Down. Set. Run.

Hello again and a fancy meeting you here.

I'm still home, and life is still happening quickly.

Moving will take place soon, and goodbyes are forthcoming and make me cry (again).

I need to detach enough where tears are sparse, however the social being within a quiet shell pleas nightly for conversation at the minimum.

Tonight's words were good.

Let's start to measure out life not by coffeespoons, but by stories and words. Let's make our dreams matter more.

Reality isn't important. Facts will change, as will minds and hearts. But stories. Memories and the tales of our lives,
the one's in our minds,
will be the important ones.

Maybe if we swallowed our words we would become wiser, like brains, hearts, and eyes . What would you take back?
What would I?


Living some place new, without a known soul for 45 minutes close, will be awkward.

How do you meet people?

Do you have to be social with reality?

Will I ever stop asking questions? No.

Detachment and trying to connect is messing with my mind. If only there was a guidebook to living my own life, with a more interesting protagonist.
I miss the other characters constantly.

Professionalism

I am now employed. A productive member of society.
Hopefully, positive.

Less than 36 hours ago, I had no prospects.
Professional life was nothing and had no hope of going anywhere.
Let me work in service to make the past four years mean nothing.
Love life was a confusing heartbreak joke,
and probably still is, but let's add awkward to that.
My family and friends in the hometown were full of love
kind words, words of escapism.
My mental state is always one step away from going apeshitcrazy.

I will leave the room of dichotomy, which may help my headspace.
What is wrong with that term? No one seems to like it.
I will leave the house of walls whispering Angst, auf Deutsch, bitte.

Pack away the shit to deal with later, because reality is happening too quickly.
Contract.
Retirement.
Move.
Single?
Only 20.
Scream, please.
Excited? Nervous is the word of the day!

When were people able to read my thoughts?

I should hide my eyes and cover my mouth
because I don't understand this.
How to keep the light hearted allusions to other conversations had with other people away from the toxicity of relationships.
How can I be honest when I try to avoid stories and people tell me secrets of betrayal?

How to not cry when you are no longer able to fly to Neverland?

A dream-beautiful scream

Time for the obvious.
I do not handle goodbyes well.

There are too many awkward allusions around my mind that completely make sense to no one.

Jobs are just paying books. A way to escape.

Escapism.

What is the reality that we try so desperately to escape from? The one thing that eats away at us until we make the final escape?

Escapism is all that matters.

Can i escape into words
because images are too much like dreams of infinites that never could be
and there is nowhere to call a rooted home
with ties so easily severed and awkwardly forgotten

T.S. Eliot

and coffeespoons.

Are these the best way to measure out one's life?

I have read Eliot, Pound, Woolf, Joyce, Yeats, Austen, Brontes, Hesse, Hemmingway, Hawthorne, Poe, Plath, Dickenson, Walker, Milton, Shakespeare, Conrad, Ginsburg, Dickens, Fitzgerald, Ibsen, Carter, and the ilk.
I have graduated from college and a prep high school.
I go to coffeehouses, attend poetry readings, and enjoy chess games with discussion of philosophy in the background.

Why am I not happy with this knowledge?
It takes roleplaying in my friend's basement, jamming out to a mix cd, and late night waffle house visits to make me pleased.
It is all about connection. My connections are put on hold, perhaps indefinitely.
How do you make conversation?

When the story ends

I am decaying away.
Trapped in a castle of anxiety, social expectations, and words. I try to run away, but it is difficult when there are no spoken ties to happiness and blood ties to responsibility.

Now, I feel like I'm 18 again. Bumming around.
I want to smell the freedom of failure and a smile on my cheek. I want to hear broken and tainted words because we are all broken and tainted.

I want to find a job and live on my own and complete what is deemed necessary for happiness.
Where are you truly happy?

I feel like I'm crumbling.

Let me try again

I want to take this hammer,
break the walls of reality.
to fantasy.


I don't know what I'm doing. Years of preparation for being treated like I'm a little girl again.

I will make some difference. I have to. I can't sit still.

I, I, I, I, I
Dumb. Let's try not saying that letter outside of words or narcissism and crazy will ensue.

Let's make you matter, or him, or her. Let's make people matter.

There was a she once. She was a friend, a great friend, but left for the flute section and we parted. No good words were had ever. Nothing mattered. We faded. We were mortal.

