Someone I know told me you usually feel like this when you are about to change. Something in your life is about to change. Someone I know told me that they feel like this when something big in their life is about to change.
Last night I was laying in bed about to throw up, listening to a crappy sampler cd from Urban Outfitters and I couldn't change it. Because if I moved, I would throw up. This is something I'd like to call stupid.
Because I don't want something bad to me if I change is how I take it, and that is how I really am. I don't even really like my life.
How do you make you like your life? I think that answer is you change. But I don't want to change because I don't want to here.
This is something I'd like to call a catalyst.
Would you?
I can't say much next because there are so many thoughts running through my head I can't really type them all out. You get that feeling, ever?
"Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe"
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
waiting on an angel.
when you want to be alone
but can't stand your own thoughts
when you want to cry for her
but can't shed a tear
oh what do you do
now what do you do
when you listen to a song on repeat
you know it gets you somewhere
you know it gets you nowhere
oh what do you donow what do you do
because crying without covers
is crying without safety
and lying without lovers
is lying without laughter
so i'm dying without anything
and i'm crying without safety
and i'm not going to let you get to me
but what do i do
now what do i do?
i want solitude
but i need to be surrounded
so i don't have to know
i can't stand myself
i can't stand my own thoughts
now what do i do
oh what do i do
now what do i do
but can't stand your own thoughts
when you want to cry for her
but can't shed a tear
oh what do you do
now what do you do
when you listen to a song on repeat
you know it gets you somewhere
you know it gets you nowhere
oh what do you donow what do you do
because crying without covers
is crying without safety
and lying without lovers
is lying without laughter
so i'm dying without anything
and i'm crying without safety
and i'm not going to let you get to me
but what do i do
now what do i do?
i want solitude
but i need to be surrounded
so i don't have to know
i can't stand myself
i can't stand my own thoughts
now what do i do
oh what do i do
now what do i do
Friday, June 13, 2008
I've come to realize
That seriously, the word 'love' gets tossed around way to often to even mean anything anymore.
This isn't a joke.
I'm pretty tight with this chick who falls in "love" every few weeks with a different boy. Granted, she's in like, the 7th or 8th grade, so she doesn't really understand it, but... I was only an 8th grader like, 8 days ago and I still understood how important love was.
I just refrained from telling someone I hadn't talked to in months I love them. Because I don't love her, really.
Do I even love half as many people I say I do? I think not, I think I tell many people I love them when I know I don't. When it comes down to it, I probably truly love only around 4 or 5 people, family not included.
And to be honest, what is love? I hear scientists are actually trying to figure out love scientifically. I think that ruins the magic.
The other topic I wanted to brush on: Death. That is the scariest thing in the world. They, whoever the fuck they are, say that when your father, or someone really close to you dies, you end up going through the motions. Not really crying, not really affected until after. Post-funeral, post-burial.
The day I figured out my grandpa, my best friend, someone who I underappreciated my whole life, died, I was coming back from Colorado. I was in the car with my cousins. I, for some reason, chose not to drive with my parents. Probably just to be with my cousins. Me and Christine and Rebecca had some burritos from Chipotle and they dropped me off at home, and my parents followed me into my room. Saying, Lizzy, we have some sucky news for you, Grandpa passed away.
You know that feeling when the shock renders your body and your head is absolutely like a feather?
Imagine that times twenty. This is the first time I've ever written in detail about it.
I didn't even give my dad a hug. I gave him a side hug. And then laid in my bed with the lights off crying for hours, probably. I could not breathe for motherfucking shit.
My boyfriend at the time called me. I couldn't even stay on the phone with him.
I remember the second hardest I've ever cried was at his funeral. My dad started crying, too.
My brother didn't cry. But I tried my hardest not to.
With death the kind of loss is a lot different than breaking up with someone. It's worse, it's seriously heartwrenching, because you'll never be able to talk to that person who died ever again.
My grandfather was my everything.. And I only wish I could remember what my last words to him were.
And isn't that funny, that suddenly when someone dies, all you want to remember were what your last words to that person were? Why does it not matter what your first words to that person was?
It's a lot of thinking this blog has created in my mind..
My week had been mostly amazing until today.
Well, until tonight.
I'm going to wait because that's what I do.
This isn't a joke.
I'm pretty tight with this chick who falls in "love" every few weeks with a different boy. Granted, she's in like, the 7th or 8th grade, so she doesn't really understand it, but... I was only an 8th grader like, 8 days ago and I still understood how important love was.
I just refrained from telling someone I hadn't talked to in months I love them. Because I don't love her, really.
