"Everything I know, I know because I love" - Leo Tolstoy
(went to see The Last Station last night...it was amazing)
"A sad soul can kill you quicker, far quicker than a germ" - John Steinbeck
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Kaleidoscope
Talking to a few friends a couple weeks ago, we got on the topic of this little blog of mine. One of the reasons I like writing a blog and getting my ideas out there is to enable feedback from others, as well as to get them thinking about things that they may not have realized, or to relate to someone without really ever meaning to specifically (as I have stated in previous blogs). These friends I talked to about my writing gave me very good feedback, and a lot to think about. One of the points made was that a lot of the time I contradict myself in my writing, or seem unsure of what point I’m trying to make. I was thinking about this today, and I realized that I don’t necessarily consider this a bad trait in my musings. I think that, more than anything, that’s just who I am and how I think about things. More than for any other purpose, the way I write is for observation and reflection on things I think or see or encounter in others. I feel like there aren’t very many things in life that anyone knows for sure. How can I really know anything for sure? I rarely even know how I feel about things for sure!
The focus of my writing a lot of the times is not to make a specific point, and even if it was there is no possible way that I could do this effectively because I am so unsure of absolutely everything that it would just end up in twelve different directions anyways! That’s me! I see and feel so many sides of things, and I never really know for sure that this is the way things are, that this is the way things should be. I feel like everything is different to everyone, and I like that I can realize that and appreciate that. Life would be so dull and arrogant with a vision that everything I think or know is the way it is, the way it should be. I appreciate the diversity of people and the fact that there are so many ways that EVERYTHING can be interpreted! It makes the world so rich and interesting. I like to think that I can see things one way, but I also love to see the other ways of interpreting a certain topic or feeling or thought. Or ANYTHING really. Also, I am just such a perpetual clusterfuck that I feel that I would be unable to focus on one thing one way. That’s human!
Another big utility of this blog for me is to kind of talk things out, to figure them out for myself and come to potential conclusions through the act of writing and getting my thoughts down. And I really like to know what other people think, and that maybe they feel the same fucked up way that I do about things. I like this about myself, and so I like this about my writing. Even if it is incoherent and wishy-washy and maybe a bit hard to follow. I hope this isn’t the case, but if it is I hope that enjoyment can still be found in reading what I write because it thrills me to have people read and react to my thoughts and creations. No matter how messy it all might be. Life is messy. Life is lovely, and mess most certainly makes it lovelier.
P.S. Cook: Notice the use of structured paragraphs! Yay me!
The focus of my writing a lot of the times is not to make a specific point, and even if it was there is no possible way that I could do this effectively because I am so unsure of absolutely everything that it would just end up in twelve different directions anyways! That’s me! I see and feel so many sides of things, and I never really know for sure that this is the way things are, that this is the way things should be. I feel like everything is different to everyone, and I like that I can realize that and appreciate that. Life would be so dull and arrogant with a vision that everything I think or know is the way it is, the way it should be. I appreciate the diversity of people and the fact that there are so many ways that EVERYTHING can be interpreted! It makes the world so rich and interesting. I like to think that I can see things one way, but I also love to see the other ways of interpreting a certain topic or feeling or thought. Or ANYTHING really. Also, I am just such a perpetual clusterfuck that I feel that I would be unable to focus on one thing one way. That’s human!
Another big utility of this blog for me is to kind of talk things out, to figure them out for myself and come to potential conclusions through the act of writing and getting my thoughts down. And I really like to know what other people think, and that maybe they feel the same fucked up way that I do about things. I like this about myself, and so I like this about my writing. Even if it is incoherent and wishy-washy and maybe a bit hard to follow. I hope this isn’t the case, but if it is I hope that enjoyment can still be found in reading what I write because it thrills me to have people read and react to my thoughts and creations. No matter how messy it all might be. Life is messy. Life is lovely, and mess most certainly makes it lovelier.
P.S. Cook: Notice the use of structured paragraphs! Yay me!
The Endless Ache
This is something I wrote earlier this year, but I haven't posted on this blog yet! More to come soon, I have many thoughts of late.
We’re always chasing someone, even if we don’t know who they are.
Does it feel better to have your heart to ache over someone, or is it better when it aches for no one? I wonder that on days like this when my heart aches for no one. I wonder if it was better when it ached for someone. I think that this might be the downfall of many people in many situations. We’re just constantly looking for someone to ache for, because it seems more meaningful than aching for no one. I guess you might call that desperation. And maybe after that ache for the unknown fades, maybe that’s the only time when we're ready to find someone to ache for. I guess someone who won't make us ache. But it always aches doesn’t it? Even when we’re happy, happiness aches too. Like when you laugh too much it makes your stomach muscles ache, or smile too much it makes your face muscles ache. And the happiness makes your heart muscles ache, but a good kind of ache. Perhaps our hearts are always aching. Perhaps it’s part of the human condition, the perpetual aching of the heart.
