playwright
That's another matter, Brandy Alexander Feb 5th, 2008 9:08:25 pm - Subscribe
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phantasmic
alright now... - Subscribe
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time to be honest with myself here, my rejected feeling isn't just from tonight's "later" but "no" that is all too familiar....i feel this way because of all the "let's hang out"s, the "i miss you"s, the "we should catch up"s, and all the other empty phrases that go unfinished. it's not always the thought that counts. intention isn't always good enough. i want things to be said, and done. not said and left alone. is that so much to ask? maybe it is. i try my hardest to do what i say i'm going to do. i guess i just wish people could do the same for me now and again. yeah this is a lot of silly thought vomit, but maybe it'll allow me to get some sleep if i release this emotional buildup. ha. right. i always bottle it all up. but it never really explodes. more like a pop bottle, i'll fizz over and make a mess, but no real harm done. i need an outlet, something other than this blog. besides, i hardly use it anyway. no point really with no feedback. then again, maybe i don't need the feedback, i tend to sort it all out in my head after a while. would be nice to have someone to speed up the process though. oh well. and oddly enough, the randomly associated mood is just my personality. the boy tells me often enough how i need to lighten up, have some fun.....but how can i when no one seems to want to have fun with me? |
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Need I say I love you Need I say I care Need I say that emotions, Something we dont share I dont want to be sitting here Trying to deceive you Cos you know I know baby That I dont wanna go. We cannot live together We cannot live apart Thats the situation Ive known it from the start Every time that I look at you I can see the future Cos you know I know babe That I dont wanna go. Throwing it all away Throwing it all away Is there nothing that I can say To make you change your mind I watch the world go round and round And see mine turning upside down Youre throwing it all away. Now who will light up the darkness Who will hold your hand Who will find you the answers When you dont understand Why should I have to be the one Who has to convince you Cos you know I know baby That I dont wanna go. Someday youll be sorry Someday when youre free Memories will remind you That our love was meant to be Late at night when you call my name The only sound youll hear Is the sound of your voice calling Calling after me. Just throwing it all away Throwing it all away Theres nothing I can say Were throwing it all away Yes were throwing it all away... |
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Life has changed, drastically i might add. What's happened? Honestly I don't even know. It's weird having just about no girlfriends. None, zip. I have like one who i really talk to. I guess i just don't get along with girls. And it's hard to have guy friends, because well it just is. I've lost my best friend, I know it for sure at this point. She's completely different now at this point anyways. So much for building up relationships and trust. It seems like such a waste now. Now that i've seemed to have lost the most important people in my life. These are the years you look back on. The memories you make in high school.. are not ones i want to remember when I'm older. I don't want to graduate, but I can't wait to leave. I have no idea what I want to do with my life.. I don't want to go to college i really don't. It just feels like it will be highschool all over again. More bullshit. More heartbreak. Waste, a fucking waste. I try to get close with others. Then I just pull away. Farther and farther away I go. Off in oblivion. Take me away. The empty pages of our scrap book kill me. KILL ME. The memories we wont make, the memories we have made and are now nothing. I fucked up. Because of my stressful life I fucked it up. I'm so sick of fucking shit up. i know i making a bunch of mistakes as the days go by. Seriously. I've just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life in the past week. And for what? To feel something? What i would do to feel something. Take me away A million miles away from here Take me away Find a place for you and me You're taking me higher High as I could be Take me away Forever you and me Take me away Fin. |
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playwright
That's another matter, Brandy Alexander Feb 5th, 2008 9:08:25 pm - Subscribe
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| Love, and that's all. |
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playwright
What makes you forgettable Jan 30th, 2008 1:58:02 am - Subscribe
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So yeah, I've thought about you recently. I'm trying to be more careful with my love. Doling out tiny, measured bits to worthy strangers, shedding some feather-sized pieces to lay in the perfect corners nature makes, and saving the rest for myself. Except there's someone captured in my photographic brain that makes me want to free every last bit. I have the feeling that this sudden rush of happy feeling and artistic energy will be sewn and painted and written into new projects and plans, mapped-out dreams brought to fruition by a sudden, nameless motivation. All this wishing and waiting, and we were living in the trees all along. I feel so silly for not realizing it sooner, but then, there were so many veils obscuring my vision, so many hands blurring across my heart before. There's something about 2008. |
