pinkgirlrock (12:33:45 PM): what else is new?
pinkgirlrock (12:33:58 PM): did anything more come of your little "tango" with argentina
ferneilius (12:34:09 PM): not really
ferneilius (12:34:13 PM): as i wanted
pinkgirlrock (12:34:46 PM): sorry kiddo
ferneilius (12:34:55 PM): no
pinkgirlrock (12:34:57 PM): that was good
ferneilius (12:35:00 PM): i mean i wanted none of that
ferneilius (12:35:03 PM): just the making out
ferneilius (12:36:19 PM): and it was good
ferneilius (12:37:17 PM): except the bastard stole my money from my back pocket
ferneilius (12:37:35 PM): he gave it back, but he claims that he does itto everyone he makes out with
pinkgirlrock (12:38:04 PM): it owuld have been funny if he hadn't given it back
pinkgirlrock (12:38:16 PM): that's a really funny thing to me
ferneilius (12:38:19 PM): i would have killed him
pinkgirlrock (12:38:45 PM): you probably assumed he was just feeling you up or somethin
ferneilius (12:39:09 PM): i dnt remember his hand evr being in my back pocket
pinkgirlrock (12:39:14 PM): if i looked like him, i'd rob girls all the time while making out with them
ferneilius (12:39:14 PM): i was pretty for gone
pinkgirlrock (12:39:31 PM): it's a brilliant strategy
pinkgirlrock (12:39:42 PM): it would make for a really funny bad movie
ferneilius (12:39:51 PM): haha
ferneilius (12:39:54 PM): yes it would
pinkgirlrock (12:39:57 PM): like catherine zeta jones vs. jude law
ferneilius (12:40:46 PM): tha would be actually ilarious
pinkgirlrock (12:41:06 PM): i know
pinkgirlrock (12:41:50 PM): like jude law is a new york hustler who kisses girls and while he's feeling them up, steals their wallets. well, when he does that to her, she's in the middle of doing the same
pinkgirlrock (12:42:27 PM): they would get into some really funny arguement, and then somehow get stuck together in som precarious situation
pinkgirlrock (12:42:59 PM): and end up falling in love and hving little pick pocket babies
Wednesday
tired of being the subject of the whispers at the kitchen table
tired of being unwelcome in a home i've never really fit into in the first place,
tired of looking into your eyes and seeing nothing but a rough glint where the happiness used to be.
tired of trying to convince you that i matter too.
i am eternally greatful that my little brother shows me his love. he is amazing, and i appreciate him so much more now that i have ever told him. he is a great person, and i love him very much.
tired of looking into your eyes and seeing nothing but a rough glint where the happiness used to be.
tired of trying to convince you that i matter too.
i am eternally greatful that my little brother shows me his love. he is amazing, and i appreciate him so much more now that i have ever told him. he is a great person, and i love him very much.
Tuesday
too tired to sleep
cold eggs no bed
i can/not get
away from everything
(not even when i sleep)
and
i am so v e r y TIRED
( allofthetimenow)
but too pressed for the sleeping action
of it all.
i miss dan every day, even when i get to see him. for the first time, i'm actually willing to wait instead of rushing. i love his voice, his touch, everything. i never feel so amazing as when i'm with him. we can be together without having to be together. i only wish i could be closer without being a problem.
(love him to the skin)
i hope this job thing works itself out. my stomach is tying itself in tired knots. i thought it was hungry, but it's just tired. it's hard to sleep on constant wave of couch after couch with no way of escaping the cycle, nothing to look forward to. sometimes i fall asleep in bed with dan and lose myself completely in ecstacy, drunk on the closeness of the thing, and of sleeping in a actual bed (shitty bed or no, it's better than the couches i've been sleeping on.)
i keep swishing i had an apartment, keep thinking about sneaking back to my mom's house and sleeping in all the beds in the house, even though i know i'm specifically forbidden to do so. who would say a thing like that to their own kid? it amazes me every time.
my eyes are so dry, they're soing that glassy blinking thing. i want to be free from all this chaos. i can't sleep ever, because people always hold you hostage, whether they intend to or not. i have a delicate sleep cycle. i miss being alone, with the option of company. i wish that we could do that. the two of us get along swimmingly enough. i'd want my own room as it all stands now, but he is worried about what his parents think. i don't want to rush him into anything, i just wish i could live with someone who doesn't drive me up the wall every time something doesn't go their way, or someone who isn't obsessed with cats and doesn't smoke. my lungs are dry as asbestos.
i'm so tired of being tired.
i can/not get
away from everything
(not even when i sleep)
and
i am so v e r y TIRED
( allofthetimenow)
but too pressed for the sleeping action
of it all.
i miss dan every day, even when i get to see him. for the first time, i'm actually willing to wait instead of rushing. i love his voice, his touch, everything. i never feel so amazing as when i'm with him. we can be together without having to be together. i only wish i could be closer without being a problem.