We’re always chasing someone, even if we don’t know who they are.
Does it feel better to have your heart to ache over someone, or is it better when it aches for no one? I wonder that on days like this when my heart aches for no one. I wonder if it was better when it ached for someone. I think that this might be the downfall of many people in many situations. We’re just constantly looking for someone to ache for, because it seems more meaningful than aching for no one. I guess you might call that desperation. And maybe after that ache for the unknown fades, maybe that’s the only time when we're ready to find someone to ache for. I guess someone who won't make us ache. But it always aches doesn’t it? Even when we’re happy, happiness aches too. Like when you laugh too much it makes your stomach muscles ache, or smile too much it makes your face muscles ache. And the happiness makes your heart muscles ache, but a good kind of ache. Perhaps our hearts are always aching. Perhaps it’s part of the human condition, the perpetual aching of the heart.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
could it be, this misery will suffice?
I was listening to this song today and the poignancy of its lyrics hit me. Its definitely one of my favorite songs. I love the lyrics, I love Gordon Downey. Music just seems to be speaking to me a lot lately. I'm sure you've all heard this song, but if you haven't, listen to it.
This phenomenon of music speaking to people reminds me of something else Lauren and I discussed the other night. This topic pertains to my current life crisis, which seems to occur monthly. Actually it was brought about by my beginning to blog again. After I had written the first couple new blogs, my lovely friend Lauren took it upon herself to mess with my head and encourage me to get into writing as a career focus. This is something I have struggled with on and off since I was a teenager. It seems like every time I write something, I have someone telling me that I should be a writer. I took it seriously for a while when I was still in high school and figuring myeslf out, but for some reason, at some point i don't remember, I dismissed the idea as a plausable means of making a living. And yet ever since then I have still loved writing, and have perpetually been encouraged to write and affirmed that I AM good at it. I do believe this to be true, but I am still increadibly shocked and pleased when I find out people read what I have written and like what I have to say. I would absolutely love to write for a living in some way, I just have a bsolutely no idea how to go about doing so. I am a very literal kind of writer, I don't think I would be a fabulous fiction author, nor would I excel in the political field of journalism. So I had been feeling very lost to the dream of writing. Then a point was brought up to me, a way in which I would never have looked at it. That is: everybody has thoughts and feelings about things, and their own outlooks, ideas and opinions. However, not everyone has the ability to express them. This is a concept I have been faced with more than once in the last little while. Maybe the fact that I seem to have this ability has made me ignorant to the idea that others do not have it. The fact that I always know what I want to say and just how to say it makes the idea that others just don't know how to convey themselves nonexistent in my mind. I have been completely ignorant to this fact all along! Whats more, she brought up another point that, just like the purpose of a song is to convey a feeling and speak to someone, anyone who might hear it and connect with it, writing has the exact same purpose and utility. So when I write down an observation I have or how I feel about something and someone else reads it, I could be completely conveying every emotion, feeling or thought they have always wanted to articulate but have never found the means to do so. And in this way it speaks to them and, even if they don't admit it, they are grateful that they read what I had to say because it makes them feel less alone, and they feel like they finally have a means to show how they are feeling about something. The thought of this makes me feel blessed to be able to write like I can. But I am still lost in it all. I still feel odd being proud of myself (am I being arrogant?), and I am still self-conscious about writing, even if people tell me I'm great. I think that goes along with a great many other personality factors not connected to my writing at all. It must. I never want to brag, I never want to make it seem like I think I am above anyone. And by saying that I have this ability is in no way saying that I am better than anyone because of it. I hope that is clear, because humility is a very important concept to me. I do not seek reverence or even very much recognition. I despise arrogance, and I never want to be viewed as such. But, I do feel like maybe through this "talent" of mine, some day I can come to be proud of myself for something. Because I am proud of my writing, and I do completely revel in every aspect of communicating and creating something that others can appreciate. And Lauren's words give me hope that maybe someday I'll be able to communicate to a large audience, and connect with a number of people without ever having met them. That is my biggest wish.
