unknown titles

Contest!

2010-04-20T08:28:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't actually used my blog in forever. But! There's a contest going on by some great people on Twitter that I had to participate in. There's this T-SHIRT that I absolutely adore. So I'm all *grabby-hands* and getting myself entries for the drawing. I'm graduating in two weeks with a Bachelor's in English, so this is all too fitting. Plus it's a great joke among writers and friends. =] I've also posted it below for viewing pleasure:

winning over madness

2010-01-14T17:21:00.000-08:00

I've sat down in front of this blank box quite a few times over the week but am feeling rather uninspired. Maybe it's how exhausting this week has been. Writer's block is terrible when you need to write the most. I'm not down in the dumps, per se. I'm just non-enthused. The tired little routines I'm not too keen on having to go through again. Actually, I think they call it senioritis. Better nip that one in the butt soon.

On another note - why is it that any time you are having a bad day, the world seems to have some sort of supersonic radar that picks you out and focuses on you? Everything that could possibly go wrong will. Even a random van tried to run me off the road. It's like MTV's Boiling Points - but real life.

That's pretty much been my week up until today. Today was like my $100 cash reward for not going postal after three days of crap. Yay me.

English > Math

2010-01-12T11:32:00.000-08:00

Well, it's my last first week of a new semester. It's extremely odd, a tad bittersweet, but mostly nerve-racking. In May, I will be graduating with a Bachelor's in English Literature. Yes, I spent 4 years for a degree that allows me to not just read good but read well. Sometimes I think it was an idiotic choice of a degree, but I considerably weighed my options. Dance education was an automatic out thanks to the wonderful discs in my spine. But that's another story.

I also considered psychology. Criminal psychology. I researched a lot of famous murders and murderers in my spare time - just for kicks. I found it all interesting - how twisted a mind can work. What people can make themselves believe. It's a pretty amazing thing.

Anything math or science related were definite negatives, however, for my mind is seriously a bit slow on the understanding of numbers. My comfort zone has always been English. There's certainly nothing wrong with keeping with your comfort zone. Anyone that says otherwise is a liar. The secret is to push the boundaries of your comfort zone rather than struggle through a different zone entirely. I could work hard and attempt to be an engineer, but I would most likely fail. That seems unfair to not give myself the chance, but I also know my strengths and weaknesses. And I ultimately would be very unhappy with such a choice. So therein lies my decision to stick with English. Though I just simply can't get enough of the "Oh, English? So you're going to be a teacher." No. No. No. Miss Editor, if you please.

In all reality, I still haven't settled completely on what I want to do post-college. One of my top and main ambitions is to be a literary agent. Also on the list is editor. Or travel writer. Or novelist. At least it's all in the same realm of interest, I suppose. And I at least come away with knowing the difference between "to" and too" as well as "they're" and "their". There's an accomplishment for ya. On the bright side, I should have a great internship in DC waiting for me when I graduate. Doing editing. Extremely excited and nervous about that. I get to live with my grandma, who I somehow have had a rocky past couple years with, and get to possibly do editing for a government branch (details still in the air). It's going to be hard to leave Justin for 6 weeks, I've gotta say... we've done the long distance thing before, but we've also lived with each other for the past couple years now without being separated. However, he'll be getting ready to go to college again for his degree in programming and design. We both are pretty happy about the future, to say the least.

Now all I have to do is get through this semester and graduate.

Short and sweet

2010-01-03T23:34:00.000-08:00

Well, here's to a new year.

Graduation, wedding plans, internships... this one is going to be a doozy. But I can't wait.

Chaotic Beauty

2009-12-23T08:30:00.003-08:00

Chaotic voices blending in fusion; igniting

Words that rise and create moments.

Pictures of framed memories – marking the

Confusions of today – embraced hands

Break apart, hearts ache with loss and despair,

Pain becomes a quiet normalcy – accepted yet

Misunderstood. Riddles of life and forced laughter

Bear witness to aftershocks. Mushroom clouds

Reach upwards as resonating confusions blend

Into blinding colors that are unable to be held

Or felt. Like emotions, often unable to be defined,

Clouds of flame match the frustrated tears that

Run down the faces of those left behind.

Rising from the ashes, wings pound fire, scream power.

Unchained resolutions caused by realizations of

Movement forward. Leaving behind grief for the

Closure of the living – progression is truly made with

Tears interchanged for lasting smiles of comfort.

Simplicity found despite the complex voices

Of hate, revealing a love that rises above.

Quiet comforts of finding the good amidst the evil,

Eyes watching with unrelenting hope as the infamous

Darkness rests, unable to wake against such painful beauty.

Admitting Loneliness (Spring 2009)

2009-12-23T08:28:00.000-08:00

Loneliness rolls over onto its wounded side

As pictures of failed friendships and faded

Relationships sink in the back of the mind.

With every step taken, a face fades into the backdrop.

Living life in snapshots, toss the negatives aside

And forget about all the laughs, all the moments

Between hearts, all the embraces that you once shared.

Where memory lacks, regret crawls into focus

Becoming a visible bed neglected to be made.

The sun begins to rotate and throw the balance

Of black and white into a distant grey.

With this knowledge, there comes understanding

That in the end, we still have our shadows.

