2am

When the world falls alseep, why am I still sitting here expecting confetti to burst up over my computer screen? Why do I check my silent cell phone? If I've been caught up in a tornado all night, is this just me suffering from the shock of the end of the wind? Or maybe it's just pure insomnia, or abuse of caffiene. Nevertheless, here I sit, watching night breathe on. Love songs play from YouTube, with no meaning other than the soft tune they put into the room.

As I stare at green digital numbers, I can feel time dripping down on me, and I start to feel layers disappear. Tonight is not just tonight - it's every night I've been awake in the middle of the morning, wondering if I'm about to fall out, or if I'll see the sunrise this time. Everytime I've been worried, or blissful, overly contemplative or scared. Any time I have held this vigil, 2am on Fort Washington Avenue. I start to realize I'm staring at the same pencil-smudged plaster and paint I stared at years ago, and signed my name and pledges of love. Written like prisioners' wall carvings to prove that I was once there, in a different form. Of all the things that have changed, I still find myself in the same room, awake, absorbing night's gravity.

And then when the sunrises the purity of the dawn will shine off of urban windows and in faint ways around red and brown bricks. And I will feel every morning I've ever lived, the cold ones and the warm ones. I will feel the simultanious dread and wonder that I'm alive again and there is another day to live where there will be life on earth. Dawn is the best time to determine your character, as light baptizes you. There's a certain signifigance of seeing the first moments of morning - there's a reason you're catching that moment; it doesn't tend to be coincidental, and even if you think so, I suggest you think twice.

Stop

Where did these days go

Lives lost

To pride

And the unknown.

Power wasted

Choices made

Never taken back

Wisdom that I lack.

Words that I reuse

Ad nausium

So you can tell

These are my favorite words

But I don't use them very well

I just sit right here

Every night

And I write

Or I try

To create

Some dispension of hate

So that I don't walk in tomorrow

Ready to scratch someone's eyes out

And so I don't cry on the train

When there's nothing to cry about

And though I'm still stupid

I just don't wanna lose it

When I'm on my way to math

Please no premature ruin

There's no telling when this stops

It stops when my fingers

Stop punching out words

That explain my state of mind

And when the meaning just becomes

Searching for rhymes

I can stop myself there

And stop wasting my time

Stop this, stop that

Stop because I can't go

Go where

There's no place

But your face

That I know

Times feeling upside down again

But I feel tied in

Running into walls

Like an animal pen

And I'm just pacing up and down Columbus Circle

Looking out the glass

At the whole wide world

I wanna stop pacing

Because there's nowhere to go

But if I'm not going anywhere

Then I can't get hurt.

Importance

We walk by people every day, and almost as often, meet new people. New names and identities enter our consciousness, even if only for a second. They are the insignificant people in our lives, acquaintances and strangers, and then there are the main characters, friends, family, lovers, and even teachers I guess. Who present a more prominent and effective role in our lives. But really, every one of the main characters started out as one of the nobodys you passed, and didn't think much about, who you had a one word opinion about and never really looked further. Because there was no reason to look further, because they didn't ever come into contact with you, or anything you did. They existed within one random moment like an extra in a movie. Then, you wake up, and a bunch of those people are close to you now, changing your life and the way you think, taking you in all new directions and becoming important. Who would have thought, when you first glanced at this person, that they would become your best friend, or you best advisor? And this will happen again - people we may know right now, as vaguely associated with some other part of life, may come to have a starring role. Then you'll look back and see how the world can revolve and take us to people, who it would appear, were always meant to be a part of your history. I find this intensely amusing.

Mistakes

Most people will admit to making mistakes in time. It can be what's blamed for the misfortune that comes to you - it's because you made some mistake in your past. Generally, these mistakes mean you did something that you thought was a good idea at the time, but turn out to be things that hurt you, someone else, or just the situation in general. No one would make mistakes if they were able to recognize them at the moment. Mistakes tend to be seen in the past, after you've already seen the damage, and then connect the misfortune to a prior action. The thing is, every action you make, doesn't have just one reflective reaction. One action can cause multiple overlapping reactions for months or years to come. And out of those multiple reactions, there can be the positive and negative ones. Sometimes the positive ones, do more than just cancel out a negative one before it. Mistakes that cause sadness one day, cause more happiness than would have been possible before you made that mistake. So how much of a mistake is it then? Actions that cause damage, but then benefit you as well. Being able to tell what was a mistake and what was actually better in the long run, I think is impossible up until the day your life is over. It depends on the final result which we'll never be able to evaluate.