(love him to the skin)
i hope this job thing works itself out. my stomach is tying itself in tired knots. i thought it was hungry, but it's just tired. it's hard to sleep on constant wave of couch after couch with no way of escaping the cycle, nothing to look forward to. sometimes i fall asleep in bed with dan and lose myself completely in ecstacy, drunk on the closeness of the thing, and of sleeping in a actual bed (shitty bed or no, it's better than the couches i've been sleeping on.)
i keep swishing i had an apartment, keep thinking about sneaking back to my mom's house and sleeping in all the beds in the house, even though i know i'm specifically forbidden to do so. who would say a thing like that to their own kid? it amazes me every time.
my eyes are so dry, they're soing that glassy blinking thing. i want to be free from all this chaos. i can't sleep ever, because people always hold you hostage, whether they intend to or not. i have a delicate sleep cycle. i miss being alone, with the option of company. i wish that we could do that. the two of us get along swimmingly enough. i'd want my own room as it all stands now, but he is worried about what his parents think. i don't want to rush him into anything, i just wish i could live with someone who doesn't drive me up the wall every time something doesn't go their way, or someone who isn't obsessed with cats and doesn't smoke. my lungs are dry as asbestos.
i'm so tired of being tired.
Friday
you who are always falling asleep,
never awake (never there)
when i need you.
it is always worse
to cry in secret,
letting people assume
that everything is perfectly normal.
and nothig is the way it should be,
everytime someone can dare to make a wish
it is uprooted
and broken before them
like a dead little bonsai.
we are the dead trees
and there is nothing ahead of us
but 6 more weeks of winter.
never awake (never there)
when i need you.
it is always worse
to cry in secret,
letting people assume
that everything is perfectly normal.
and nothig is the way it should be,
everytime someone can dare to make a wish
it is uprooted
and broken before them
like a dead little bonsai.
we are the dead trees
and there is nothing ahead of us
but 6 more weeks of winter.
Wednesday
it seems that i cannot stop myself from writing. for the past 3 hours, i have been filling up the pages of my journal. i wish this writing were going towards sometinhg useful, like my book. instead, i'm just going on tirades against the contagious stupidity foating all around me.
my mother is tearing me down, one insult at a time. i can't see how she can constantly be speaking the way she does, and still believe that she has any semblance of intellegence in her body. we fight about everything. she thinks that i am a fuck up because i don't want to be what she thinks i should. it's always the same old song
everywhere i go. i get stranded, rivaled, i hear words i never heard in the bible...
i am trying to figure out a way to do this sort of benefit show for my schooling. it would entail a lot of design work, and a lot of rich people wanting to send an ambitious girl off to college. the thing is, i have to front the initial cost. and of course, there's always the possibility of it just failing miserably.
that's the spirit!
i really want to prove to people (aka my mother) that i'm not a fuck up. by no means am i a fuck up. it's just hard to keep your head up when people are pressuring you from all sides to become the successful corporate drone they all want you to be.
fuck that. i want to be a writer. i want to slap people in the mouth with my words. is that wanting too much? of course not! the thing about writing is that noone respects a writer. they think we're all lazy sons of bitches who will do anything to get out of having a real job. i think it's quite contrary to what we're really about.
being a writer consumes your entire being. you eat, sleep and breathe words at an alarming rate. people who do not suffer from this infliction cannot possibly understand. when your mind is constantly in motion (no matter how trivial that motion may seem to someone on the outside), it takes a toll on you. a lot of writers may not be considered as friendly or warm as you might like. can people not consider that any spared emotion must go into the work? even one ounce of misdirected passon can compromise a writer's entire goal. you fall in love with ideals and characters and setting and climax and all the parts that make a story. your life is that story for as long as you are writing it.