Then there was a they. Eleven. No power to be had. It is why we disbanded. "What do you think of Elder?"
"It was supposed to be funny."
"You bitch"
Fade. Fade. Fade, but a return later.
"You don't like this store. Wait out here."
"You don't like him."
"You chose his side."
"Love, Best Friend."


Words are eternal.
Make them matter, make you matter.


Let's start new words, enough to be told no.

Day Five

I graduated five days ago.
I suppose that's it for a town I never loved until the end.
Hopefully, not of people.

I was a nomad living off of kindness and a debit card.
Not to be remembered for that, hopefully.

Oh, we sing for memories, but what do they do for us?
Coming home, I have to merge two rooms into one clean one.
What do we throw away? What memories are important enough to keep?

The second grade poem about a red tail hawk?
The quarter aliens that used to have a society, stories, in my mind?
The written note from a friend saying, you keep us together. no one gives you credit. i love you.
The candles won from a silly contest?

Where do we put the stuffed animals fictitious children will not care about?


What do we count as important?
The bad memories are in a box in the attic.
Don't remember the dog, the futon, the manatee bracelet.

I suppose the walking across a deafened stage passed me into adulthood.
Childhood memories, storylines, and hopes can be forgotten.
Time to grow up.
Find a job
any job
except THAT job.

Stand in line. Smile. Cry.
Walk with dignity because of course you are special.
Now live without any knowledge of how to breathe.

Das Ende

Not of this
or of you
Not of what I've become.

The end, which is just a beginning as I'm constantly reminded.
I should just be happy. Take horns in the ribs.
Ignore the blood it spills and look forward to riding this bull

til the end?

It doesn't quite feel like a chapter. If it is, then my book isn't balanced.
It has to be a novella at least. I don't want that much more horrific conflict.
Adulthood.
Time to leave being a young adult at 20. Why did I ask for this?
Did I?

How do you leave a place, people, a life, that you were so recently given? Appreciated.
This question makes me feel self depreciating. I wasted years in a Syndrome (Stockholm style).

How do you mount a new life if you are not sure what size large animal you are trying to tame?

Answers would be nice, but they don't know their budget.
Ridiculous.

[end of silliness]

How are you?

Nothing to talk about

Sorry if I have been elusive.

I am trying to be teacher and student. Adult and young adult. Living in reality and trying to escape it whenever possible.
It leads to misanthropy. I really do not think it is too much to ask people to respond to me. Maybe it is. My students did it pretty well yesterday.
I was preached to. If I told them my thoughts, I would be asked not to come back. But they fall in line well.

Does other religions upset you? Would you have had the balls enough to tell your high school teacher that they were going to hell unless they found God?

My time as an undergraduate is coming to an end, and I don't know how to handle it.
I cannot handle people who do not listen to advise.
I cannot handle people act like I am a burden.
I cannot handle the sky blue question mark with gray and green fog.
Nope.
This isn't happening.

Let me run.

Happier

Let's try for something happier.
Good people
good times
and sleep.
That's all one can ask for sans the working two jobs
and trying to cut out expenses like food.

I will tell you anything straightforward
but it has to be deciphered by my head.

Things just happen to take this shape. I don't know if that matters.

I've been rocking out to Finnish cellists, a German chick, and angry Iowans.

Sometimes, I wonder if this is real life. Life seems to be getting more difficult, sleep seems to be forgotten more, and yet...
this isn't what I meant at all.
We will all fall to Prufrock.

I don't want to stop the elements, just to control them.

Mind?

My Usher like mind is falling
I'm trying to live in the cracks.
I hate that I've realized the foundation
but I'm constantly being told to hammer it out.
Break



Break.

What if it all turns to pebbles?
Maybe I should play in it like a child.

And you have no idea what I'm talking about.

Let me back up,
back to a backstory.
Should I leave out certain scenes,
because they are the important ones.

Review:
We have all been hurt.
We are all haunted by our hurts.
Let's not let them get the better of our hearts, as we give ourselves over to apathy.
Like the children. They know better than to get hurt.
Life is superficial.


And I am lost.

Invade

Thoughts seem to be invading my mind.
I am sick of it.
We are supposed to be okay with being alone,
and being solitary for a time is fine.

I know not what to think.
Perhaps I should include you in my memories?
Would you be my amulet?