The Beast

2009-12-22T19:45:00.000-08:00

The curls of a young freckled eight year old boy could be seen weaving through the crowd alone. Occasionally, he would pause, look around as if interested in the surrounding rides, and then continue trekking. He seemed to have a destination in mind, completely confident in his miniature stride despite the lack of chaperone. He had broken away from his mother and father’s hold only moments ago, unrelenting in his search for adventure. He wouldn’t be able to find what he was looking for if he was being continuously pulled along by his parents. They couldn’t possibly understand the importance of his mission.

Finally, his electric blue eyes locked onto the one: the giant of the park. It rose above the gates that could only hope to contain it. It had several arms, all bulging with dangerous fervor, and its torso moved with malicious intent. Andy braced himself against the rising nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach. This was it. The fight he had sought out. He would conquer this beast. Andy watched as its mechanical arms swung dangerously around with children clenched in its grip. He could hear the desperate screams emerging from the kids, confirming his thought that he was their only hope of survival.

He pushed his tiny legs to full speed as he ran up to the entrance of the beast’s lair, heart pumping wildly with the mounting adrenaline. Andy knew that time was precious and every little second counted. His eyes never released the monster from his gaze as he prepared himself for the battle. The beast paused as though it were meeting Andy’s gaze as Andy arrived at the front of the lair. Slowly reacting to the increasing tension, the monster let go of the other children. In doing so, Andy realized that this fight would be between him and the beast, alone. The creature unleashed creaks and groans as the children ran off, smiling and laughing with their new-found freedom. It was time.

A hand pushed Andy back gently as soon as he had started the move forward. Andy turned his gaze towards the heavily-armored man standing before him. Was this man here for the fight, too? Andy mused that he probably wanted all of the glory.

“Sorry little guy,” the warrior gestured to a pole next to him. “You’re not tall enough.” The man’s armor began to melt away into faded, worn clothing before Andy’s eyes. The face-gear lifted to reveal a bored expression with tired eyes that watched Andy like only a carny could.

Andy turned away from the man back towards the creature he had come to slay. The sharp claws and menacing teeth gave way to worn seats and safety bars. The beast slowly transformed into nothing more than another amusement park ride. Children were no longer distressed but excited. And they, at least, were tall enough.

Andy looked up at the ride as disappointment began its rise in his stomach. He watched as other children ran past him, probably imagining themselves conquering the beast – his beast. He turned and walked dejectedly away to find his parents. There were other monsters to be slain. And he would find them.

A Plan to See the Ocean

2009-12-22T19:17:00.000-08:00

“One, two, three, and a nickel makes eight,” the girl muttered to herself as she ran her small hands around the cylinder of the dryer. Satisfied there was nothing left, she backed out and slammed the door with a distinct ‘clunk’ before moving on to the next machine. She could feel the owner’s eyes on her back but didn’t feel the need to face him. He wouldn’t say anything to her – any small child digging for change in obscure places, particularly without a parent in sight, wouldn’t find much trouble. Perhaps a few questions but rarely any scolding. The sympathy strand thickens in almost anyone once they take in the situation at hand. Perhaps she was hungry, needed a new pair of shoes, or even a newspaper to help keep her dry. Surprisingly few people take much initiative in fear of doing something wrong.

Dani’s mother was proud of her little entrepreneur. Her intuition to pick up on other’s emotions was a trait her mother had fine-tuned as Dani got older. Pretending to be the lost kid in the supermarket, crying on cue as a distraction – things Dani had under her belt by the tender age of eight. Old enough to understand what she was doing but not old enough for others to see through her.

Dani finished searching the rest of the dryers and washing machines for change and headed towards the door, a fist clenching the small coins.

“Hey,” a gruff voice spoke from behind her.

Dani tentatively turned, facing the owner.

He bent down to her level and smiled, flashing his overly white teeth at her, “Would you like some icecream?”

Dani slowly shook her head, her tangled brown locks falling forward into her face. Her eyes automatically looked down at her dirty shoes that had effectively lost their laces, making them appear too large for her.

The man reached out and gently grasped her other hand, placing a five into it. “Well, if you change your mind. Or for whatever else you’d like, little miss.” He smiled again and stood, feeling satisfied with his good deed of the day.

Dani smiled crookedly in return, clutching both fists to her chest, “Thank-you, sir.” She spoke softly and backed away a couple steps before turning to leave. The door clang shut behind her, and Dani couldn’t help but feel a small accomplishment. She helped her mother often in the same sort of situations, though they really didn’t live that poorly. For every day affairs, Dani had more than one pair of shoes – each with shoelaces. The pair she wore today were called her working shoes.

She walked up to her mother’s Nissan Maxima parked a couple spaces down and climbed into the back. Her mother turned in the driver’s seat to look at her, lifting up her sunglasses to reveal the bright green eyes that always made everything they did seem exciting. “How’d it go, honey?”

Dani held up the money and smiled, “Only a little bit more until we get to go, right Momma?”

Her mother nodded with a small smile of pride, “That’s right.”

Shadow

2009-12-17T21:00:00.000-08:00

Haley stretched her legs out in front of her haphazardly and leaned back onto her elbows. Scattered about her were yellow post it notes with little phrases, quips, and words that jumped out at her while she read. What used to be a study habit in high school had turned into an obsession by college. Her beige carpet had been lost to the waves of yellow and ink about an hour ago, but she had run out of post-its.