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phantasmic
lost Jan 10th, 2008 7:47:26 am - Subscribe
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Sometimes I feel lost. "Don't we all?" you might say. Well, I haven't felt this lost in a loooong time. For one thing, I'm blogging again. Christ. Do you ever feel like your world is being ripped apart for reasons unknown, perhaps the mere reality that the life you have isn't right and fate is trying to correct itself? That's my life at the moment. It sucks. Atypical of my OLD blogs, I'm just rambling off my thoughts rather than trying to be poetic about it. I realized awhile ago that I have trouble doing that, it is not something that comes naturally for me like some. Redirecting my thoughts here....My boyfriend's friend is going military, HUGE impact. Obviously. In addition...the BF is on really good terms with his ex, which makes me nervous because I know he still has feelings for her. In fact he actually admitted that to me a few hours ago. Yes, yes I know he explained it well enough and it's nothing like how I fear it is, but I'm still restless because of it. Just knowing that my "feelings" about things are once again becoming frighteningly accurate (no, it wasn't this event that triggered this thought, but did add to it) is unnerving to say the least. I had a minor anxiety attack today. Haven't had one in a few months I believe. What fun those are. Not. Hm. I suppose that's about it for now. About as "in your face" as I'll ever be. Think I might try to blog more frequently...I feel mildly better. |
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I gave you everything I had to offer. I was your "world", your "everything". We touched and became one. Love at first sight is an understatement. It feels like I'm dying is an understatement. I want everything back. I wish I was never your world. I want to be my own person again. When someone says the words, "You're so beautiful" it's an empty, hallow statement. It means nothing coming from anyone but you. You know me inside and out. You know my true beauty on the inside. It's hard for me to let go of that. It's hard for me to let go of you. |
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silentrain
Butterflies Sep 20th, 2007 11:48:17 pm - Subscribe
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You crush butterfly wings slowly beneath your fingertips the same way you did my heart. Speckles of light blue and white powder fall from your tainted hands onto the dull surface below our feet, sparkling for but a moment before a ghastly wind that caused a shiver to involuntarily crawl up my spine took them away to a place we couldn't even dream of reaching. You smile that simple grin that tells me that everything is going to be alright, even though my stomach burns in its very acids and knows that you are wrong. Still, I nod, my mouth unable to form the words I have practiced over and over again but have yet to say to anyone other than the darkness engulfing my bedside. "I- I-" More powder falls as another pair of wings meet their untimely death in your grip. This time, I watch their plummet into an unknown future, wishing that I could catch the wind just as they did, and float away without worrying which way I was going. My words lose themselves beneath the shrieking of the wind. "I- I-" You shrug this one off. It's nothing to you now; this killing of freedom. But that's because you don't know the truth- the severity of what you are doing to me. But even if you did know, would you continue to crush my wings? "I-I-" And so we say goodbye. |
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playwright
Bad luck Sep 5th, 2007 9:20:54 pm - Subscribe
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Is this a coincidence? I mean, come on. My Magic, Science & Religion course is quickly becoming my favorite class this semester. I had an assignment due yesterday morning which entailed reading three articles, all of them basically about different uses of and ideas about magic. We were also told to bring a magic item to class, a lucky charm or some such thing that we believed held some kind of power. I read two of the articles, and of course forgot to bring in something. Luckily (hahaha), I usually carry St. Christopher around with me, and when I got to class I dug around in my bag and found him in a pocket. Patron saint of safe travel, or as I often fondly call him, patron saint of the lost and weary. So, I got away with not being fully prepared for class. However, my boyfriend hasn't been so lucky these past few days. First, over the weekend, we went to a party at a friend's house, and he played a few rounds of Three Man and became quite intoxicated. Now, I have no problem with that on occasion, because he's not obnoxious or anything like that. However, when we got back to the apartment, something happened that can only be described as terribly unlucky. My boy must've tripped or stumbled over something, and he fell right through a door, headfirst. I swear, it was the loudest thing ever. When I went to check on him, he was passed out on the floor face down, which scared me to death. I turned him over, and after calling his name a few times and patting his face and his chest, he woke up, completely disoriented. He asked me where he was, what was going on, and wouldn't respond to what I said. