Publicize

I suddenly feel like I'm spilling everything, every word I write, is revealing every little bit of my feeling. And everyone can see it. Even though no one reads this blog. But even if I mask what I'm saying, and I'm just talking about what's on my mind, the people will see through it and my naked love, dispair, confusion, all these heavy words. I'm not sure if I can mask them anymore. Maybe, I don't want to. But that's not what this blog is about. I'm not here to write about my life, in a direct emotional way. I'm here to put out the more complicated, (theorietically) insightful parts of living. But if all I can say is "I don't understand the way you think" and "I regret this and this" and "I love you" and "I'm confused because I'm 13" etc... - then why am I here? Now, every time I sit down to write a post, I ses straight through it. And since you all know me, and my life, and what I'm doing, you'll figure it out too. Which means, this is like having a one-ended, heart-to-heart that will remain forever on the internet. That's not very wise now is it...

Sounds

This post is inspired by a suggestion from Lola

I love the sound of the last drop of water falling into the filled tub, or to the bottom of the shower.
The sound of a perfectly tuned Conga drum when lifted and makes a bass sound
I love hearing car doors slam and the sound of fingernails tapping a windowpane.
I adore the sound of that whoosh, that means that someone has just IMd you for the first time.
The sound of the airconditioner humming along to reggae blasting all summer long.
The sno-cone man's bell from five blocks down.
Sounds of cars on wet pavement early in the morning
High heels on stone
Spanish
The sound of a lock opening successfully
A hollow sound found from a random piece of wood
The slam of a door behind you as you step out into an empty hall
The perfect high-five
A crunchy piece of ice being stepped on

Awesome sounds of the world!

Smile

A smile is your one defense between YOU and THEM. When the world is crashing down, a deep breath and a smile is gonna save you. And nothing else! Hiding makes you disappear, denial makes you stupid, crying makes you look like crap, and then you have the issue of how to stop. Talking may land you saying stuff you really wish you hadn't said, and sitting not doing anything at all is never going to work either.
But I never realized how equally difficult it is to smile through a dead feeling inside. I never realized how much energy and self-pursuasion it takes, to make yourself care about things you don't and say things you wouldn't say, and to artificially pick yourself up, put yourself back on your feet, until you're ready to walk again. Those moments of wandering around, like you've just been born... I WAS just born and I'm ready to deal with the consequences. Breathe deep flower. And smile. Because if you can, then you've created the barrier between... THEM and YOU. A barrier you can see through, but none of them can. Smile. Smile. Smile. It hurts, no? Just smile.

Back

I am going to close my eyes right now. And the tears are going to come streaming down my cheeks, down my neck and the two rivers will meet at my spine. I am going to take a deep breath, and it will take me a full 65 seconds to slowly let it out. I am going to open my mouth, and wait for words to come. But they never will. I will stare at a computer screen and listen to the sound of a clicking keyboard, but I will still not understand exactly what is coming out from my fingertips. I feel my life rewinding, I feel like I'm crawling back into prehistory. I've already zipped through November, now I'm living October. October was long and hard compared to December. It was full of constant doubt and playing every card carefully... yet I'm still confused what the difference between October and December was... on that spectrum. Did I not think the same thoughts, only by December they were reality? I feel as distant from you as my birthday. September. August. August was like a stab in the chest followed by hiding in a hole. July, July ends it. My memory ends in July, my time travel is limited to July. Because so many things were a myth in July, so many people were different, including myself. There was so much left to figure, so much innosence. No, we can't go back THAT far. But maybe tonight we'll understand, because we will have lost the past 4 months. Maybe, but we can only hope. It seems I can't understand anything being thrown at me these days.

Different

You're different. You are not the same person you were... you've lost yourself. How can I track my own progression into airheadeness, if I am me? They say, no, you're still you, you're just different. You've been gone for a while hon, and we're just waiting for you to come back. But how can you say that? How can you tell me that I have departed, entirely from the world, that I'm running around being someone I'm not? I can't tell you who I am, where the old me went, or when or why. But I look in the mirror, and I must agree. That person is not me. Just because I figured out that this is a new world and I am evolving like a weakling to it... but I can't do much about it. I can try and touch worlds with what it was like before... but I can't remember. All I know is that there was a longing, and now it's gone. What did I talk about? Who was I? I'm a stranger in my own life, dropped into a world and now you're all telling me how to play my character.
The music reminds me of a time beforehand, reminds me of a past life, and i listen with every bit of my soul, reaching out to grasp moments that made up who I was. Lost thoughts. The days were together and alone, sweet and dreamlike, thirteen was a land so far ahead and magical, like the beginning of my life. When I said my life had restarted, I was being symbolic. Or not. I don't want to lose who I was, nor do I want to drop out of the new world I've discovered. Is there a compromise? And can I find myself, those fragments of my own existance everyone insists are there? Please, just stop looking at me like I know what I've done and I could fix it willingly. Because I may try, and think I'm pulling it off, yet you say, I'm still different, not who I was. So what am I to do?

Say

How did you come to form those words? What was the inspiration? Are there fairies in your ear whispering them, is there a script somewhere? I'd love to crawl inside your head, stay awhile, listen to the echoes of what comes in, and what goes out. What is real, and what comes through the "this is what you say to accomplish your goal" feed. I'm picturing it as an office running thoughts like paperwork, and some things are done the right way, by hand, while others the company buys off of China, for cheap labor. So now, it's a matter of what thoughts you get, and where do they come from? Like buying mysterious food. You don't know where it's come from, or what it's been through...

But are you getting me? Sometimes I just wonder about this. Because you like those words, you respect those words, they make you happy - whatever - and then where did they come from? The source of all statements to trust or to distrust, unknown at times, to the person running the company of thoughts. AKA, you. But that's a whole different story. I leave you, still wondering, why you say these things.

Run

Run away and hide my darling, you've wanted to all week. One week can feel like a year, easily. You can take something as simple as a look, as a word as a glance, project it, go insane, and cry. But if you realize that this is all your past, you wake up the next day and smile. 'Cause you got that "I-don't-have-to-freak-out-like-that-anymore" feel, and although the old feeling was something to grow used to, people don't usually wish it back.

Still, every day is scary, and new and unknown, every day is about crossing bridges, and discovering the one's we've gone over. Every day is something I didn't understand before, and something that I just figured out, experimented, or triumphed. This is why I want to run away, and it's not 'cause I don't love you. It's so overwhelming and so unknown, and some days I think, maybe I should just get out of this before it goes bad. But day by day it's not gone bad yet, and these days don't last forever. Don't run away darling, it's all good.

