February

For some reason, this never made it up when it was written - May 6, 2010. Felt like sharing:

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February was the last of the good old days

Before everyone went and changed their ways

I can't believe we have slipped into this phase

What happened to our innocent lunchtimes at Ray's?

Seems that sex has gotten everyone crazed

Taking full advantage of the world that we made

But it's not just a gain

Apparently it's a trade

Because in exchange

We are losing things

And which one is better?

It's hard to say

I'm just looking up at quotes

From last February

I'm feeling nostolgic

Cuz though times are great

I also have time to appreciate

When the weather was cold

There were sweet couples

We had principles

Not just hooking up with people

There was hope and chance

Actual romance

And comparitively things were so relaxed

Or maybe I'm just mourning lost time

And judging motives

Since I have lost mine.

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.

8th grade

The room held an ominous silence.

It was late. Most had gone home.

One day.

Fake money and plastic flowers

Scattered across tile

Where the darkness gave fluorescent lights

a creepiness.

And that finality

Known all too well

When the energy is built up so high

Just to crash

When hours ago

This room was filled with laughter and joyfulness

Gone so suddenly

Almost like dead spirits

Now all that's left

Are half filled racks with suits

And an empty hallway

Where Axe lingers in the air

And props scattered on the ground

The remnants of multiple souls

Or one collaborative soul

Which I now mourn.

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.

Fourteen

And no joke, I was sitting there with my calendar open, years flashing by in my head. With my backpack open on my lap, squished into the corner seat of the subway, I opened the vinyl cover of the set of papers that mapped out a year of my middle school life. Staring at the pages, I flipped through, month to month, looking, as I realized that soon it would be June, and another summer, another transition, and half of us would already be fourteen.

Remember back when we were all in fifth grade and turning eleven was a big deal? When being fourteen was one of those far off places of such maturity? Being all grown up and sophisticated with big issues and life that kept going in a dramatic line of constant excitement. Eleven was big enough for us, and we owned every bit of knowledge above those who were still stuck in fourth grade. Slowly we would creep up to be teenagers, but thirteen didn't count 'cause you would still be in middle school, and fourteen would be a teenager. While we could barely feel it, those mythological times were dawning upon us with every Friday afternoon, until we filled those silhouettes.

Soon we would be celebrating sweet sixteens and normals sixteens, and we would feel like kids, but be in the shoes of adults. If we can go from being 10 to 14 without too much changing beyond a bra and a few inches, then how long does it take for us to be eighteen? We would be standing together, remembering when we were little kids. Hopefully.

The best part is, I had these deep revelations about ten years flying by, just by riding home with my planner open.

Wall

Like staring at the outside wall

Of my own world

Last time I was here I was inside

Now staring at red-brown bricks

I hear the sounds of the club from within

The bass like a heartbeat

Drums are like a voice

Heard faintly

Whispering

A reversed setting to dwell upon

An awkward vacant room

But that story is beyond us now

Winter draws to an end

Didn't want to see time go

Tried to stop from

Slipping away

Slowly I allow nature to take it's course

Promise I'll forget one day

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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. 

Moment

What am I going to write about today? Lack of revelations... revelations stored in my head momentarily forgotten. Experiments with light and life that reach no end except for that it is done. It is done and now it can never be done again. Ever. Once a moment happens, it is done and the moment is over the moment it happens and can never be recreated. If anything could ever happen twice, what would be the point of the 'time' concept we fabricated? Isn't the point of time to tell the difference between a moment and another and to mark that something happens and never happens at any other 'time' than then? 

That sounds about right if anything else is right in this world. Thank you for taking this fictionalized and conceptual moment to read my babbling. 

Mind

Songs that float amongst the unknown thoughts of  the spirits alive. Truth hidden my society and recklessness smothered by souls trapped in the belief that there is a golden time which they have exited. Every time is a golden time my children, every moment is specifically important and historical, with meaning to never, ever be forgotten. Do not cherish winter more than summer, not fall's happiness to spring's. Every nonexistent moment you are alive, live. Force is a debatable role in all action, so let yourself be force by yourself. Let guitars sing you to sleep so the cold winters air can soak into your being like the baths of lava you have just left. Let stories you have never heard of be explained in the upmost detail, lengthened into individual odysseys. This is your inner being which is being revealed, the most unique thing to ever not be seen. Picture the air that is not, but the reality is we are all in the sky being sent on missions of greatest importance - each and every one of us. The universe is Not. You are Not. I am Not.