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out again. At this point I was so upset I didn't know whether to call my mom or my best friend who was still at the party or 911, at the same time thinking that I should probably not leave him alone and that he needed to be awake. He was still confused the second time I woke him up, but a little more certain, and we decided he should get up and lie down on his bed. It was an ordeal getting there, and I was still so nervous that I wasn't sure what to do, and I was pretty sure I should call somebody, and I was almost to the point of tears, and I wanted my mom, but I really didn't want to freak him out and make things worse. So I put ice on his head and I just let him ramble on about how he was going to change the world, he was going to change things, things were going to change. And thank God he didn't pass out again because I already felt so useless for not being able to do anything. For the next few days, he had bad headaches and dizzy spells, and I still kept asking him if he was alright, if he thought he should go to the hospital, et cetera. He seemed to be doing better, so I let him say that he was alright, he didn't want to go, everything would be fine. I drove us to my mom's house to stay overnight, and when I told my mom about it she looked up head injuries in her medical book and said we should take him. When I told him, he said, no, no, I don't need to go, I'm fine. We just let him sleep, and gave him Ibuprofen, and his eyes weren't swelling up or turning purple like he said they would if he had a concussion, so I tried to stop worrying so much, even though that doesn't really work with me. Well, after he woke up from his nap, and before going to sleep for the night, he decided to go for a walk. It was about 12:30 AM. I was taking a bath when he told me he was going out, and I thought nothing of it, he probably just wanted to go out for a smoke and stretch his legs a bit, get some air, whatever. Well, my mom lives in an okay neighborhood, but if you go down the street one way, we're pretty close to a bad neighborhood. The kind you don't go taking walks in at night. Of course my boy goes the wrong way down our street and ends up there. Well, I got a call from him about five minutes before I got out of the tub, and, still thinking nothing of it, I took my time. Well, when I got his message I was just about hysterical with worry, and I started pacing up and down the stairs, all around the house. I even walked outside and then I sat on the step and tried to call him back. He didn't pick up. The message he left was something like, Eva, call me back when you get this, I really need you right now, I can't really talk, call me back please, bye. And I suddenly knew, and I felt so, so, so stupid. We got ahold of each other pretty soon, and he told me what had happened, and all I wanted was to see him and know that he was alright. The first thing he said was I got jumped, then I got beat up pretty bad, then I'm with the police right now. It was a long twenty or so minutes waiting for him to get home. He got punched in the face really hard, glasses bent out of shape, lens missing. For some unknown reason, he had decided to put his wallet in the car before walking, so he still had that, and his phone, which was on the inside of his coat. But the guy stole some money out of his front coat pocket, less than $100, but my boy has money problems as it is, so that's just another bit of the rent or car payment that he has to make up for and can't spend on groceries or gas. He said he had never run faster in his life, and he was surprised that he was able to run that far that fast, because he fills his lungs with tar. It made me feel so sad, not just that this thing happened, or that it happened on top of what had already happened a few nights before, but that it happened to my boyfriend, who has done nothing to really deserve such bad luck, except perhaps getting into a bit of debt, owing other people money, but even that doesn't seem like the type of thing that would cause such disastrous repercussions. He's still going to pay everyone back eventually. I've been taking care of him. I'm just waiting for some miracle to fall in my lap and relieve the stress I've been under. Besides all of these illogical mishaps, I've just started back at school and I'm already behind, I have a lot of work to do for my classes and I've been working a lot. I have a full schedule; I go to school four days and work three. I missed work on Sunday, so my paycheck is going to be weak this Friday, and I really don't want to run out of money again. I've been feeling like I'm running thin, being bled dry again. There's something weird about this time, though, and the time just before that; I know I've changed over the past two months or so, a lot, but I expected myself to have snapped by now, or to have exploded, and I haven't. For some reason, I'm just able to bear up under the strain, now. Everything has gotten easier, or if it hasn't, I've become stronger, or maybe just more adaptable. Whatever it is, I feel like life is so much better now, and I'm glad to be in it, and to have so many people and things that I love surrounding me. So much friendship. No matter how unlucky we can be, we always seem to make it out okay, together. I love that about us. I'm reminded, as I constantly am, of the quotes, "Not all those who wander are lost," and "Still your mind." Everything has got to be okay, eventually. Things have got to sort themselves out somehow. It's going to be hard for a little while, but hopefully, it'll start looking up. I have to believe that, or else I'm just going to curl up and disappear. And that never makes anyone feel better. |