She ruffled through the pages to her left with thin fingers, plucking a few up at random, analyzed them, and tossed them. Vision. Pursuit. Malleable. None of the papers were really all that meaningful, but it didn’t matter. Now that her floor had disappeared, her body had begun to feel cramped from the bent position of writing. Standing up, she kicked through the sheets, sending them fluttering like crisp leaves. Maybe she’d make enough to jump in, like when she was little. She smirked.

Haley tossed her long hair over her shoulder, feeling the weight shift to her back. She paused and glanced at herself in the full-length mirror hanging on her door, evaluating the brown locks that almost reached her hips. She had a small physique, her hair acting as the biggest part of her. She pulled at a few strands, glancing down at the edges before tossing them back over her shoulder. She licked her dry lips as she thought of a haircut and walked towards her own reflection, opening the door to the rest of her cramped apartment.

“Damn it, Hales,” Mark threw a glance over at his passenger. “What is it this time?”

Haley propped a leg up on the dashboard in front of her, “Don’t get defensive. I was just saying that we should do something.”

“You’re always bored.”

Haley’s eyes flashed, “No. I’m not.”

Mark sighed, turning into his neighborhood, “Right.”

She turned her body more towards him, sitting awkwardly in the worn seat, “Why do you say that? Like that.”

Without bothering to look at her, Mark responded, “Like what? You’re just always bored. I cannot come up with nearly enough ideas to keep you entertained.” He shrugged, “There could be some days where we do nothing but enjoy each other’s company.”

Haley furrowed her brow, “I do enjoy your company.”

Mark instinctively drove on past his house, knowing she didn’t want to stop there. “Okay, I’ll pretend to believe that.”

“You’re being an ass.”

“Sorry.”

Silence followed as Haley turned her eyes out the window, propping her chin in the cup of her hand. She didn’t really care where Mark was taking her. She watched as her view seemed to fast forward as Mark headed back out of the neighborhood, pressing more heavily into the gas petal as he breached the main road of their little town. She closed her eyes, counted for a moment, and tried to guess where they’d be when she opened her eyes again.

“So can I ask you a question?”

Haley opened her eyes to see that her guess had been off by a restaurant. Her gaze wandered back towards Mark, “Do you want an actual answer to that?” She smiled prettily.

Mark eyed her briefly, “Funny. But seriously. You’ve bought a million packs of post-its this weekend. What project are you working on this time?”

Haley jumped in her seat, bringing her leg down from the dashboard. “That reminds me! I need to go to the store.” She grabbed her purse from the floorboard and began rummaging through leaflets that had made her company. Anxiety.

“Really, Hales? You have them with you?”

Haley glanced up before continuing her search for a pen, “These are old. I need new ones.” Finding one at the bottom crevices of an overly-large purse, she held it up and smiled at him. “Please?”

Mark shook his head and shrugged, “Why not. But what are you writing on all of them? Your own personal dictionary?”

Haley plucked a random sheet from the top of her purse and turned it over to the blank side, writing a single word and sticking it to Mark’s shoulder. “You could say that.”

Mark pulled the post-it from his shirt and glanced down at it as he waited for the light to turn. “Burn? All the words that simple?”

“Flip it over.”

Mark did so and smirked as he looked at the three letter word pet name, if one could call it that, scribbled neatly across the yellow, “Ass.”

Haley grabbed the sheet from his hand and stuck it back into her purse, “Simple can still say a lot.”

Mark rolled his eyes as Haley pulled her legs up into the seat with her. The streets rushed by under her surveillance – small neighborhoods with obscure names, houses with cheesy lawn ornaments, and home-made mailboxes, all blending together as Mark drove on towards a nearby Wal-Mart. Family-owned diners sat next to chain restaurants and horses roamed in the fences built in front of suburban homes. The town Haley had grown up in was steadily expanding, creating an odd mixture of old and new. Haley glanced down at the purse still sitting open in her lap. Blanch and Pervasive sat on top, guarding other personal items like a once red wallet and a scratched personal mirror. Buried at the bottom were Pilgrimage, Cope, and Desensitize, crunched up balls of ink that had been stuffed into her purse in the beginnings of the post-it phase. Haley zipped her purse and rested her arms across it as Mark pulled into the parking lot.

Haley flipped a page in her scrapbook and paused on a photo of her mother holding her as a child, a lopsided grin mirrored on both of their faces, “Think I still look like her?”

Mark turned his head to view the picture better, “Just like her.”

“It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

“How old would she have been?”

“Forty-eight,” Haley flipped to another page. Justify.

“You doing anything this year?”

Haley looked up, “Would that be weird?”

Mark shrugged, “Is it weird for you?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not weird.”

“Okay,” Haley smiled wistfully, bending forward to write beneath the pictures on the page. Memory. “I’m thinking about writing her a letter. I used to after she first died. My aunt would tell me that God would make sure His angels got their letters. Even though it’s bullshit, I haven’t done it in a while.”

She flipped to the next page, eyeing an awkward photo of her in middle school, braces glaring in the bright sunlight of the picture. Exclusion. She winced and laughed, “God, we were so ugly.”

Mark shook his head with a smirk, “I was not. I was always a beautiful kid.”

Haley pointed at his slumped stature that still towered next to hers in the picture, “This begs to differ, sir.”

Mark grinned, “We’re all allowed a bad picture once in a while.”

