missed connections: tell him you liked when your thighs used to touch in the taxi, tell her you wished you could have cried with her under the stars but the circumstances were never right, tell him he used to make things make sense in your dreams almost every night, tell her she’s just as whimsical as all of the beautiful things she adores, tell him you still imagine yourself holding a sword every time you’re scared thanks to those nice sentences he shared with you four years ago, tell her she’s the reason you still have hope on otherwise hopeless days, tell him you would liked to have walked along the train tracks with him and got to know each other if you were not so shy, tell her you wrote an english essay about her being a lost soul and got an A- on it because it was too long, tell him even though you don’t know him it breaks your heart to read about how sad he is, tell her she looks pretty wearing baggy t-shirts even though that doesn’t sound like a compliment, tell him he is a good listener, tell her you’re sorry, tell him you remember everything he says to you because maybe you love him, tell her that it was never her fault, tell him you still think about him every time you pass that repair shop, tell her you admire her ability to show her sadness creatively, tell him you felt some type of a connection when he sang that song even though you had never heard him talk, tell her you wrote down a sentence she told you about timelines and the beach and a boy she used to love because the way she worded it was sad and beautiful, tell him you miss him and regret not spending more time with him, tell her you wish she didn’t kill herself because she and you could have been friends, tell him you fell off a skateboard in a parking lot and lost your breath and cried and later that night you sat on the balcony of that hotel and cried again while wishing he did not die, tell her she’s a good kid, tell him you are curious as to whether or not he is still scared, tell her it’s not so bad, tell him you dreamt you and him were the only people who survived, tell her you’ll always remember that night she held onto your orange sweatshirt and acted like you were her mother, tell him he should be famous, tell her you still have that letter, tell him for a while there he was the inspiration behind all of those creations he claimed to like, tell her thank you for all the nights she distracted you from your bad thoughts, tell him you wrote his name in the sand as a joke and an old lady read it out loud, tell her she deserves to be happy so it’s a good thing she usually is, tell him you don’t really hate him, tell her she reminds you of yourself, tell him you thought his drawings were interesting, tell her that it will be okay and somebody will hold her hand soon enough
I AM AUBREY
last.fm, youtube, flickr, facebook, random post, ask
writing or something
(me) (my dog)
-
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missed connections →
Source: theoceanofconsciousness
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the last dream in my journal
(first i was in a bus for hundreds of miles going north, trying to escape these people attacking us and then…)
i was staying inside of tiny house with lots of big windows as the world ended. the house was crowded, filled with what might have been some of the last living people on earth. we were under attack but i don’t know who/what was attacking us. all i know is that it was causing explosions and floods and there were a bunch of tall glass buildings along major highways all over the world that were made specifically for burning dead bodies in and they were talking about the glass buildings on the news.
every time a giant wave would flood over the house, or every time we’d see an explosion in the distance through the big windows, everyone in the house was trained to start singing a happy song together to keep our minds off of it. i remember seeing dirty water rushing over the house and thinking we could have drowned any second if the house collapsed but i had to keep singing this happy tune, and if anyone cried in fear, we would sing louder and force them to stop because we weren’t allowed to be negative during our last moments alive.
a celebrity was in the house with us and i do not remember who it was, only that they were famous, but i remember saying “don’t you miss when meeting celebrities was exciting because they were different than the rest of us? now everyone is the same terrified and helpless person and a celebrity is no different than the average hopeless person.”
it was one of those sentences you think are really cool and deep and meaningful during the dream but then you wake up and think “wait huh”
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i wrote on the last page of this today. hundreds of pages of sleeping stories. (Taken with instagram)
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last night i dreamt i was staying in this pretty little island-y town by the beach, and everyone there lived in an apartment made out of something that looked like and could have and might as well have been bamboo. they all had balconies on top of their apartments overlooking the ocean and from the bottom of their balconies they hung hammocks and there were always old men napping in them, not creepy old men, just old, tired and old. the sand of the beach was green, but not a gross shade of green, more like a mint green (it felt clean) and the ocean was bright neon blue even at night, it was always bright, and there were giant black rocks placed in what seemed like random spots throughout the town and people would lie on them to get suntans. in the distance you could see mountains but they looked more like skyscrapers because of their shape but there were no windows and there was no city and everyone called them mountains. everyone had feathers in their hair and everyone had a bike and everyone used their bike and i don’t remember seeing a single car or even a pair of shoes for that matter. from a distance it seemed to be the perfect little peaceful town but they still had their little wars. they were always having little wars, stealing bikes, fighting over who got the rights to tanning on the biggest rock on the great mint green beach, occasionally wandering too close to the skyscraper mountains which was against the town rules. tiny, tiny wars. at night they would try to make peace, sometimes with a show of fireworks and i suppose it helped. everyone would step out of their bamboo apartment into the streets, onto the rocks, and onto their balconies, and they’d be looking up at the sky in awe at these loud pastel colors exploding in the sky. every night was a celebration of some sort. they’d smile at the beauty. i had a camera on me and i was capturing a bunch of pictures i wish could have been real. one little boy, no older than ten, had to be forced outside the night of the fireworks. he wanted to stay inside and watch his tv, but his mother wouldn’t let him, so he dragged the tv outside with him, but it would not work outside. it only showed static. out of spite, the little boy sat down by the tv anyway and watched the static as the rest of the town looked up at the fireworks. his arms were crossed in anger and his eyes were glued to the static-filled screen, the sky around him was full of pink fireworks and right then i took a picture of the boy and i was so disappointed i could not have that picture when i woke up.