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playwright
Sorry I Aug 29th, 2007 12:12:42 am - Subscribe
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missed your call. x The world is a dangerous place. So many people moving between each other, passing glances and never looking back. So many nameless faces with scraps of sentences attached to their memories, lost among so many others sewn upon the patchwork quilt that is the makeshift file cabinet of my subconscious, stretching out for miles in every direction. Dangerous and lovely. I have a feeling that my eyes are about to be astounded. Some beautiful, inevitable combination of colors will come to them and it will be the most perfect image that I have ever experienced, because behind it there will also be beauty, genuity. Those passing glances turned to smiles, your lips moving to speak. Acquaintances made friends. Things are so much better now. |
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playwright
Sometimes I'm Aug 28th, 2007 3:43:37 am - Subscribe
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the homeless man splayed drunk across the sidewalk, rambling life lessons in some angry new language, inventing stories as if it might stop someone on the street and hold them there, locked in momentary friendship. Spewing emotional bullshit with eyes wet and black, aglisten with the perfect orange of streetlamp glow, claiming to have reached some immaculate conclusion on the subject, but just full of shit. Just full of it, and sometimes I walk the dark streets of these neighborhoods alone, sucking in the night air like a last breath and wishing I could solve your life with the simple brush of hair against skin, or simple words that simply float out of my mouth, or a not-empty wallet. Worrying about worrying about things, too many things, two people who can and can't and will and will, will, will. x  Hello, little girl lost in halos, traipsing through fields of cinnamon and snow, Christmas tree gardens beginning to grow under your little feet, breathing in childhood memory. How many empty hearts will you follow? How many empty bottles will you swallow? The numbers you collect jangle like keys in your pocket, if only you would take them out and spend them on so many waiting doors. Janitor of burdens, let go of your rusting collections piece by ancient piece, quit your job, flee the country. x 
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silentrain
Wishing on fading stars... Aug 28th, 2007 1:38:16 am - Subscribe
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The moment my mother returned home from her first trip to Paris, she handed me a necklace. It was simple and elegant; a black band that held a beautiful silver star at the end of it. And the minute it joined the other two necklaces that rarely ever came off, I decided that it would be my wish necklace. I figured that, instead of buying a five dollar wish bracelet, this necklace would hold my greatest desires, hopes, and dreams. Its durability would insure that my ultimate wish would take a while to achieve, but eventually, the thread would have to break. That was over two years ago. The necklace has grown old with age since then, as now all the silver it once held has faded to the copper it was originally sculpted out of. The thick band that it once had is now nothing more than a thin thread with one chunk of it's former self threatening to dissolve on the left side. It no longer looks very stunning. In fact, most people probably think that the little star is quite ugly now, and might just pause for an one hundredth of a second to ponder why I decided to wear it in my senior picture. Today, my wish necklace broke. But not in the way I expected it to. The thread didn't snap, the star didn't fall off and get lost. The strange thing was, as I went to put it back on after a rejuvenating shower, I noticed that the clasp was gone. I freaked out, immediately searching through everything on the ground and by the sink with the speed and skill of a roller-coaster heading into the final loop. But all my searching was to no prevail. The little clasp must had fallen down the drain, or embedded itself deep in a corner, snickering at my futile attempts. After a while, I gave up, placing the now unwearable necklace up on my bulletin board so it would never get lost. It hit me then what this all meant. My wish necklace was broken. Which meant, just like the bracelet of the same name, my greatest wish was going to come true. Yes, I did smile at the innocent thought, even though reality was screaming at me for believing in something so childish. But I simply let out a sigh, touched the now empty space between my two other necklaces where the star had once laid and went on with my life. Did my wish come true, you ask? Well, we'll see. |