Rut

Every day, Ms. M glares at us and tells us to go downstairs. We smile at her because we know this is our routine greeting, at 12:40pm. So we go down and we go to the pizza place, our pizza place, where we live. And the little mexican guys know that she gets a plain slice, and to skip over us, 'cause we're with her. We grab our seats at the booth, the two of us on one side, her on the other. To even switch places would be too daring. We have the usual conversation, the usual raiding of each other's food, the usual taunting of the the newbies, and with our memorable moment of brillant humor and friendship, the days go on the same. The pizza place is like our home to crash at, and the Convinience Store Not A Deli is our best friend. We wander in there, to debate over what kind of candy we want that day, and how much is too much, and how to win a smile from the indian guys at the counter. And after countless crunch bars and 5 cent mints, we reach our final destination of the benches outside the school, where we three pounce, trying to win a spot in the desired middle. One of our beautiful quirks is our obession with being in the middle. So we sit, with our other friends, with whom we meet up with at this spot. We hug and dance and enjoy our little routine, until one-thirty when the routine is played out.

Thus, we are stuck in a rut. I see from where they come saying this, we have a way of life that we stick to... daily, and while it is comforting, and enjoyable, after a while, you realize, this happens every day. Why does it happen every day? Why doesn't something different happen? Well now, apparently, I have pulled us out of a rut. Apparently, I am the driving force, my life which happened before my eyes, has become this rope to pull us out of the norm, and into a more unexplainable, unusual place, because of something that none of us saw coming. Out of the rut my friends. Except, I don't even care about the rut anymore. Let the run be, to catch me when I fall. And let my life live, because I love it.

Year

A year ago yesterday, my friends had just convinced me to make a blog. So, being bored around 11pm, I decided to go through the process of putting one together, and saying whatever I thought, and whatever I thought should be put up on a blog. And thus, I have been doing this for the past year. Whether I'm absolutely convinced I've discovered the key to the universe, or if I'm heartbroken for some ridiculous reason, I blogged about it. Sometimes I made sense, sometimes I didn't. And most of the time I didn't so I thank you for your patience. But wait! Why am I talking in the past tense? Who ever said this was over? No, this little online digital blip of existance that I call my own, has become a wonderful part of my life. It's my favorite way to express myself or to share some of my writing. So, this is not the end. It's just a reflection on the past year.

So Mountain Spirit/Flower, why are you writing this now if your anniversary was yesterday? Well, I had been looking forward for this day for months, and then, I forgot to write a special post. Why? How? I was an overwhelmed teenager, who thought she had a bigger issue going on than she probably actually had. Of course! 'Cause it's me after all. Happy Birthday Songs of a Petrified Flower.

November

There are wet leaves sticking to the ground, and trying to kick them would be pointless. Fortunetly, kicking leaves, hoping that one will come along with you, for a foot or two, is a fairly low key pastime. Because, in November, the gray sky has a beauty to it. When time stops and even though the wind is rushing, it gives a certain kind of comfort, like a hug. And wandering under the canopy of clouds is like being safe under a blanket. Somehow thoughts never stop running, and even the murky waters of a gutter puddle, crowned by brown foliage, reflects the tiger striped sky in a way that seems like a miracle.

When you step out onto a clear block of concrete, there is a certain amount of truth that is not necissarily depressing, but real. Fog is clarity to me when there is no other way to look around. Just keep going down the street, and go towards that green light, because that green light is the only thing you've got left, and even when it turns red, take the risk. So why is November so wonderful? Because my head is spinning and I can't think about anything in the right way and the only way that I can soothe my remorse is to not lash out. Kick November leaves instead.

Energy

Theres this music in my ears, and I don't know why it's here I've never heard it before and I don't think anymore. Funny how one little word can manage to get a trillion trapped. There was this little ball of energy bouncing around, it was released and a new one grew. Still, I don't know what to do. It seems the only way to release it is words of honesty. But honesty can cause a world of trouble. Maybe converting energy is good for the enviroment... good for me.

Hundred

I feel like my heart has left me and it's never coming back. This scary darkness like the closing of a book came towards me starting as a dot from the distance, spreading like ink on a page, until everything was black as if I were blind. THen this ghost, of no particular figure or shape, but with a white-sliver hue. This ghost lunged at me, and I was so frightened. I was flying, lost, crying, clinging to every cryptic word that came next, until slowly the white ghost became a solid, and formed white walls, and I was within them. This room proved to be suspended my a chain that went up in space indefinetly. And my four walls began to swing, which held the feeling of fear and that I was still moving, still, without solidity in that space. Yet, the box, gave me this little bit of safety that kept me together. And then life restarted.

This is my 100th blog post (thus the title). WHOO! One hundred rants that I've put up on the internet and that people have actually read! I feel so accomplished.

Reflection

In my darkest moment

Could have done better.

To make me feel safer-

What they all tell me

Know its not true.

Don’t make me feel safer.

Could have thought longer

Prayed more

Loved more

Deep smudge settles in my heart

Wondering

Asking

What did I ever do wrong?

What did I ever say wrong?

Why am I so lost?

I want to be out with everything

But I’m so afraid

I want to believe

But my inner thoughts drive me otherwise

I find myself unsure

What I know and don’t know

These days

Interpreting every breath

Embracing every smile

Is it my fault?

Sympathy

Wondering how to tell the difference between kindness and sympathy. Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous and considerate. Sympathy: feelings of pity and sorrow for someone ele's misfortune.

But how exactly do you know if one's actions are from sympathy or from kindness, if both make sense? Couldn't one's kindness invoke a higher sense of sympathy, that even though used for good purposes, is disorienting? Just in a general sense. Sympathy can either be greatly appreciated, or embarassing and insulting. I mean, it tends to imply, you're in a bad situation, and the other one isn't. But if that sympathy is the kind that accentuates differences and status, it is a horrible trait. It's not "oh, you broke your arm, how horrible" kind of sympathy. Nonetheless, it may be the sweet humaine sympathy that it is, and on a cold October afternoon it can be quite the chicken soup.

Honesty

I sailed the ocean blue, days and nights, love and sad, searching for the thing that would make me feel complete - for more than an hour. And finally, while flipping my head around along with ten other people one night, I discovered. Honesty. It is that honesty that never exists but is constantly strived for. And once this is found, discussed and enjoyed, life is so much easier in a way. While, most of the time, we will feel let down, disappointed, insulted, etc, at least the suspicion is gone! At least the little bugger at the back of your head will finally have something for fact, instead of working itself into a state of Chicken Little. (The sky is falling! The sky is falling!) Alas, when are human beings ever honest? It's too much of a risk.

Hey

Hey. Wats up. Nothing much, just contemplating every word I hear. Yeah. That's cool. I hear you are constantly confused. That's right. It sucks. Be right back. I'm back, lets talk. About what? Anything. Who are you mad at? You. As usual. Not true! So true. At who? Either one of you; the world. You make no sense. That's okay. Okay? It's great. You realize this is a dream anyway? I get it! Me too! Congrats. Ditto. 8:37pm.

FICTION.

