playwright
Happy - Subscribe
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playwright
Happy - Subscribe
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| Always waiting for that tiny little smile to turn up the corners of your mouth, make you crinkle like paper once flat, now new. Your silences fill my mouth with sweet stones I crush between my teeth, tastes so feathery, the branches I climb when I reach up to the sky to feel the faces of the clouds looking down at me, so sweet. The breath of summer fills my eyes with air and light and it holds us together, hands clasped, blind. All the pages that I write could add up to hundreds of little rhymes, they fill my time with frames of mind and feelings held close to a heart or two, but they don't hold on to you. There are only numbers to chase after you, clinging feebly to those memories caught like fireflies in sparkling jars that dance between my dreams, all clambering and green as grass. And why? you ask, it's something that climbs crazily up my spine, that pulls my face into that lovely shape. It's you, it's you, words slide off like water and pool, and nothing sticks. We're oblivious. We're a blur, millions of fast colors drawn up into some shiny, swimming handful of adjectives. |
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playwright
Patch up yer wounds, weary broken traveler May 6, 2007; 10:18 PM - Subscribe
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My feet are tired but my heart is beating and bright and full and it will carry me for as long as I will it. Sometimes you must sharpen your needles and swallow your tongue and sew those holes up so you can't crawl into them and hide any longer, trying to hurt yourself inside of them. I found the way out and I've blocked it off until it explodes open again. And I'll keep running to the light, wherever it goes, however dim it becomes. I want to see. Peel back my eyelids. Inflate my crushed lungs, free me from the debris my hands make. If we create our own misery, we can kill it just as easily. |
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playwright
Deficiency May 6, 2007; 5:34 PM - Subscribe
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"My body is a cage... that keeps me from dancin' with the one I love, but my mind holds the key." Things have been ripped out of me. I hope I can sew myself back together. |
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playwright
Music sounds better April 4, 2007; 1:08 PM - Subscribe
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I was never good enough for you, and I never will be. (So many times, I'd try to make you understand, explain it forwards and backwards, a million ways, but you just weren't there. We were never on the same plane. Disconnected, I'd just curl up next to you, just wishing, wishing, wishing you'd just know.) So fuck it. (No! No! NO! I didn't want to let you go, I didn't want to just.) I'm a ghost. Why don't you listen? Why don't you listen? Why don't you (I finally did it, I finally, finally said something, it was easy really, it just spilled out of my mouth, these brave words just spilled out before you and you said, no. You said, I do not accept your sacrifice. I do not accept your, this.) listen? I can never talk to you, why don't you ever tell me? You never TELL me! You never tell me. (Never, never, never, never, no, there can't be that many, I just. What? I just, just, I'm trying to sort things out in my head, but they're so... something, there's no, words, there's no, logic, there's no beginning to the story, no anything, nothing.) Goodnight. |
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playwright
Feelin' good lost. March 26, 2007; 9:27 PM - Subscribe
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All of a sudden, everything just falls into place. Friends fall down, but they get back up. Dust off your knees. Chin up. I think I can almost hear your smile through the phone, it's like, finally, finally, finally, F, R, double E. I don't know where I'm going. Don't know where I'm going to be next month, this summer, next year. I might just up and get outta here, but hey, you know, I don't really mind not having a plan. Let's play it by ear, let's just let the days stretch out in front of us like blank canvases we'll cover in paint. The rain is washing all signs of winter away. Lights breaking through the sky, it's beautiful. Everything is gonna get clean again. All of us are going to feel new. Today I saw purple flowers shooting up through the mud, and it reminded me of something long forgot. A flower at the top of the Alpensee, so blue and tiny and perfect. I remember all of the cow bells ringing, a chorus of chimes, and the clouds slowly rolling, and the water, smooth and shiny ripples calmly billowing in the breeze. We had reached the end of a journey, and it was so unbelievably satisfying, just undescribable. Sometimes photographs just can't even capture that moment, when you don't know something has happened that will change you, but later you look back and you realize how happy you were, and that means something. So maybe this means something, too. |
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playwright
