August showers

Recent events include:

Home for a week; Being reunited with Devin [!!!]; Being ineffective; Moving back to campus tomorrow

I hate packing and I hate that I am about to be a senior in college. Life is too real and scary now.

home is where…

There is something so painfully disorienting, yet strangely comfortable about being in this place. I think the most dominant thing that annoys me is the brutal practicality that my parents shove into each molecule of air that surrounds them, into every word they speak to me and every ounce of control they desire to have over my life. I want to be over all of this. I’ve come to the realization that I am terrified of leaving academia, but not because I fear the ‘real world’ – I just have this pretty picture painted in my head of a happily-lonely girl burying herself in books, theories, words, abstract concepts, finding the romance bleeding out of it all, and it scares me to think of a world without all of these things. Secretly, I bury myself in vivid [day]dreams and strange fantasies, writing about them, breathing them in, front to back, on all sides, around in circles, but somehow I have found a way to apply them to the world I am functioning in [surprisingly well, given recent events]. ‘Recent events‘ include running from, fearing, avoiding, being terrorized. It’s been a terrible year for these things we are so eager to label as ‘friendships’.

August hasn’t been so kind as far as I’m concerned – you’ve been so rough to me and I’ve lost the little faith I had left in the humans that so selfishly surround me. I am shocked that individuals can hurt others to such great extents, act like nothing has happened, and beg for forgiveness without once feeling what a genuine apology is. What no longer shocks me is how easily I forgive and convince myself that it is crucial that I move on. It’s difficult to go through this repeatedly with people who are so sure that they have the capacity to be a good friend, yet they always seem to forget that the effort must go both ways, must come from both directions and meet somewhere in the middle. I really don’t want to hear about how I need to stop thinking all people are bad, because aside from the handful of good people I have come across in my life, I have no reason to trust anybody after the month [/year(s)] that has[ve] passed. Ehhhh, I just have no reason to allow people to suck the life out of me, I am not that girl anymore.

One more week of this, then I begin my final year of college. I find the following so amazing: music has the most powerful ability to regenerate all that is contained within my photographic memory, more than significant scents, more than anything else. Such power, so amazing! I could think about this for days. Instead, I should pick up the pieces of my life. My goal is to somehow find beauty in all this disappointment, and I have no doubts regarding my ability to do so. Another option is to dance around dizzily to Ratatat for the rest of my life…

just friends [questionmark]

Leaves dangle from my earlobes and I just want to be excited about life again. It is this one simple desire that I am searching for at the end of a long week, something that I often used to desire without any awareness or acceptance of my physical actions. I am learning to take responsibility for the things that I say, think, believe, desire, do, and it is a liberating feeling that is often accompanied by visions of loss but rarely regret. It costs me twenty and one-half dollars to travel home for a hectic weekend, a ride that allows pulp to readily flow from my mind as strangers stare at this brutally sore thumb. I am not careful and have been taking far too many risks lately, though I do not risk in the ways that I should. I show far too much affection to those who have not earned it and as detached as I remain, it’s becoming difficult to piece together the hundreds of fragments that are floating through grey matter. This universe is changing and you are nothing but a cliche when you constantly speak of your numbness, but because we are alike in so many ways I ignore these things about you and continue to pour love and acceptance over you, around you.

I have realized that it takes so much for me to truly dislike an individual that I once cared for, to sever all ties from him or her, to genuinely rid myself of that last ounce of compassion and love. I have been thinking of how crucial the ability to forgive is in regards to mental fitness. I truly believe that forgiveness can set you free from ideas and people that have a strange power of you and the ability to haunt your existence to any degree. I am so far from perfect and am growing increasingly cognizant of my flaws, every detail that makes me the imperfect human that I am, and learning to change what I believe can be changed and accept what will stay with me throughout the life I live in this world. I am also recognizing that I possess certain characteristics that I can only hope to convey to others and pass on at some point in this life, one being the undeniable ability to forgive those who have hurt me and the ones I care for deeply. I really do believe that it is impossible to grow without forgiving those who have adversely affected your life, whether or not they ask for your forgiveness. Change is nowhere near immediate, but it is a wonderful concept that I am slowly trying to stop fearing. Before this summer, I had never realized how genuinely deep my fear of change was and how stifled my mental growth and well-being had become because of it. There is one thing that I truly desired this summer, and that was some sort of acceptance and realization of who I am and what I want in life; this one desire of mine is slowly becoming fulfilled and it is a wonderful feeling that grows daily.
I have been thinking of this idea, of being a whole person, being so satisfied with things that I desire nothing more, dismissing my materialistic impulses, giving and receiving love equally, just knowing that things may drastically change at any moment and finding comfort, rather than anxious fear, in the concept of adaptation. It’s encouraging, knowing that some day I will know what this idea of inner peace truly feels like, but right now it’s a mere abstraction that floats into existence when nothing else can penetrate. Currently I find myself discovering periods of tranquil existence when drowning simple sorrows with great songs and thinking that someday this will all be worth something.