Blob

So what if you had this clay blob. And you realized that this little clay blob, much the substance of jello, was lopsided, and leaning too much to the right. But you didn't quite realize that it was the RIGHT that it was leaning towards, so you continue to prod it to the right, thinking that it's going to become better. Then, what if, one night, walking down a deserted subway platform, you think -what if what you need, is to lean more to the left? Since you thought going right was going to make things even, let's try something new. Try not making an effort to succeed, and maybe, there was not that much wrong to begin with. So pressing a little back to the left, brings you closer to the beginning of this insane journey, which, ironically, seems to be just the right place. And no longer askew - whatsoever.

Freaking

I have so many regrets I dont know what to do with myself anymore. I don't know why I did those things... they seemed like a good idea at the moment! And of course, now, i walk down the hall with all the trillions of mistakes, staring me down. Even if they're not in the eyes of others, they're on the walls. They ridicule every step I take. What if it was wrong? What can they see? And now that we're nearing midnight, I am haunted. I want to scream to them all, that it was not a good idea! S***, I don't even know quite what I'm saying anymore. Just - don't judge. And every word I say is documented to use against me, everything I say, how do I know where it goes from there? People kidnap my words, and take them elsewhere. My ind runs with thoughts, pleas, so fast, that I almost say them. But then I'd just be that much more crazy.

You

You make me cry.

When I just think about your existance

When I hear your words and

know that you're alive.

You confuse me.

You make me angry

And I will hate you,

until I realize,

I have no reason to.

Cuz

You make me happy.

I'll float

You'll see

I'll hide if I can

But you know I can't.

You make the air cold.

I'm loosing it right now

Don't want another winter

Without....

Oh

Oh. Of course there are no new comments. I haven't posted in ages. I guess my list of things to automatically post in the future ran out. I'll have to make a new one when i have some free time. Which is never until I get into high school. Or perfect my typing enough to not put an 'e' or 't' at the end of every word without need. It happens when I'm too tired. And resist the need to shorten my words into text dialect, and type properly with good grammar. Because on my blog is the only place where I do it. Now, all of my blogger companions, for the most part, are also under high school stress, so they understand, I hope. I've been having poetic epiphanies, which you may see soon. Or if not, I have a couple of teasers from stories I've written that might eventually end up here. Now, I hav algebra and House to watch.

A

The A train is friendly to my soul. It exists with me to balance life, like a metronome to the musician. It makes life easy, hell, it makes life run. From the Heights of sun and hiding, to the Downtown of people, if I am sad, or alone, beginning or ending, the A train is there for me. It is friendly to my soul.

On a dark February night, there is nothing left but the A. The people are gone, the luck has been wasted, and the love is lost, but there is still the A. On a dirty platform, freezing or swealtering, and the hobo in the corner won't stop singing, there is only one tunnel of hope to see. And out comes the A. Two little lights from the black abyss, followed by a blue circle. And glowing in that circle, is the letter that is my love. Once I see it, I know I will be okay. The A train has come to save me. The A train is friendly to my soul.

Gyro

I live for the man on 57th and 8th. I live for his ripped up 'gyro' hat. I live for his chicken and spices and pita bread. I live for waiting at the corner for the light, and inhaling as much as I can of the beautiful smell. I live for sunsets on Tuesdays and Fridays when there is just enought light to point him out and smell the food before he leaves. With his partner, they close the metal stand, unlock the wheels, and run around, throwing all their weight to one side, and then launching into the evening traffic, like undocking a ship. I live for the glint of his gyro stand in the dying sunlight. And for the fact that he'll be back tomorrow.

Omen

I was sad about the reason I'm usually sad. And then I opened my journal and put it down on my pillow, and the two marker ribbons, tied together, fell in a perfect heart shape. This must be an omen... I'm not sure what though. The ribbons fell on a green pillow, meaning, it was a red outlined heart, filled with green. I wish I'd taken a picture, but I already moved my journal.

This is too weird. What does a heart made of two ribbons, filled with green mean? You don't think so deeply about love and then randomly have your journal ribbons randomly open up into a PERFECT heart. I don't believe in coincidence. This is a warning, a metaphorical expression of my mind, or a foretelling... I'm just not sure which and in what way.

Provoking

I always wanted my blog posts to be thought provoking. But now, I'm not sure if there is anything very thought provoking about September days in a preteen's life. What is thought provoking? I dissed American culture and Human culture, I cried over worthless guys, and exploded in splurges of words that don't make sense. I've written about my neighborhood, my fingernails, my window. I recently did a joint project with one of my friends. That was really fun. Maybe I should do that again. Either one of you, if you want to do a joint post about something like Heartbeat, reply.

What is thought provoking to people? Things that other people point out things that never crossed their minds, or make interesting points on a common subject, or do something strange. Well frankly, I'm quite ordinary, so whenver I'm done discovering things, I've got an issue with this little blog. Maybe I am just cursed with the end of the summer stuff. Finish homework. Last fun. Get ready. Nothing going on, but everything is on the horizon. Happy Labor Day Weekend.

Repost

This is a repost of "heartbeat" because this was a project between me and Lola based off of an earlier conversation. You can see Lola's version of living with an internal heartbeat, by clicking the link to her blog. (her name). Enjoy!

Ba bum. Ba bum. The heartbeat is where I live. Inside of itself, the heartbeat is a world, a society, a culture. Either the heartbeat is all that, or all that is me, and only me. A one person existence that can feed off of itself. Ba bum. Ba bum. Isn't that a bit scary? A bit wrong?

As long as can be remembered, the heartbeat has existed in my head. Like how people hear things? You know what I mean? I hear the heartbeat. Ba bum. Ba bum. But not from my ears like the people do. I hear the heartbeat from inside my head. Ba bum. Ba bum. Because the heartbeat goes on, so do I. It is the metronome, the measure, meter, that keeps all in order. I live, breathe, think, because the heartbeat keeps balance. Ba bum. Ba bum.

I woke up on a Thursday and it was raining. Is it me, or does it rain often on Thursday? The heartbeat answered. Of course. Ba bum. It was about seven in the morning, and the sky was nothing but darkness and navy blue. I got up out of bed so I could go attend my eight thirty class in psychology. My closest friends always told me not to get too involved in the subject, so that I would think I could fix myself. But frankly, I'm fine. Ba Bum. The heartbeat is company to me. So I got up on this Thursday, dreading leaving the house, because the world looked pretty soggy from the third floor. I made coffee. Is it something magical and necessary for college students to live off of coffee obsessively? That's right. Ba bum. It's college. Ba bum. Some people who were willing to believe I'm not insane and talk to me, asked me if I ever got headaches from the heartbeat. And I ask, "Are internal motherly heartbeats supposed to hurt your head?" Unfortunately, this remark tends to loose me those friends that were willing to ask the question to begin with. So I'm a lonely soul.