Do I even love half as many people I say I do? I think not, I think I tell many people I love them when I know I don't. When it comes down to it, I probably truly love only around 4 or 5 people, family not included.
And to be honest, what is love? I hear scientists are actually trying to figure out love scientifically. I think that ruins the magic.
The other topic I wanted to brush on: Death. That is the scariest thing in the world. They, whoever the fuck they are, say that when your father, or someone really close to you dies, you end up going through the motions. Not really crying, not really affected until after. Post-funeral, post-burial.
The day I figured out my grandpa, my best friend, someone who I underappreciated my whole life, died, I was coming back from Colorado. I was in the car with my cousins. I, for some reason, chose not to drive with my parents. Probably just to be with my cousins. Me and Christine and Rebecca had some burritos from Chipotle and they dropped me off at home, and my parents followed me into my room. Saying, Lizzy, we have some sucky news for you, Grandpa passed away.
You know that feeling when the shock renders your body and your head is absolutely like a feather?
Imagine that times twenty. This is the first time I've ever written in detail about it.
I didn't even give my dad a hug. I gave him a side hug. And then laid in my bed with the lights off crying for hours, probably. I could not breathe for motherfucking shit.
My boyfriend at the time called me. I couldn't even stay on the phone with him.
I remember the second hardest I've ever cried was at his funeral. My dad started crying, too.
My brother didn't cry. But I tried my hardest not to.
With death the kind of loss is a lot different than breaking up with someone. It's worse, it's seriously heartwrenching, because you'll never be able to talk to that person who died ever again.
My grandfather was my everything.. And I only wish I could remember what my last words to him were.
And isn't that funny, that suddenly when someone dies, all you want to remember were what your last words to that person were? Why does it not matter what your first words to that person was?
It's a lot of thinking this blog has created in my mind..
My week had been mostly amazing until today.
Well, until tonight.
I'm going to wait because that's what I do.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
prompt: passenger seat
The bend of his arm curves with the wind, making constant waves and you're finding it difficult to keep your eyes on the road as you seeevery time he lifts his right arm to rest on the window the bottom of his shirt rises up, leaving a pale patch of skin and a trail of dark hairs leadingdown, down down.The piano curves in and out of the windows and flies wherever it wants, you're driving fast enough to leave but slow enough to stay just a little bit longer.Ben Gibbard's voice carries you far out as you consider possibly holding his hand, gripping it for a second and maybe feigning surprise when he squeezes back.The sun is fading purple, his eyes are bright blue and incandescent. They seem to not mind the song on repeat, soon enough quietly singing along and smilingwith his eyes.In the gaps of silence, you ask him if they collide, but this time, he doesn't smile.He slowly fills the gap that was between you and him and it's all lips and warm breath and the bursting of your heart, his hand in the curve of your waist andBen Gibbard saying everything you would have wanted to say yourself but you can't.
prompt: superstition
research available by: http://www.oldsuperstitions.com/general.html
prompt given to me by: zark trottier
It started out simple. When you walked down 3rd street on the way to work, you sidestepped the ladders. While doing so, you soon developed the habit of jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. Fuck, who wants to break their mothers back?
Soon, you never cut your nails on a Friday. You bought plastic plates to avoid breaking ceramic ones - and you gave the uncracked ceramic ones to close friends. If you heard the lingering echo of footsteps on your apartment staircase, you would sprint back up to your floor and be stuck with paranoia that would invade you like a plague. If someone were to give you a bouquet, perchance, and there were red and white flowers together, you'd politely decline, no, no thank you, I'm allergic to bad luck.
Every morning, you got out of bed right foot first. You never put your left leg in your pants before your right, your right shoe must be located on your foot preceding the left. You got rid of your candles for fear of them falling over.
You stopped answering your phone, frightened at the thought of bad news, you threw out all of your mirrors (although they were wrapped in packaging kernels so as not to shatter) and burned all your umbrellas.
You'd like to call yourself "threat" free.
We'd like to call you crazy.
prompt given to me by: zark trottier
It started out simple. When you walked down 3rd street on the way to work, you sidestepped the ladders. While doing so, you soon developed the habit of jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. Fuck, who wants to break their mothers back?
Soon, you never cut your nails on a Friday. You bought plastic plates to avoid breaking ceramic ones - and you gave the uncracked ceramic ones to close friends. If you heard the lingering echo of footsteps on your apartment staircase, you would sprint back up to your floor and be stuck with paranoia that would invade you like a plague. If someone were to give you a bouquet, perchance, and there were red and white flowers together, you'd politely decline, no, no thank you, I'm allergic to bad luck.
Every morning, you got out of bed right foot first. You never put your left leg in your pants before your right, your right shoe must be located on your foot preceding the left. You got rid of your candles for fear of them falling over.
