nose consumes its parting feast.  shoulders to elbows to wrists elevate, and my hands raise, meeting the level of the bank as my fingers curl to the shape of a pianist's conquering his anger.  the grass is friendly, and lends its entwining roots for my reach.  i, grab by grab, body part by body part, begin laying my worn shell on the earth's flat, steady chest.  grab. up pull. out. grab grab pull out up grab pull. lay. GRAB. puuuuulllllllllll. squirm. sliiiiiide.  up. out. cool against my cut face, which the water had begun to sting with its vaporous deluge, the grass softly mends.  pause is a precious permanence that returns my stolen form, but my weariness shivers me into an unbearable epileptic discomfort, such that even resting would be a fight.  i rise to meet the looming thirty foot tall dungeon's belching mouth.  it is now.  step.       step.                  step.     step. step.     step.   step. step. step.step.stepstepstesteststsssssssssrrrrrRUN!

i see him at the end of the vaulted corridor, sitting, resigning to the collapsing skeletal cave.  his hold is jointed with ivory fingers wrapped about the bars of his confining gate.  his hands are white, bleeding, and cut with rusted iron flecks.  i wince quickly to the memory of my sister's death, with her pale white form at the base of a clay soil cliff drop.  his eyes, blankly, address me.  we stop.  we stare.  i can't decide the color.  they change with each settling of decision.  they are gree....they turned blu....they are yellow.  no. nevermind.  fuck it.  my gaze is broken by an onslaught of angry tears at his stubborn unmoving form.  screaming fills my head.  it is mine.  it is sudden, and i blindly sprint with recognition.  towards the only exit; the entrance.  it is nearly closed in on itself and there is water seeping across the floor.  my screaming doubles up with another's.  turning too quickly for my stride, i trip and stumble, landing on my side.  breath leaves my body as i desperately squint to see the chameleon man.  there.  his mouth is closed.  the screaming is still going.  it is not a person, but the collapse of rust grinding sharply, which wails its moan, flooding the cavern with sounds of red.  we stare, and with my head still resting on the ground, his holding cell door begins to fall, dislocating itself from its binding structure.  his hands are bloody.  i rise, and run away, out of the cave, across the broken rubble of a bridge formed by the fallen entrance rocks, and into the field of gray.  his hands were keeping him in.

6:52 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

today

my freelance work is still rolling.
each time that i visit my clients, i am more confident and excited about my progress and their maintained interest.  they decided to go against the builder's want for simplicity so that we could maintain the integrity of my design, that they find interesting.  :)
my boyfriend is progressively awesome(r) each day.  and we play well together.  but i'm kind of a third grade pick-on-you-to-flirt bully.  he's super sweet about it, though.
someone was mean to me today.  really, really mean. 

but DEVO and my boyfriend and my jobs are making me okay.

good riddance.

1:55 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment