live to the point of tears' scribbles

> ebony pencil sketches
> landscapes of yesterdays
> fellow acryllic dreamers
> charcoal streaks on her cheeks
> remember 10 yesterdays

Friday, October 17th, 2003
12:11 pm - final thoughts
remember that society puts too much emphasis on "college". you should strive for an experience rather than simply an education, you should understand that no matter where you go, or what dorm you live in, you will spend some time crying in your new room and some time laughing too, that there is no place in the world that will prevent you from having bad days, getting stuck in ruts, or feeling completely overwhelmed with helplessness at times. far too often we try to escape our own human nature. we think a change in scenery will prompt a necessary change in ourselves. and while it may work occasionally, wouldn't you prefer to be the catalyst yourself? people are amazing, capable of so much if you they want it enough. don't let your life be a cop-out. don't make things regrets when they haven't even gotten the chance to really happen yet. enjoy being young, enjoy the capabilities of your mind and body, the endless untapped resivours of resillance you have inside yourself. nobody ever had to teach you how to adapt, much like nobody ever had to teach you how to love. be a little reckless with both.

last calls for the new world.

current mood: thoughtful

(27 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Friday, October 10th, 2003
1:00 am - we're all decked out in our histories
i come from brown hair and green eyes, one of two blonde haired blue eyes bundles of joy, from a brown house with a flowering tree in the front yard, from the days spent each april collecting wilted petals that fell to the floor, from stuffed animals that each had a name, birthdate, and deep dark secret, from dinner plates with the seperations to keep your peas from touching your carrots, from licking the extra icing from home made birthday cakes, from barbies with one missing pink high heel, perfectly groomed my little ponies, and mismatched stick on earings that were always unevenly placed on my ears. from ballet lessons at age two and horrid yellow costumes, from pigtail braids and seasame streets plastic figurines, from babysitter's little sister club books that each had an identical chapter two, from a teddy bear lost one night in the park at the end of the street, from the missing signs i promptly posted on every telephone poll i could reach, from the home video footage of me riding my first bike with pastel streamers fluttering from each handle, from white keds that were brown by the end of the first day, from swimming lessons where they could never convince me to not plug my nose, from a fear of the dark that was soothed only by the constant flicker of a precious moments nightlite.
i come from young love, early marriage, and a few years of hesitance. i come from 1984, the year orwell made us all fear, the year of the apple macintosh, too young to be an eighties child, but too old to forget the neon legwarmers and satisfying sting of a sparkling slap-braclet. i come from small town new jersey, each more rural than the last, green shutters with pine trees di-cut in the corners, secret gardens of botanical fantasies, two black labs that bark at anything, a cat hesitant to love anyone back, a driveway filled with chevy trucks and john deere lawncare, the sound of a hammer having its way with a nail and the smell of sawdust itching your nose when you step off the front porch. i come from constant home renovations and rooms filled to the brim with jams and jellies, from big silver pots that you stir with wooden spoons and the steam that slowly rises to the tip of your nose.
i come from a place where the words you know you don't mean are the ones you yell the loudest, from fights over fingers that ventured across the middle of the backseat, from relentless teasing that i never could ignore, from long car trips where you knew to keep extra quiet during the last twenty minutes or else daddy just might lose it, from the feeling of tires crawling through vermont dirt roads, from the sound the gravel makes smacking the belly of the pickup bed, from the final stretch of silence before days of nonstop noise, from thanksgiving dinner tables with every extra extension board placed in the middle, from using piano benches to seat the smallest two people, from passing the meat i couldn't bring myself to eat under the table to my cousin tara, from prarie skirts and illusions of really being one of the von trapp family, from costume shopping at second hand stores and filling brown paper bags for a quarter with things that no one would ever really need, from button and rock collections, from picking berries to place in the center of oreo wedding cakes for our families of barbie dolls, from the stylish hair cuts we gave to our american girls, from throwing ken from the top of the roof and arguing over which one of us would have to go down and get him. i come from one father, two grandfathers, and six uncles who all could never get over just how quick i was growing, each with a unique overprotective age that they felt appropriate for me to have my first date. i come from a tradition of home made wedding dresses and perfectly cooked chocolate chip cookies, from days when the scent of bread rising would send ten sets of footprints finding their own ways into the kitchen, from twix bars hidden in the behind the eggs on the side of the refridgerator, from grasshopper pie ice cream. i come from a tradition of stubborness, from hyperbolic statements, and hearty laughter. from a nightly scotch on the rocks and a glass of red wine, from the affection known only by those fortunate enough to have italian grandmothers, from the intrigue known only to those who have austrian grandfathers, from high expectations juxtaposed with unconditional love and a tendency to fixate fatally on perfection.
i come from years spent telling myself i was adopted for no good reason, from an overactive imagination, from stories scribbled in the back of my notebook during science class, from the dilligence of a grammar school overachiever, from memorizing long lists for spelling tests and committing to heart the achievements of dead presidents, from excelerated art programs and bob ross style acryllic landscapes. from too much glitter worn on my eyelids and an unfortunate fashionable need to replicate the seventies, from peace signs, smiley faces, and ying yangs, from BFF that never lasted more than a week and LYLAS scrawled on the back of notes folded like paper footballs, from the same silly crush on the same red haired boy for each of those awkward years stuck in the middle of everything, from school dances that ended before seven pm, from speech competitions, from hitting the run that ended my softball team's one year long losing streak.
i come from high school lunch tables filled with boys, from gym shorts in every color of the rainbow, from song lyrics that betrayed all the shades of the heart i was afraid to admit i had, from a fascination with joey and dawson and the way they seemed to both always and never truly be. from a three year high school relationship that convinced me i knew what love is, from unexplicable boughts of depression that appeared to be a direct contradiction to the intolerable pitch of my earnest laughter, from the smell of movie theater popcorn that stuck to your hair hours after your shift was done, from journals i catalogued as volumes with titles, from truly lousy poetry, from sneaking through a chain link fence to play hockey after school, from a chevy tahoe with a back broken door, from the fifteen minute drive to school each day and all the beautiful songs we listened to along the way, from crushes i never would admit i had and friends i took for granted, from truly understanding why they call it falling in love, from eight months of the silent treatment, from a decadent graduation speech, from a voyage overseas with all my best friends, from ordering orgasams at bars and clubbing until 3am, from moving on and moving away, from being sure to be the last person to walk each person to their car as they drove away to their new homes in respective states, from taking 4 rolls of film in those last four days, from knowing in my heart that it really would never be the same, from crying each night that september, from thinking i could keep it from being over, from a thirteen hour car ride that just provided a change of scenery, from a small single room far away from the main hall, from staying in and hiding out and writing a novel about the complications of teenage lust and friendship and how very possible it is for someone to not make it out alive, from realizing that perhaps it was where they lost me that i found myself, from the repetitions of ten pound weights that quickly became twenty, then thirty, from the miles you run with haste when you feel your past is always gaining ground on your future, from becoming a smiling face, from relating more to six year olds than anyone my age, from learning lessons you make yourself forget because there must have been a mistake somewhere in the complicated calculations, from still beliving in extravagant things like happiness, and truth, and beauty, and love, from chalking phrases of poetry on sidewalks and staying up to cry when the sun rises out of habit, without consulting any of us, from losing it only to find the deeper meaning, from hurting and longing and knowing that these things are imperative to living, from words scrawled out with too much verbosity and much too late, from this thursday night and from having absolutely no idea what to anticipate.