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. →
it’s one of those songs that can bring out a genuine smile because it really helps you appreciate the beauty of it all, literally everything, but at the same it time it tugs at your heart in the saddest way, and makes it so that all you can do is reach your desperate hand out for the invisible person next to you to grasp onto. and then you wonder why, in this moment, why you aren’t sharing this beauty with a single soul besides yourself. and you are smiling and your eyes are sad and everything conflicts with everything else but everything is real. and although you are longing for so much more, you could not ask for anything else. and once the song ends, you realize that is why your eyes are sad. because you could not ask for anything else. and you do not ask for anything else.
hey, aubrey
this is what you need:
-to listen to more of those songs
-to ask for something else
Source: theoceanofconsciousness
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- "i had a dream i was in the passenger seat of your car and we had been driving on this long road, passing a bunch of vibrantly colored and uniquely shaped houses and stores for miles and miles and miles, and you told me we wouldn't stop driving until we found the most beautiful building."
- "all buildings are ugly."
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the ocean of consciousness: Everyone will notice your blonde hair. You will not lose... →
Everyone will notice your blonde hair. You will not lose control.
Nobody will mention your brother. You will not cry.
The church will be surrounded in roses. You will faint.
The water will be brown. You will say you are okay.
Your bedroom will feel like a museum. You will scratch your arm until it bleeds.
I wrote this a about a week ago. It didn’t mean anything. It was just words. I realized, after writing it, a young boy in my town killed himself the day before I wrote it. He had an older sister. It still doesn’t mean anything. It is still just words.
I don’t know. I’m sorry.
just words.
Source: theoceanofconsciousness
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oh god i typed out all these ideas in notepad real fast and when i pasted them into something else, the formatting got all messed up, and now it looks like a poem due to all the unnecessary line breaks. here enjoy a poem about lemons
when life gives you lemons
-
organizing them in a
closet/cabinet and then shutting
it and walking away and smiling
throwing them against a brick wall
while yelling
drowning in a tub of them, close
eyes
juggling them and laughing
playing baseball with them
line them up and stare at them in
deep thought, counting them,
shaking your head like you’re
doing something wrong
falling asleep with them on the
bed around you
hand them to other people
look outside the window at a pile
of them in fear
open the door to a pile of them in
fear
smash them with a hammer
drop them from a high building
(or throw them in the air and
watch them fall down again)
paint them (a still life)
draw a face on them and sit next
to them like a friend on a couch
pile them on a plate and look
ready to eat them with a fork and
knife
quickly hide them when somebody
else is entering a room so they
don’t notice
walk around in a park with them
tied to your foot
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thinking about thinking
- mindsets are a strange thing
- sometimes i am in this mindset where i want to be social with everyone, people i barely know, even - i’ll feel on top of the world and as if i am ready for anything, not thinking too much about anything negative, definitely not dwelling on worries (they sort of cease to exist for a moment, pushed way in the background where i can’t find them), perhaps tipsy on wine (though most likely not - i am just thinking of those one or two or perhaps three times) or just hyped up on music and fresh air (more likely) - in the mood to kiss somebody or take a walk or both (in the mood to enjoy life is what i mean)
- sometimes i am in this mindset where i do not feel capable of doing anything except sitting in my crowded room alone, feeling unsettled, gross, and awkward about everything - about myself, mostly, and too sad to do anything too productive, too sad to be in the mood to enjoy life, too sad to move and socialize and so i sit alone, i suppose i wait, or i sleep, but sleeping is the same as waiting, isn’t it
- most of the time i am in the middle - the middle used to be okay. maybe sometimes it still is. a nice balance of good and bad, a healthy perspective of everything, ready to enjoy things if given the chance but not overly excited without reason, also ready to feel sad (within reason). but mostly coasting in the middle with a clear mind that understands both sides of the spectrum but doesn’t necessarily feel them at the current moment.