On Thursday, the sound of rain on the street of Chicago was crazy, buzzing and streaming and flying. IF there aws a sound I recocnized to be getting to me, it was the rain, and the cars sliding on the wet pavement. I walked down the staircase and then I realized, I heard something. It was the heartbeat. Wait! I don't usually hear the heartbeat like this! I'm sorry. I'm dying. Ba bum. Ba bum. I sped down the stairs faster, like running would make the sound calm down. What? Heartbeat got faster and faster, and I panicked, and I ran. I ran past the people, and the people stared. I reached the lobby of the apartment building. Now I understood the meaning of a heartbeat, 'cause it was horrible. Heartbeat was angry at me. And then all at once, as I was reaching for the handle of the door outside, I fell. I don't know why. I was already dead, but I had a last thought. A realization. The heartbeat had stopped.

Uninspired

Guess what. You guys are lucky today, on account of me, spending all last night organizing my goals, and worrying and whatnot. So you don't have to hear it! (applause). There's just one little downside. I'm uninspired. I really can't think of anything to blog about. My chalkboard, cable box, the SAB poster on my wall even though I hate SAB? I want to do my nails. It's one of my favorite girly-girl activities. I have several new shades of purple, and a green. I am obsessed with the color purple, did you know that? Since Kindergarten. And you know what else? My room is painted orange. Which is why my colors are purple and orange. And green. I'm not sure how green got tossed in there, but it did. So how about I pose a question to make this post a bit interesting. Do you have color(s) you associate yourself with, like a high school team might? And do you paint your nails that color if at all?

Sorry for this lameness.

Mosquitoes

I love summer. I love the warmth, lack of bedtime, lack of homework, rehearsals, tuition fees and math. I love the grass and the extra sunlight, I love the shirtless boys star-dang it! I HATE the mosquitoes.

With a deep passion! I know everyone does, but really, let me rant. They are tiny little demons with no purpose except sucking our blood all summer until they shrivel up and die when the frost comes. They either swarm in large quantities, or seem to come out of nowhere, and you don't realize they're attacking until after the fact when you can't stop scratching your legs.

So far, I have acquired a total of having thirty bites on me at once this summer. Legit. I was dying. I would have to wake up in the night to put on anti-itch from mid-thigh, all the way to between my toes. And still scratch my skin off in my sleep. Up and down my arms, and on my face? This has gone too far. I'm loosing it I swear. If you see some person downtown or in the park tomorrow, screaming for nuclear war against those tiny bugs, you know who it is.

Paranoia

When you can't breath 'cause you can't cry so you stare at the mirror and look at your eyes like why are you doing this to me, holding me in misery because my misery is only to come because I kill stories before they are done.

And I'm afraid of my reputation 'cause I know what they all say "Stalker!" But I cry in terror 'cause I won't have him run away "I am NOT a stalker! I am NOT a stalker!" all I want is someone to talk to who won't listen to the hopeless fool, I put my trust in him... that proves me as equally stupid.

Men

So, I've been spending some time by my window. And I discovered that there is a parking sign outside my window, where the men of my block like to gather. They stand around it like a central point of importance, so they can discuss the motorcycle parked beside them, and complain about the reckless existence of their younger generation. They stand there between four and five in the evening, as they always do, overlooking the block. They think that they are seeing everything, in control. But aha! It is ME who sees them. From my second story window I see them all, the men who congregate around the parking sign.

Impossible

It goes backwards. There is not perfect place or balance. Either way you are out. Which is valued more? In one or out the other. While there is no way of telling the future, and little we can do about what pulls us in each direction. And when one's happiness is set solely on stupid abilities and places, then you can be both happy or unhappy whereever you are. Does that mean we're doomed? By that's the way it's supposed to be. Damn it I forgot. Oh Jeez. Still, could one unhappiness be more happy than the next. Which is which? yes of Yes or Yes of No? Yes of Yes is nearly impossible and not wanted anyway, Yes of No - well what does that mean? Why does it matter again? Oh yeah. Happiness. So if that's the only way I can be happy... what if I created a new place?

Whoosh

Whoosh. Window. If the heart was dancing happily on the surface, floating on its back in the lake of life, then it sunk to the ocean floor, in not a bad way. The heart stopped breathing and choked for a bit, before soaring back to the surface, sputtering and flopping around, barely alive. Figuring out that he is drowning, the heart starts splashing around, and finally gathering himself together enough to live again. So he starts to swim. He, as a heart, can no longer float easily, but that's ok. Somehow, he'll swim through, because he is my heart, and we always make it through.

Odokin(4)

I swear this is the last excerpt for a while.

After school on Day 2 since it happened, I let Nupar walk me home as a habit - but we didn't talk. It must have been a strange sight, the two of us looking like lovers, yet looking downcast, or away from each other. As we approached my building, we entered an awkward moment.

We weren't going to kiss, or hug. I finally met his eyes. He had this look in his eyes of pleading, he was asking for me to talk to him...forgive him. But at the moment he read whatever was in my eyes - anger - hurt maybe? The look turned hard and blank. I spoke without shifting my gaze.

"Bye."

3/23

miracle that I see, or their greatness

or mistake of my own eyes

fortunate am I to such things or rather unforunate

let illusions convince you of the things you wish to see

And screw the hoards

slight sounds

shut up

attention span lacking

distrust flickers strongly

Questions

Now, there are some questions I would like to suggest, but not for me, just for the general air.

1) How many mistakes do we have to make to earn the credits to do something right?

2) Why is it always you? (the general you)

3) How did a snail make it for a year away from its habitat and on the other side of the country?

4) Why can't we think of what we need to say when we need to say it, but spend years writing the script beforehand?

5) Why are the simplest things the hardest to say?

6) Why do we stare at a green light imagining all the things that could go wrong, until you wake up and everyone knows?

7) Why is it that when they're fearless they get everything, and when I'm fearless I fail?

8) And why does space make things difficult?

9) Why am I stuck here?

10) And what are they all saying?

Odokin(1)

He was not one of the boys working, he was leaned up against the Department of Mongola Shipping building with a group of other boys. He was really tall. For me. And with dark hair, dark eyes and a small smiling mouth. He was from Opo. I was sure of it. The only Odokins in Mongola with dark hair were me, Cara, and her brothers. Cara’s family came from an old rich group of Opos that emigrated to Odokin long ago. They married within their nationality keeping the common features pure. I, however, had my Opo mother and Odokin father (whom my mother left when I was young) which mixed my features, giving me a wider mouth, blue eyes, and my lack of inches.

“Pavola! Who are you looking at? Don’t tell me it’s Yopale’s brother!” Gene cried urgently seeing she’d lost me to thought.

“It’s not,” I said vaguely. “It’s a new boy. Opo.”

“From Opo?” she said in surprise.

“Looks like it!” I came out of my daze and jumped up. I had decided I was going to talk to this boy.

“No your not!” Gene retorted knowing exactly what my plans were.

“And why?” I asked already having taken a step. Gene unwillingly stepped towards me to pull me back, and I stepped forwards again.

“Oh Pavola, why do you have to be so fearless?”

“What is there to be afraid of?” We were almost within earshot and – he looked at me! His face looked confused, and he whispered to his friends, while keeping his eyes on me. As they responded, he smiled as if satisfied. Gene had now let go of my wrist now that we were right up to the boys.

