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Look: I am nothing. [entries|friends|calendar]
I am not yours, not lost in you, not lost

I fought in my heart to give you
the ivory letters that say siempre,

siempre siempre: garden of my agony,
your body elusive always,
that blood of your veins in my mouth,
your mouth already lightless for my death.
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[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

December 26th, 2030 at 10:10pm]

'let me alone, for my days are vanity.'
--Thomas Hardy

please say hello and please don't steal. i need reactions with decency to compromise for my apologies and unfettering indecisiveness. 99.9% public; and, don't be offended if i don't add you back (because i'm mostly only looking for journals that crack the shells on the armor of my artichoke heart and give life [re: air] back to the lungs inside my chest).

like a shipwreck (40) we die going into ourselves

March 6th, 2012 at 5:00pm]
Private entry for myself to save my account from LJ deletions.
(I like this name better, maybe I'll come back here and feel more comfortable since so much time has elapsed. This place was such a broken part of me.)
we die going into ourselves

July 29th, 2006 at 4:51pm]
currently youmyvoicebox.
add me there if you do so desire, but let me know so i can add you back.

youmyvoicebox youmyvoicebox youmyvoicebox youmyvoicebox youmyvoicebox youmyvoicebox youmyvoicebox youmyvoicebox
like a shipwreck (6) we die going into ourselves

June 6th, 2006 at 9:13pm]

not currently in use; will be in use, soon. at least post-graduation time.
like a shipwreck (30) we die going into ourselves

this is mostly for me. just a boring update out of order. [Friday
June 2nd, 2006 at 11:27pm]
[ mood | it was you, always you ]

i keep coming back to old clauses such as 'these days are dwindling' or 'what i would like is' and finding that there is no need for me to share anything anymore because my feelings are annually recycled. last year at this time of the year, i was enamoured by a boy who wouldn't even speak with me. right now, i don't know what it is that's happening, exactly. last saturday i spent fifteen hours in the middle of nowhere looking for the spiral jetty and the sun tunnels with a caravan of nine or so cars, one of which suffered through two flat tires, another got stuck in a ravine and started a grass fire, a couple of which ran out of gas on the way back to wendover, some of which were stuck in unbelievable mud, etc. tomorrow i'll spend most of the day in bed, reading a book or waiting until i have to work. then next saturday, it'll be saturday #1 beyond highschool. i'll be working off the late night before it, spending most of the day in bed, sitting outside maybe, cleaning my room, who knows. i've spent the last two years with saturday classes so this is an interesting change. aside from my birthday, i don't remember what it's like to sleep in on saturday or go out on friday. none of this is really relevant to anything. i'm just really bored on a friday night with nothing else to do. that, and i can come back in ten years and read my journal that i write for myself and say, 'oh! look at all these boring / interesting things that happened during the last couple of weeks of my senior year. how neat'. therefore, don't continue to read this if you don't want to because it benefits you in no way at all. in eighteen days i'm flying out to europe for thirty six days, thirty five days? we start in belgium, then head to i think germany, poland, czech republic, austria, italy and then france and back home. alicia will be here when i get back, and then i'm going to my grandpa's wedding, then laura is coming to visit and hopefully brad will come see me sometime inbetween there. he said he would, but it's expensive. then i start school sometime in august. i've been so ambiguous and have written words that maybe weren't the right ones and said things that didn't quite suit the situation. i've always made it a point to try, but nothing comes when it won't come. i think more poetically than i write, but i don't think very much at all. it always comes in short phrases that i never keep. on thursday, i was awarded $2,500 in scholarship money. i won a yearbook award and a leadership / hardship award. i've also recieved hefty amounts of money for graduation and my tax returns, and i get paid monday. i have to remind myself to not spend too much money in europe. so, kelli, don't drink too much wine or beer. i still can't believe i graduate next friday. i'm actually really sad. i hate the kids i go to school with, but i'm going to miss my teachers and my classes like no other. oh, boy. i'm going to cry i think on friday. remind me to not wear too much makeup (hah! i'm like a living version of the dead queen elizabeth and her pounds of makeup).