where are you going, where have you been?

current mood: thoughtful

(34 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Wednesday, September 24th, 2003
1:07 am - he gave her flowers and a lightning storm
do reality and fantasy overlap? every border borders another, and i'm just asking for a location so i can place one of my feet on each side and hold on for the rest of my life.
there's something familiar yet exciting in the comfort of your unexpected touch, something constant in your heartbeat and something thrilling in the way it accelerates when i press my face against your chest.
my heart responds with intuition, my mind falls victim to reason, to rationalization, justification. what is attraction? i see you and have no desire to undress you. i have no desire to kiss you. or so i think. until you look at me a little too long. or ease into a friendly hug so naturally. and the thought leaps at me. it seems so obvious, so redundant even though i've never let anything like it happen between anyone like you and me.
my solitude is no mystery. it feels more like a destiny, the fate of the ideals i cherish and the tendencies i've picked up along the way. untouchable boys humble me, intimidate me. i need to feel safe. like i control the pace, like there's reason to believe that if i let them stay the night they'll still love me in the morning. so i flirt shamelessly at parties until the pick up lines make me feel icky, like a generic target of testosterone, like an upgrade from your standard playboy magazine
[i am not an object. i would rather not be an adjective. i prefer to consider myself a verb. something active and passionate with the potential for change. i elude. i exude.]
yet i instantly overwhelm any boy who fails to intimidate me. i befriend them. i hug them. listen to them. coax them through anything and everything. i love them before i ever let myself consider falling in love with them. and then there's this mess there, just down a few flights of stairs, waiting at the edge of a drunken mistake, a conflict of interest, a divide between my heart and mind, lurking at the edge of every innocent touch, lagging behind the hesitant blink each time i stare you deep in your eyes.
it's a classic catch-22, a date with the inevitable in-between. i can only desire you from a safe distance behind a fence of insecurity, so i'll doubt myself and take the easier path the other way. and even if you chase me, i'll forget the feelings i once had, i'll see you approach and my heart beat will slow until i am waiting with arms extended to merely shake your hand and ask you to take a seat, to show you the grand tour of me, to trade in your boyfriend potential at the door for an unlimited pass on the platonic friendship express. and then we'll grow through all the late night talks and our bodies will inch closer to each other on the couch until our hips are alligned and our hands overlap on each other thighs. but it's much too late for butterflies. it's candid, it's asexual [oh, but is that even possible?] it's not nothing, but not quite yet something. it's the sound of thunder without the lightning flash.
it's a pity i never discovered how to divide by irrational numbers. friendship becomes inevitable multiplication by zero, tainting any possible gains we could make.
maybe i'm just impossible. i tell everyone i refuse to settle for less when i haven't even defined what is enough. i want a boy with arms strong enough to make me feel secure, shoulders broad enough to make me feel small, hair long enough to play hide and seek between my fingertips, and lips that soften at the thought of meeting mine. i want a boy with soulful eyes that know how to cry and calloused fingertips earned from hours spent fidgiting with restless guitar strings. abstract specifics that outline a dream i had two years ago, a dream i've been chasing in one form or another since that day we first locked pinkies in the backseat of my car in the company of twilight skies bursting with stars and hearts swelling with adolescent pride.
should you accept no substitute, even when the original is unavailable, when he eludes you like perfection, always surpassing the highest heights you thought you could reach?
should second best feel so subordinate? should imitations feel so second hand and dangerously worn in all the most crucial seams? my open mind can't even convince my heart to reconsider its biases. don't ever listen to anyone who says you can argue a feeling. love doesn't recognize logic; emotions never succumb to reason.

[...]Collapse )

current mood: thoughtful

(6 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Wednesday, August 20th, 2003
10:36 pm - words make you think a thought. music makes you feel a feeling. a song makes you feel a thought.
soundtrack to my life
Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music? - High Fidelity

Opening Credits: dar williams - after all or jewel - barcelona
Waking-up Scene: the weakerthans - aside
Average-day scene: couting crows - amy hit the atmosphere
Bad day scene: hootie & the blowfish - let her cry or oleander - halo
Good day scene: the rocket summer - skies so blue
Best-friend scene: juliana theory - duane joesph
Driving scene: saves the day - shoulder to the wheel or third eye blind - motorcycle drive by
Party scene: graham colton - jessica (just cause it reminds me of me at parties) or lita ford - kiss me deadly (cause i can't not dance to this song)
Slow dance scene: madonna - crazy for you
Desire scene: dave matthews band - say goodbye
First-date scene: dashboard confessional - remember to breathe
Falling-in-love scene: edwin mccain - i'll be or the hang-ups - jump start or the get up kids - i'll catch you or ani difranco - falling is like this
Fight-with-friend scene: unwritten law - seeing red
Reconciliation scene: ari hest - i forgive you
Mental-breakdown scene: gary jules - mad world or sarah mclaughlin - hold on
Break-up scene: billy joel - and so it goes
Heartbroken scene: jewel - foolish games or taking back sunday - your own disaster
Flashback scene: ari hest - holding on or the ataris - fast times at ridgemont high
High-School memory scence: brand new - soco amaretto lime
Regret scene: norah jones - shoot the moon or saves the day - jessie & my whetstone
Getting over you scene: jewel - everything breaks sometimes or taking back sunday - you're so last summer or the movielife - hey
Growing up scene: sarah mclaughlin - i will remember you or the weakerthans - everything must go or the lynday diaries - mixtapes and memories
Deep-thought scene: jewel's version of wild horses
Lesson-learning scene: ben folds five - the luckiest or jimmy eat world - on a sunday
Death scene: isreal kamamawiwo'ole - somewhere over the rainbow (from the credits of meet joe black) or jimmy eat world - hear you me or rusted root - beautiful people
Long-night-alone scene: soul asylum - lucky one or joni mitchell - river or ryan adams - cry on demand or vast - flames
'Life's okay' scene: bright eyes - bowl of oranges or red house painters - drop
Closing credits: dave matthews band - lie in our graves

and now it's time to let ani difranco answer some fun survey questions for meCollapse )