You stopped answering your phone, frightened at the thought of bad news, you threw out all of your mirrors (although they were wrapped in packaging kernels so as not to shatter) and burned all your umbrellas.
You'd like to call yourself "threat" free.
We'd like to call you crazy.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
and when you realize lies are for liars
the best part of believe is the lie.
I hate finding out people who you thought you trusted are completely different people. Liars. Cheats. Drama loving, loud, annoying fools.
You know that feeling?
When someone you somehow trusted so quickly, you realize thrives on your conflicts? Loves the turbulence?
I know that feeling. (I just asked myself a question and answer it. Yay for completion.)
I know when someone I trust, love, care about almost more than anyone on the planet is someone who you realize loves to lie. To just fucking fight with you. Why do they fight?
Because they want more people to think they are experienced, I guess. Stronger. Smarter. Faster. More scene. More hardxcore. More brutal.
I'd guess I pride myself on being a drama free, generally chill person. I'd like to say I get mad in two situations: One, I'm PMSing. Two, that person fucking deserves it.
When I'm in a relationship with someone, I'd like that relationship to be completely drama free. Happiness all around. Being a reasonable person, I know no relationship can be perfect. But I know that one can be close to it.
So why do I surround myself with a person who just loves to fuck me over, in all senses? I'm not sure, at all, actually. Part of me not leaving that friendship is the feeling that I don't want to hurt her. I love her, still. I just can't stand her.
I feel like a week off from her couldn't cover it.
I don't know what to do, dude.
I also pride myself on bullshit free. As in, no fakeass makeup. No bullshitting to anyone. I don't talk to people I don't like. I talk to people I like. I (for the exception of a few) tell people how I truly absolutely feel about them, in every literal sense.
Why be shady when you can be upfront? This is a question I do not answer, but because I know the answer.
And I ask because I think you should, too.
I think this is the end of my blog.
I hate finding out people who you thought you trusted are completely different people. Liars. Cheats. Drama loving, loud, annoying fools.
You know that feeling?
When someone you somehow trusted so quickly, you realize thrives on your conflicts? Loves the turbulence?
I know that feeling. (I just asked myself a question and answer it. Yay for completion.)
I know when someone I trust, love, care about almost more than anyone on the planet is someone who you realize loves to lie. To just fucking fight with you. Why do they fight?
Because they want more people to think they are experienced, I guess. Stronger. Smarter. Faster. More scene. More hardxcore. More brutal.
I'd guess I pride myself on being a drama free, generally chill person. I'd like to say I get mad in two situations: One, I'm PMSing. Two, that person fucking deserves it.
When I'm in a relationship with someone, I'd like that relationship to be completely drama free. Happiness all around. Being a reasonable person, I know no relationship can be perfect. But I know that one can be close to it.
So why do I surround myself with a person who just loves to fuck me over, in all senses? I'm not sure, at all, actually. Part of me not leaving that friendship is the feeling that I don't want to hurt her. I love her, still. I just can't stand her.
I feel like a week off from her couldn't cover it.
I don't know what to do, dude.
I also pride myself on bullshit free. As in, no fakeass makeup. No bullshitting to anyone. I don't talk to people I don't like. I talk to people I like. I (for the exception of a few) tell people how I truly absolutely feel about them, in every literal sense.
Why be shady when you can be upfront? This is a question I do not answer, but because I know the answer.
And I ask because I think you should, too.
I think this is the end of my blog.
Friday, June 6, 2008
i'd spend all night losing sleep.
Something is beyond missing here. Lately I can't find inspiration for anything. I can't pick up my guitar and make a sound. I can't open my mouth and say anything profound. I miss people I shouldn't be missing.
I'd have to say I'm feeling things I shouldn't be feeling.
When do you know when to stop feeling?
It's summer. Does it feel like summer? I feel like this summer was a wrong time. This summer, started at the wrong time. It should have waited a month. Yet at the same time, I feel differently. I feel that I need to just curl up in a ball.
Need to stop feeling.
Music can't match my mood, I can't eat without throwing it all up, I can't smile without having to frown. I feel like... I can't change.
Everyone tells me to change myself, for me. I can't change for me. I can't change. Not when my body is fighting against myself.
Red Kool-Aid is pretty delicious.
I miss Zak. He's amazing. I'd have to say he's one of my best friends. For some reason I feel like he has me on this string.
Like I'm his puppet.
I would honestly do anything just to get his attention for one second. I'm pretty sure that's not healthy. Something in his nonchalance kills me just a little bit more. His hugs, a lot more. His hair.. Consider me in the grave.