Haley shrugged, “So what do you think? About the letter.”

“If you want to. What are you going to do with it – take it to her grave or something?” Mark glanced around Haley’s room as she continued flipping through her scrapbook, eyeing the piles of post-its that had accumulated around their small sitting area. Posters of actors like Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt cluttered her walls with their airbrushed faces, and a calendar hung a few months behind.

“I guess so. There’s just a lot I want to tell her. And praying makes me feel stupid, like I’m talking to myself.”

“Then go for it. Is that what all these post-its are for?”

Haley shook her head, “No. I don’t really know what these are about. Just picking out words I like, I guess.”

“You’re a special kid.”

Haley laughed, “You could say that.” She turned her attention to the pile she had shoved into a corner earlier. Levity. Syllogism. “I just want to understand things better. Some of the words I know, some I don’t. Some have just certain connotations that are interesting.” She looked back at Mark, his brown eyes never wavering. “My mom once told me that attention to detail is what helps us survive. Anyone can survive accidently.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. I think it mostly means to be active in your life. You know, don’t let life do all the work for you. People can go their whole lives without truly living it,” Haley leaned back onto her hands, scratching slowly at the carpet.

“Yea, I guess that makes sense.”

Haley looked up at the ceiling fan that was turning at its lowest setting above her and sighed, “She’d say a lot of things that didn’t make sense at the time.” She looked back at Mark, “Now I’m trying to remember it all.”

Haley leaned against the gravestone, her arm draping over the engraved name. In her other hand, she loosely held an envelope that was marked to match the engraving in the deep gray stone. Haley watched the breeze gently urging the branches of surrounding trees as she turned the envelope in slow circles between her fingers. She glanced down at the worn grass where she often sat, the blades yellowed and flat in a perfect circle, before turning her gaze back out in front of her. The clouds hung loose and grey, lined in white, casting the sky in layers. She let the letter drop. Systematic.

She used to go around reading other people’s letters addressed to the deceased. Sometimes she’d try to guess how they died – old age, disease, accident. Little games of postmortem clue. She would also let others guess how her own mother died. She’d have fun revealing the different stories, elaborating on some while being vague on others. Once she convinced a childhood friend that her mother had gone skydiving and splattered into the pavement. When her father got wind of it, however, Haley stopped. It was the only time her father ever scolded her, citing that her mother’s death wasn’t a joke – making up stories wasn’t going to change anything. That was before he dropped her off at her aunt’s.

Her mother had tried to make everything into a game to amuse Haley. Pretty soon, Haley’s life was consumed by little projects, little games. When her mother died, her habit grew to include even the most miniscule. At work, she had turned counting the register into a game of “guess how many” like the little jars of jelly beans at school fairs. She had gotten good at the little things that didn’t seem to matter much.

Haley straightened and patted the top of the stone, almost in sympathy before letting her hand rest for a lingering moment, feeling the heat that met her hand.

She moved along to other gravestones, reading over the familiar names and dates. Mrs. Bates had died thirty years ago – her daughter cited cancer in one of her letters, Haley remembered. Haley had guessed car accident before that. Mr. Palmer was a newbie, arriving only a few months ago. His happened to actually be a car accident. Haley stopped at Mr. Lightbody’s and stared at the crisp envelope addressed to him as though the plot were his official address. She read the dates carved into his personal mailbox of sorts and figured it must have been old age. She picked up the envelope and saw that it was sealed. As though it mattered. Haley never bothered to seal hers. She dropped it face down and moved on. Indignation.

The graveyard was nestled in the middle of nowhere, between Haley’s small town and another’s. It was fairly new – taken care of, spacious and open, with bright trimmed grass. There was a hugely ornamented sign as though the towns were proud to have such a nice resort for the dead. Haley could see the road from where she was standing, small cars cruising silently over the hill in either direction. It was as though the cemetery had invisible soundproof walls built around it. Although the road was in plain sight, Haley felt completely separated from it and the people it carried.

Haley came up behind Mark, wrapping her arms around his waist with a little squeeze as he turned.

“Hey you. Where’ve you been?” He leaned down to quickly kiss her with a small smile.

“Just driving around, doing some thinking.”

Mark gently rested his hands on her hips and watched her eyes avoid his, “What about?”

Haley shrugged and pulled away, “Just stuff. You ready to go?”

Mark glanced around his room, the old Batman posters still lingering, standing in opposition to the newest Joker, citing his progress in age. “Sure, I guess. Where are we going?”

Haley turned away from him and began leaving the room, speaking over her shoulder, “Mom’s.”

Mark sighed, resisting frustration. Haley had been playing detective for years, refusing to believe what she had been told. They used to say it was all part of the healing process, to linger in disbelief. However, he always thought of Haley as an extreme person. Even in her grief. Mark acted as her opposite, a magnetic positive to her negative. He tagged along when no one else would, when her imagination ran at its wildest.

Haley gripped the steering wheel, eyes locked with the front door of the house that she had once shared with her mother. The door that had been smashed through, the window that had been broken in the escape. The chairs left askew in haste. The mess left behind with a hint of ash and smoke haunting the hallways. Things like what happened to Haley’s mother didn’t happen too often in such a quiet neighborhood. Feeling safe had been taken for granted.

“Hales?”