current mood: inspired by guitar chords

(15 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Tuesday, August 5th, 2003
1:32 am - if you can't let it be, might as well make it bleed
it should have healed by now. i suppose i didn't take proper care, i suppose i let the raw air of indifference take its toil against the surface, i suppose i let regret fester until it infected every inch of the wound you left in me. and i picked, dug my dirty fingernails in deep trying to reach the tenderness that i knew was buried under layers of days intended to make me forget, days that were supposed to add up to months that would add up to a year that should have been sufficent. a year that should have disolved any trace of what you did to me.
but i scratched it till it itched and picked until i found it, i picked until i conjured up memories that filled me with a hunger that made me dig deeper, reach further so i was living vicariously off yesterdays, validating my existance with recycled pain. when you scratch the surface of unhealed wounds the blood that comes is fresh and new, it's just as red and just as true, it's like living twice my life with you.
i left you a message today in an attempt to let you back in. so you could hurt me again. so you could wear down my defenses and dig deeper then i should let you, so you could leave and i could fill my solitude with thoughts of you, i could defend my misery with this old, reopened wound. i could scratch the surface every day and keep you, always.

current mood: cynical

(12 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Wednesday, June 25th, 2003
10:33 am - book nerd since '84
i read the lovely bones in a matter of hours. & already i can't sit still and want nothing more than to go to barnes & noble. so i think it's time for a reading list, informal, and updated frequently, of the books i've read, will read, and want to readCollapse ) this summer. suggestions please?

current mood: excited

(51 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Tuesday, June 24th, 2003
12:24 am - i loved you at all the wrong times
green t-shirts from t-ball days with acryllic paint stains and fuzzy lucky number sevens on the back make the sexiest pajamas on crisp summer evenings. long bare carefully shaven legs are delicate treats when you tangle them in silk sheets.
strawberry ice pops taste better when consumed with only your tongue. & have you ever tried to dry your long hair after swimming and emerging a mess of tangles by holding it straight out the window as you drive fifty miles per hour down wide country roads? the result is pure summer waves and streaks of sunlight worthy of a cosmo cover.
because summer days are quilts of such things, and the evenings are perfect for running, chasing the setting sun, determined to make it back home before all the light is gone.
i have to hold on to these days, even the parts that are spent alone, sunbathing on my roof reading the writing well: the art of nonfiction or driving & singing along to counting crows live and noticing that they change the words in mr. jones just a little, and realizing that you like them better this way. because it's how you feel isn't it, when everybody loves me, well i hope i'll never be lonely . because it's not a guarentee, just like this perfection i seek, it has to be continually out of reach, because i already know if i could get there i would have grown tired of the chase, i already know that i would come to realize that perfection was never what i wanted in the first place.
i just need goals, like running the chicago marathon someday, or simple things, like memorizing how to play jewel's foolish games on the piano before september comes my way, even though i haven't touched a key in a year or two. sometimes i need a lofty finishing line in order to motivate the first step or skip or leap depending on the day or choosen feat.
for some time now i've understood that i can't seem to fall in love with boy who is good for me, but lately i am beginning to think that i've grown bored of these fantasies that are created from delusions of love soaked in tradegy and boys too dilluted to see that i am what they need. love is losing its sting, because it has been so long since i've fallen, and i've floated off the edge of yesterday's precipices so many times that i have even lost the ability to provoke nostalgic butterflies. the drama summer was two years ago and i think i'm finally accepting that there is one boy i'll never really get to call my own. but that's okay. it's much more poetic that way.

current mood: drained

(14 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Friday, June 6th, 2003
5:10 pm - pixar paints the world the way i wish to see it
everyone should go see finding nemo. (cinematherapy) Collapse )