This phenomenon of music speaking to people reminds me of something else Lauren and I discussed the other night. This topic pertains to my current life crisis, which seems to occur monthly. Actually it was brought about by my beginning to blog again. After I had written the first couple new blogs, my lovely friend Lauren took it upon herself to mess with my head and encourage me to get into writing as a career focus. This is something I have struggled with on and off since I was a teenager. It seems like every time I write something, I have someone telling me that I should be a writer. I took it seriously for a while when I was still in high school and figuring myeslf out, but for some reason, at some point i don't remember, I dismissed the idea as a plausable means of making a living. And yet ever since then I have still loved writing, and have perpetually been encouraged to write and affirmed that I AM good at it. I do believe this to be true, but I am still increadibly shocked and pleased when I find out people read what I have written and like what I have to say. I would absolutely love to write for a living in some way, I just have a bsolutely no idea how to go about doing so. I am a very literal kind of writer, I don't think I would be a fabulous fiction author, nor would I excel in the political field of journalism. So I had been feeling very lost to the dream of writing. Then a point was brought up to me, a way in which I would never have looked at it. That is: everybody has thoughts and feelings about things, and their own outlooks, ideas and opinions. However, not everyone has the ability to express them. This is a concept I have been faced with more than once in the last little while. Maybe the fact that I seem to have this ability has made me ignorant to the idea that others do not have it. The fact that I always know what I want to say and just how to say it makes the idea that others just don't know how to convey themselves nonexistent in my mind. I have been completely ignorant to this fact all along! Whats more, she brought up another point that, just like the purpose of a song is to convey a feeling and speak to someone, anyone who might hear it and connect with it, writing has the exact same purpose and utility. So when I write down an observation I have or how I feel about something and someone else reads it, I could be completely conveying every emotion, feeling or thought they have always wanted to articulate but have never found the means to do so. And in this way it speaks to them and, even if they don't admit it, they are grateful that they read what I had to say because it makes them feel less alone, and they feel like they finally have a means to show how they are feeling about something. The thought of this makes me feel blessed to be able to write like I can. But I am still lost in it all. I still feel odd being proud of myself (am I being arrogant?), and I am still self-conscious about writing, even if people tell me I'm great. I think that goes along with a great many other personality factors not connected to my writing at all. It must. I never want to brag, I never want to make it seem like I think I am above anyone. And by saying that I have this ability is in no way saying that I am better than anyone because of it. I hope that is clear, because humility is a very important concept to me. I do not seek reverence or even very much recognition. I despise arrogance, and I never want to be viewed as such. But, I do feel like maybe through this "talent" of mine, some day I can come to be proud of myself for something. Because I am proud of my writing, and I do completely revel in every aspect of communicating and creating something that others can appreciate. And Lauren's words give me hope that maybe someday I'll be able to communicate to a large audience, and connect with a number of people without ever having met them. That is my biggest wish.
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Extraordinary in the Ordinary
I don't even know if I will be able to effectively articulate all of the thoughts that are going throught my mind right now. Actually, they are more like reiterations of a fantastic dialogue shared between me and my very good friend Lauren. So many issues to explore! Its so amazing how one can get caught up in the trappings of everyday trivialities: worries, stresses, obligations; and then sit down with someone and have it all kind of fade into the background. Get swept up in a tunnel of dialogue about nothing in particular but everything at the same time, and be completely revived at the other end. I am sure that there is at least one person in everyone's lives who serves this purpose. "Serves this purpose" is the wrong wording to use, as it makes the person seem like a mere tool, but the purpose I refer to is that of complete understanding and relation and enjoyment. Illiciting all the words and evoking all the thoughts you always wanted to say no matter how ridiculous and abstract they are, and totally reciprocating, understandiing and relating to everything you are trying to convey. I'm sure this description is different for everyone, occurring on different levels, about different things and having different meanings. To me, Lauren is most often this person (shout oouuutt!). To me this person is someone who is intelligent, and above all thoughtful. Which brings me to one of the points we discussed, and I wish to convey in this entry. Thoughtfulness is something I have realized that I place in very high value. Extremely high I should say. Perhaps its because I find it a rarity in everyday society, images, and life. With so many people coasting through life, drifting along on a dreamy cloud and taking things only at face value, I find meaningful and thoughtful encounters incredibly uplifting and invigorating. I LIVE for them. I'm not a highly political, savvy, in-the-know, or even opinionated person. I don't like to argue points about things that concern me very little. I don't revel in the discussion of the meaning behind other people's actions or opinions who I don't know nor ever will come to know. This is not what I mean by a thoughtful conversation. This is what many other people, I'm sure, DO take to mean thoughtful conversation. To me, it is simply a series of ruminations on everyday encounters and events, opinions and ideas. Delving deeper into your own mind than the mere surface of all these things. Seeking and considering something greater, even if you know for certain you may not get very far. Creating your own ideas of how things are, how you perceive them to be, how you think they should be. Your own ideas of ANYTHING. Having opinions and THOUGHTS about things, ANY things. MEANINGFUL ones. This I appreciate eternally, this I love, this I revel in and seek in every corner of every person I ever hope to meet of know. To play the devil's advocate, I'm not saying that a simple outlook on life is wrong or meaningLESS. I am not by any means proposing that taking things as they are, by appreciating them as they come and by wanting nothing more than what you have is at all a bad thing. I think this is a great thing! I think that this simple way of living is amazing, and I envy every aspect of it. I can appreciate the simple-ness of life just as much. And I also by no means mean "simple" in a derrogatory sense. I mean it in the most positive, bright and happy was possible. I DO think OTHER ways of living your life simply in the mind are endlessly abhorrent. I do think that a lot of this meaningful thought gets lost in the translation of life itself. I think that is an absolute crying shame. And this is why, when I come across such a person, such a writen phrase, such a spoken word, such a meaningful meaningless thought, this is why I adore it.