other than that, nothing. boring.

like a shipwreck (24) we die going into ourselves

May 31st, 2006 at 10:30pm]
i need to start over. this name weighs on me like an old life, a poor status. as soon as school is over, i'm going to move on to something new. just a heads up.
like a shipwreck (31) we die going into ourselves

May 17th, 2006 at 9:34pm]
i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss youCollapse )
like a shipwreck (6) we die going into ourselves

don't speak, my old heart [Sunday
May 14th, 2006 at 10:13pm]
[ mood | i think i'm going to cry ]

mary cassat

i have not loved enough.

i lied when i said i have to stop but i don't know what else to do. i have to stop breathing (being anything) for you or for anybody else and i have to learn to love kelli ann tompkins. i have to learn to love being alone while mirroring a potato in shape and loving potatoes and crying to the cranes and snowy egrets in the backyard, hoping they won't mind. you see, i remember the day i decided i discovered i REALIZED it was my nature to prefer safety over sorry. my sister and i were young and my brother was even younger and we were in southern utah camping with my dad (and mom? i don't know) inbetween red walls, watercolors waiting to sink into paper and the old juniper tree with sea green beads and heavy bark: my sister and i were natural climbers and attended to the red walls (red hills, red slopes, nooks and crannies) like lizards (of whom we robbed multiple tails) or bugs or something. my sister was scaling, i was short behind and reminded her to be careful. "it's better to be safe than sorry," i said. "it's better to be sorry than safe," she retorted and i turned my head and went back. bats always came out of their caves at night and we'd watch them erupt the sky into a dark-mattered, Corregio sort of spatial vortex.

you and i were a junction in numbers, falling on separate planes and living on limits that never end. i don't know where we crossed or if we were even close. did i see you from a distance? your truth brought us closer to home and my ideals left us across an ocean, unbearable with the salt and the papercuts and without a boat. where are we left, now? and i don't know (lie) where i went wrong or (truth) why i never smiled in pictures when i was little. i don't know how to dance (i don't like it either, i promise! we can finish our conversation) or to sing (to myself or to anybody else), nor do i know how to make a good dinner or let myself be really loved. i don't know how one of the lights of my day is so cheery always and so beautiful in her white dress, or how the girls who use 's' for 'z' and sit in their mother's gardens and watch elephant parades are just real-love-wonderful from books. i love and admire them, just like i love and admire girls who don't remember dying, and who live between the ocean and the universe with jeff buckley, and the girl who proclaims science as a terribly lousy lover. girls in love with science and war abridge from san francisco to new york, and the maynard-lover in the desert and full of life. my asked-for stranger is so comfortable and comforting always, as is the boy with the guitar and a heart for his compliments; the boy between montana and idaho is my long-time saviour. oh, distance! 'all the way to where my reasons end'. won't someone come save me? i don't know how to quit being somebody for a junction, 't' for a 't'. worse yet, i don't want to. worst of all, i have to for the greater good.

who am i to try and write things down (for you)? who am i to share quotes or day-old songs (with you)? breathe in sky; oh, just breathe in and breathe out. dust and air and maybe an old aspen tree inside my lungs. i just want it all back, i do.

'you took my hand, and we walked through the streets

of an emptied world, vulnerable
to our suddenly bare history
--agha shahid ali

like a shipwreck (29) we die going into ourselves

'do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind' [Friday
May 5th, 2006 at 8:01pm]
i don't like how you think you know what it is i want and who it is i need. i already lost the things you wrote me, somehow they were taken away before i could get to them; am i going to lose the rest of you again, now, too?

i keep trying to say 'this might be okay' until it comes right down to it, and now i'm shivering all the way through my cemented bones.
we die going into ourselves

April 30th, 2006 at 7:14pm]
i won't be around very much for the next two weeks. i have to study for all my ap tests (art history, us history, environmental science, english and studio art [but one doesn't technically study for the art portfolio test]).

crista, i hope you begin to feel better; and justin, i'm sorry i haven't seen you in the past couple of days to talk. you can always call if you feel the need.