I'm actually, seriously listening to Hey There Delilah. Fuck me in the asshole.
It's not that bad of a song to begin with. And then it's like, fucking stop it. Stop it.
You know how every good band comes close to getting poisoned?
What if every good band was like every good person?
What if you found the person you couldn't live without, and they got poisoned, changed, ruined?
Would you still love that person?
It's what you do to me.
How do you deal with a person telling you that they aren't pulling back, but you know they are? That they aren't half as crazy about you as you are to them, how do you deal?
How do you live? Why, in every blog, must I go off on a tangent on questions that can't really be answered?
I became just another to him. Another. Conquest. Whore. Girl. Slut.
I don't know.
I don't even know what I am.
I'd have to say I'm feeling things I shouldn't be feeling.
When do you know when to stop feeling?
It's summer. Does it feel like summer? I feel like this summer was a wrong time. This summer, started at the wrong time. It should have waited a month. Yet at the same time, I feel differently. I feel that I need to just curl up in a ball.
Need to stop feeling.
Music can't match my mood, I can't eat without throwing it all up, I can't smile without having to frown. I feel like... I can't change.
Everyone tells me to change myself, for me. I can't change for me. I can't change. Not when my body is fighting against myself.
Red Kool-Aid is pretty delicious.
I miss Zak. He's amazing. I'd have to say he's one of my best friends. For some reason I feel like he has me on this string.
Like I'm his puppet.
I would honestly do anything just to get his attention for one second. I'm pretty sure that's not healthy. Something in his nonchalance kills me just a little bit more. His hugs, a lot more. His hair.. Consider me in the grave.
I'm actually, seriously listening to Hey There Delilah. Fuck me in the asshole.
It's not that bad of a song to begin with. And then it's like, fucking stop it. Stop it.
You know how every good band comes close to getting poisoned?
What if every good band was like every good person?
What if you found the person you couldn't live without, and they got poisoned, changed, ruined?
Would you still love that person?
It's what you do to me.
How do you deal with a person telling you that they aren't pulling back, but you know they are? That they aren't half as crazy about you as you are to them, how do you deal?
How do you live? Why, in every blog, must I go off on a tangent on questions that can't really be answered?
I became just another to him. Another. Conquest. Whore. Girl. Slut.
I don't know.
I don't even know what I am.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
and in less than a week
i've hit rock bottom. it's a strange feeling i'd have to say. going from conquer, to conquered. i have a deadweight in my stomache that's not coming out anytime soon no matter how many times i try to throw up.
it's summer, and i couldn't be less happy. i don't know what to do. i want to act happy.
i take it out on my good friends, apparently.
this dead weight is like.. i guess the only word is culminating.
i'm trying to find art in something but all i see is dizzy.
i've stopped eating.
i've stopped thinking, too.
i can't make my head into thoughts, into words. i can't, just live.
i'm into my old cycle that i worked months to get out of..
get happy, get fucking sad thirty minutes later, lose a couple good friends, stop sleeping, dead weight, no eating, no happy.
get happy again. crash again. lose people again.
this was the hardest thing in the world.
what the fuck am i going to do with my life? does anyone ever ask you that?
what the FUCK are you doing with your life.
what are you even doing reading this blog? does this enlighten you? to do what, post another just like this? to tell your friends about it? i don't get it. i don't get any of it.
why do we do what we do? what are you going to do with yourself?
what am I going to do with myself?
i try to do all these things and never get around to it. why? i'm scared. i'm a pussy, when it comes down to it. i try to act badass with cuss words and hanging out with older people and taking pain with a dose of salt... but what am i, really? what are you? what are we?
and don't say human.
on the "bright hand," DCFC is in 12 days. that's something i'm happy for.
it's summer, and i couldn't be less happy. i don't know what to do. i want to act happy.
i take it out on my good friends, apparently.
this dead weight is like.. i guess the only word is culminating.
i'm trying to find art in something but all i see is dizzy.
i've stopped eating.
i've stopped thinking, too.
i can't make my head into thoughts, into words. i can't, just live.
i'm into my old cycle that i worked months to get out of..
get happy, get fucking sad thirty minutes later, lose a couple good friends, stop sleeping, dead weight, no eating, no happy.
get happy again. crash again. lose people again.
this was the hardest thing in the world.
what the fuck am i going to do with my life? does anyone ever ask you that?
what the FUCK are you doing with your life.
what are you even doing reading this blog? does this enlighten you? to do what, post another just like this? to tell your friends about it? i don't get it. i don't get any of it.
why do we do what we do? what are you going to do with yourself?
what am I going to do with myself?