A quote, courtesy of my muse of tonight: "Ah good conversation-there's nothing like it, is there? The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing."-Edith Wharton(The Age of Innocence)
A quote, courtesy of my muse of tonight: "Ah good conversation-there's nothing like it, is there? The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing."-Edith Wharton(The Age of Innocence)
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
(This thing that breaks my heart)
No time to write anything good. All efforts (which are few and far between) going into catastrophic essay. Just needed to post this song, its a bit like how I feel today. Actually there are about three or four songs by these lovely ladies that illustrate how I've been feeling. But I'll just post this one. Sorry the video part sucks (or lack thereof).
Sunday, February 7, 2010
It Rushes in to My Heart and My Skull
I woke up this morning, reflecting on events from the previous night, and I was going to write a simple, one line post which simply queried:
Is my whole life doomed to consist of nothing but empty words and unkept, unintended, uninvited, and unmeaningful promises?
But then I read some comments from my previous blog, I texted a few of my friends and I took a good long look around the room (which was strewn with the violet casualties of last night's decorations, and two unconscious purple clad boys) and I realized how effing lucky I am to be so loved. I am loved by so many wonderful, amazing people, and I love them more than I could ever express in any saliable way. So I am blessed, and my life is not as fatalistic as I sometimes perceive in my mental dwellings. I have the most amazing chosen-family that anyone could ever ask for, and we have unfathomable amounts of fun merely being in each others presence. Outside of that family I have so many other amazing people surrounding me and caring about me, who constitute a whole other part of my life and extension of my happiness, who i love and charish just as much. So I sat there and thought to myself, "there is no way you can complain about your life right now. Look at how fortunate you are." So I'm not complaining. Not today. Not when I really have so very little to be down about. Today I love my life.
I must also record some thoughts brought about by certain happeneings last night. I certainly am of the opinion that life is complicated, and there are a vast array of grey areas that can't be translated into either extreme of the grey-scale. I believe this to be true in many situations, and many ways of interpretation. But not all. I feel like, sometimes, some things are black and white. Some things are simple, and life doesn't HAVE to be this complex maze of confusion and analyzation. Some feelings, some people, and the situations pertaining to the previous two, are wither black, or they're white. Yes or no. Cut and dry, simple. And sometimes I get sick of the grey areas fogging things over. Sometimes I wish everyone would just chill out, lay back, and say yes, or say no. Without complication, without revision, just: this is how I feel, and this is what I want, or don't want or don't feel. I won't give examples or specifications here. This is just something I have been reflecting on today.
I listened to this song no less than 4589 times today. It is unreal. Please enjoy.
Is my whole life doomed to consist of nothing but empty words and unkept, unintended, uninvited, and unmeaningful promises?
But then I read some comments from my previous blog, I texted a few of my friends and I took a good long look around the room (which was strewn with the violet casualties of last night's decorations, and two unconscious purple clad boys) and I realized how effing lucky I am to be so loved. I am loved by so many wonderful, amazing people, and I love them more than I could ever express in any saliable way. So I am blessed, and my life is not as fatalistic as I sometimes perceive in my mental dwellings. I have the most amazing chosen-family that anyone could ever ask for, and we have unfathomable amounts of fun merely being in each others presence. Outside of that family I have so many other amazing people surrounding me and caring about me, who constitute a whole other part of my life and extension of my happiness, who i love and charish just as much. So I sat there and thought to myself, "there is no way you can complain about your life right now. Look at how fortunate you are." So I'm not complaining. Not today. Not when I really have so very little to be down about. Today I love my life.
I must also record some thoughts brought about by certain happeneings last night. I certainly am of the opinion that life is complicated, and there are a vast array of grey areas that can't be translated into either extreme of the grey-scale. I believe this to be true in many situations, and many ways of interpretation. But not all. I feel like, sometimes, some things are black and white. Some things are simple, and life doesn't HAVE to be this complex maze of confusion and analyzation. Some feelings, some people, and the situations pertaining to the previous two, are wither black, or they're white. Yes or no. Cut and dry, simple. And sometimes I get sick of the grey areas fogging things over. Sometimes I wish everyone would just chill out, lay back, and say yes, or say no. Without complication, without revision, just: this is how I feel, and this is what I want, or don't want or don't feel. I won't give examples or specifications here. This is just something I have been reflecting on today.