- over time, the middle mindset became more bland. the clear “ready” mind did not feel as healthy as it used to (or as ready), but more so like a chore - it felt like a tedious process, which doesn’t even make the slightest bit of sense when i type it out and i can’t explain this well at all and for that i am disappointed. (in what, though?) you are here now, and you were here then, and in a moment you will be there. robotic, emotionless. the only emotion being disappointment due to the lack of emotion (and longing for it). perhaps not ready enough to enjoy life once given the chance, or maybe it’s not that at all, maybe it is the lack of drive to go out and find reasons to enjoy life (more likely that) and that should make me angry but it doesn’t (it makes me angry that it doesn’t make me angry)
- i don’t know what i am saying (yes i do)
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the ocean of consciousness: reasons to live →
reasons to live
he is far away from home. he is bringing her home a rock. he is bringing her home the ugliest rock he can find, as per her request. pick a rock that nobody would ever want, she tells him. i want to hold something nobody else would ever care to hold, she says. he picks up the most repulsive, dirtiest rock he can find, and he thinks about how weird she is, and how much he adores her weirdness. he clutches the rock tightly in his palm and thinks about her death. i would be so mad if you died before i came home, he tells her. she doesn’t question why he is talking about her death. i would have nobody to give this rock to, he continues. it would be the most unloved rock in the whole entire world.
i am getting that rock
Source: theoceanofconsciousness
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“life is strange and not always enjoyable but it is remarkable and interesting just to study”
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i think the good things in life are the ones you don’t find yourself worrying over thinking about
the ones that make you write poems, not rants
so just wait for that poem to come out of you and hope that it does
rant until it does because we can’t have good without bad
and hell don’t stop ranting, don’t stay silent, we can’t have anything in the silence
there is a little string that ties rants and poetry together and if you cut that string both of them will float away from reach, like balloons, and then eventually pop into shriveled-up used-to-be’s
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the ocean of consciousness: more than a body and a voice →
i used to be in love with the world. everything was a vibrant color. rich reds, deep blues, earthy greens. everything was a song that could make you cry (in a good way). the sound of silence was something to look forward to because i knew my thoughts would fill the silence with beauty and i was excited to see what i could do with that beauty. man made non-tangible beauty; my mind was my favorite part of myself. i want you, the reader of this somewhat small block of text, to think of that feeling you got when you watched a beautiful, emotional film. the peak of that film, the most emotional part, there was some scene that made you cry, wasn’t there? maybe not sad tears, but more like completely alive and i’m-so-glad-i-can-feel-this tears. i’m-so-amazed-i-can-feel-this tears. i’m-so-goddamn-thankful-i-can-feel-this-i-don’t-know-how-it-happened-i-don’t-know-why-i’m-qualified-but-i’m-so-goddamn-thankful tears. maybe it wasn’t a movie; maybe it was a song. maybe it was both. some type of media entered you and pulled out something from under your surface and you were pleasantly surprised with the outcome. it was like that. every day. every moment. i used to be in touch with the universe. i used to be in touch with my mind. i used to be more than a body. i used to be more than a voice. oh god it felt so great. i used to be in love with the world.
time passed. a few numbers on the thing we call my age changed, but i don’t know how much that has to do with anything (though i like to place the blame anything i can think up). something terrible happened: my vibrant colors faded. slowly at first. every day the saturation in life would go down just a little. it wasn’t too noticeable as it was happening until one day i woke up and everything was almost completely in shades of grey. i got used to it until eventually everything was completely in shades of grey. and i was living in a black and white movie with no plot and no beautiful, emotional moments. there was no soundtrack. the volume must have decreased each day too; i could hear no music. i could feel no music. my heart sunk and all i could think was oh god how did this happen? oh god why am i qualified for this?
i feared silence because the thoughts that filled silence were no longer beautiful. they were either fearful, hateful, both, or nothing. some days it was literally silent in my mind and body and soul and whatever it is that i am, and those days might have been the worst. that kind of silence where all you do is stare at a wall at three or four in the morning completely detached from life because it’s easy to do and nothing else sparks your interest. the wall doesn’t spark your interest either, but it’s there and you didn’t have to work for it to be there. you’ve memorized the texture of the wall, the parts where extra paint was applied so a little paint glob remains like a bump on skin, the mysterious spots. i know my wall so well i no longer jump at the little black spot by the ceiling mistaking it for a spider. i no longer jump at much of anything.