Haley’s eyes never left the house as she spoke, “I’m fine.”

Mark reached over and placed a gentle hand on her thigh, “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

Haley blinked and tried to see the house for what it was.

“There was nothing that you could have done. You were a kid.”

She leaned forward and rested her chin on the steering wheel, watching the trees play against the aged boarding of the home. Mark was patient with her, repeating the old phrases of comfort every time she found herself looking back. She hardly listened to him anymore but still needed the familiar hand that kept her grounded. “I know.”

There was a pause. A sigh. “You sure?”

Haley licked her lips, quenching them. “Yes Mark.”

She could feel the air tense in the small car, but she refused to look at him. She figured one of these days he’d give up.

“Haley.”

Haley closed her eyes, shutting out the images in front of her. He didn’t see what she saw in her mind. Haley knew he wasn’t going to visit this place anymore. He saw it for what it was.

Haley sat with her legs dangling though the tire, holding onto the tired rope that held her light weight. She leaned back slightly and looked up at the sunlight peeking through the leaves, exploring the tree with careful bronze fingers of light.

“Haley!”

Haley swung her legs to turn the tire to face the front door. Her mother stood, red-silhouetted in the door frame, “Come in for lunch.”

The younger Haley carefully pulled herself out of the swing, imagining she was an explorer discovering a mystery land with mystery people. She tread carefully across the lawn of the village woman that had invited Haley to her home, grateful for a meal after her long day of climbing and traveling. Once she reached the woman, Haley evaluated the woman’s deep-set eyes that watched her in return, the blue irises beaming against her rosy cheeks. The woman smiled, half her face shaded by the door she held open for Haley. Haley paused before stepping through the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the change.

She felt the warm touch on her shoulder and looked up at her mother. She looked back into the weavings of her old home as she remembered it as a child. It was small and connected, littered with pictures and clocks, defined by colorful walls. The sunlight streamed through the cracks of the curtained windows, casting lines that bent at angles against the corners. A portrait faced the window and a beam stretched across her mother’s painted face, leaving the rest of the family in the shade.

She took in a small breath and smelt the damp ash for the first time. The hand on her shoulder burned in urgency as Haley stood defiantly in the doorway. She watched as the cackle rang in her ears as color dulled and captured memories began to melt. What Haley had always ignored pressed upon her senses – her ears felt the alarms’ reverberations, her nose recoiled as smoke reached it, and her eyes squinted in response to the bright flames. Her lungs felt tight and her heart raced with the primal instinct to escape. She could feel her body struggling to take deep breaths in pursuit of fleeting calmness.

Turning away from the overwhelming heat, she closed her eyes against the images overloading her senses. Everything began to evaporate slowly, cooling the air around her and loosening its grip on her chest. The immense ringing in her ears faded as the silence of her car replaced it. She suddenly became aware of her hands gripping the worn steering wheel and Mark’s hand pulled away from her thigh. She finally opened her eyes again, brought harshly back to the present. Haley could hear Mark’s quiet breathing without looking at him and knew better than to meet his gaze. Unblinking, she dropped her hands into her lap. Resignation.

2009-09-07T16:18:00.000-07:00

I haven't written a true blog in God knows how long. And by true blog, I mean something other than my slightly creative proses. But.. I have had a lot going on in my life recently that I feel the need to resort back to writing it out to sort through it all. So here's to shaking off the rusty blogging skills.

I guess I'll start with my summer. It was rough. I've had many many stresses in life so far, some down times, some anxious times, etc... but this summer had to have been one of the hardest I've been through. Not having a job set me way back. Constantly feeling restless does not do well for my mind. And constantly knowing that my financial hole is only getting deeper... well, that doesn't help. I wouldn't say I'm in the clear yet, but I have more of a safety net now than I did then. Plus, I'm working now... so although the turn around is slow, it's happening. Summer hasn't been easy for me since some time in high school, anyway. But we just have to take our misfortunes and only allow them to make us stronger. No matter how much I know that, it's never an easy task. But it gets a little better every time.

Summer was surreal in some ways, as well. Took a chance with a couple people of my recent past. It almost turned out well. I guess I'll leave it at that.

I did have an accident once... a bad one. I'm not too thrilled about it, but all I can do is work harder against the next time. It's always building and sometimes I wonder if I'll ever not feel that pressure. There are times when the longer the space in between the accidents are, the more pressure I feel. Other times, it's easier. I guess it depends on my mind. That's the tricky part.

I'm enjoying my classes, though it's a lot of work this semester. I've been trying to come up with a concept for my fiction workshop. I'm slowly piecing some ideas together... just need to start writing it out. I'm always anxious but excited when I take these workshops. My other classes are interesting, and I love them. So that makes the workload bearable, at least.

I got my first big tattoo. I felt I deserved a little treat. It's actually only partly finished because I want to add a quote to it later. One, I don't have the money for the quote yet and two, I want to think more on that part of it. But anyways, for the part I did get... a writing quill and an inkpot. I'm in love with it. Ozzy did an amazing job with the shading and detail. Tattoos are almost like an alternative to "accidents" for me. And because of my recent slip, it meant that much more to me. I had been wanting something to incorporate my absolute love and fascination with literature, writing, and language for a while.. and finally, it clicked. I got it on my right side/back. It hurt like hell. Most painful tattoo I've gotten.. obviously because it went over my ribcage. But it's worth it. It's beautiful. I can't wait to have the quill writing out the quote... I've been leaning towards something John Cheever wrote in one of his short stories: "Fiction is art and art is the triumph over chaos." Summarizes many things for me. But we'll see.