jesus, i just made all that a lot clearer to myself. you are what you do. if you are a writer, then it's not uncommon to get carried away in the job. i just looked at my statistics on this site: i have written nearly twentyfivethousand words in this blog over the past 2 years. that's not even writing daily... not even weekly. i think it's safe to assume that i am cut out for this. i don't have any other practical skills. (none that satisfy me as thoroughly, anyhow)
jesus. i really get going, don't i? salinger would be rightly dissapointed.
my mother is tearing me down, one insult at a time. i can't see how she can constantly be speaking the way she does, and still believe that she has any semblance of intellegence in her body. we fight about everything. she thinks that i am a fuck up because i don't want to be what she thinks i should. it's always the same old song
everywhere i go. i get stranded, rivaled, i hear words i never heard in the bible...
i am trying to figure out a way to do this sort of benefit show for my schooling. it would entail a lot of design work, and a lot of rich people wanting to send an ambitious girl off to college. the thing is, i have to front the initial cost. and of course, there's always the possibility of it just failing miserably.
that's the spirit!
i really want to prove to people (aka my mother) that i'm not a fuck up. by no means am i a fuck up. it's just hard to keep your head up when people are pressuring you from all sides to become the successful corporate drone they all want you to be.
fuck that. i want to be a writer. i want to slap people in the mouth with my words. is that wanting too much? of course not! the thing about writing is that noone respects a writer. they think we're all lazy sons of bitches who will do anything to get out of having a real job. i think it's quite contrary to what we're really about.
being a writer consumes your entire being. you eat, sleep and breathe words at an alarming rate. people who do not suffer from this infliction cannot possibly understand. when your mind is constantly in motion (no matter how trivial that motion may seem to someone on the outside), it takes a toll on you. a lot of writers may not be considered as friendly or warm as you might like. can people not consider that any spared emotion must go into the work? even one ounce of misdirected passon can compromise a writer's entire goal. you fall in love with ideals and characters and setting and climax and all the parts that make a story. your life is that story for as long as you are writing it.
jesus, i just made all that a lot clearer to myself. you are what you do. if you are a writer, then it's not uncommon to get carried away in the job. i just looked at my statistics on this site: i have written nearly twentyfivethousand words in this blog over the past 2 years. that's not even writing daily... not even weekly. i think it's safe to assume that i am cut out for this. i don't have any other practical skills. (none that satisfy me as thoroughly, anyhow)
jesus. i really get going, don't i? salinger would be rightly dissapointed.
Sunday
feeling incredibly prolific, i decided to continue my regularly scheduled tirade here.
(sorry chaps)
things are definitely in limbo. for the first time in my young life, everything could go wrong (and it just might.) this is the most estranged i have ever felt in my entire life. every time i try to explain my intentions to the many questioners, it all comes out in a jumble and smacks down in a nasty pile on the ground, spilling it's ineffectiveness all over my tennis shoes.
more wasted effort.
i keep finding myself a disappointment to everyone. there are all these unspoken expectations that people have (they assume i will succeed), and the pressure i am trying to slough off. i am not doing anything because i need a break. yes, i need a break from all of the assumptions.
there are so many things i would love to do, but there isn't anyone out there who i feel knows me well enough to do them with me (with the occasional exception, and i think it's unfair to name names in this case). everyone is so busy being melodramatic (i know, this is really melodramatic, but the internet is the only way you can get people to listen to you without interruption).
i looked out the window to see the moon, and the man in the apartment across the street was staring in at me. i feel slightly startled. i'm sure he was equally surprised to see such a young, curious face staring his way too. what an experience. maybe he'd make a good friend.
(sorry chaps)
things are definitely in limbo. for the first time in my young life, everything could go wrong (and it just might.) this is the most estranged i have ever felt in my entire life. every time i try to explain my intentions to the many questioners, it all comes out in a jumble and smacks down in a nasty pile on the ground, spilling it's ineffectiveness all over my tennis shoes.
more wasted effort.
i keep finding myself a disappointment to everyone. there are all these unspoken expectations that people have (they assume i will succeed), and the pressure i am trying to slough off. i am not doing anything because i need a break. yes, i need a break from all of the assumptions.
there are so many things i would love to do, but there isn't anyone out there who i feel knows me well enough to do them with me (with the occasional exception, and i think it's unfair to name names in this case). everyone is so busy being melodramatic (i know, this is really melodramatic, but the internet is the only way you can get people to listen to you without interruption).
i looked out the window to see the moon, and the man in the apartment across the street was staring in at me. i feel slightly startled. i'm sure he was equally surprised to see such a young, curious face staring his way too. what an experience. maybe he'd make a good friend.