“Hello,” I said clearly into his face. It was him! The boy who I had seen that day….’falling’ into the boys classroom. He’d made me late!

“Good morning,” he replied raising his eyebrows. He had an accent. Opo for sure.

Silent

Of all things to say, this is one of them, that I probably should. I usually do. But with so many problems concerning this one subject, who can i tell? I can only tell the people who don't care, or who won't get involved. Or have the sweet treasure of not having to. Benificiary One: He is of good and general approval including mine. Problem Ten Thousand: What if he knows or i cant do anything about it and its too good for me or if she finds out then she will be mad even though it has little to do with her it has a lot to do with her always because it's her personality and then my dear amica, she does not deserve for me to do this even though it wasn't my choice and what if that alone brings this all down?

Sorry about that. Love has returned to the Mounatin Spirit. Or Petrified Flower. However you address me online.

Pointless

This post is pointless, other than telling the magical little fairy sun goddess that is watching over us right now - telling her, why I wont be posting for at least three weeks.

As of now, officially, everyone who would ever read my blog has been sent off to a instiution where children are kept from their computers, and most electronic devices, for 2-4 weeks. And so, I think I'll just write down my epiphanies from now on, and when people are back to read, I'll post.

Unless, as I have noticed, people are growing rather bored of posting, and doesn't give them the fulfulling feeling it did last January. Or maybe it's because in the middle of July, there are more things to do than sit around on a laptop and read people's train of thought. Regardless, if I decide that the blogging revolution is over, and I don't want to post anymore, I will write an official ending. Otherwise, see you in August.

-Mountain Spirit *.M.*

Swing

I wonder what the original purpose of a playground swing was. Even back to hanging from a tree branch. The feeling of swinging must be forever soothing and happy to people. Maybe because it sort of feels like you're flying. That's why I love swinging. You can just sort of go through the air, and be apart from whatever people are trying to put into your head. I close my eyes and think of someone. Then it's cold and dark and alone the wind is cutting through my skin and it feels good, like I'm happy and at home. Or, it's warm, and filled with existance, and the sunlight is soaking into me, but I'm happy and home. Just because of that one swing, and that one person.

City

During my childhood, I hated the city. I didn't like how I had to get up and take the subway to school, instead of in my own car where I could collapse asleep. And the lack of a backyard, and excess of cars and traffic, and all that. It was one of my young wishes to not live in the city. And it is probable that I will eventually move out of the city, just 'cause. But the one thing that's interesting about the city is it has lots of moments that are amazing, either because of their unusuality, or because they are so perfect in some way, that it's unreal.

Like a moment where three people are talking while leaving a building, and they reach the door, and they each go off in separate directions: left, right, and straight. Isn't that something you'd expect in a movie? Well it happened yesterday, in one of those cheesy "Bye!!!" moments. And a gang of kids jumping over police gates that line a street, each of them with a lemonade in hand. A little man sitting on a white chair on the corner of the street all day. Just sitting. A street that goes down forever with colorful umbrellas everywhere, and flag lines that hang from street lights to store fronts, clothes and fruit lining every block - these are images that I appreciate in the city. And it would be moments like those, in which I would ove to be a photographer.

Camp

Now I'm going to do what people normally do on their blogs: talk about life.

I guess it's everything I've been doing at my camp, that makes me not think. No social epiphanies, no broken hearts, just russian ballet training. I mean, with the different cliques inside the studio, there are people to talk to and to stimulate your mind. But not quite as hellish as junior high school; I'm also too tired to blog when I get home.

Regardless, I love camp. I love the fact that all I have to do is go and take class, and 85% of the time, class is fun. It's especially fun because there is no stress for shows, and its SUMMERTIME so everyone is happy. I get to see my camp friends. Even though it's a day camp and not a sleepaway like most people, I still have a whole separate group of close friends for the summer. Every summer, we spend four weeks doing everything together, in my little group of four. It's great to reconnect with them, and to remember how much we love each other. It's miraculous, and carefree, to just run around with them all day and not really worry about the world outside of pointe shoes.

So maybe I will have an epiphany later.

Pants

Left with nothing else to blog about but an inside joke that I am now making open. A friend said today "I hate pants." And then "I probably shouldn't have said that, but they could prevent reproduction!" Pants ending the human race. I guess that could be a reason for nudists. They are protecting the human race. Except that doesn't really count unless you have a gang of nudists all having babies. So I guess not. But techincally, pants are a danger to the frequency of sex. They slow things down! What if there isn't enough time? Ok, so I'm really not going to get into that, but I decided I needed to post, and this was on my mind.

But before you leave, remember, pants are still a good thing. Don't try to walk around without them. Please.

Summer

So now it is summer and all my friends (or at least most of them) are exploring the world, off at camp, or in the next 1-2 weeks will be doing either of those things. I however, while I will be doing things, will have complete access to my laptop, internet and blog, and thus will be able to confuse the people who click on my link. But as the number of people reading will be the sad number of zero, I think my summer posting is going to slow down. I will continue to post however, just less frequently. Like once a week. Instead of twice or thrice. So if, amongst your travels and revels in the summertime, you find a moment when you'd like to hear a preteen try to make her mind make sense and complain about the world, i WILL have somethings new going up here.

Enjoy the summer.

Music

Music works in our minds in various strange ways, and imprints itself when we hear it, and all senses. Songs that play consistently over a certain period of time or just once during a very important moment, tend to stay in our minds and be the great representatives. Dozens of songs and albums have been devoted to eras of my life, certain places. Not that any of you would know these songs, or just call them pop songs. So for that reason, I will not post them. But do you know what I'm talking about? I have songs that I really can't listen to unless it's that time of year, or else it will feel strange, and ruin the song's magic. To name one song, "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley is a song specifically for July. I only listen to it in the summertime, but it's especially good if played in July. Another song that just reminds me of a time of my life, is "Beep" by Pussycat Dolls. That reminds of being eight or nine. 

Taste

Taste. The magical sense intertwined with smell. It means a lot to me. Every era of life has a taste, every taste has an era. Twizzlers almost taste like grass from eating lunch at day camp on the grass when I was seven. Fruit tropical Trident gum is the August I was eight. Dominos pizza and diet coke are the entire year of fourth grade. Trident watermelon gum is the summer I was nine. Cheese ravioli are the spring at the end of fifth grade. Trident sweet mint is the following August.  Garlic knots are springtime I was eleven, March and April. Chips and salsa from Chipotle are March 2009.

Show

The first most horrifying thing is the smell of the theatre when you first walk in. Early in the morning, smelling like air conditioner, lysol, and traces of make up. As you descend into the dressing rooms of backstage, the outside world draws away. You have entered your dungeon. But it's not a dungeon yet, because it is till cool and spacious. Only a few of your friends are there, enough to keep you company. Locate your spot, claim your territory and don't let the little kids mess with you. In ten minutes, you're organized. Hairspray, water-spray, hair-gel, random crap in a bottle, hairbrushes, hair ties, pins, nets... and that's just the hair. Eyeliner: liquid, black and brown. Lipstick, three different shades. Light blush, dark blush, from white to brown to blue green and pink eyeshadow. Make up kits that are 1' by 2', lined in rows. Light bulbs wrap around the mirrors, and burn the room out; "It's like a sauna in here!" 

