the morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west
you are ridiculous.
your gender, in particular, is ridiculous,
and awkward is not a strong enough word.

you know sometimes they call me tous lightening,
but i suppose this can mean nothing,
since lightening can never strike in the same place twice.

some things are best left unsaid
i have decided,
that late nights spent on useless speeches, essays, projects, etc
are entirely over.
i'm going to be young and carefree.

there's beauty in the breakdown
i need better work ethic,
because it mostly consists of sighs,
backward glances, impossible structures.

this is so difficult,
willing the right words to flow from my fingertips.
i always think that its so much easier speaking in person,
because think of what we're missing?
creeping blushes, fidgeting hands, bright eyes.

we're so defined by our mannerisms.
so much that it makes up, oh, 95 percent of language.

subtract my age from the mileage on my speeding heart
i hate hate hate the way i am blamed for things not concerning me.
the day i leave here,
i hope i don't look back.



i do, however, really enjoy a certain boy's company.

incapable de rester toute seule
how can i be sure,
that everything you've said to me,
has not been the chaos of mixed signals?

for once,
i'd like to feel that i'm actually in control of something,
and that i might be worth more than a quick fix.

i will not be the sum of all my inadequacies.

whats holding up her face, nothing but blue skies
i was locked outside my house today,
for almost two hours,
and i have never been so content in my life.
the sky was a clear, heartaching blue,
and i was listening to comptine d'un autre: l'apres midi,
almost on repeat,
and in that time i've decided that i love the way clouds melt together at the slightest touch,
like a lover's embrace.

sometimes i imagine that if the world were to reverse itself,
inside-out-upside-down,
then the endless abyss of sky would be my home.

today was,
in all ways possible,
perfect.

i fought the war but the war won
scanned two sketchbook entries.
they are here and here.

i can't stand cancellations.
the sorry, denied, deleted, just-a-memory.

the stars will kiss your pretty face
this is so terribly frustrating,
never doing work when i should.
i promised myself i'd do better, better, better.
and look where its got me,
i'm a burned-out-brain-dead-no-life-sucker.

c'mon now.
i waste my time doing things i shouldn't,
just to end up getting out of it anyways.
i do not possess any motivation,
and it feels like my heart is dying.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down
i feel like i can't use the word 'depressed.'
it has such negative connotations.

as if, when you're sad about your cat dying, for example, you're just grieving. you're sad.
though if you instead say, i'm so depressed about my cat dying, its like saying that not only did your cat die, but your whole entire family died, and you're hanging on to that one inch of life you have left because of the pills that you pop, as much as you breathe oxygen.

so, examples aside,
i'm very sad at the moment.
i'm in this rut where nothing i say,
or do,
will get me out of it.
oh, i'm hoping you'll understand me when the time comes.

passions have eroded anyway
i wish i had some kind of astounding insight into life that someone else could relate to.
as of now,
my views, perspectives, opinions, are clouded by what i have yet to experience; as if everything i've never done is directly deciding how i see the world around me.

and more than ever, my sketchbook is becoming my journal.
sometimes, when people ask to see it,
i kind of curl up inside of myself, because all the drawings that are in there tie into some emotion or event, and it is very significant for me.
i've transferred myself onto paper.

so maybe,
perhaps if i have the time,
i'll scan some of my sketchbook entires.
because i think that some part of me is restricting my emotions.
like if i don't get over the feelings i already have, they will just fester inside of me and transform into something hideous.
and i wouldn't be able to handle that.

heart has nothing to do with it
i hate that the only place you'll ever know as home is yourself.
and that your house, your family, your life, can feel like a prison.
the way glass shatters across a tile floor, that's how life is.
each little piece glinting, reflecting images of how you could be or how you were.
each tiny image of yourself distorted and broken against the grout cracks and the cold marble.
some pieces are bigger than the others, obviously,
but the smallest ones are always the most convoluted,
with a twistingly morbid sense of detail.
the prettier the point, the deeper the cut.
its that all-roses-have-thorns-you-know.