Monday
college
I did this thing everyone's been doing lately called college. It isn't so much a one-time thing, since it can last for years for some people. In my case, I think that college is only going to last a semester.
In college, I have found myself surrounded by new and exciting individuals caught in the flow of expectations. Even if they are already great people, they are strong pressed to conform to the societal standard of what “is,” whatever that means.
College is like a swimming pool full of rubber ducks and inflatable pool toys. It's not a place to do your own thing, but rather a place where all the pool toys conglomerate and pretend to be things that they aren't. Rather than just coming off as pool toys, they want to be categorized into groups, like beach ball, inflatable alligator, or those rings with animals attatched to the front. The fact of the matter is, no matter how you stretch it, they're still pool toys.
I've found myself pushed in this group called the honors program. I thought it would be a challenging program dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge on an in-depth, personal basis. In actuality, we are the same as the other students on campus, and in most cases, lack the ambition of much of the student body due to our self-absorbed natures and pretentions, things all risked for the pursuit of a degree with a few extra words. Cum laude, right?
I don't know if college is for everyone longterm, but I think it should definitely be tried. That's why it's a cultural event: people come here to gain experience that is crutial to their integration in the real world. Fresh out of high school, we come at the world with wide eyes and big hopes. After only a few weeks of the tedium that will be most of my classmates longterm reality, that initiative dissappears under thick blankets of snow and layers of winter clothing.
The clutter and bustling, trivial fights and limited resources are a microcosm of the reality that has been evading up thus far in our young lives. As skewed as they may seem, the consequences of this experience are shaping our identities, and very much determining our futures. That isn't to say people who don't go to college are not living in reality. They are simlpy taking the road less traveled to the same destination.
College is a place people go to make stupid mistakes and then, after it's all said and done, they tend to forever dwell in the nostalgia of the carpe diem happiness they experienced. I think I'd like to take that attitude with me when I leave here, but rather than just think about it, I'd like apply it to every waking moment of the life I'll live.
In college, I have found myself surrounded by new and exciting individuals caught in the flow of expectations. Even if they are already great people, they are strong pressed to conform to the societal standard of what “is,” whatever that means.
College is like a swimming pool full of rubber ducks and inflatable pool toys. It's not a place to do your own thing, but rather a place where all the pool toys conglomerate and pretend to be things that they aren't. Rather than just coming off as pool toys, they want to be categorized into groups, like beach ball, inflatable alligator, or those rings with animals attatched to the front. The fact of the matter is, no matter how you stretch it, they're still pool toys.
I've found myself pushed in this group called the honors program. I thought it would be a challenging program dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge on an in-depth, personal basis. In actuality, we are the same as the other students on campus, and in most cases, lack the ambition of much of the student body due to our self-absorbed natures and pretentions, things all risked for the pursuit of a degree with a few extra words. Cum laude, right?
I don't know if college is for everyone longterm, but I think it should definitely be tried. That's why it's a cultural event: people come here to gain experience that is crutial to their integration in the real world. Fresh out of high school, we come at the world with wide eyes and big hopes. After only a few weeks of the tedium that will be most of my classmates longterm reality, that initiative dissappears under thick blankets of snow and layers of winter clothing.
The clutter and bustling, trivial fights and limited resources are a microcosm of the reality that has been evading up thus far in our young lives. As skewed as they may seem, the consequences of this experience are shaping our identities, and very much determining our futures. That isn't to say people who don't go to college are not living in reality. They are simlpy taking the road less traveled to the same destination.
College is a place people go to make stupid mistakes and then, after it's all said and done, they tend to forever dwell in the nostalgia of the carpe diem happiness they experienced. I think I'd like to take that attitude with me when I leave here, but rather than just think about it, I'd like apply it to every waking moment of the life I'll live.