I listened to this song no less than 4589 times today. It is unreal. Please enjoy.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Last night I was hit with a wave of insurmountable sadness. Maybe it was because I had been drinking and I was over tired. Mayeb it was because I saw one of my old friends, who is becoming a very close friend of late, get her heart trampled all over again (which she neither deserves nor instigates in any way shape or form). Or because I witnessed the complications of another friend's old relationships, and the heartbreak of a very drunk but still very sweet girl affiliated (and maybe seeing her made me feel guilt). All this drama of the heart just got to me, and made me think a lot about matters such as this. My matters, namely (as the selfish human mind is accustomed). To me, in the last formative years of my life, matters of the heart have included a number of factors, none condusive to my happiness in any way:
1. Chasing an unattainable person and being so caught up in the idea that I'm drowning in hopes and daydreams and thoughts of them. In complete and utter emotional lust over them.
2. Running from the feelings of boys who I love more than the world, but I could never be in love with. Boys who imagine they love me, and make me push them away. Or at least push their love away. (I am using the word love in the loosest sense of the word here)
3. Almost having something, sort of, just out of reach. Or having something come within my grasp only to slip away suddenly. Maybe that means it wasn't meant to be. Only this results in my mind producing a neverending stream of the way it could have been. Of inactively chasing them just because of "unfinished business". Even if I see them and feel nothing. I still want them to want me. Isn't that horrible?
4. We won't talk about how it all started....
And so last night got me thinking. Thinking about the endless cluster fucks that my heart has been involved with and nothing else (see above). And I just thought to myself, don't I deserve something better? Maybe I don't. Maybe thats why. I know I'm young, I know there are many countless endless amounts of other things to revel in and make me happy. Which I do revel in, which do make me happy. And I haven't thought about this stuff in a while, and I lvoed not thinking about it, because really it does consume such hopeless romantic minds as mine. I used to say hopeFUL, but its leaning more and more towards the LESS side. Anyways, I was thinking, a little while ago I think I was just at the end of the desperation rope. My standards were about nil, I was grasping for any semblance of any romantic emotion I could find and turning it into something bigger than it ever was or could have been. And I was content with that at the time, not long ago. But last night I thought about all this and this morning I woke up and I thought, if I'm going to have someone, I want someone brilliant. Someone kind and articulate and humble (above all things). Someone funny and laid back who worships the ground I walk on. Maybe I am asking too much, but I don't ever think anyone should sell themselves short. I have taken to telling my friends (one in particular, who recently experienced a stinging and inexplicably ill-fitted rejection) that what they deserve, what they all deserve and what every woman in the entire world deserves is nothing less than a man who absolutely worships the ground you walk on. This is a notion that I will stand by through every ridicule and criticism. It obviously would be different for every person, but it is still what every female deserves out of life and love.
Anyways, this has been an overly sappy and heart-ful post. Fuckin Valentine's day syndrome must be infecting me with its poison. Red hearts and pink cupids and lace and frills EVERYWHERE and me vomiting in the corner. Gag. Reflex.
I'll move away from the serious nature of this post to talk about where I'm at right now. I am currently sitting at home, on the farm, with a fresh layer of snow staring at me from the window and my lovely mutt dozing in the room next to me. Right now my thoughts are of breakfast, a nice shower, and preparing my eyes for excessive amounts of purple tonight. It is my dear Natasha's 21st birthday party tonight, and her party themes always turn out to be the best. Everyone is beyond excited and I can hardly contain myself. I will hopefully post a picture of all the fantastic purpleness after the weekend. For now, here's a run down of the past few years:
2007: Bucket hats. Best one yet.
2008: Highlight the Night
2009:TWENTIES! Awesome pictures
2010 to follow :)
1. Chasing an unattainable person and being so caught up in the idea that I'm drowning in hopes and daydreams and thoughts of them. In complete and utter emotional lust over them.
2. Running from the feelings of boys who I love more than the world, but I could never be in love with. Boys who imagine they love me, and make me push them away. Or at least push their love away. (I am using the word love in the loosest sense of the word here)
3. Almost having something, sort of, just out of reach. Or having something come within my grasp only to slip away suddenly. Maybe that means it wasn't meant to be. Only this results in my mind producing a neverending stream of the way it could have been. Of inactively chasing them just because of "unfinished business". Even if I see them and feel nothing. I still want them to want me. Isn't that horrible?