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RP #1 â€" Malcolm X Whoever said prison wasn’t a blessing for Malcolm X should rethink that. This man fought for peace, fought for racial justice, and he learned more in prison than he did from fighting. In prison, he discovered the power of words that he never would have known had he skipped that prison era in his life. It all started with a dictionary; it seems insane, but a dictionary led Malcolm X to a love of reading. I started reading when I was three, and I couldn’t imagine waiting any longer to begin my obsession with books. Like Malcolm X found out, reading opens a completely different world, one in which you can escape to when life becomes too intense. Malcolm X even said that he forgot about being imprisoned whenever he had a series of words to drag his eyes across. There have been many occasions in my life where I just wanted to close my eyes and disappear for a bit. I couldn’t do that, though, so I turned to reading and everything in my life seemed well again. If Malcolm X were alive, I’d let him known that I share his belief in the power of reading. |
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silentrain
Chipping away white paint. Aug 12th, 2007 6:25:38 am - Subscribe
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Today I realized that I had never looked at the ceiling of my parent's bathroom. It was grimy, I decided after a moment, finding that not one better word came to my fried mind. In one corner it was significantly darker than the rest of the already off-white speckled ceiling before it exploded in random sparkles all around the small, enclosed area. A coffee-like stain splashed in ripples over the mirror that had miraculously survived crashing into the porcelain sink- and succeeded in breaking the sink in two. I wondered for a moment if one of my parental units had stripped the ceiling bare without my knowledge, and what I was looking at was merely the remains of a once fantastically painted part of my house I had never discovered. Again, I thought of the strange patterns as some kind of story. But this one, I couldn't figure out the ending to... or if there even was one- or a beginning, for that matter. I still don't really know what possessed me to look up at the ceiling of all things tonight, and more so why I pondered over it for so long. The only logical reason embedded in my brain is that for such a period of time, I had always been looking down at my feet, or simply straight ahead. An article shone on my computer, talking about how scientists were working on a drug... some sort of procedure that would allow humans to get rid of memories they didn't want. I stood there for a moment, not being able to breathe; much like the reaction I got after watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Only this time, the futuristic procedure was becoming a reality. I wondered if those scientists had ever watched that movie and saw what could occur when one fools with the mind. I figured not. When life was breathed back into me, I felt angry. Here we were, stuck in the twenty-first century, and scientists were more worried about erasing memories than finding ways to stop the diseases that cause fragments of the mind to disappear forever. So, what would you rather have? The ability to erase every slightly bad memory that could teach you a lesson? Or the ability to stop your memories from erasing themselves without your consent before you find yourself unable to even remember your lover's name? Every time I opened my computer, I used to find a random desktop picture there, blaring something amusing. Until I switched off the randomosity factor. Now every time I open up my computer, I see the words 'Let Go!' in bold white lettering above a dead dandelion. And tonight, I looked up. Change. |
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playwright
Sweetened with pure cane sugar Jul 28th, 2007 10:02:42 pm - Subscribe
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Had I known you were going to holocaust me in a matter of minutes I would have finished that abandoned portrait of our love and filled in all of those tiny spaces with black paint. Instead I slowly turned in that trough of old feeling, thinking, this is leading to me walking off of the edge of a cliff. When I was three years old, and this might have been a dream, my parents took me to a beautiful park and we hiked across the top of a waterfall. We looked down from a tiny perch of jutting rock and I was so afraid to die, but they promised not to let me fall, and I trusted them with my life. Once in high school I burned a wide line of purple on my left arm with an iron. I distinctly recall not reacting fast enough, that moment when I knew I was stupidly causing myself injury, but was unable to immediately stop the cause due to lazy gross motor skills. Today I reacted far quicker, though my wound looks somewhat dire. It fascinates me how I manage to cover myself in angry bruises and puffy red scratches. For every scab or sunken purple mark that gradually fades to a more acceptable color of skin, a new dent appears somewhere. My body could tell stories. You're head over heels, obsessed. I can't take you on, I can't add you to a list of names, I don't want you on my plate, I am lonely, leave me alone. Your company was beautiful until you ruined it, and now I just want to shut you out of all my windows and doors and sleep you away with medicine. Come back to the person that you were. I felt something pure. It stamped its feet on my chest with such volume and shook me, shook me up all frightened and furious and filled my head with fire. And it was ugly, and it was mad, and when it left I felt brutally cleansed or robbed as if that thing which shouted such vulgar poetry inside me had erased a memory, scrubbed some written-upon part of me clean, and the remaining impossibility just lingered like a cloud of ash over the world, stinging my eyes with realization and the inevitable misery that follows. You never showed me that poem that you wrote. |