current mood: happy

(8 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Thursday, May 8th, 2003
11:51 pm - there's a bin in the back where you can fill a bag for a buck
i keep seeing my past lying out on picnic tables juxtaposed with mid-july red hot concrete. bins of photographs and volumes of scribbled memories, given away like charity to anyone with the time & patience to attempt to find something that glimmers in the mass of broken hearts, bad days, and hormonal imbalances. nearly nineteen years of living and you'd think i'd have something far too precious to throw away. but really, i don't. there have been times when i lived in the moment and breathed sentimental air in deep enough to think that what i felt right then & there would still be with me in a year. but it all fades away, someday the scrawls across the pages of my senior yearbook that made me cry in my car in the parking lot that day will merely make me raise my eyebrows and flip back a few hundred pages to find a face that will hopefully trigger some resemblance of recognition.
i still have t-shirts from co-ed recreational sports in fifth grades, the halter top that i wore on that fateful labor day stays folded in my drawer as a reminder, i make memorials to misfortune, pay tributes to near strangers that i never see again, i name streaks of lightning that flash through the sky in some naive hope that then they will stay for a while. really, transience is all we can ever hope to know. yet still i get so attached to inanimate objects that on this night i still clutch the teddy bear that witnessed me opening my eyes for the first time as the cracks of thunder resonate further and deeper through the night sky.
i've got hand-me-down dreams, small town fairy wings, tangled roots that run deep and serve as crutches of stability on turbulant nights like these. all these other possessions and most of my nineteen years of memories are lying out on picnic tables for you all to see. let me recommend the excessive hope from two years ago, it saw me through the best days of my life and it appears to be just your size. you may also want to try my childlike innocence because i've held on to it for far too long. adults aren't supposed to long for nothing more than bubbles wands and daisy chains in the spring. i've got this pair of painful stilletto heels that seem to have this instinctive way of walking you straight into a mistake, underwear that you only wear when you secretly hope that there will be someone around later that night to tear it away, red lipstick that's only been used once before, to blow him a kiss as he walked out my door. i've got years of experience at being naive and a degree in self pity. sweaters all streched out in the sleeves because my fingers have this funny way of tucking themselves away when i feel guilty. buckets of tears that most likely still taste a little too fresh, polluted by the rays of pitiful optimism that always seem to break through after the storm. i've got the sickenly sweet words of every boy that ever broke my heart on file in the back, next to the bins that contain the remnants of every devoted friend that ultimately found self-indulgence to be more rewarding in the end. i find it hard to walk back that far still, the lightbulb went out for the last time on one unidentified yesterday, but i'll lend you my flashlight if you think such tarnished artifacts could be of any service to you. i'd rather you take the dignity i never used and self-confidence i know i'll never grow into. i'll throw in all the recycled fake smiles for free, with a promise that these things alone will get you through high school.
i suppose what i'm really trying to say is that everything feels slightly for show these days. these words, this face, my heart that seems to be convinced that it is strong enough to fall in love again. it's arrogance is sickening. i still nearly bleed to death daily from my last run in with teenage lust, but it proclaims that maybe things could end another way, that maybe they won't have to end at all, but i know better than to believe in forever any more.
all i know is that i exist through each overflowing day just so i have plenty of time to anticipate your goodnight kiss. i proclaim a sale on picnic table number three, all the lessons i've ever learned about why you should never give your heart away are half price today.

current mood: contemplative

(14 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

Wednesday, April 30th, 2003
12:53 am - maybe, baby, you could keep me up in bed (so i wouldn't have to dream of banana trees)
the banana tree didn't belong in my backyard in new jersey & i think that's precisely why i liked to sit under it during the days that didn't belong to either summer or spring. i always had this horrible habit of wanting beautiful things out of context, like a snowflake in june or a clear sunny day at the beach in january. i wanted you that way too, three years ago when may had a fate. i wanted you because you had never been wanted before in that way, and everyone knows the thrill of exploring unmarked territory. i was able to mark my path with little x's on your back, my nails lightly tracing the patterns, embriodering my initals in a little more deep with each open mouthed kiss, fastening chains with each desperate embraced. it would be more than naive to claim that i never wanted to taint you, to make you smell distinctly of my own breed of ambiguity. each path was worn down over the years until they became canals ready to embrace the tears that we always knew would fall. and water does to soil what times does to broken hearts, all you need is an unexpected ray of sunshine to seal the deal and it's almost as if we were never really anywhere but here, on these pages that i deface desperately seeking some solace in the scrbbles, trying to validate my second hand pain, to justify the fact that i cried myself to sleep over you on sunday evening.
but that's three days away, good morning wednesday, can we please let me find all i seek, can we please not twist and tuck and turn circumstance until it feels far too heavily saturated in irony? the weather lately is disturbingly complementary to my moodswings, indecisive and greedy, sunshine mornings that turn to desolate, grey afternoons, and i was always the one to be caught outside without an umbrella when the skies decide to cry. but i smiled this time.
i smiled because i was thinking of you, and how you could possibly be my saving grace. presumptions always seemed more difficult to balance than a web of deceit, but something tells me that we really could be, simply, if only you really are willing to take a chance on me.
i'd like to take you out of context and explore the shade in the shadows made where we overlap, i'd like to bring you home beneath my banana tree and let you hold me, as you seek whatever it is you think you see in me. i'd like to connect the freckles on your back with my bashful baited breath that slides between pursed lips, waiting to be kissed. persistantly, until we'd see what words like this mean. my may is anxiously awaiting a fate, so what do you say?

current mood: touched

(11 saw sunshine in the pouring rain | see sunshine in the pouring rain )

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