i hate this so much, wishing i was anywhere but here, but with no actual place to end up.
if only for the journey, i'd like to never come back.
because having a fixed destination is most definitely, and completely and utterly compromised, because no matter what road you take, you'll just end up where you wanted to go in the first place.
and isn't that just dandy.
i absolutely cannot stand the feeling of having my future decided for me.

if human beings are anything, they for sure aren't obedient.
i guess we live for the revolution.



and as a side note:
shittiest new year's ever.

start with something you love
pretend everything you've ever known will only be forgotten.
and that this life you're looking for,
[the-spark-the-drive-the-meaning]
will never be found.
think, if you will,
about postcards from future faces, past places, infinite spaces.
and that this link you've searched for,
[these-murmur-whisper-slurs-of-ours]
can't ever be replaced.
imagine that your world, life, universe, doesn't belong to you.
and all that you can remember is gone,
[frenetic-thoughts-memory-loss-no-regrets]
because it was never up to you anyways.
try if you might to create a time when everything you have is everything you aren't.
and believe you have an identity of your own,
[the-symmetry-the-blasphemy-the-hypocrisy]
when really you're just a mirror of another.

now think of us,
[the-past-present-future-us]
and imagine that none of it mattered.

the dreams in which im dying are the best i've ever had
adaptation is compromise.





it takes a while to figure out, but once you get it,
life doesnt look so pristine
and school doesnt seem so important.
go ahead, try it.

when words are slurs
tongue-tied, watchful eyes,
a slight of hand could mean
fin
for the both of us

smoking pot, parking lots,
i hoped it wouldn't
end up like this,
i'm tired of our paralysis

waiting room, icu,
i never thought white could look
as barren as it does,
while i wait for the cause

misconceptions, false convictions,
you're failing just like
you normally do,
and the lcd is falling with you

funeral march, heavy heart,
i never wanted for you to
sink this low,
i suppose you'll never know

how a theoretical physicist finds love (re: when science stops working)
it's in the cracks, the in-betweens, the explained unexplainables.
when freckles go from pigments,
to constellations,
to colliding molecules and supernovas.

it's the amaranthine sky filled with nuclear reactions.
and you know you could just call it rain,
instead of thinking that precipitate,
is just another word for change

and when life becomes less measured in minutes,
but more in breaths, glances, sighs,
you think its time
to stop calculating when the chemistry will be created

because in a room full of whiskey and wishes,
when it ceases to be music and instead becomes
cerulean beats and brick-red rhythms,
thinking clearly doesn't register

what was once gravity and equations
slowly, gradually, evolves into invisible hands and,
light goes from enigma,
to heart beats,
to artery explosions .

love of mine, someday you will die
i hate when people look down upon me because i don't harbor the same beliefs as them.
or when they try to save me from the error of my ways.
the error of seeing religions more as guidelines than a cult.
which is harsh, i know.
but i cannot believe a celestial being created the earth in six days, and that humans appeared out of no where.

lately i've been reading about several religions, traditions, mythologies.
i've decided to pick and choose,
and then form my own religion.
a set of beliefs that would fluxuate and change as i realize, discover, experience.

ready to go, go, go
i suppose this is quite unhealthy.
being awake at 3.30 on a school night and such.

it doesn't faze me though.
it should, but it does not.
the only thing it succeeds in doing is making me tired and rather irritable.

oh, i wish i was nocturnal.
or that everyone else slept the way i do.
maybe it wouldnt be so lonely when you're splitting time with another person.
ah well.

nobody knows where we might end up
i miss this.
but the truth is, nothing's all right anymore.
what is?
i'm down down down, drowning in work i can't finish.
my head spins just thinking about it.

so i'm thinking, deciding about what to do next.
what to think next.
i'm pretty sure i need a vacation, and soon.

art has taken a swift turn from the believable to the surreal.
i'm making up things that don't make sense.
and apparently its disconcerting for others.

i'm much too morbid for their taste, maybe.