Justin proposed to me this weekend. So I am officially engaged.. and I couldn't be more happy. We have been through so much, and I don't think there is anyone more perfect for me. We accept each other for who we are rather than who we want each other to be. Through our experiences, we have only come closer together which, to me, feels like an amazing feat. Others aren't so lucky. At times, we obviously weren't sure if we'd make it, but we dealt with the issues.. and only reaffirmed how we wanted to make what we have work and last. We fell in love with each other all over again, and I didn't really think that could happen until it did... He was sneaky and got my parents' permission before asking me, making it that much more wonderful... even my dad haha. I called them with the news yesterday, and they both are really happy. So that makes me happy. We've decided to wait to start planning until I'm pretty much done with my senior year so that I can properly deal with both.

I'm still dealing with back/leg pain. I don't know when that will get better or how. I don't really have the funds for something like surgery or more doctor appointments at the moment. I have my good days and my bad days. Last week, I didn't make it to my last class of the day because I simply couldn't sit anymore (I had already been to three classes)... walking was even hard. So Justin came and picked me up.. I even left my car on campus. Hopefully I won't have too many days like that, but I know that's wishful thinking.

(Dis)Satisfied

2009-07-10T00:34:00.000-07:00

Unsatisfactory.

A promise that cannot be kept - only told to ease young hearts into the beginnings of love.

A heart we feel we cannot mend - only to realize that the first heartbreak is never the end.

Sometimes reality comes harshly, tasting stale -

Lingering bitterly.

Love with everything, and give 'til there's nothing.

Someone will always be hurt, angry, or yearning.

They never teach you in grade school the harshest

Of lessons. You may never give up and always try,

But you may never be satisfied.

Writer's Block

2009-01-06T16:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the writer struggles because things are going too well. In the worst wounds, the longest sessions of tears, and the hardest struggles, the writer dwells in his or her own emotions, as scattered and nonsensical they may be, in order to find clarity. What is there to make coherence of if life is moving along simply or even easily? The writer seems to search out pain in order to put pen to paper. A self-deprecating cycle is needed to create anything worthwhile -- and even then, is there meaning? The paradox of the so-called tortured artist is that the artist is doomed to be unhappy if he wants to continue doing what he loves. Irony is the artist's life. Irony is what the artist creates and lives by -- it is the rule in which the artist breathes and survives. When happiness conquers the pain, the writing becomes thin and sparse. The writer no longer needs the writing to make sense of life. The writer is no longer -- simply a happy soul.

A Lesson on Trust

2008-12-04T19:12:00.000-08:00

Pretentious voices of friendship and love
Reek as they circle and embrace with lies --
Encumbering one to believe, to trust.

They say, "It comes around again,"
They say. I lose interest in the bend
Of the feigned.

Temporarily lended opportunity --
Wasted for a risk, for instability.
Hearts play.

They say, "It comes around again,"
They say. Trust does not stall nor
Does it exploit.

Lesson exhibited, lesson learned.

Metaphorically Speaking.

2008-10-17T17:22:00.000-07:00

It's easy to walk away when you simply shove investments and relationships into a small, undignified corner of your life. You forget they are there, like little pieces of dirty laundry that you never cared to wash and hang up to dry. Saving face is much different when forced to face your own self. Metaphorically speaking, of course. That corner contains every mistake, every regret, and every person you ever turned your back on. The dust collects and only stirs when more is added to the pile of emptied memories. So forgotten that you can hardly distinguish one book of regret from another. Maybe that is okay with you, as you throw another addition onto the pile blindly. Maybe you don't feel the added weight, the way your lungs protest when you breathe. Maybe one day you never will. Maybe that is just who you are. Maybe that is all you will be -- a book of regret stuffed in a corner that I, too, will never return to. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Whatever.

2008-10-12T02:15:00.000-07:00

Screw you.
Screw her.
Screw it all.

Play your games as though the winnings are simply yours for the taking. Gamble it all. Gamble me. Let's see how long your luck will run. I guarantee it won't be long.

I wait. I fade.

2008-10-09T09:28:00.000-07:00

I wait.

I fade.

Smiles drawn onto paper --

A false sense of security

With the heart stripped

Down.

I love, I live, I love.

I hurt, I die, I hurt.

A cycle; my cycle --

Come around again.

I fade.

I wait.

Love grips me tight.

I'm unable, too unstable

To leave you behind.

I find comfort here.

But is it real?

I'm invisible; I'm not here.

The irony, too much to bear.

I wait.

I fade.

Building with silent words,

Manifesting into emotion.

Left bare in the wind,

Where will I go?

Quiet understanding;

Hearts collide.

Will you be okay?

Beauty in pain --

I can still love.

This soul holds on.

Dissipate

2008-10-06T13:20:00.000-07:00

taking a few steps back, i have been given a new perspective to this twisted manifestation of emotions. you are not who i love -- you are gone. all that is left is the shell of the one who was my completion. now you have evolved into my destruction.

when these lies, these ties...

when they all dissipate,

you may have something...

but it won't be me.

you held it all in your hands -- the luxury of love, the honesty of us, and the hope for more. shredded, it all falls to the floor to be swept up to nothing. if everything was not enough, you shall never be satisfied.

when these lies, these ties...

when they all dissipate,

you may have something...

but it won't be me.

emptied of all i could ever give, numbness is all that is left. i cherish it when the twist of the knife is the only thing reminding me that i am alive.