Tuesday
a bird in the spring grass
sometimes i teach myself strange lessons. spent last night fighting and crying for no apparent reason, and finally gave up and went to bed. after all the struggle, it was so easy to let it go. like i was done. the sensations flowed. i am learning how not to have regrets. instead, i will take life by the experiences, each as they come. i am not going to let anger control me, because anger is not productive, and life is a busy place. so i guess the only thing that i regret is anger, but i'm learning to let than anger melt into something a bit more manageable... even if that manageable thing happens to be sorrow.
i had a strange dream last night. i was at a party full of strange people, the walking dead. they were all naked, and had wounds in specific areas of their bodies, namely across their throats and down their spines. they were able to bend reality, and to move throughout dimensions. they wanted me to join them, but i was afraid because in order to be like them , i would have to let someone drag a knife across the bare flesh of my body like thiers. i was to scared of the cut, even though i knew what it would bring.
there are so many things in life to see, and much more to learn.
i had a strange dream last night. i was at a party full of strange people, the walking dead. they were all naked, and had wounds in specific areas of their bodies, namely across their throats and down their spines. they were able to bend reality, and to move throughout dimensions. they wanted me to join them, but i was afraid because in order to be like them , i would have to let someone drag a knife across the bare flesh of my body like thiers. i was to scared of the cut, even though i knew what it would bring.
there are so many things in life to see, and much more to learn.
Monday
love on mondays, bleed on tuesdays
mornings after sleeping in unmade beds
surreal feeling
heart exploding in chest
and searing pain of anticipation.
(my own mind is making me its prisoner.)
what am i accomplishing?
volumes of thought
transcribed in the pages of my mind.
(i have no concept of time)
surely, there must be a coming together of sorts
surreal feeling
heart exploding in chest
and searing pain of anticipation.
(my own mind is making me its prisoner.)
what am i accomplishing?
volumes of thought
transcribed in the pages of my mind.
(i have no concept of time)
surely, there must be a coming together of sorts
Thursday
an evening at carey hall
untitled performance piece
it's nice to watch the shadows
throw themselves across the room
wrapping objects in obscure values of grey.
everything is relatively peaceful in this rare night silence
darkness protrudes obtusely along the floor.
it's time to play with language
to wrap its contents lovingly around your teeth
and taste them like a rich chocolate.
what better days are there than these?
(the halcyon and indifferent days are the ones i like best,
when i am freeto use them as i see fit)
i am thinking miles of thoughts.
rapidly
dreaming no more of the beats,
now actually chanelling them through my spirit.
is there a chance for a literary beat revival?
have i got the passion
(let alone the means of talent)
to fill such a large pair
of verbal shoes?
who knows.
kicks joy darkness and all that hallelujah.
nights of singing about history and
s u d d e n l y
you catch a current
and your mind
BLOWS
faster than you had any idea it could.
(you were under the impression
that your mind was still on training wheels,
and that it wasn't quite ready
to get out and see the world on it's own)
argentina said he would take me to peru
but not sam, because she was just too white:
does that mean he knows
I'VE GOT BURNING IN MY SOUL THAT CAN'T BE SATISFIED?
it's true:
i may be mad, but baby,
i've got a whole lot more than that
it's nice to watch the shadows
throw themselves across the room
wrapping objects in obscure values of grey.
everything is relatively peaceful in this rare night silence
darkness protrudes obtusely along the floor.
it's time to play with language
to wrap its contents lovingly around your teeth
and taste them like a rich chocolate.
what better days are there than these?
(the halcyon and indifferent days are the ones i like best,
when i am freeto use them as i see fit)
i am thinking miles of thoughts.
rapidly
dreaming no more of the beats,
now actually chanelling them through my spirit.
is there a chance for a literary beat revival?
have i got the passion
(let alone the means of talent)
to fill such a large pair
of verbal shoes?
who knows.
kicks joy darkness and all that hallelujah.
nights of singing about history and
s u d d e n l y
you catch a current
and your mind
BLOWS
faster than you had any idea it could.
(you were under the impression
that your mind was still on training wheels,
and that it wasn't quite ready
to get out and see the world on it's own)
argentina said he would take me to peru
but not sam, because she was just too white:
does that mean he knows
I'VE GOT BURNING IN MY SOUL THAT CAN'T BE SATISFIED?
it's true:
i may be mad, but baby,
i've got a whole lot more than that
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