4. We won't talk about how it all started....
And so last night got me thinking. Thinking about the endless cluster fucks that my heart has been involved with and nothing else (see above). And I just thought to myself, don't I deserve something better? Maybe I don't. Maybe thats why. I know I'm young, I know there are many countless endless amounts of other things to revel in and make me happy. Which I do revel in, which do make me happy. And I haven't thought about this stuff in a while, and I lvoed not thinking about it, because really it does consume such hopeless romantic minds as mine. I used to say hopeFUL, but its leaning more and more towards the LESS side. Anyways, I was thinking, a little while ago I think I was just at the end of the desperation rope. My standards were about nil, I was grasping for any semblance of any romantic emotion I could find and turning it into something bigger than it ever was or could have been. And I was content with that at the time, not long ago. But last night I thought about all this and this morning I woke up and I thought, if I'm going to have someone, I want someone brilliant. Someone kind and articulate and humble (above all things). Someone funny and laid back who worships the ground I walk on. Maybe I am asking too much, but I don't ever think anyone should sell themselves short. I have taken to telling my friends (one in particular, who recently experienced a stinging and inexplicably ill-fitted rejection) that what they deserve, what they all deserve and what every woman in the entire world deserves is nothing less than a man who absolutely worships the ground you walk on. This is a notion that I will stand by through every ridicule and criticism. It obviously would be different for every person, but it is still what every female deserves out of life and love.
Anyways, this has been an overly sappy and heart-ful post. Fuckin Valentine's day syndrome must be infecting me with its poison. Red hearts and pink cupids and lace and frills EVERYWHERE and me vomiting in the corner. Gag. Reflex.
I'll move away from the serious nature of this post to talk about where I'm at right now. I am currently sitting at home, on the farm, with a fresh layer of snow staring at me from the window and my lovely mutt dozing in the room next to me. Right now my thoughts are of breakfast, a nice shower, and preparing my eyes for excessive amounts of purple tonight. It is my dear Natasha's 21st birthday party tonight, and her party themes always turn out to be the best. Everyone is beyond excited and I can hardly contain myself. I will hopefully post a picture of all the fantastic purpleness after the weekend. For now, here's a run down of the past few years:
2007: Bucket hats. Best one yet.
2008: Highlight the Night
2009:TWENTIES! Awesome pictures
2010 to follow :)
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Restless mind syndrome
I want to move to San Fran Sisco and become a kitschy hippy girl and wear lace and floral and meet a guitarist who I can go to the market with. I want to ride a yellow scooter and ride the trams.
I want to move to Spain and work in a cheese shop and die my hair dark brown so that I feel more Spanish. I want to wear a yellow apron with red trim and wrap wheels of cheese in soft cloth and pack them into crates.
I've also always wanted to work in a cranberry bog. I don't know why, but those Ocean Spray commercials with those dudes standing in the water wearing hip waders, surrounded by floating cranberries always made me want to be there. I know in reality it would probably be a lot less enjoyable than I anticipate, but I feel like I would like to see that for myself.
I have always felt like in my life, something extraordinary was bound to happen. My whole life I have felt like I deserved a fantastic experience, like a movie or a book (but I suppose everyone thinks that, don't they?). Lately I've been feeling like that possibility might be steadily reaching its end. I am headed down a fairly solid career path (granted that I make it), and it feels like once that happens thats it, times up. I definitely thought that in the midst of my constant meandering through life that extraordinary event would occur before this concrete decision I seem to have finally made. It makes me feel a little like I'm getting myself stuck. And that scares me. But oddly it also doesn't scare me. Maybe I'm just slowly accepting the wonderfulness of my ordinary life, and somewhat relinquishing the idea of the extraordinary adventure. Maybe I'll just keep getting stuck and stuck and mentally fighting it, until one day I realize hey this ordinary life IS extraordinary. Maybe I'll turn out like the modern female version of George Bailey. Althought I will admit I could never be as fabulous as James Stuart. But right now this restless need for adventure keeps prodding my mind, and for now I'll still hope for all these things to happen one day. And I'll always hope for my extraordinary piece of ordinary.
I want to move to Spain and work in a cheese shop and die my hair dark brown so that I feel more Spanish. I want to wear a yellow apron with red trim and wrap wheels of cheese in soft cloth and pack them into crates.
I've also always wanted to work in a cranberry bog. I don't know why, but those Ocean Spray commercials with those dudes standing in the water wearing hip waders, surrounded by floating cranberries always made me want to be there. I know in reality it would probably be a lot less enjoyable than I anticipate, but I feel like I would like to see that for myself.
I have always felt like in my life, something extraordinary was bound to happen. My whole life I have felt like I deserved a fantastic experience, like a movie or a book (but I suppose everyone thinks that, don't they?). Lately I've been feeling like that possibility might be steadily reaching its end. I am headed down a fairly solid career path (granted that I make it), and it feels like once that happens thats it, times up. I definitely thought that in the midst of my constant meandering through life that extraordinary event would occur before this concrete decision I seem to have finally made. It makes me feel a little like I'm getting myself stuck. And that scares me. But oddly it also doesn't scare me. Maybe I'm just slowly accepting the wonderfulness of my ordinary life, and somewhat relinquishing the idea of the extraordinary adventure. Maybe I'll just keep getting stuck and stuck and mentally fighting it, until one day I realize hey this ordinary life IS extraordinary. Maybe I'll turn out like the modern female version of George Bailey. Althought I will admit I could never be as fabulous as James Stuart. But right now this restless need for adventure keeps prodding my mind, and for now I'll still hope for all these things to happen one day. And I'll always hope for my extraordinary piece of ordinary.