It seems like a perfect fit. March 25, 2007; 5:00 PM - Subscribe
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Some songs, I play on repeat for hours and hours. Just listening to it over and over, letting the words sink into my brain, get absorbed forever, attached to a memory. I'm just a person. Anyone could be like me. Whose love am I worthy of? I-I-I, I just don't know. Sometimes I just wish for a postcard from a faraway place, "I wish you were here"; sometimes I wish I was sendin' one to you. Sometimes I wish our brains were connected so you could just know everything that I feel. Sometimes I wonder if you can read my mind but you would never tell me, never let me know your secret. I'll never tell you that one of mine, never ever ever. You'll never know. But I wish you could. I wish you could just know, I wish, wish, wish, you could just know. |
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playwright
Yarrrrrghhhhhyyyyyyyymehhh. March 11, 2007; 6:05 PM - Subscribe
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(Big long slur of mixed-up mumblings.) Pan the images 'cross my crossed eyes. Line them up like criminals and cross out our smiles. Slice open my chest and pull out a heart, weigh it on the scale, how much is it worth? (Make some calculations.) Ahh, that's all good and well, but how can you tell, can you tell, can you tell, what it means? What's inside of that bloody, purply thing? That mangled pulsating mess? That collection of dripping tubes? (A Libra with Virgo tendencies and unstable mental/emotional/physical/psychological/social processes.) Less than threes, paths lined with trees, so many, too many mes. Walking through the memories, viewing them from a distance like artworks in a gallery (Don't touch!). See the detail, see the artistry? The paint daubs, the brush strokes, the little intricacies? It's flyin' by. Fast and slow. Play. Stop. Go. I thought once, Life is such a movie; a whisper I wrote, a secret only you can know. Clutch it close, keep it deep inside; so many things to hide, hide 'em in those lines and lines. I left you behind. All the stutters and smudges in you added up to this great big unanswered question, still unanswered; you've got some blank space in you, think maybe I could fill it up. Maybe I could sum it up somehow, gather up the loose ends and tie them in a knot. No, no, you've rotted away on my bookshelf, and you're an old self, an I-don't-want-to-return-to-that self. I am sorry. I am sorry. It is very difficult. Stay afloat. Keep your eyes open. |
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playwright
So, if I had to reconstruct this story in painstaking detail. March 11, 2007; 1:23 PM - Subscribe
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I'm nervous, now. It was simple enough. You reached in and pulled something out; I got curious, maybe even addicted to the feeling. Then I shut up, closed like a box, don't I always do that. A pendulum swinging from spontaneous to predictable. Finding things around the house. Little lost trinkets, scattered about like heaps of debris left by a tornado. Your hair. Your eyes, subconscious images floating to the surface of this black pool I'm swimming in. There was a dream, I remember, in which I lost things like this, and drowned in them, beneath the incomprehensible weight of them. I choked on the water and gave up, I held all of your burdens in my arms like I said I would, but I was too weak to stay alive. You cannot even begin to imagine how sorry I felt then. The guilt wraps me up like a cold cloak. The feeling of not being enough, of not being ____ enough or _____ enough. "Fuck you!" In that dream I had, I remember telling you, and it didn't even matter. You know I've tried to throw this off but it clings to me. This feeling of constantly being freezing, barely there; sometimes, I completely disappear. You say something, I don't answer. I've left the confined space of thoughts and wandered off. I've gotten myself lost. I can't be certain of anything now. As if I have been at all recently. Time slides through my fingers, I sleep it away. Stare at the screen, hide under blankets and pretend I don't exist. I was sitting at the breakfast table, my head cocked to one side, looking at that thick-bladed knife, thinking, Left hand picks it up, jams it into the left side of my neck, slit my throat open. But I'd be okay, we'd all laugh about it later. Whenever I talk to you about suicide, you say, Don't do it! Don't do it! We joke about it; makes it easier to forget those thoughts. You didn't say anything this time, probably because I just blurted right in front of everyone, so violent and yet not really shocking. Nobody really said anything. I lied about that, I avoided it first when you asked me and then I just nodded, 'cause I didn't feel like getting into it. Maybe it would've creeped you out, or made you sick. Maybe you would've been upset with me, thought I was stupid, anything. I used to hide it under tape, but now I don't really care. I just get bored. It's not a big deal. I said I might take this out on myself. I might throw it around; maybe hold it in, maybe let it go, maybe