i look out the window on rare occasions but it is always cold. it used to be warm and now it is cold. HOW DO I GET MY COLORS BACK? i scream to myself, i cry to myself, i whisper to myself. it used to be a question. i used to expect an answer to come along someday. then it just became a statement. i did not expect anything anymore. how do i get my colors back. i think to myself. dull and monotone and robotic. how do i get my colors back.
if you ever feel this way, please for the love of whatever you believe in, don’t ever let it become a statement.
keep the question mark. always keep the question mark. the moment you drop the question mark is the moment you
(i think you know)
(i can’t finish the sentence)
(i can’t finish anything)
(i can’t)
(i)
(no)
somebody slap me
i wake up; i go back to sleep
Source: theoceanofconsciousness
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the ocean of consciousness: not an epiphany →
do you remember when these songs meant more to you than the wandering thoughts of possible colleges and jobs and boy”friends” to kiss/touch and places to live away from home and the fear of being old and alone and not being able to do things for yourself, remember when you listened to those words being sung with such young and new ears, so curious about the world and life, and back then every night you went to sleep thinking you had a beautiful epiphany that day, and you did oh you did but they run out, they ran out, there’s nothing left, it’s all dry now, you’re listening to this music still but you’re either bitter or worrying and it doesn’t sound right anymore, it’s not the same, you’re rarely even sad these days, that emotion is too nice for you, sad has the potential to be so comforting, sad could bring you so many words to spill, but no it’s just mad and anxious these days, mad and anxious, mad and anxious, either that or dull and basically numb, and you hate that, and you blame it all on the season or whatever dumb reason you can find to give yourself a bit of hope that it isn’t you, it’s too cold you say, can’t go outside to enjoy life, can’t enjoy life, but you just can’t enjoy anything, so what’s left now, is this a spell, will i rediscover this music again some day far from this one and listen with new ears again, will there be more epiphanies, will there be a day you know how to spell the word epiphanies without looking it up online, does your family ever stop being so loud and dysfunctional, do you pour your soul to her like you used to, does it matter, does she matter, does it ever make sense, does the senselessness ever even make sense again, do you ever find out how to express your emotions fast and beautifully without separating every god damn thought with a comma, does she figure out how to stop screaming and start sharing her negative emotions with words instead, do you sing do you sing do you sing, you should sing you should you should sing, but right now everything is bitter and anxious, and all you wanted a few hours ago was to go back to that night in the car for the worst reasons ever, or maybe that one night at the fair, you were out of your mind that night and when you came home it didn’t fucking matter if you could word how you felt in a way that would lure other people into reading it and thinking “wow this girl has a way with words, what a poet” because you were a poet in your mind and that was all that mattered and everything was perfectly flawed and wonderful and beautiful and new and every day you had an epiphany.
my body wants to write that i am tired. i paused from typing for a brief moment and thought “well what do i say now?” “i am tired.” that was the first thing that came to mind and yet i’m not even tired. i slept late, didn’t do anything today, i could stay up all night but i have school in the morning, i’m back to the terrible comma placement again, oh well, i’m tired of something, that’s for sure, i’m tired of this feeling but i can’t correctly place a name to this feeling, i’d say shut up to myself because it’ll be better by the morning or by the next week or even the next month but this time i don’t think that’s true, i’m sorry, last night i had a dream that that she was ill, and i was screaming, all i remember was screaming, constant screaming, such agony, such dread, everything wrong in the world, before that i dreamt a stranger kissed me, his lips were too thin and his tongue was more like a snake tongue than a human tongue and i kept comparing his mouth to yours the whole time and thinking gross, gross, gross, this is so gross, his cheek was pressed against mine and i knew it was going to happen and i didn’t want it to happen but it did anyway, i backed away once it did though, he followed me around, i have no idea who he was, last time i dreamt of kissing somebody it actually happened, i hope this one doesn’t happen, i never really dream of kissing people other than this, when i woke up i told somebody I JUST HAD THE WORST DREAMS via text message, they didn’t respond, i don’t mind, i like people who don’t respond right away, i like people who don’t expect a response right away if at all, i like people who give people space, i give people space, maybe that is why i am so alone, maybe that is why i am so lonely, everyone comes to me first, i don’t feel like talking to anyone who doesn’t know me enough to know that i hate the question “so how have you been?” that narrows down the list quite a lot, let’s hope i snap out of this, let’s hope i can listen to this music and feel right again, go away bitterness and anxiety, go away, this is not an epiphany, though i can now spell that word with ease after typing it so many times, at least that’s something, learn something new every day
e p i p h a n y
well alright
not a goddamn thing has changed
Source: theoceanofconsciousness
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