3rd April 2012

Chat with 5 notes

  • "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."

Tagged: ~

28th March 2012

Link reblogged from the ocean of consciousness with 13 notes

the ocean of consciousness: Everyone will notice your blonde hair. You will not lose... →

theoceanofconsciousness:

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.

Tagged: ~

21st March 2012

Post with 12 notes

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

Tagged: ~

8th March 2012

Post with 12 notes

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)

Tagged: ~

20th February 2012

Link reblogged from the ocean of consciousness with 45 notes

the ocean of consciousness: reasons to live →

theoceanofconsciousness:

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

Tagged: ~

3rd February 2012

Post with 4 notes

“life is strange and not always enjoyable but it is remarkable and interesting just to study”

Tagged: lookin' through old things and finding sentences i like~

1st February 2012

Post with 24 notes

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

Tagged: ~

22nd January 2012

Post with 27 notes

“i take personality tests to confirm that i have one”

Tagged: ~

16th January 2012

Link reblogged from the ocean of consciousness with 40 notes

the ocean of consciousness: more than a body and a voice →

theoceanofconsciousness:

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

Tagged: ~

16th January 2012

Link reblogged from the ocean of consciousness with 24 notes

the ocean of consciousness: not an epiphany →

theoceanofconsciousness:

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

Tagged: ~

12th January 2012

Chat with 9 notes

  • 1: wouldn't it be weird if nobody cried at night
  • 2: wouldn't it be weird if everyone did

Tagged: ~

3rd January 2012

Quote with 9 notes

he asked her to marry him, and instead of giving her a ring, he gave her a wooden toy train.
— an excerpt from my dream journal (2009)

Tagged: ~

14th December 2011

Post with 11 notes

those who despise winter

They will allow themselves to think to the point of destruction. They might claim that when summer approaches, their minds finally “wake up”, they finally feel free to create again - to be inspired once more, and to be the best selves they can possibly be, but most of them don’t realize that winter is actually the season they spend most of their time thinking. Truth be told, their brains aren’t doing anything close to sleeping during the winter. They may not be inspired to do anything of use when it’s cold out, but they are still constantly thinking, constantly over-analyzing, constantly worrying. They will stay indoors; they will stay awake all night; they will spend all this time thinking about the things that trouble them (thus creating more things that trouble them). They spend winter creating their own personal hells, and building onto them more and more as each freezing day passes. They might not realize it, but summer allows them to escape their mind - their own worst enemy. Summer fulfills them with the perfect environment to somewhat unconsciously and temporarily forget about everything that ties them down. Sure, the comforting warmth on their backs and the fully green leaves on the trees might inspire them enough to write a lovely poem or a beautiful song, but nothing digs deeper into their soul like winter does. Summer, to them, is just a nicer and easier way of dealing with winter thoughts. Their worries become easier to throw into artistic outlets in the summertime, but their worries never fully dissolve into those artistic outlets; they never fully disappear. There will always, always be worries. It is always winter in some sense for those who despise winter.

Tagged: everything else was a joke~

24th November 2011

Photo with 6 notes

Tagged: The Endand then i took corny things out of my journalby corny i mean happy~

17th November 2011

Post with 6 notes

“i’ve never been able to write ‘fuck’ so big and so fast” are words i remember saying while sliding down this steep road in the snow and using my fingers to carve the word “fuck” into its surface real fast as i slid down

i was trying to find

one

good thing

about the snow

and then i was stroking the hair of this snow angel, not like most snow angels because it wasn’t a missing cookie cutter shape - it was an angel actually standing there projecting from the ground, made out of the snow rather than the lack of snow, like a snowman but a detailed snowangel. it had eyes and lips, and the more i stroked its snow hair the more the whole thing melted and i knew this and i did this on purpose

and the angel was a mom

or

something

then i heard a voice, her voice(? not the angel’s), telling me from a distance “i don’t want his mom to die” and so i stopped touching the angel completely

and woke up

it’s four in the morning

‘TWAS ALL A DREAM

i hate snow

i hate snow and i hate sleeping early in the night

Tagged: and i hate this dream~