clap your hands if you want some

My hair is growing so slowly, I miss when it was flowing down my back down down, not too far, just right, but I was impatient as always and cut it little by little. This reminds me of all the nights I was so anxious and finally you gave up, you dragged me into the back of your truck with your grungy friends and we lit everything up, our lungs, mouths, eyes, friends, enemies, smoked and I laid down on the tattered seat silently and smiled as you pushed my hair aside and kissed me on the backside of my neck with your eyes red and glowing like I had never seen. I refuse to believe that you loved me because I did not love you, only loved being in your bed and making you laugh. I think you just loved watching me destroy all that could have been good and I loved watching your eyes sparkle with filthy desire. Filthy filthy filthy filth. There is nothing ugly about filth, nothing unfamiliar about it. I am so disappointed and I refuse to have an anxiety attack until I receive a phone call but I hate talking on the phone. I am so good at making illegal eye contact and giving people false hope. There is nothing false about hope? Just ask the bug as it zooms around my room, so sure that he is going to escape my rage! The frustration from my side, the evil laughter from his! Everybody is medicated these days. Put on your helmet, don’t fight the spasms, I think you’re having a seizure, sir. I am struggling at this very moment, it is more than painfully difficult for me to fight off this attack.

overrated pants

I’m kind of just floating, generally being wasteful and wanting to change for the better. I have so much to do and need to stop enjoying things that should no longer be contributing to my dizzy lull. When I ride the bus I feel the need to discover excitement in something, a need that is mostly fulfilled by the beauty I find in nature and buildings that pass by lazily, a need that exists in an attempt to help me ignore the foulness that grazes my arms, legs, back, neck, hair. I devised a game the other day, where I try to decide whether the music currently flowing into my ear canals matches the scenery around me. It is fucking perfect, it is so completely me, and I have never before been so completely engrossed in something that is so tragically simple; however, due to my constant need to find perfection and avoid uncomfortable aural and cognitive dissonance, it can be quite unsettling. For example, upon concluding that Sleep on Needles perfectly matches the way that the trees are blowing in the wind, I find myself noticing some minor detail in the landscape [there are three cars on the street and one of them is a brightly-coloured sedan instead of a neutral Jeep; the boy kicking a soccer ball is facing southwest instead of east; the sun is hitting my window with too much intensity; the little mexican girl is not alone on the street corner and instead, is accompanied by her coddling mother; etcetera] that makes this particular song completely wrong for what I am viewing. It can be quite frustrating, actually, since it allows me to come to the realization that I am much too obsessive about certain things and leads me into a frenzied panic over technically nothing tangible, but I am still convinced that it is the most perfect game that I have invented and will continue to occupy myself with this neverending search. In other news, I am finding that people take simple actions much too seriously, women continue to disappoint me with their endless catty bickering, I am not embarrassed by the things you most likely are, and dressing like a homeless person will not cease the openly lewd comments of men.

constant

I love watching you sleep, your hair falling across your forehead, short curls brushing pale skin like droplets of paint splashing in smooth motions on a pure canvas. Aside from the occasional fluttering of eyelids as you drift in and out of varying waves, you remain sweetly at rest and unknowingly allow yourself to be vulnerable and at peace for a few hours. I find myself wondering what you are thinking about, dreaming about, I want to know, I want to know everything. I touch your bones and trace the way they frame your beautiful torso, my hands glide gently over the sharp appeal that you so humbly offer me night after night. When you wake you smile slowly at me and reach toward the foot of my bed, searching for the slow death in the pocket of your pants, eager to light your lungs before you allow a single word to escape from between your sweet lips. I press my lips together in silent disapproval but say nothing as you reach toward me and run your hands through the hair you so viciously tangled only five hours ago. Pushing fingers into skin, leaving bright imprints, hard. I feel bruised in the most beautiful way, torn and bleeding desire, anxiety, anything, everything. Holding me by my hair, I silently beg you to throw me away but you draw me in, breathing into my ear, and I’ll make an exception this time. Press press press press press, you match me so well.

I am both far and close to the fatal collapse that tempts me daily. Smoke rings blow in my direction, rough hands smooth my hair down in the morning, strange lips meet, connections are made. I am adapting as I find myself laughing about the simple things I cannot change, smiling at strangers, floating past those who speak of my life behind closed doors, briefly pitying their boredom and dissatisfaction before forgetting of that one short minute that made them falsely powerful. We are ultimately the same, wanting the same fundamental things but torn apart by the absurdity of what we do not care to understand. Forever evolving and swimming toward the things that seem important, creating uneccessary distance from the minimalistic nature of our deepest desires. Maybe I am too easily satisfied, wishing to pierce holes in bodies and string them together in an attempt to recognize the beauty that exists in a simple understanding between two people polarized by varying courses of life. What are we waiting for?

reign.

I am always shaking. Arms, fingers, legs, feet, hair, lashes, nerves out of control, fluttering and greedily overthrowing the ones that want a tranquil existence. The other night I was overcome with anxiety, frantically clawing at the bitter air that loves to smother children slowly, unable to breathe and losing all control over the products of my tear ducts, my visual capacity. After thirty.five minutes of extreme panic in one of the world’s most terrifyingly beautiful breakdowns I found myself on the ground staring up at the holes in a once pure ceiling, alive with stories and repeatedly mistaken for insects of the night by a girl who has forgotten what it feels like to be alive. My heart broke today for a blind man and his tattered cane, a thousand times for the beauty he’d never see and his failed at attempts at communication with anybody who’d look his way with pity and confusion. The babble that flowed from within his mouth reached sharply into my chest and begged me to open my eyes and soak in the chaotically helpless nature of my surroundings. Every day is a struggle, my struggle is nothing and maybe he just wants it this way.