i try to do all these things and never get around to it. why? i'm scared. i'm a pussy, when it comes down to it. i try to act badass with cuss words and hanging out with older people and taking pain with a dose of salt... but what am i, really? what are you? what are we?
and don't say human.
on the "bright hand," DCFC is in 12 days. that's something i'm happy for.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
and the beat goes
with our hearts.
i have been feeling so creative lately that i think the creative is like tiny blood platelets in the color of a rainbow. one more, and the rainbows will come spewing out of my eyes and nostrils and ears and mouth and fingertips and the whole world will be in the beat with the hearts.
and rainbows.
people change like fucking crazy. people i thought i trusted turned out i can't trust at all. people i thought were my friends evolved into something more. people, people are the strangest things, and i'm finding lately my dog is way more fun than other people.
a good way to be able to sit indian style in a jean miniskirt is to put a jacket on your vagina!
i feel guilty. but then again why should i? if it's i want, i should do it.
i feel accomplished.
i feel like i can conquer.
i feel like i can do anything.
this is self confidence i haven't had in almost over threeyears.
go fucking diego go.
i feel like running forever. i feel like bursting out music and dancing around naked. i feel like fucking just having fun. fuck everyone else. fuck the haters. fuck everyone who brings you down. fuck everything thats ever brought you down.
and i fucking mean it. in all probability, you are gorgeous. you're strong. you're tall, you're shirt, you're skinny, you're everything and only three or four people are trying to hate you. not because they are jealous. because they are blind.
over one million people in the city of dallas. and somehow we all know eachother. we see eachother every day. we met eachother. how? meeting is strange.
with andi, i met her on the school bus when i was 9. she was 11.
i met jenna in the fifth grade. she did not like me.
i met zark at my first no comment show.
i met davis at my second.
i met everyone i know by some crazy coincedence.
whether we talk about pretzels or fucking crayons, we find the people we found for some reason. whether it fate, i'm not sure i believe in it. whether it chance, not sure ever.
i'd like to say i believe in just BEING. in, in something thats greater. but not spiritual.
science is the answer. strive for something. i can't strive for anything, i'm not good at anything, but i can try.
i can conquer.
"the best kind of art is the art you don't understand."
-davis austin williams.
i may not have been there. but i read it. i love it. i believe it.
do something you don't QUITE understand.
do something you know you shouldn't.
kiss someone who wants you to, you know you shouldn't.
hug someone who doesn't want you to, but you know you should.
introduce your two groups of friends. watch new paths be made.
one million, and you can conquer.
i have been feeling so creative lately that i think the creative is like tiny blood platelets in the color of a rainbow. one more, and the rainbows will come spewing out of my eyes and nostrils and ears and mouth and fingertips and the whole world will be in the beat with the hearts.
and rainbows.
people change like fucking crazy. people i thought i trusted turned out i can't trust at all. people i thought were my friends evolved into something more. people, people are the strangest things, and i'm finding lately my dog is way more fun than other people.
a good way to be able to sit indian style in a jean miniskirt is to put a jacket on your vagina!
i feel guilty. but then again why should i? if it's i want, i should do it.
i feel accomplished.
i feel like i can conquer.
i feel like i can do anything.
this is self confidence i haven't had in almost over threeyears.
go fucking diego go.
i feel like running forever. i feel like bursting out music and dancing around naked. i feel like fucking just having fun. fuck everyone else. fuck the haters. fuck everyone who brings you down. fuck everything thats ever brought you down.
and i fucking mean it. in all probability, you are gorgeous. you're strong. you're tall, you're shirt, you're skinny, you're everything and only three or four people are trying to hate you. not because they are jealous. because they are blind.
over one million people in the city of dallas. and somehow we all know eachother. we see eachother every day. we met eachother. how? meeting is strange.
with andi, i met her on the school bus when i was 9. she was 11.
i met jenna in the fifth grade. she did not like me.
i met zark at my first no comment show.
i met davis at my second.
i met everyone i know by some crazy coincedence.
whether we talk about pretzels or fucking crayons, we find the people we found for some reason. whether it fate, i'm not sure i believe in it. whether it chance, not sure ever.
i'd like to say i believe in just BEING. in, in something thats greater. but not spiritual.
science is the answer. strive for something. i can't strive for anything, i'm not good at anything, but i can try.
i can conquer.
"the best kind of art is the art you don't understand."
-davis austin williams.
i may not have been there. but i read it. i love it. i believe it.
do something you don't QUITE understand.
do something you know you shouldn't.
kiss someone who wants you to, you know you shouldn't.
hug someone who doesn't want you to, but you know you should.
introduce your two groups of friends. watch new paths be made.
one million, and you can conquer.
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