explode. We'll see how it goes. I can imagine my diet fluctuating, walking alone, scribbling in a ragged hand pages and pages of angsty nonsense, seeing things vividly and tuning out and losing focus and tripping over things. Who really knows. I'm not getting into a habit; I'm not going down that road. I'm not alone, I know, I know. It's just that there's all these things I have to say that I know are going to come out wrong, and I get all jittery and lose my tongue and fuck it up. I tear down tall walls with my stupid hands, watch them fall, build them back up again. Tiny little hands, but they'll douse this poor excuse for a home in nail polish remover or gas and throw a lighted match in, walk away. That's my account, minus the sweetness or joviality or friendliness caught inbetween. Minus any important lines of speech, minus any touch or movement or gasp of air or slant of light. It's not really an accurate account at all, it doesn't make any sense, and it doesn't truly describe how I feel. So there it is. Not going to try to organize or take any conclusion from it. I suggest you don't try to sort out who the you is, because it's going to be a tiresome task, and there's more than one you that I'm speaking to, and if you guess at it, you'll be wrong anyway. Maybe I'll have another try at this later. It sure isn't sounding like anything right now. |
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Okay, so a long long while ago, my dad baught some cuccumbers at the market. They were bad cuccumbers. I said something about it. I said dad needed to inspect the veggies before he buys them. My mom got pissed off at me and said I wasn't thankful for anything my dad does for me, and I'm all like, "What the fuck?! I'm very thankful for everything dad does for me!" And we had this big fight. Anyway. Xenimus, and online game, worked fine on my mom's computer. My dad messed with my mom's computer to try to make it work faster. Suddenly Xen doesn't work right, the screen is completely black. I say I think it's Dad's fault because HE messed with the computer. Makes sense, doesn't it?! Well, Daniel get's pissed off because I'm blaming Dad. He says I'm not thankful for anything Dad does for me. I said something about if anything's blamed on dad everyone has a heart attack, and Daniel comes running at me. I thought he was going to hit me. He stopped right above me and yelled at me. Daniel hits me all the time, not with his full strength, and it hurts. I was afraid that he was going to hit me with his full strength, and that scared me. I am thankful, and I say thankyou every time dad does something for me. Why the fuck they think I'm not thankful is beyond me. Maybe me blaming Dad for things that -are- his fault means I'm not thankful? Bullshit. If I say anything's Dad's fault, everyone gets pissed off. Yeah, Dad has high blood pressure and his hard of hearing. Yeah, he's not the healthiest person, but that doesn't mean everything he does is perfect. My family needs to learn that just because dad has health problems doesn't mean nothing's to be blamed on him. Okay. What do I blame Xen not working right on? Oh! How about this! Let's blame my dog. Yeah. Or lets just blame me. I'm the only one that stuff is allowed to be blamed on anyway. |
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playwright
There's no one, there's no one, there's no one, there's no one... March 5, 2007; 10:47 PM - Subscribe
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I miss you. I don't know what to do. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What do I do? Can I call you? Or you? Where you are, what you are, I just can't figure out. Notes rise like snow blown up above me, cold and strange and I can't decipher what anyone is saying, and I'm swimming in this inbetween, gulping it, living in it, like I used to swim in your veins, and I miss you. Gettin' caught up in this storm, it envelops my ankles, think I'll get lost in this, lost in the white. Send me away somewhere I don't have to decide, send me away in a block of ice. And then someday I'll thaw and be discovered like some precious stone mined from deep in the Earth. And I'll walk away like a prophet and swallow up the world. Eat everything, eat it all and be full. But now, so empty. So eyeless. I used to watch them moving to and fro, I used to catch the delicate gestures, the elaborate mechanisms of communication, bodily mannerisms. I used to watch this all and sigh and write and smile from a corner. I used to take it in. And now I watch from the middle as the seas part from me, billowing waves stretching so far across the end of them is endless; and I am left empty. Lines and shapes blur, dim, pass away. I. Can't. See. What is happening to me? What is happening? Shuffle your feet, girl. Get back up. Throw off the blankets and walk. But I don't know if I can. The habit's back again. Quell it, quench it, but I don't want to run away, but I want to; and I'm so confused. Where do I put these hands? Where do I place my feet? So clumsy. Walking disaster. Walking mess. And at the end of this? The bridge? The creek covered with ice, beckoning? My tiny hands, scribbling, pleading for some chance verse to save them? They're cold and bony and dry and covered with scratches. They reach for unnamed objects in the darkness, things that are gone, things that are broken and discarded. But what is left? |