The Joke's On Me

2008-10-05T18:14:00.000-07:00

empty this heart.

sadness so warm;

repeated pain;

numbing desire.

to be loved

would be so

devine.

loneliness,

my friend.

life is laughing.

depression speaks

with dirty words

lined with smirks

and cruel eyes,

poking and prodding

at a heart willing itself

to beat once

then die.

it curls, hugs,

squeezes.

too hard.

suffocating tears

without reason.

oh sadness

revolves on itself,

evolves into more.

it dissolves me.

stitches of release.

the warnings never...

do they ever?

communicate.

handshakes,

wistful smiles,

bursting heart.

the beginning

always has

a bitter end.

a song, quicksand.

always in between,

existing elsewhere;

sinking, searching.

maybe one day

this will succumb.

just once

will i ever

get it right.

Visions Alive; Visions Departed

2008-10-02T17:54:00.000-07:00

There are demons that pace restlessly within the mind that knock constantly, insistently to make their presence known. Turning my back only makes them stronger, growing and strengthening with every breath that fills my lungs and generates my heart -- they dance in the shadows outlined by flames like puppets in a cave. When will I know the secret to breaking them down? Will the day ever come when I am in control?

Smoky thoughts billow and slink along empty streets.
Creeping animations of crowds at dusk
Flicker then fade.
A moment -- be still!
Escape.
Virtue sneaks along alleyways and street corners
Street lights dim their faces.
A second sticks.
An aged doorway; a decaying room.
Innovation escapes to a vacant horizon.
Restlessness faces its mentor.
A moment -- be alive!
Eluded.
The minds of the occupied remain quite still.

Repetition in Words Does Not Create True Meaning

2008-08-05T10:13:00.000-07:00

Buy some time -- let it rest upon your skin as the sun touches, warms, and dries out the seconds that race and waste.
Speak and repeat -- contradict your words because of the dissatisfaction that causes you to run and return with haste.

Am I that identifiable on your radar? I thought you caught and released me ages ago, but I find you still attempting to reach across the aisle. Not to rest your hand as only a friend can, but to push me over the ledge. Deceit is the only love you have ever had. No length of time and no amount of words that you choose to preach could ever convince me that you know what it really means to give your heart to another.

Give your speech -- the hypocritical statements leave little room for actual conversation. As I turn cheek, I hope you can see beyond your own body to the world slowly receding from you. Happiness does not come to those who are unable to feel anything but pity for themselves because pity is a selfish emotion disguised as care.

I used to hope that we'd be able to connect again, but it has become obvious that everything I believed us to be based upon in the first place was false. I do hope a true epiphany will come your way, but I highly doubt that as long as you fake your way through friendships, relationships, and speeches of love and devotion.

Moments Unfolding

2008-08-01T14:00:00.000-07:00

you fill my heart with something new and redeeming, giving it a new breath of life just when its support was starting to fade. my mind cannot even begin to comprehend your presence, but my soul reaches for your hand to hold and to be mine. a sigh is heard, relinquished at the drop of a second, in the very first moment my eyes found yours. the ground beneath me could be felt dropping only to rise again, thundering in its own silence, beginning to build the wall that surrounds our world, the one only you and i could ever find. others come, pressing their hands upon the glass, looking in on a love folding in and fanning back out with colors never seen before, something so beautiful its blinding to the sight. not a sound is heard above the unspoken words floating between your heart and mine, our own little song forming itself above, adding on to the soundtrack of our lives. with words constantly failing me in attempts to explain, comfort can only be found in your embrace, where our souls kiss and remember the life we had shared before, in a time we can no longer see.

Old Prose

2008-07-31T09:30:00.000-07:00

the choices that we made dictate what becomes of today. my heart goes out to you, and sometimes there's hope but we both seem to know that it has nowhere else to go. its anybody's guess as to where we'll be in the future, but for now i'll go on pretending and remembering that i should have never loved you.

not because i wish to hate you or that i want to forget you. not because we weren't good or that we weren't happy but because my life is now without you. when you try to cross that threshold again, boundaries are broken and the lock that held old memories becomes undone... leaving me a mess, a wreck, undone.

--

Scream it in my face, rip it all to shreds, stand in front of me and devote your words to your voice and let it finally be heard. I'm obviously missing the point, not hearing what you want to be said. Its days like these that I've come to dread. An answer and its question having a face off in the dead center of it all. A problem and its solution acting as polar opposites, pushing away any other possibilities that come to rest. What am I to you now? Do you think about how no one else can fill the impression I left upon your pillow....

You ask what he has that you don't; you proclaim you'd like to slice it all down so you could no longer see the truth; you use your words to hurt me because you feel your actions aren't enough.

I could play a mixed tape for you, leaving the words and music to swirl about your brain, embedding a feeling left within me into your heart. But with air so dense and distance expanding, you stand on one cliff with me on another. Some days that's how I feel we live -- in two separate worlds that occasionally orbit around the other.