But on the stage, it's cold as hell (oxymoron, if you think hell is hot). A rainbow of warmups, leg warmers, sweatshirts, socks, slippers, leotard sleeves, and happiness. Jumping around on the stage like maniacs, and snapping pictures while you're at it. Counting reserved seats, loosing tambourines, organizing quick changes. Ten in the morning till four. Dress rehearsal. Break.

FREEDOM!!! Outside! The world! For the first time in hours! Out from the hot lights, and stifling dressing room. It's raining. Feels cool on the skin. Starbucks. Double chocolate chip frapp. Sugar. Oh so bad, but good. Dinner time. Sandwich. More pictures. All together now, laugh, smile, "VKDCNY 2009!" Six is curtain call. Out of warm ups, into costume. Panic. Ten minutes. A bag of pretzels passed around. Show. Applause. Cry.

Romance

This is actually a true story and not a random fiction on the spot. I watch it happen every Saturday. There is a girl in a black costume living a sheltered life around everyone and special, but too special to live. A girl of innocence, the angelic image, a trapped seventeen year old. What teenager like that wants to be so protected so out of touch, so naive? The perfect person is isolated though so glorious, but see, there is excitement for her. Someone has come from far away, literally the Prince to dance with. This is the moment, the only chance, contained emotion is bursting out. The spectators say, 'oh, what a wonderful actress' but can you see what is really going on? This is her life! Her little teen romance, and it's all hidden by the stage. Seduction, love, the game, the victory, what every other seventeen year old has at excess. Poor deprived soul. It's not acting. She's attracted to him and she's trying to get him because this is all she has to play at. But look. He's bored. She's just another girl he's hired to dance with. 

Dusk

At this most holy moment when the Sun and Moon meet in the sky, I pray that I may be protected and seen by the Seers of this universe, both looking down upon me now. I pray that the colors that blend like the rainbow on the canvas that is the Father Sky, may never die. Let all that see this moment, and all that you see in this moment be blessed by the beauty and holiness of it. I ask the spirits to understand my plight of faith and let me be at peace with all the powers of the Universe for it is below humans to be of the knowledge which ones are out there and who they are. Under this Sun and Moon I pray.

Girl

And so the girl was scared. She wasn't so sure how she'd landed where she was, alone in the dark on the south side of Pinehurst. Neither was she quite optimistic about her situation from that point forward. Come on now, this was her hood. She'd grown up there. She flipped back her hair, which was a mess, tangled around her ears, just above her shoulders. From her peripheral vision she could see wisps of it pointing every which way, and some strands were stuck to her tear-stricken face. Not a good look, thought she as the expansive block before her grew shorter and shorter. If only she could find a sign, a bodega, get over onto Broadway. Though it was dangerous to be roaming on a Friday night, if she could find Broadway, she could get home. Come on now, this was her hood. As her clogs tapped on the uneven pavement, some car was playing hip hop, far off. She imagined the sound becoming closer, and quickened her pace towards it. She'd grown up here. It was all fine. The hip hop did grow louder, which made her heart pound, and her cheap hoops in her ear clang high-pitched. Headlights scared her off the road. Startled the girl. But as it would be, that SUV and the lights that threw her off 171st, threw her right in front of a taxi, on 172nd.

6pm

I'm going to walk and ow. Are you under me to walk? Come on. It's just a better of need... oh god... water, water. Yes, they - I - I want some. Please, can I have some cheese somewhere? Not him. I need a little bit of cheese please. Oh, put, put... they went to Shelter Island? Lili? Are you all right? You look unhappy. Right. She needs to hear. Please, just, there's really great food.  Kay? There's really good food. You find it for yourself. Good for you. Ooh, cool, sweet potatoes and onions? 

Bed

Hi. I am writing this post because I have time on my hands and I feel I should write something so I can publish this later on in the week when I'm too busy. But so far I haven't gotten any inspiration. So I'm just laying on my bed, with my laptop on my legs and my head propped up in a not necessarily comfy way. I just 'control-clicked'  necessarily because I can't spell. My bed is half made, with a comforter that is light and airy. It's my summertime  blanket. One side is a daydream summer blue between sky blue and normal blue. The other side is lime green. Then my various fuzzy pillows, covered in plastic things that are soft and curly like corkscrew hair. They are the same shade of blue as my blanket, and same green. There are some purple ones however. There is no order to the colors of the pillows as they sit on my bed. One of the purple pillows (lavender actually) is heart shaped. There is also a raccoon, silver-back gorilla, panda, powerpuff girls pillow, Nemo fish, pink monkey with long arms and a big bear named Professor Lili, back from when I was in the 3rd grade.

3/15/2009

Remember for that was, still in us today, everything is a relevant chapter. What we ignore is fatal because things happen for a reason and besides the greater fate, why should bad things happen but to save us from future harm? First grade is relevant to seventh, fourth to sixth. Life, a tower, not withstanding unless you use the foundation. Yet another reason to observe all.

Based upon old mistakes and crossed paths, i refuse to let myself change my mind.

Writing

Due to the twenty-first century, the ballet world and more, I never have time to sit down and write. Even now, I'm making this entry while running around doing things, doing the dishes, making my bed...

But I still end up writing in my head. While there is never time for me to sit comfortably at a computer or with a notebook and write, there is always time when  I am somewhere away from home, unable to write, but still wasting time. First: math. Math class is a HUGE waste of time, so I do some mental writing in there. Sometimes I put down some ideas, others are formulated in my head. Like in rehearsal. Another time when I could be doing about a billion more useful things. So I make my story outlines then. From character to character moving along in the story, so I have an idea of what the story is going to be like. On the subway, instead of staring out into space at Dr. Zizmore's rainbow ads, I contemplate the conflict of the story, and maybe start writing the actual text in my head. Then, once I have a bit of that that I like, I repeat it and reformat it, until I have the writing memorized. I do this when falling asleep as well. By writing in my head as I fall asleep, I am helping myself fall asleep faster by making my brain tired from formulating characters, plots and dialogue. I am also using time to my advantage. And now, I must go shower. 

Notebook

Little comments I wrote in my book last term. Maybe this is why I can't do math...

"It's funni how those we think we fear are nothing more than reflections of ourselves and our reflections fear us as well." -1/5/2009

"I'm so glad because once again,you can see our monster coming to life our lovely monster is back I love it... Everytime our monster comes, I pray one day it will be a monster no more."1/9/2009

 "Wonderful discovery and notions of the moment are new, yet obvious and ever lasting.