"Die Wahrheit ist grausam, drum shenck mir einen Traum"

I am a fortune teller
for children and myself.
I make the myths of maybes
in my mind
for you to kill.

And I don't know what I am saying anymore.
And I need your guidance.

Night

Writing

I am told to write
by my friends and professors
by all the institutions I find myself bound to
but I write for the child in me still playing barbies.

Sorry if you take part in my stories. Aliases will ensue.
I'm not asking for a how or a why, but a simple what.
I understand some detachment but
not speaking without talking.
What happened to conversations?
Maybe they are just toxic.

Perhaps I'll run away to Canada to work as a late night cook in some town.
That would make me happy for a week or two.
Travel is strange; I always take too much baggage.

I may look back and laugh, but I doubt my parody of life is that comical.
Too much time alone with only a digital friendship is probably worse than cabin fever.

You told me to write for others, but perhaps this blog is free therapy.
I suppose that makes you my lab rats?

I was never good at science, pardon theoretical physics.

I want to write to make sense
to include others in a private life, getting out of a modern mindset
to fill a void made in humanity
understanding my prayers to symbols


Perhaps next time we will dance, but for now I have stare at the future in the splinters of my bed.

And here we go...

Let's detach for a moment.
I wish it was that easy.
Perhaps, I come off as too personal. And maybe we don't really want to know one another.
Another modernist flaw.

I spend my nights staring at the bed above me, trying to find the future in the grains. My evenings are spent trying to force thoughts through motions.
How about you?
Am I being too personal?

Maybe we'll wait another day to say words as dissociated as possible.
Maybe you'll see through the words and truly understand the book.

Detach.

It is the beginning of the last chapter of this book. This series feels like it can fill a book-shelve.
I dislike books that make you cry, but goodbyes are always hard.
It may even be a farewell.

And I sing
I just want to swim.

She Wants Revenge

"She Will Always Be A Broken Girl" by She Wants Revenge


She buys a new dress for the party,
She always looks good in red.
Turns around in front of the mirror
And disappears inside of her head.
She wonders if he'll even remember,
She asked him in a casual way.
Just in case he didn't want to go with her,
In that event she knew just what she would say.

She thought of maybe asking a girlfriend,
Even though she only has one or two.
She's always done much better with boys anyway,
So who needs girlfriends?
Pacing nervous across the floor of her bedroom,
Gripping tight the phone in her hand.
Fighting back the rush of emotions,
And dreaming of just having a man..

It's a long walk,
And the music is loud.
She sees an old friend,
And she walks through the crowd.
Puts on her best smile,
But underneath it she's a broken girl.

But it's a long walk,
And the music is loud.
She sees an old friend,
As she walks through the crowd.
Puts on her best smile,
But she will always be a broken girl.

She struggles with an awful decision,
Stay at home or walk in alone.
Her mother does her best to console her,
Her father doesn't know what to say.

Puts on her makeup,
Puts on the new dress.
Holds her head high then gets in the car.
Tells herself that no one will notice,
Assuming she can make it that far.

On the way she imagines reactions.
Cupped hands whispering into ears.
Secretly hoping that he'll be there watching,
And she's also hoping he won't.

Walking tentative alone up the driveway,
Sees some people smoking off to the side.
She stops and waits until they go back in,
Crosses her fingers and follows behind.

It's a long walk,
And the music is loud.
She sees an old friend,
And she walks through the crowd.
Puts on her best smile,
But underneath it she's a broken girl.

It's a long walk,
And the music is loud.
She sees an old friend,
As she walks through he crowd.
Puts on her best smile,
But she will always be a broken girl.

He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.
He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.
He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.
He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.

He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.
He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.

He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.
He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.
He'll never get you, he will never understand.
He'll never get you, you can find a better man.

This might be the time to break down.
This might be the time to break down.
This might be the time to break down.
This might be the time to break down.
This might be the time to break down.

Hush child, don't make a sound.























Thank you She Wants Revenge. I wonder how long 'always' is, and if I will always be a broken girl.
These thoughts have been plaguing me recently. I thought it was just because of my sleeping situation, but I ran and still cannot sleep.
Damn.

Happy New Year.
(For more music and word choices, look up Motion City Soundtrack's "Together We'll Ring In The New Year")