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Send your voice in a letter In a way I can remember you better With the words I know you’d say On a vivid day in the end of May Send your voice in a letter Before this memory gets older Show me places you’ve been And those faces and souls you keen Send your smile on the air Though you’re not here, I think it’s fair Coz when the warmth reach me I know you give it sincerely…….. |
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Haha! It's been 2 years! since I've posted. My life is good now. I see a therapist once a week, in fact I'm going to be seeing her during lunch tomorrow... er... today. oO; Thursday~ March 1st. 8] My brother left for college, and my other brother came back from college, cause he failed out. x] Now he's going to a community college instead. Erm... yeah! Maybe... I'll post more later... 8D |
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playwright
This is different. February 22, 2007; 11:36 PM - Subscribe
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And my first thought is, You're fucking kidding me, right? This is a dream? No. - I woke up this morning and pried my eyes open with my fingernails. I pulled on my clothes, and in a stupor, I drove to school. I was going to return a book. I pulled the door towards me, and it was heavy, and as I strolled through the library, I noticed her hair. "Hey." And when I turned to face her, I immediately saw it. The blood dripping from inside her shirtsleeves. - I blinked. Once. Twice. It was suddenly gone. The initial shock subsided, wore off. I put my books on the table and looked into her face. Nothing wrong there. No signs of upset or stress. We talked for a few minutes, and then I did what I had come there to do. Nothing extraordinary happened. It was just normal. But I still don't get it. I can't get my mind around it. I think that it will just go away. - I sat down on one of the benches. I figured I'd just hang out until someone came along that I could talk to. I scribbled down some lines. Things that were stuck in my head. I didn't think about what I was writing too hard when I wrote it, but I went back and read it later, and it seemed quite jumbled. Nothing spectacular. I heard the click-clack of heels or boots or whatever from some distance down the hallway, and looked. Her hair. She came closer. Then, I saw her face, hidden underneath. The streaks of smeared makeup, the bloodshot eyes, puffy cheeks. She had obviously been crying hard. "Hey. What's wrong?" She looked up. And it was the strangest thing, her face was perfect. No tears, no vestiges of sorrow. I said, Nevermind, but I felt funny saying it. It was just strange. - The obituary appeared in the paper a few days late, as if nobody even noticed it had happened. I've been trying to talk to people about it, but they avoid the subject. Sometimes, when I'm alone and I let myself think, I wonder if it really happened. I'm not sure of anything at all. I've been questioning my perceptions. I've been tripping over things and running into walls and doors, lost in thought. All I know is, this is something. This is different. I'm going to write everything down, no matter how little sense it makes. I just have to sort it out in my head. |
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playwright
The sea keeps coming back to me February 16, 2007; 1:06 PM - Subscribe
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I dream of horrible mishaps. Mangled limbs and machine parts, smiles crossed out with red pens, losers, trapped in the gap between life and death, clinging to a tiny bit of happiness. You're all photographs, strewn and wilted in some flooded basement, underneath the weight of some decaying, endlessly empty house. I worry that it will collapse while I am gone, and when I come back I will have forgotten everything. I do not want to forget. I carry it as far as I can, and it is so heavy; these nightmares and stories are stuck to me like leeches, and they're not mine, they're not mine. I was born into an empty space, and as I tried to fill it with memories, it expanded and grew to some incomprehensible size. It drips with water, and my head gets heavy, and when I fall asleep, the sea comes back to me. Between murders and death cries, the waves collide, soft and powerful and cold, white hands pressed against my face, filled with winter. They only speak in backwards whispers, calling out to me. The sea, the sea, the sea. It keeps coming back to me. I hide under rocks, and my hair turns into seaweed. My hands turn into sand. Someday I'll eat shells and carry children's feet across the beach, to the water, where they'll laugh so loud against my ears, I'll laugh back. And I'll never eat my words again, and there will be no vacancies to fill, I'll just be full of the world with the water in my mouth and the Sun filling me with light. And I won't dream at all. |