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playwright
Strawberry water Jul 20th, 2007 10:11:47 pm - Subscribe
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Cars flash by, peeking in through the windows with childlike, wildflower-like eyes. Sugar pours down my throat. My pink brain is coated with laughter soft like an electric blanket, with hazy field people and cold, spilled water. I don't wanna live through winter. I can't stand to see everything ending. Summer covers the water under the bridge in algae. The remnants of life show their bones. A park bench, chairs, a construction sign. Angels walk by and say their hellos. They stare at me, dangling my legs over the edge, sucking on a cigarette, staring down from the middle of nowhere, my favorite place in the universe. Knowing I wasn't going to die. I decided it was a stupid idea. The world collapses and rebuilds itself around me. I can do nothing but watch. |
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playwright
Short stories Jul 12th, 2007 10:16:47 pm - Subscribe
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Where did the storm go? Now, the sky looks kinda blue. We can't decide what kind of weather we want. It's too hot in the attic, but she can't sleep with the fan on. I can't stop putting things in my mouth; I need something to fill it. I'm singing because it's too silent. Everyone is sleeping, or reading books. |
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Yessssssss, life is still amazingly great. Roger Waters today, which will be amazingly great as well. Blog fin. You've changed my life already. |
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playwright
Hah! Jul 12th, 2007 4:05:59 am - Subscribe
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I wrote today. I'm writing. I can write. |
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silentrain
The broken clock on the wall screamed for change. Jul 10th, 2007 4:55:51 am - Subscribe
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Trapped. That's where you want me. Trapped between two pieces of soundproof glass so when you poke and taunt my every fiber, you can't hear my retaliation. As I pound on the sleek substance, crimson trickles down like silent rain as my mouth moves wildly, but soon even my ears have lost the point of battling with tired words. You're laughing. I can tell, but I can't understand why. Nothing to see; nothing to lose, so I blind my eyes. Silence. In my mind, I'm screaming so loud that my ears are bleeding and deaf, but outside I can't bring myself to utter a squeak. Perhaps that's for the best. Bite the tongue that would like to sting, and save yourself the trouble of explaining; save others the trouble of yelling at you. Allow your heart to melt with reality, and soon it's no longer such a monumental deal. Disintegrate. She's getting weaker everyday; the doctors are waiting to tell the truth. We hold our breath for the reply- but will we want to hear it in the end? "Keep positive. That's all we can do." So we keep secrets from the ones we love, from the ones who raised us and taught us left from right so we don't hurt them or worry them more. Helping or hurting? I know you'd have the answer, but you're still laughing. Nothing. Now you have a crowd. They're all pointing at me, smirking and throwing insults like bullets in a war with no purpose. But my dictionary is gone. So all I can do is stare with muted eyes. The police flooded the streets that night. She loved him, he loves her, but the human mind can only take so much drama. Men fiddled with their weapons of war as though they were made of plastic and fired blanks as the people only watched the chaos unfold with curious eyes. It is a movie, right? This can't happen in every day life. Nothing like this ever happens here. I'm silent now, as you watch me with a smirk. Isolated from the rest of the world, every soul who walks right through my clear prison takes a part of me with them inconspicuously. Their voices evaporate into the very core of my mind when they pass, each carrying a unique, lush sound that allows my brain to sort them into files labeled with various memories of my past like some sort of super computer. Now they are a part of me, and I am of them. And with each passing second they are a little less free, and I am a little less trapped. Your triumphant grin is gone now, as you're frantically trying to talk to me with disquiet embedded in your eyes. Apparently, something in your plan has gone wrong. Apparently, you never planned that your heart would get involved. I can barely make out the sound that your mouth is producing now, as I fall deeper into the lives of others. "... ea... sp... ak... sp...eak!" Speak. But all words lose their meaning when they're coming out of my mouth. |