Imagine where we'll stand tomorrow, what we will think of today's thoughts, the obvious, new and brilliant, shall be dimmed old and stupid." - 1/15/2009

"Why is the light shining? I've made no discovery!" - 1/16/2009

"Look at me then, look at me now, not much has changed. lost love struggle for recognition, not much has changed. Composition book, scribbles in margins, not much has changed." 1/23/2009

"No lies  nor truth shall become from this, no prospects nor success. If this is something it is a hidden something and once revealed it shall become nothing, aside for the theory that a negative plus a negative equals a positive, in which case I might be lucky." 1/23/2009

"and where did I have such luck and good fortune? where, when and why? Is it because I was reckless, or I was over-cautions, or is it simply the way of the world? Cruel world if so." 1/23/2009

"Stupid stupid mess I've made I destroy everything put in my hands. Why not give up, look away if after all these years, chances are gone... I don't want it gone. I don't want to screw up I want to be truthful thought can there be a compromise can you convince of meaning your opinion is not valid for all... that's why it's an opinion - 2/4/2009

"Mysteries seen through a foggy doorway. A smile called from long ago long ago this smile lived now he just fools the world." - 2/6/2009

"Maybe its helping me to not know or understand exactly. New light and opportunity growth occurs I cannot apply the old information to the new situation because the old information is ever changing. One cannot assume too much. Now that the times are ever changing, there is loss and gain. Strategy being ever-important one mistake is fatal. There are always mistakes. What part of my life will die?" 2/24/2009

"often I find that you shift in and out of safety and wellness and before you rise, you must fall to the moment of death, and then something in the goodness of existence may spare you. But remains with you is the terror of the night before when you believed all was lost. The yearning and promise to work for the chance and work if the chance is given now with the chance just barely here I still have the earnest to live up to what I have - something so rare in me." - 2/26/2009 "And what if I make or have already made one horrible mistake before spring has even begun? Shall I waste away all spring in the nunnery?"

"feeling stupid and helpless cant go anywhere in this press and I'm not sure where it came from. It is unknown to me if any efforts are a step forward or if I am just dancing in place." 2.27.2009

Home

At the end of South Pinehurst, hip hop and merengue blast from a car, and a group of teenagers sit in lawn chairs in the street. A volleyball net is surrounded by people, loading soda cans into a cooler. Three frisbees fly, two footballs and a game of baseball in the center of the field. There are children shouting to each other in spanish as they climb tree after tree, and dogs barking and playing on the grass. The sun shines down all around and warm, but the cool grass soothes the skin. Bikes roll down the hills, out of the park and into traffic and boys whistle. Behind the rocks, a barbecue is set up and is smoking out the area beautifully. By seven-thirty, the sky is orange over the bridge. Thank goddess I'm home.

Gray

In a world that is one or none, you will find some small gray areas. No more than a millimeter wide, but still a gap to fall into. Accept no invitation uncertainly or halfway, lest you find yourself in the little gray areas. In that world, but not, in neither place. The gray area. Your friends are not there to protect you now, nor are the others willing to step out of the crowd to save the drowning lion cub. That baby lion set out to sure from home, may never return, or reach the other shore. That baby lion is in the gray area of the world, in great danger. Doomed to have the black and white sides of the earth cave in on him. In a harsh world of acceptance, do not be caught in the gray areas. Do not play with options and answers or dawdle, over-considering. The gray areas... not a very nice place.

Minds

Sometimes we are higher up than we imagine, and it is only the psychological power that restricts us from going higher, or keeps us moving upward. For all the minds in the world to surround us, they are yet one brain at a time, and most of them focused on themselves. So maybe it might benefit one to stop worrying so much about the other ones, and to take care of themselves. Only your own mind can affect you, but your mind can be affected if you let it. Saying this, you could protect your mind by not letting it be touched by the fear it has. Drive out the fear concerning others, and then you might be safe from deterioration. Or I might.

Beheading

I plead with you that this is not my own doing, but a mixture of all the badness in the world that happened upon me. It is probable that I have made it not easier in many different fashions I'd prefer not to state here. But such is the way of the living person, and so I accept it with grace. The events that have corrupted all may not be seen clearly, save for this moment. The death wishes and conspiracies have been hidden from all, risen above all, or killed before all. Please note I am not an exception as my death comes closer with every breath. How exactly do you propose I accomplish such a thing, is what I asked, and never an answer was given. Thrown out into the sea like many before me to fare with whatever came and failing to survive that, killed by the master. What other options were put before me? None but my own death. It is with this conviction of mine that I reach the only ending I should have ever faced: the block. The only thing making it greater is the fact I have had what I've had, lost what I've lost and faced all that I've faced making me a better person upon the whole... please O save my soul....

*silence*.

iMovie

Normally I say something smart here, but now I'm just really excited. It's spring break, which means that my brother and I are at home, with each other, and Esmeralda, which means an excess of fun time to be stupid. Thus, we have brought back an old game: make a mini movie of him and me behaving insanely and making fun of ________, just so we can laugh our heads off. It's quite fun. My brother is eight. So the movie has continued, and I'm finally figuring out iMovie just enough to have a good piece coming together and some hilarious mistakes with voice overs. This is so fun!!!

Sad

Sad to be left out of the world I always dreamed of, but should really never be in. Sad to not understand how it all works while everyone else does. Sad to have to admit all this. Sad to ignore what I could have had, loose what I had, and now miss what I can't. Sad to be overreached by those who came after you. Sad to loose a name that you once held uniquely. Sad to have no control over anything that goes on because I am trapped. Sad to know exactly how to break out of the prison but not have the guts to do so. Sad to be sad to be sad to be sad. Sad because despite all my efforts one cannot erase a year. Sad because minds cannot be changed once set. Sad because no one can understand what I mean by the snakes. Sad because I refuse to be happy with what has happened because I refuse to let go of the dream. Sad because why the hell do I care about them? Sad because I've been tricked into doing so. Sad. Sad. 

Happy Spring Break.

Seasonal

Looks like the wizardress of dreams sorta beat me to the first concept of seasonal feelings, but I am here to make it more personal. Emotions and goals and everything, are all controlled by these seasons. When it's been bitter cold for weeks and weeks, and nothing is going on, I want to be inside, working, or say, becoming a ballerina.  When it's warm and beautiful outside and the days last forever in the sunlight and everyone is playing, I want to be out there playing in the sunshine, letting it be absorbed into my skin - not becoming a ballerina. See, the thing is, it's not fair. Swayed so much by the seasons to my moods, I can never do anything year round. But nothing was meant to stay the same. Look! We have seasons. If something as simple as the temperature cannot stay the same all the time, then how do you expect human minds to?

Beauty

Beauty is the man at the downtown track at the station, playing steel drums. Beauty is the eleven year old playing with her friends and the thirteen year old talking to her boyfriend. Beauty is the thunderstorms that erupt on summer afternoons, and beauty is the warm dry house to escape to and wonder. Beauty is the inside joke shared between two, beauty is the inside joke shared between six. Beauty is the secret plan whispered in the cold. Beauty is coming out of the train at 7 PM, and the sun is just setting. Beauty is fog over the bridge at nine. These things are beautiful not because they have a material appearance that is pleasing to the eye, but because they have a meaning and feeling that is true of life, and that is beautiful.

