Bathtub

You know something? I like to screw myself over. It's just something I do, and I wouldn't be me without it. I guess that's why I couldn't recognize myself then. O shit. I think there's a mouse somewhere in here. I also discovered, no matter how much I try to relax my face, my face will feel relaxed, but my true emotion will be written all over my face. Oh, I'm surprised i haven't written this yet. FML. *rolls over onto back*

"So Lil, what are you gonna do now? Just lay in the tub all night doing nothing? Huh Lil? What's the plan?" "Die," she replies. "No other way out."

"You can't die Lil. You know that. You're gonna stay alive, so what are you going to do?"

"Vomit," she replies.

"You're too weak."

"Starve."

"You like food too much."

"Cut." I don't reply. I am Maisy, the version of Lil that took over some time ago.

"Cut up those pretty legs?" I ask her.

"I'm lost," she replies. "Where am I?"

"You're coming back, with a job to do," I tell her. "It's almost midnight on a Friday night and this is gone from your life forever. What are you going to do Lil?"

"I can't feel enough to cry. I can't remember: do I hope?"

I ponder this. "I doubt, so yes Lil, you hope."

"Do I hope that this hasn't happened? Do I hope to wake up tomorrow to the sound of snow shovels and faint bachata? To see that-"

"I don't know," I cut her off. "I am Maisy and you are Lil. This bathtub is where we meet worlds. I'm handing the power over to you Lil. What do we do?"

"Look at what a mess you've made," she exclaims.

"I know. I'm sorry. They were trying times."

"And you lost the game; right? That's why you came. You've come to take me back to my realm of misery. But I can't face the light."

"No worries Lil, there's no light left - it's all darkness."

"But see dark is light for me, which is why the bad times are my day, which is why I belong where you can't survive. But Lil, you know what makes us the same?"

Silence.

"We both will still be always thinking about-"

"You're right."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna lay in this tub till I'm cold as shit, then light incense and pray and go to bed. If tomorrow comes, and I do still wake I sort it all out then. Because nothing matters until tomorrow comes."

Stories

Sometimes, stories about things that never happen, or only happen to a handful of people in the world – they get a bit over told. Stories about wizards and vampires and alter-universes, people with supernatural powers, kings, queens, - all very interesting, but when you close the book, they’re not really there, and they’re not coming back to help you.

What about stories about people. I don’t like stories about outcasts either; I feel they get a bit preachy, and you walk around feeling horrible about every weakness in someone that you’ve ever abused. As true as it may be, and even if the problem should be addressed, I don’t like reading stories that open my eyes to world problems.

Stories about people, they show how people don’t understand, come to understand, or maybe never understand. It’s okay to never understand. It’s what differentiates between heroes, and life. But even if people never understand, they change. Time has it’s affect on people, and watching them be changed by time is something I like to see in a story. I appreciate equality between weak characters and strong characters. People who succeed at everything except the one, quirky weak point, and then it’s that which either makes them or brings them down. I love that feature that defines them, and the people who celebrate just as much as they struggle.

One of the things that messes stories up, is perspective. There are too many perspectives and not one even can be passed – or even taken in – by the human mind, without the corruption of perspective. The corruption of perspective is everywhere, but it, along with misunderstandings, is what makes stories go on. Makes them interesting. It pulls apart from the “given truth”, usually presented by the narrator, and draws attention to the many “potential truths” which could or could not be “given truths” depending on whom you talk to. When “given truth” and potential truth” clash, there we have action.

Paths

I somehow realized, that we are each individuals, with personal stories that are going on right now, even when I'm not around them. I only come into contact with their stories when my own path crosses theirs. But when I walk away, every one else's story keeps going. And even those who you are close to, your friends, are entirely different beings than yourself. Sometimes, I lose the sense of who people really are, and start to fill in things about them, which are pretty much fictional and based on my own impressions. So I have to wake up and realize how far apart I am from everyone. You can't live in anyone's head. And misunderstandings/miscommunication alone can create that huge distance. Once accepting the fact that we are entirely different and independant, when stories do come to interact and meet, it seems like a miracle. That people that could be running around on entirely different paths of life, somehow find each other for split seconds in time, and let their stories touch.

Fragile

Yall remember this. But I was rereading it, and decided it was the right time to post it here. (originally written December 8, 2009, in math. This was not my assignment.)

______________________________________________________

Run away and hide

Away from world order

Winter known to bring

Worst of luck

Say something wrong

Do something reckless

Leaving winter to blame

Looking to next month

Wishing for next year

If there is no way to return from which you came

In my past I fear

This season of detatchment

Still

Too fragile for winter winds

Could you get lost in winter?

Lose true meaning

Succumb to foggy memories

Only to rise again

And may springtime bring us peace

Fluidity and understanding

But when November clouds taunt -

Too fragile for winter winds.

Sleeping

I like to think of people sleeping. Not in a creepy way, i just like to think of people in a peaceful state. When they are weak, and barely in control of their minds and bodies. It creates feeling of innocence and truth in who, and what they are. This is not because I am some power-crazy being who wants to see my rivals vulnerable, it's just because there is something about people when they are sleeping, that is beautiful. Don't people usually say "aw, how cute," sometimes, even if the subject is over five? Isn't a sleeping human something to be revered? Something about the clear look in their face, free of set emotion, free of the effects of the outside world. At that moment, they are living inside of their own thoughts and ideas, operating independently, even if the thoughts are spawned from outside ideas; the life that they live when they are awake. The moment before sleeping, is when there is a moment of reality and emotion, where there is comfort and finaltiy in the day ending. So, I like to think of people sleeping. Makes me feel better. Even if they are far from me, I picture them at peace: sleeping.

Numb

The feeling is numb. The feeling where feeling is lost. Having so many thoughts waiting to be processed, but having the inability to do such is drowning. And I can't breathe because I don't want to hurt. How backwards would it be to say I was happier before? This severely disrupted the healing process, and I swore I wouldn't regret it. Now I am sitting, waiting for the air to come through my lungs, for the smile to come to my face and for the goosebumps to come when I realize that it's time to make the decision. Who knew that saying what was in your head could be so difficult? Especially when what is in your mind is contradictory to what it's supposed to be. To tell the truth, I'm being harshly contemplative and on the edge of disorder because... because I'm afraid. I hate putting part of me outside of myself - it's too dangerous. While I know what's coming, I don't want to wait for it. I don't even have to. Because they are already living, they were living hours ago when they were being born in the darkness. But what is It? It is mistakes, It is disappointment, It is knowledge, It is silence, acceptance, It is... It is embracing the end. It is wanting a cleaner definition so that this messy scar doesn't have to sit all night. If nothing went wrong, then why do I feel so sick already? I can feel it in my bones, and last time I felt it, I was right. I. was. dead. right. But as always, I will go to sleep tonight, and wake up tomorrow morning and truth will not have escaped my grasp. There is nothing worse than waking up in the morning feeling like the day has already been ruined, I promise you. Have a good one.

1/28/2010

Does it hurt less To see by day

And know by night
Nonexistent echoes
Of empty words
What do I see
Power gone
But ego is strong
Wake up one day
and cry
Still Breathing
In and out of dreams
Can't change a thing
Passing days
Just for the sake of
Killing time

Happiness comes in waves

Sunlight has never been so dry

How come

Weather changes so fast in this town

Find I'm constantly

Loosing ground

Heart aches for freedom

More than satisfaction

Every word

Emphisizing hope is dead

Tell me again

Blue fire

Black coal

Don't know where to turn

Let the fire burn