Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Tuesday, October 21, 2014; who knows what will happen?

"I love having lunch with you; I'll be sad when you're gone."

Thing is, things change. Things are always changing rapidly. I'm always changing. It seems in comparison to my last complaints things have changed and I won't be leaving until the dawn of the new year. (Hopefully)

Saturday, August 9, 2014

god; saturday, august 9th, 2014

it's so hard to focus
on not being sad
and it's hard to think about
what i actually want
and it's hard to be
a person

but i will, i will, i will
not be cynical anymore

and i will be honest with myself
and i will be honest with the people around me
even if that means being alone for awhile

i am worth more than the trash i feed myself
i am worth more than concrete and cigarettes

i will live my dreams so sleeping becomes disinteresting
  

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Thursday, June 19th, 2014; maybe i'm just tired

I've been on the internet for a solid hour. I count this different from watch tele on the computer or playing games or having simple conversations with people I know.
Here, I have made some quirky jokes, saw a lot of sad feelings, tried to keep a conversation with a stranger, missed a friend, and witnessed some confusing world news.
In this hour, I feel as though I have felt to many things in such a short instance. Normally when I go onto social networking sites I ignore most things that don't have to do with a handful of people.
But now my head hurts. I kind of regret streaming through countless pages looking at pretty photographs and talking to some girl that was in my class last semester and reading about transgender news in foreign countries.
Maybe my head hurt from the beginning, maybe it's because the same song has been on repeat for about thirty minutes. Maybe it's because I can't help that the efficiency of the internet is a beautiful thing, or maybe I'm simple minded. Maybe I haven't drunk enough water. I don't know, really, I really don't know. I just feel slightly altered, confused, and I'm ready to sleep.
Things are happening though, and ontop of the internet, I can't stop thinking about them.
I'm moving out in two weeks
I'm leaving for tour in four weeks
Music is thriving in six weeks
My love leaves me in seven weeks.
He returns in sixteen weeks.
I'm supposed to be moving again thirty weeks.
But who knows what will really happen.



Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Wednesday April 23, 2014; stacks

vampire, a little campfire, in the bottom of my soul.
i know this blood is for the canvas but i just want to feel full
but these holes are as big as swimming pools
desolate as the desert so,

i'ma feed on your life force, feed, feed, feed, on you
i'ma feed on your life force, feed, feed, feed, on you
in the dark, i will hunt you
in the dark, i will stab you
i'll rip out your arteries
rip out your arteries
the things that you feed, when you're actually feeding me

& i will corner you, in your own living room
as I talk statistics about impending doom
my mouth will give off an essence of thirst and longing
before you know it, you'll be laying in the kitchen screaming, begging,
bleeding out your neck and wondering "why did do this to me?"

as you crawl towards certainty, i will walk right past you
as you crawl towards breathing, i will suffocate the room
your chance has been leveled to zero
your veins belong to me
a feeding that lasts forever
until you're dead to me
until you're dead to me
you've always been dead to me

i'ma feed on your life force, feed, feed, feed, on you
i'ma feed on your life force, feed, feed, feed, on you
in the dark, i will hunt you
in the dark, i will stab you
i'll rip out your arteries
rip out your arteries
the things that you feed, when you're actually feeding me

Monday, March 10, 2014

While I'm enjoying the spontaneity of driving from city to city, I don't feel a jump in my feet or a spark to my tongue. Which is alright, I guess, it just doesn't feel right.


Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Forcing his legs to stretch as far as they could reach, Marcus took the longest steps toward home. He was headed back from his tyrannous job as a dishwasher; the longest job his held, which is nearing a year. With each cough of breath that bellowed out of his mouth came a cool light blue fog that drifted into the air. His clothes were smothered with cold sweat and his apron masked with yellowish grease, while the tip of his hat was bent down in the fashion of not being able to notice his eyes. Marcus walked the streets mechanically, with the sidewalks and views of the houses and names of the street signs stamped on the palms of his hands. There were no mysteries here, only the difference between each hour of the each day which never changed.
As for now, the streets were quiet; it was Sunday.  There was a lack of cars roaming around the streets adding a solemn calmness to the breeze. The houses that bordered the streets had almost all their lights were on, and through the windows appeared persons unknown to him, though he noticed them each evening on his commute home. Birds were rising in formations too technical to make out yet too profound to not look up and stare. Hundreds were flying to God knows where, with Marcus beneath them, his head down, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring simply towards home. From here, he would walk two more blocks, take a left, then a right, trudge up an incline so monstrous that walking up it was the worst part of the day, and after that, he would then find himself home. 
“One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.” Marcus says with each step. 
Over and over again.
Again and again over. The path from home to work, from work to home, is a job in itself. The time it takes to get one place to another is as important as the time spent in the place itself. 
The sun started falling slowly, as the street lights flickered on. Marcus was halfway up the hill, wondering if there was any food left in his fridge. Of course there probably wasn’t, and he regretted not grabbing something from the restaurant before he left. There is always tomorrow, or the next day. It was nearing six o’clock and a few hours of conscious hunger was not too bad. He would soon sleep.
As Marcus reached his downtrodden apartment, he swung the door open, ripped his apron off, and melted into his couch. The cigarettes were on the coffee table. He grabbed one, lit it, and turned on the local news. There was never anything interesting broadcasted; the real intriguing things he learned were from his coworkers. Stories you didn’t hear on public television because they were unknown by all but the few who witnessed it. A story about a boy who worked in a factory whose arms were chopped off was being shared with the town tonight. While he was becoming more and more focused on the screen, he lost track of what they were actually saying. He was about to light another cigarette when there were three knocks. He hesitated but then eventually dragged himself off the couch and opened the door shyly.
“Hello, what can I do for you?” he said. 
“Hello, yes, hello. I’m your upstairs neighbor, Jane.” She said.
Jane appeared to Marcus as a woman that was sharp, clean. Her smile was endearing, and her presence innocent, though he didn’t care entirely about either of these things. Her light maple leaf eyes is what kept Marcus from sending her away.
“Oh, uh, hi. What brings you downstairs?”
“Well, I just moved in. I’m going around just meeting the people who live beneath me, and beside me. You know what I mean?” She says.
He had never actually got around to meeting his other neighbors, although he’d been living in this place for over a year. He’d seen them walk to and from their homes, to their cars, down the street, to their mail boxes. He noticed them on a daily basis when he, himself left for work. While he saw their faces more often than not, it never occurred to him to be neighborly. It never occurred to him how close everyone actually was and he didn’t actually understand what Jane meant.
“It’s nice to meet you then. I’m Marcus.” He says.
“It is very nice, would you mind if I came inside?” She says.
“I suppose so.” He says, without knowing what to expect.
She stepped aside him and waltzed into the kitchen that was four feet away from the door. “These apartments are all awfully similar.” She said as she was vigorously opening the cupboards searching for something. “But no one seems to put things in the same places.” She found a glass, filled it with water, and took a long drink. As she was standing there, she opens the fridge only to find a gallon of milk and some moldy chinese leftovers and then slams it shut.
“You seem very minimal by the looks of your fridge.” She says.
“Well I never assumed I’d be judged by the contents of my fridge, but you’re probably right.” He says.
He walked over to the couch and sat down while Jane remained leaned against the kitchen counter staring intently at the walls around her. As Marcus watched her he started toying around with his thumbs trying to think of something to say that a stranger might find interesting but could only think of common conversation. “So, when did you move in?”
“Only a couple of days ago,” she says, “I’m still trying to make myself comfortable.”
“Ah, okay. So I assume you’ve been meeting all of the neighbors in effort of achieving this?” He says.
“Yes, what’s the point of having neighbors if no one is neighborly? I’ve made a point to meet all the people that live under the same roof as I do. Most everyone seems kindly enough to live in the same building together. We’re closer than we think.” She says. 
“We may live in the same building, but that doesn’t necessarily make us all living in the same home,” he says, “we all have our own locks and keys. We all don’t need to know one another’s names. It’s not very prevalent.”
“But that doesn’t avoid the fact we’ll probably see one another each day. What’s the point of looking at the ground instead of staring straight ahead? There is no harm in eye contact.” She says.
“You’re right in that aspect. I know your name now, and you know mine. It’s only been few days time, and you’ve met everyone. Congratulations, you’re now mother hen to all the tenants.” He says.
“I wouldn’t look at it like that.”
“Sorry, just what first came to mind. Anyways I have quite a lot to get done tonight, so it’s best you be going.” 
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow Marcus.” She says. Marcus watched as she walked out the door, he leaned on the door frame and watched as she walked back up the stairs to her own 700 square foot world. He wondered where she kept her glasses.
He sighed. There wasn’t very much else to do with his evening but he continued on anyways. He turned the television back on and returned to the couch, his concentration on the show had faded again. There are so many people surrounding him this very second. Jane is just one of them who is probably prancing around her apartment right now above his head. Whoever lives to the right is doing god knows what, and the person to the left probably isn’t home. Here he is, smoking cigarettes, in his apartment watching details in the news, thinking this is his world and he is alone yet there are realistically so many people so much closer than he actually realized. Where he lays his head at night there lies another less than three feet away within touching distance. His bathroom plumbing is probably intertwined with another’s. He shares his damn porch light with a face that he can’t seem to remember.
The old woman who lives across the lot who’s always yelling for her cat, is inescapable. Same goes for the Jane and the young kid who lives in the corner. The family’s apartment at the entrance is inexcusable, with their two children running to and fro in the parking lot each day. The people to the left and right have names, and Marcus never thought to ever ask what they were, never cared. A year and half of looking down.