--

Remember those days spent beneath the blazing sun, and how your skin changed colors due to your fun? The next day reminded you of our last day together, and its existance is literally burned into your body. Smiling seemed so simple and easy, laid across your face like it was always meant to. Let's create a place where it's okay to not let feelings fade, to never move forward, and to hold on to whatever made you happy that one time at that one place you'll always remember. Otherwise it becomes something you want to forget because its love you don't have, and forgetting is always harder to do than we'd like to admit.

Can we stop the world from living in the past? Can we ever forgive the mistakes we wouldn't have made if we knew what we know now? Could it ever just be me and you? Could we just throw out all the rules?

These days I continue to lift the weights and set them back down again. Your soul's measurements are heavier than you'd think, but I wouldn't have it any other way. A broken heart and a memory that refuses to fade make me stronger than you'd ever believe.

--

isolated seconds become caught in the web spun by all the tears that have fallen over time, and i stare through you at the sun beginning to sink into the sand. somewhere there is another beginning, but all i can fathom is this one ending.

-

bittersweet goodbyes to pass our lonely times with a shiver to the wind before it's all over. it seems so hard now when the wounds are fresh and the tears renewed. but in a few months time, or perhaps a bit longer, the wounds will be scars, a story and lesson to live by.

you'll probably cross my mind here and then though i'm not sure what it'll mean. i can leave you with your misery or try to take away your pain, perhaps take it with me. love is so forgiving, but you showed me something worth forgetting, so i'll walk away, betrothed and betrayed.

--

don't stare me down with your senseless glares and knowing stances, feeling as though you comprehend my every feeling down to my inner being. my book was written all on its own, with little help from you and your words so hold your input for someone much less stubborn and much more caring. we each have our own lives for the telling, so gather around like children in the library, and hear all about them. your permanence is close to mine but the home of the heart is quite far apart. continue to build your tower and i'll sleep in the road, waiting for you to once again run me over in your hurry for the future without a second thought for anyone's feelings. life may not wait for you, nor will time, but in your rush you forget that there are people, too, that live in your world of constant thought and worry. when you remember and it dawns on you like a kettle overheating, it may be a second too late and as you very well know, time doesn't wait.

--

capturing a moment through a frame, or two, a flash reaches out and embraces the membrane. a second passes and a new second occurs, leaving the last few seconds with lesser force. a countdown overhead hangs heavily upon impressionable shoulders, molding the skin and overlapping the bones. whether to look behind or forwards, to remember the past or the present, decisions are made with time wasting away. losing all chances to make the right move, the puzzle pieces melt into one rather than parts of a whole.

--

2007 Writing

2008-07-31T09:25:00.000-07:00

pencil in the emotions you'd never think to feel.
your loneliness rolls over onto its wounded side
you picture the ships sinking in the back of your mind.

with every step taken, a face fades into the backdrop
living life in snapshots; throw the negatives into the fire
and never prove that there was an association there.

where memory lacks, regrets crawl into the focus
becoming a visible bed that is neglected to be made
the sun begins to rotate and throw you off balance.
in the end, we still have our shadows.

---

the moments we keep protected in our hands become the bombs we throw over the battlegrounds of words once we start to go wrong. it's easy to turn your back on someone you love when you realize that they haven't looked you in the eye since the first time they promised you their heart.

it's too hard to allow someone to see who you are because you're afraid that they'll discover your worst fear -- who you are is not who you appear to be, and pretending has become such a norm for you that when you're stripped down, you're still fake.

---
how does it feel to be your only friend?
what happens when it comes to an end?
these days we keep running forward,
but time grasps the backs of our hold.

fading lines of overthought patterns
repeating old mistakes and lessons
acceptance is lacking and forgiveness
never exists long enough to be happy.

keep smiling, you're all okay
keep grinning, today's your last day.
in death, the slates wipe clean.

--

Eh... revamp.

2008-07-30T17:54:00.000-07:00

I haven't really used this blog whatsoever, but I guess I feel it is time to really start blogging again. Who knows how long this phase will last. For now, I'm probably just going to convert old stuffs to this and go from there.

Frustration

2007-10-08T22:39:00.000-07:00

Turn me into a brick wall
That you claim to not pass
Remain sedated; remain appalled
Watch this supposed link collapse

Pointing fingers and gripping hard
Fumbling for air when there's none
You opened your mouth - now it's gone
Tripping this wire; you are consumed.

Sinking down to incubi level
Pressing upon nerves unjustly
Clinging to the truths of a fiend
Lies are just masks for the afraid.

Throwing appellations like grenades
Creates mayhem without a purpose
Speaking with the brain turned off
Turns meaningful words into dead noise.

Sunset in History class

2007-10-08T22:35:00.000-07:00

We often use metaphors and symbols to describe emotion and feeling, but how often doe the truth actually come streaming out of one's mouth? Inferior words become complicated with weaving meaning in order to become more superior and profound. Simplicity is no longer appreciated because it appears too easy to say that a sunrise is beautiful. It becomes a story of awakening, of a new beginning -- with rays that touch the sleeping and warms the face of the individual that seeks it beauty. It becomes a question of why it's there and how it came to exist. Amazement for its existence cowers in the shadows where light can't reach because sometimes there are too many obstacles in the way. Perhaps that is what we are -- obstacles in the way of simplistic beauty, forever neglecting truth in its truest form.