Happy

This is my attempt at writing a post when I'm happy. My hair is flying out of a ponytail, I have one of my favorite outfits on, blasting music, clapping and dancing in a way that no one has ever seen me dance. Ever. I'm talking to people and I'm relishing in the fact that everything went my way today. That just everything about the world looks so perfect and going for me, that I can't even believe it's happening. And the chain of events that are so blissful, send me on a high that has me looking to the sky unable to breathe. Even something that has been known to bring me to my knees crying, is simply invisible at this moment, and I'm convinced it has to do with the sunlight streaming, and the gentle wind. I can't tell you much else about what this feels like, or anything going through my mind, because everything in is a heated whirlwind. So this, relating to my earlier post, is what I'm like when I'm happy. I don't care if the neighbors bother me 'cause the music is on blast, and I'm stomping my feet. What I'll do, is I will go out on that fire escape, and I will shout until they can hear me down in Harlem and up in Inwood cause I am SO DAMN HAPPY.

Security

What is this destruction that is bringing down the structure of our lives? What is this communal "our" that is supposed to put us all in the same position? Why are there scars on children's faces that can only teach them about the darkness in people's troubles? Those liars who don't preach to raise awareness, but only to hide their own problems...

I don't know what someone could say to put together these pieces I'm holding in my hands. See those fibers like paper ripped apart that were once a face. And not the face of anyone I know because security doesn't have an identity. Security is a liar too - preaching examples of places where you can be unharmed. But everywhere is dangerous because you can always get hurt, but to say you're safe hides how vulnerable you really are. Every step taken is putting your entirety on the line, and we are more easily destroyed internally, before anything external can touch us. So as I hold these pieces that used to be Security, I am thankful that I get to breathe, and to stare down at my bare hands thinking. Because like those liars who are hiding their own problems by trying to act like they're solving everyone else's, I am sitting back and letting knives dig into the weakness of my own soul. Because I am the greatest example of one of those liars.

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.

Wrist

Her wrists were so innocent. White, soft skin, like they were the day she was born. Veins of life seen through the surface, perfect and untouched. No tension, no hate, no devestation that would be obvious at the sight of the rest of her. But feeling around in the darkness, she picked up her wrist, and felt the inside of it with her fingertips. Her hands were cold and her arm was warm. The blade was cold, and the blood was warm. It slowly came in, and the sensitive skin over the veins reacted to the slightest touch. The skin was tight and unmoving as the blade stroked it, sinisterly toying at her fate: two inches down, two inches up, pausing at the base. After a while, this rubbed a sore spot. She clenched her hand, and unclenched it. The blade came down, pinching the first millimeter of skin it came in contact with. Then it pressed harder, leaving a whiteish-pale green mark that eventually melted into the pale pale rose pink that they use to describe kids' clothes in magazines. She was left undecided what to do with the knife.

Teenagers

You know how you're bored of reading about love, hate, and regret? Well I'm sick of writing it. We are all a bunch of infants right now, because we're teenagers, and if by some strange event your are not a teenager reading this, you will probably agree with this. But nothing we do right now, (as teens) actually accounts for anything. We're all about 3 years old right now, wandering around playing pretend with our oh-so-dramatic lives. Big deal. Do you think anyone will care in about eight years? Or like it will really matter? Or that concepts like goals, commitment, love and polynomials, are something that people OUR age, could ever really understand? Of course not!
The flaw in this form of thought, is that if you go about life, convinced that none of it counts until you turn eighteen, how will you learn to cope? How will you be motivated to live another day? And when our infant minds are stressed by the infant situations of our daily lives, it doesn't quite help to say "oh, by the time you're twenty, this won't matter". Because until then, what exactly are you supposed to do? You can't just wait it out, let yourself get beat up, while saying "it won't matter in a few years". So for why, do we even bother with the idea of "childhood is practice for life"? It is a tool to use now and then, to put the complications of growing up, into better perspective. So that we don't let it get to our heads too much. But by all means, take youth seriously because how else will you learn to take adulthood seriously?