Numbness and Solitude
Written April 28, 2009
A mind never at rest produces an everlasting stream of poisonous poignancy
A mind which produces this perpetual poignant stream does not allow it’s host to rest
A mind that alludes to a great many things, a great many fantasies that are intrinsically bland.
A mind that never rests gives its wearer no respite. Haunting the poor soul with such banal dreams.
Such as:
Lovers as well as someone to love
Peeling away this fabric that encases our weary flesh and bone.
When what we really have is:
Empty lips in a quest for fulfillment, but with nothing to come home to.
Empty promises never actually spoken. Never really professed. Not really there at all.
Empty hopes of the empty hearts of consequently empty people. Empty longing of empty limbs to be empty no longer.
Pining over the nonexistant. Hope for what could be.
No reprieve in sight.
All causing:
A lifetime of longing and loneliness through only a sparse stretch of years.
Tumbling across a bleak and desolate landscape of a love life.
Nubness and solitude.
No reprieve in sight.
A mind never at rest produces an everlasting stream of poisonous poignancy
A mind which produces this perpetual poignant stream does not allow it’s host to rest
A mind that alludes to a great many things, a great many fantasies that are intrinsically bland.
A mind that never rests gives its wearer no respite. Haunting the poor soul with such banal dreams.
Such as:
Lovers as well as someone to love
Peeling away this fabric that encases our weary flesh and bone.
When what we really have is:
Empty lips in a quest for fulfillment, but with nothing to come home to.
Empty promises never actually spoken. Never really professed. Not really there at all.
Empty hopes of the empty hearts of consequently empty people. Empty longing of empty limbs to be empty no longer.
Pining over the nonexistant. Hope for what could be.
No reprieve in sight.
All causing:
A lifetime of longing and loneliness through only a sparse stretch of years.
Tumbling across a bleak and desolate landscape of a love life.
Nubness and solitude.
No reprieve in sight.
At First Sight
Writeen April24, 2009
I think that the world lives through the notion of love at first sight. If you think about it, that phenomenon exists in much of a regular person’s every day actions. The act of putting on makeup and dressing nicely to face the world, so that when one is seen for the first time by a stranger the sight will be appealing, and in some cases striking enough to make a lasting impression. The same is true for people already known to us, except in this case its first sight of the day, maybe the week or the last few years. I guess the term “love” here is slightly ambiguous, so we must give it a different meaning than the romantic sense of love at first sight. In the situations above I suppose it would be appeal at first sight or pleasing. I think that the word “love” can sometimes take on these lesser connotations anyways, so either way the words serve the same purpose. Shopping is a key example of this “love at first sight” phenomenon. In fact it is basically the foundation of which the act of shopping is based. You don’t take time to get to know a blouse or pair of pants or watch or necklace or even a book. You take a look at it and it either appeals to you or it doesn’t. You either love it or you don’t. The first sight of that object is what compels you to love it (or not) and therefore buy it (or not). In this example the use of the word love is very well placed. For me everything is love at first sight. This theory of love at first sight is sometimes all that gets me up in the morning. The idea that maybe after all the primping and polishing of my outer demeanor, while I’m walking passed someone they will look at me and love what they see. They will see me for the first time and think maybe that first sight appeal could progress into the more serious form of that appeal, the ideal and idealized and perpetually abstract and illusive phenomenon that is this love. Whatever love is anyway.
I think that the world lives through the notion of love at first sight. If you think about it, that phenomenon exists in much of a regular person’s every day actions. The act of putting on makeup and dressing nicely to face the world, so that when one is seen for the first time by a stranger the sight will be appealing, and in some cases striking enough to make a lasting impression. The same is true for people already known to us, except in this case its first sight of the day, maybe the week or the last few years. I guess the term “love” here is slightly ambiguous, so we must give it a different meaning than the romantic sense of love at first sight. In the situations above I suppose it would be appeal at first sight or pleasing. I think that the word “love” can sometimes take on these lesser connotations anyways, so either way the words serve the same purpose. Shopping is a key example of this “love at first sight” phenomenon. In fact it is basically the foundation of which the act of shopping is based. You don’t take time to get to know a blouse or pair of pants or watch or necklace or even a book. You take a look at it and it either appeals to you or it doesn’t. You either love it or you don’t. The first sight of that object is what compels you to love it (or not) and therefore buy it (or not). In this example the use of the word love is very well placed. For me everything is love at first sight. This theory of love at first sight is sometimes all that gets me up in the morning. The idea that maybe after all the primping and polishing of my outer demeanor, while I’m walking passed someone they will look at me and love what they see. They will see me for the first time and think maybe that first sight appeal could progress into the more serious form of that appeal, the ideal and idealized and perpetually abstract and illusive phenomenon that is this love. Whatever love is anyway.