Marcus suddenly puts his cigarette out, grabs the old wooden bar stool next to the counter, and carries it outside. He sets it right in front of his door and sits down. The sun is no longer out; no one is really out. Marcus did not sleep.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Thursday, January 30th, 2014; in progress

"Silence has been killing me with an awful long soliloquy."
As I awake, the dryer tumbles, the washer drips, and I only wanted to sleep twenty minutes longer.
But I shouldn't oversleep anyways.
Flowers are dying on the kitchen counter. Flowers from a lost friend, a lost lover. Flowers from a stranger who happened to walk by. Flowers from my mother, my father. Flowers to and from myself. An apology.
My phone is dancing on the table. Dancing, singing, and whispering a warning that I should walk out the door, start my car, drive down the street, and smile.
Smile sincerely.
I grit my teeth, and throw that god damn continual reminder of useless technology at the wall.
Being sincere is impossible when you don't care about the leak in washing machine.
Or the oil leak in your car.
Or your cat leaking with the fleas.
Or your own body leaking with fumes of stale cigarettes.

"Silence has been killing me with an absence of tranquility."
In this box you call a room I cut off peoples heads and paste them to trees and hang it on my wall and call it "Pieces of Art".
Pictures of John F Kennedy are hanging in my bathroom.
A woman lives in my pantry and I named her Mary.
And I mumble "Be free" to her each time I grab a can of whatever food, or whatever tea.






Wednesday, January 22, 2014

January 22nd, 2014; with tired eyes

What good will come out of working two jobs and attending school full time? I feel as though my eyes are going to fall out. I feel as though my breathing could stop. People are always impressed when I told them what I do with my time. I wish I could do so much more with my time. I wish I could function with four hours of sleep so I could have four extra hours to work on things that really matter to me. I mean I do enjoy school, and whatever but you know, I'm tired. 

Monday, January 20, 2014

Monday, January 20th, 2014; i think it's called survival

Some quick thoughts before I run out the door and try to make the most out of my day:

You can still get a sunburn when it's cloudy.
Winter isn't as awful as you think it is.
There are things that you do not know.
Joy does not come without appreciation for things.
Laziness is a face-masking drug.
Driving is really more dangerous than every short trip to the jiffy mart.
You don't deserve anything.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

January 8th, 2014; ongoing, ongoing (five day hangover)

Very afraid of things to come.
Very anxious about the moment of now.
Very very sick to my stomach.
But here's to hope.
Here's to Fleetwood Mac.
Here's to realizations.
Here's to you.
Here's to me.
Here's to today.
Here's to tomorrow.
Here's to my mistakes.
& here's to fixing them.

Saturday, January 4, 2014

January 4th, 2013; cat lessons


This is Patrick. Until today, I had a hard time dealing with his spastic moods, his desperation to get some fresh air, and his aversion to being cuddly. Until today though, I had a hard time understanding why he is so desperate, and why he stares out the window for hours at a time.
In correspondence to Patrick's habits, him & I, & a lot of people are a like. Because when Patrick gets outside every so often, he doesn't know what to do. When he finds himself back inside, he still doesn't quit staring out the damn window. He has felt the truth of his true nature (when he was an outside kitten), and like humans, can never forget that feeling, of being free.
Him & I are both stuck in this apartment together, both prone to the repetitiveness of habit, both feeling a sense that this isn't everything. Both kind of wondering if there's a way to get out.
Undoubtedly, I'm sure he understands that life outside means there's many of risks that lead to death, and I'm pretty positive that that doesn't matter either.
We can't ignore our true nature; we can't ignore our true selves.
Let that be a lesson from Patrick.

(if he was my cat, I probably would let him free when the weather gets a little hotter by five degrees, but he isn't my cat, so)

Friday, January 3, 2014

January 3rd, 2014; my friends, my friends

Well, today, I had today off. (For once in my life.)
I decided to dedicate it to all the women in life. I decided to throw them a tea party. A tea party where we let our guard down about the past because we have no clue what will happen in the near future. Unfortunately, a few of my friends couldn't let their guard down longer than two minutes, or even one second for that matter. This filled me with a bit of disappointment, but maybe one day they'll get over themselves. (Then again, maybe one day they won't.) (Insert Lightpost lyrics here: "All my effort will never get through to you; you might as well be blind to all the good my allegiance seems to do.")
Anywho, it turned into a reminiscent shin-dig because it seems the only people who stayed were the ones who were already comfortable with one another. This made the event still memorable; it made it still worth giving my spare time too. It was a very nice day.
I forgot to take photos during the time in which they were here but I took a few of the moments after they all left, and that is just as good.





It is forty-five minutes away from tomorrow.
I would rather love and to have lost then to have never loved at all.