Rhymes

Let go of the words, there's no going back. don't try and find reason, because the reason is dead. And when all that you can remember has lost it's meaning, get rid of those memories too, and then you are free. This is not an epiphany this is simply a chant, used to prevent a hopeless rant. This isn't poetry this is a part of me that bleeds. Rhymes just seem to appear, making me nervous about posting here. I could go on forever with this perpetual doubt, others guessing what this is about. But I tell you you're wrong, this could mean anything, fit any situation with the right reasoning. Today is the day that I'm over the hill, after bridges crossed, I have met my will. I used to remember to an overextent, spacing out on the world, didn't know what people meant. Walking down broadway and 158th I reached a point of neither love or hate. Trying to remember how it felt, things that once made my heart and mind melt. Realizing these were my feelings no more, I felt my inner existance begin to soar. For this is the freedom, the start of my new life, seems it's all going by, in about three-week-sized bites.

2010

I realized, looking at my blog archive, that I had nothing under 2010, because I had not yet posted in this new year. So here it is. I feel like I've been living the idea of 2010 for so long, yet writing it feels overtly like I'm writing in the future, moreso than any other year. Maybe it's because I've been looking forward to this year, because I graduate this year. I've given it great importance for the last four, so now that it's finally here, it has it's own persona. In a way. It's also a new decade, which really makes me feel old. Because now, I pretty much have a whole decade of memories, since most of my complete memories begin circa age three. And on New Years Day, there were many memories haunting me. But I said, they don't count anymore, because now it's a new year - which is a load of bull, but it certainly makes you feel better. And if I ever need to push those things out of my head, may they be embarssing moments, or mistakes, or unfulfilled goals or wishes, or lack of insight or simply not seeing something coming. Now, I can just think, that they are part of a whole different year, and a whole different decade, and they don't need to touch me, or the life I intend to live. Happy New Year.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Friends

My friend Melli blogged about labels in the terms of best friends, and I would like to respond to that.

If you read her entry, she says some things about calling best friends 'best friend'. I disagree. I think that best friends, become your best friend, because they are meant to be your best friend because you are alike. Then, you become closer and closer to that person, and automatically, you are "BFFs". Then, you might see that closeness, and call yourselves best friends. But the label itself shouldn't be made beforehand, or it is false. Thus, it is meaningless. And as for the label breaking up a friendship, if something as simple as the words 'best friend' can destroy a friendship, don't you think you're better out of such a friendship anyway?

In addition, I would like to restate, the fact that 'best friend' is not a contract, or ever-lasting marriage proposal. It is a fact of life, and like life, is apt and available to change. Friendship is much like a swing set. Your friends are everyone on the swings and each of you are going at your own pace of life. Sometimes, you happen to swing at exactly the same pace, and then because the wind is no longer cutting out your words as you cross, you talk. You become closer. This is your best friend. 

But then one of you starts swinging higher than the other and your paths are off track for that moment, and maybe you will be at the same pace as another. But this other friend is not any less because you are swinging differently, they are just not close. And if she learns how to swing really high, you can both swing together and be best friends again? It all depends on your changing personalities. Not that best friends or any friend is something to be flaky about. They are just subject to change. Within reason. Vale amicae!

Life

I have a belief that we are all dead. Why are we alive? What is alive? Because we have a heartbeat? What is a heartbeat? The movement of an organ inside our bodies? What is our body. Our body is a shield, one great big company of magical beings making our brains do action. So what is our brain? Some thing located in the skull that comes up with ideas, thoughts, and sends messages to carry out actions with the company that is the body. What are ideas; thoughts? Concepts that are not yet real, not yet in action. But nothing is real. The universe and everything supposedly in it, do not exist. The illusion that makes our living easier. But what if the fact that we have a heartbeat, and have a body, and brains, ideas and thoughts - what if all that is a factor of being dead? Not alive? Do we know that we are not in the afterworld? Are we supposed to remember the world before? Not necessarily. I think it is very likely, that after the thousands of years talking about the 'afterworld', what if this is the afterworld, to a life that we are not aware of. I find this very likely. We are all dead.