Words

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you might notice that I title every single blog post with one word. Except for one entry I made back in the fall. But ever since then, every entry has been titled with one word. I believe singular words have power. Explaining things can be useful, but sometimes, words are overused, and eventually reveal too much and start rewinding to the hopeless state of confusion you started out with. This though, only applies to certain situations when it is best just to say one word and let it be dealt with. You might find one day, you can save yourself from a lot of trouble by saying one word instead of twenty. Words, used properly, can make beautiful things appear, concepts established  by syllables spoken and marks in the dirt. Words define and redefine and redefine meanings that we hope to present, in search of the greater meaning. (We all know that one.) I have found words to magnificent playmates; we can really have some fun. At times a party is enjoyable, and other times, one word is enough. One word leaves more of a mystery and space for you to create more of what is there. Undying possibilities can lie within one word because no one word can mean the same word once pondered over by the diverse minds of the earth.

Little

 Nothing wrong with pandas

  Nothing wrong with koalas

Nothing wrong with skunks

Nothing wrong with me.

Nothing wrong with old pictures

Nothing wrong with New York cookies

Nothing wrong with Oreos

Nothing wrong with me.

Fluff

I want to throw daggers into your soul

And be the one there to console

I want to tear you apart

Let you into my heart

Does it make much sense? 

Oh it makes so much sense!

I want you as dead and alive as I am

I do and don't want a boyfriend

I want to soak in the pools of silly love

Are you enough?

I want a sense of reality

But that touch that sets one free

I'll hate you today

Beg you look at me

Does it make much sense?

Oh it makes so much sense!

I want you as dead and alive as I am

I do and don't want a boyfriend

I want to soak in the pools of silly love

Are you enough?

There are no more words for this

 Years and dynamics have left me speechless

I was so afraid

So it had to be this way

I want you as dead and alive as I am

I do and don't want a boyfriend

I want so soak in the pools of silly love

Are you enough?

So I'll keep hating you

Cuz I'll be loving you

I guess thats it....

Arrows

Imagine if every emotion or thought towards someone, that was ever felt or thought, came with a great big blinking arrow. Have you ever thought about that? What if we just skipped the whole mystical wonder thing, and just looked at the arrows. Flashing above our heads, pointing to the person or thing we are thinking about. Imagine life. Imagine middle school hallways. Seriously. Close your eyes and think about a middle/high school hallway, where when ever someone thinks about someone, an arrow points at the subject. Insane huh? The arrows:

From his head to hers  But she's thinking about him He's thinking about the girls over there. The girls over there. They laugh. And they watchin' me looking at him. Who looks at her 

he thinks of him... etc. Just like that. Ah, if only everything and everyone were obvious. Or not. Don't really want my innermost feelings being advertised by an arrow. But if it were to happen, I hope my arrow is purple.

Self

What if the only reason we wish to conquer them is because we have to conquer something and we can't manage ourselves? What if the hurting and controlling of others is just a disposition of the energy that could be used towards self-organization and development. Then I would simply improve myself in order to rise above those around me, instead of pushing them down. But this is the moral I give and never listen to. This is not the way it goes. What happens is, we are afraid of the collectivity of it all and try to tell yourself and everyone around you that they are stupid, as if that will fix anything. But it never does because while you have given them that personal title, nothing about you has changed and it was  you that needed to change in the first place.

Depression

It's kind of  sad and scary when the  TV is starting to look like your Social Studies textbook.  What does it say about our lives, country and future? How do you feel when the only difference between the pictures hanging up in class, and the photos on the news, are that ours are in color. Do you feel... okay? Do seventy years solve a problem? Do they erase a repeating decimal? Do you think the people living in Hoover-villes pictured their grandchildren out there, living in tents, just like them, for the same reason? We all thought this was behind us, and we were better than that. It was all history. Well it's not. GUESS WHAT, ITS NOT! Because we are still not smart enough to let go of our greed, and too ignorant to realize this is all still possible. Nothing ever happens twice but disasters reoccur. Welcome to the Second Great Depression.

Learning

We, as human beings consider ourselves of the living species and therefore find it is our right to experience and explore reality and abnormality as it is found. We find that every breath is another breath learned and there is no such thing as coincidence or pointlessness. If there was no point to something, why would it happen? It happens, because you have learned something. Every single thing happens so you may remember it for future use. That is, hoping that you remember it. At some point, we all have a moment where we disregard everything, and perhaps we will do something unadvised and new. Sometimes, we call this action stupidity. But this could be, at a later date, realized to be a great discovery that it was necessary to disregard all other knowledge in order to go as far as that stupid moment. Don't you learn a lot for moments like that? To never go there or do that again? This is learning. By reading my blog you have learned. Even if you disagree. You have learned that some people such as myself think this.

Hate

Wouldn't it be great if the ones that we hate, we could respect? Instead of hate? With the human natural instinct to love, and all the hate in the world, there must be a lot of intense people with a certain... negative talent. Thus shouldn't we respect those people as we respect others who have talent? It would be a great outlet for all that energy we're destroying the world with. But as you who know me know, I am not one to be talking about anti-hate. I'm not the most peaceful person in the world. But this is an idea for myself. What if all that hate I put out to *****, instead was respect for her ability to move me to such strong emotion? What would happen then?

SnowDay

Oh, how we flew through the wonders, and rarity of today. There are few words to describe the feeling. The whiteness expanding before you, as you bound through the beautiful powder. High on the rocks and sheltered by the trees, cold weapons flying though the air. The sunlight reflecting off of the white plains of ice the stunning glimpse of light. Penguins down the hill crashing into collisions of wonder. Angels made and floating about, signed by little fingers. Cold air rushing though many smiling lungs. The lungs are happy, the body is happy, so thankful for this day.

Her

As once again we meet to rant, tonight we rant of much nonsense. Of much pointless familiarity and worrying over subjects with no matter to worry over. Tonight, we are gathered here so dreams and memories can be mourned for the millionth time, in hope that something will change the 1,000,001st time. Of course they won't but perhaps I will feel better having poured out the nasty jealousy and ridiculousness that lies within me. Then, to continue the evaporation of my mind, I'm not even sure what happened and what I made up anymore, because the lines now lay that close.

Her. I don't believe in blaming it on her, I believe in blaming it on myself. Her. But when you find the one that can do everything you cannot, doing everything you cannot, in female form, you tend to think about her in a negative way. Who? Her. Trust me, she is a great person, and if we could politely pass each other on that swing set that is life, then she would be one of my, like, favorite people on earth! Yeah, seriously! But on that swing set I was talking about earlier, we are set on a collision course and I'm on the edge of ramming into her full speed just because the two of us are incapable in everything and I'm an idiot. So we have the problem of her. Her. Isn't this sad? This is like songs-from-when-avril-lagvine-was-16  level sad.