Untitled
Written Nov.13, 2008
Sometimes I think I’m a masochist. Surrounding myself with caustic people, falling in love with people who will never love me, poisoning my soul and steadily increasing my cinicism. My heart betrays me to now end sometimes. My brain screams in protest with its intelligence and cunning, but my heart has no cranium to regulate and extinguish the idiocy of its eager muscular form. It just continues to pulse and pump warmth and life and hope through my empty limbs and vital organs. I think my brain might sever ties with the damned thing, if they could live without each other.
But my brain betrays me too. Constantly producing these meandering thoughts that evoke the cursed emotions that my heart devours. So although I may think I’m the only person who I can trust not to hurt me, maybe I myself am actually the greatest liability to my own pain.
Contentment please. I beg you, peace.
Sometimes I think I’m a masochist. Surrounding myself with caustic people, falling in love with people who will never love me, poisoning my soul and steadily increasing my cinicism. My heart betrays me to now end sometimes. My brain screams in protest with its intelligence and cunning, but my heart has no cranium to regulate and extinguish the idiocy of its eager muscular form. It just continues to pulse and pump warmth and life and hope through my empty limbs and vital organs. I think my brain might sever ties with the damned thing, if they could live without each other.
But my brain betrays me too. Constantly producing these meandering thoughts that evoke the cursed emotions that my heart devours. So although I may think I’m the only person who I can trust not to hurt me, maybe I myself am actually the greatest liability to my own pain.
Contentment please. I beg you, peace.
Pondering of the Bus Stop
Written Oct.6, 2008
Sitting in a public glass case, the orange glow of the street lights seems to illuminate my thoughts as well as the darkened street. Shadows flit beyond the edges of the light, as they sometimes do in my head. And as I sit here with warbling tunes and lyrics stroking my ears and worming through tiny canals into my mind, I feel as though my heart is caged. I can almost feel the barriers around it, built up becuase of past wounds that are clearly visible. Seemingly ancient scars that, if my heart could see a potential observer, would surely cause it to recoil and hide the ugliness those scars display and the past turmoil they represent. So it has built this cage, this cushioning, this barrier to prevent such wounds from occurring once more. And all the while it mourns for the pieces that have been gouged from it, and are now missing due to carelessness and naivity and certain idiocy. Never again. Never again….until the next time. But maybe next time it will be prepared. Next time it will know better than to lower those bars, no vulnerability, never again.
But if I had the chance, I would throw my self and that wounded heart fully into the fire, and the flames would rise up and consume me. And I would embrace it. If only the opportunity would knock upon those iron bars. It’s hard to connect with faces gazed upon in shadowed club lighting. It’s hard to sense intentions and understand what lies behind those darkened eyes that have no color but black. At least in that bleak and dreary atmosphere.
But amongst all the trappings and goings on of life in the city, sometimes its hard to see through the neon haze. And I sometimes find myself amazed that I can even think through it. With no stars in the sky to guide my thoughts. With nothing but the orange street lamps and the whispering, moaning of public transit.
Sitting in a public glass case, the orange glow of the street lights seems to illuminate my thoughts as well as the darkened street. Shadows flit beyond the edges of the light, as they sometimes do in my head. And as I sit here with warbling tunes and lyrics stroking my ears and worming through tiny canals into my mind, I feel as though my heart is caged. I can almost feel the barriers around it, built up becuase of past wounds that are clearly visible. Seemingly ancient scars that, if my heart could see a potential observer, would surely cause it to recoil and hide the ugliness those scars display and the past turmoil they represent. So it has built this cage, this cushioning, this barrier to prevent such wounds from occurring once more. And all the while it mourns for the pieces that have been gouged from it, and are now missing due to carelessness and naivity and certain idiocy. Never again. Never again….until the next time. But maybe next time it will be prepared. Next time it will know better than to lower those bars, no vulnerability, never again.
But if I had the chance, I would throw my self and that wounded heart fully into the fire, and the flames would rise up and consume me. And I would embrace it. If only the opportunity would knock upon those iron bars. It’s hard to connect with faces gazed upon in shadowed club lighting. It’s hard to sense intentions and understand what lies behind those darkened eyes that have no color but black. At least in that bleak and dreary atmosphere.
But amongst all the trappings and goings on of life in the city, sometimes its hard to see through the neon haze. And I sometimes find myself amazed that I can even think through it. With no stars in the sky to guide my thoughts. With nothing but the orange street lamps and the whispering, moaning of public transit.
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