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i'm f***ing tired with all these things, and when i finally talk to someone i really want to talk to, it doesnt go well. Isnt that such a crap??? i really want to cy, here and now. tired body and soul, and no where to go.... nice thing that happened to me today was this junior in my school, i'm sure today that he likes me. i think he asked me out but...... my friend started to complain to the fact that i always got younger people[brondong], but it wasnt my fault right???? |
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playwright
You've lost me a tenuous melody January 13, 2007; 2:47 PM - Subscribe
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Muted, you're a solid dark eye that marks the world cold and strays. Take a tape player and catch the leaves in a steel-stringed net, they burn silhouettes onto your memory. You're loud and old and used-up like headlines in a newspaper. I remember you, I remember when you said you were sorry and cried so hard I felt your sorrow rattle through me. In the gutter, you left me a relentless storm of consciousness, battling your dreams into the freezing black water. Didn't I hold your hand once, and say, You're okay, You're okay, You're okay, so small, like a prayer under a shoe. I told you then, and you knew. Ashes fell and covered your hair like snow, haloed your head with the arson you committed. Born again under the Sun, you roared forward, proclaimed this page written in some witch-cat's book. You melted like a flower into the foliage, I think you were always a child of the forest. Green dawned on your lips one day and you were in your place, under the flash of a camera with a half-smile. I chased and chased you, keep on running until my legs break, but you're far away, high up like a clever butterfly and I just can't reach. I send you love letters in your sleep asking you to come back to me someday, but I think you're lost in the music that your mind makes, tangled in the rocks and dirt and grass and all your mirth that maybe we're just separate, muse and poet, disconnected. |
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It was a day when I ran away with Bépé to this forbidden place (it’s not as sinful as it sounds) and on the bus we took to avoid trouble I saw a man with his 4 or 5 children. I think they didn’t have big age difference to each other and they looked cute in their simple clothes which didn’t look like any other kids clothes. The man’s clothes also looked the same, he looked so ordinary but among the rest of us he looked extraordinary. He certainly caught my attention the second he stepped on the bus. It took me ages to find out why he got a special place in my memory (when I told a friend about that man, he thought I had a crush on him) and the key was when I watched Lord of The Ring; The Return of The King. [In the end of the movie Samwise Gamgee comes home and his son runs to him, his wife and daughter wait in front of his little house surrounded by flowers]. That’s exactly what I could imagine that man had, he’s my Hobbit. And maybe he’s also my role model for something in the future. Another story of another man on the escaping bus: He sat next to me and as the bus rolling on the street I saw his reflection on the window. He was so near and yet so far, he had no idea I was looking at him. And it was one of the moments of my life, because instead of being anywhere else he chose to be there with me. |
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it just popped into my mind suddenly that i dont feel or sense like before. even when i sing "top of the world" or those cartoons theme songs, i lose the sense. that's terrible.. long before that......... one night before i go to sleep i thought about someone and a reality showed, he's never liked me-not that much. so many times i've seen it but denial was easier. the next morning i like him less |
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closed at work last night it went well i learned front line well kinda well bart was trying to teach me. then talked with alison and bart about life then went to barts house and cuddled and watched connan ah the simple things in life.. (hahaha and no eddy i dont mean my underwear) my life is going well kisses ariel |
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something weird happened to me like a week ago, in the classroom while we were waiting for the lecturer. i sat next to my classmate, he was busy talking to someone at the front row when someone behind me called him. in the good intention to help i tapped on his back and told him that someone's called him. what happened next was that he looked at me in his disbelief and said "ooh omi, it's so canada". HAH!!! i was puzzled and abso-bloody-lutely asked what have i done that made him so overreacted. he didnt answer me, instead he smiled and asked me to do it again. "Do what?" i said still puzzled and just unthoughtfully tapped on his shoulder that made me regret it because then he looked like he got a great goosebump. then he said again "it's so canada..." Hey what did i do? that's a big question of a life time lol, but (QUES) did i make him.....(u know what i mean) just with a tap on his back? |