(the same, of course, goes to the rest of you [if you have my number - if you need it, email me, or something]).

my schedule is going to be very hectic since i've been putting all my studying off. i have absolutely no self discipline, and i think it's going to hit me very hard (as always). i'm lucky i do as well as i do in school because my study habits are terrible. i'm very grateful for my memory.

then again, i have absolutely no incentive to do well anymore: grades, ranking and GPA are already set in stone. i made the top ten percent - who needs ap tests?

just kidding.

i have to go study now. wish me luck? i really should learn how to study.
like a shipwreck (22) we die going into ourselves

(quotes) I'm trying so hard to not wish on the clock as the right and the wrong time strikes [Friday
April 21st, 2006 at 9:29pm]
[ mood | but I can't help just to think ]

I. 'you
were logical and proven
but still be quiet as if
I were used to you; as if
you would never leave me
and were the inexorable
product of my own time.
frank o'hara

II. 'We miles
apart and bravely standing each other's sole possibility,
the violet and strangling hour before sundown

where the punishment we'd been denied at ruby settings
will perhaps, passionate with impatience, decline
out future like a pack of cards.
frank o'hara

III. 'All you've been is good and it scares me to get any deeper. The closer you get, the further you fall. I need you in my life to stay sane. Thanks for being here at the right moment and the right time and being you . . . I don't really know what else to say but- I loved the world when you were around so please come back more often. There's really no comparison.'
stefani jean [deadonarrival]

IV. 'Heroes alone destroy, as I destroy
frank o'hara

like a shipwreck (14) we die going into ourselves

April 17th, 2006 at 4:02pm]
and love too, has ruined us
like a shipwreck (8) we die going into ourselves

April 17th, 2006 at 2:39pm]
[ mood | there's no aphrodisiac ]

they just don't know that the things that occupy the space consist of highways and aspen trees. they don't know so they can't understand what it's like when there's nothing else past afternoon light and that need to share a kitchen or blueberry hills. so how can we blame them; oh, how can we even place the blame? if we were cunning linguists, maybe we would blame this all on timing because timing always seems to fuck everything over. yet 'timing' is abstract and i can't hold it or you in my hands - timing must have nothing to do with any of this if i am the only real person that exists. nothing else exists.

it snowed today, can you believe it? is this our winter wanting to come back? our summer is going to have to wait a long, long time if you or i even believe it's still going to come. maybe this means we'll start all over, back in october or november before anything had ever happened to anybody that ever had to deal with aspen trees or dust like galaxies in afternoon light. that's all it ever comes back to. oh, oh.

yes, say yes.

i'm finally writing your letter.

April 17th, 2006 at 6:55am]
i had a dream that you called me and you were crying and i fought to run to my room so we could talk and i didn't know how to tell you i asked you to hurt and it felt so terrible and i started to cry because i don't want you to have to feel like that. there was nothing wrong, all you did was love and love and love.

i need more courage to cry, even; i'm too afraid to move.

and i've done everything i'm accusing you of [Saturday
April 15th, 2006 at 6:27pm]
[ mood | no one could save me ]

'i have always loved too much,
or not enough.'

dorianne laux

for my birthday, the greatest person in the entire world gave up a weekend and drove in to see me. she surprised me yesterday in my art class with balloons and brownies, and when i saw her i screamed at the top of my lungs and nearly knocked her over because i ran so quickly. i couldn't have asked for a more perfect birthday present. i had the most wonderful day yesterday and early this morning. it's what i always want. whenever she comes back, things fall into place. i'd keep her if no one else (because i am not safe). she makes me laugh and i am never uncomfortable when she's making jokes or listening to me complain.

it has always been safer to have them leave, to sit back and wait for them all to head over the hills or into the waves, beyond the blossoms in the trees and past the buildings toward the end of the block. have you ever been utterly smothered in a good thing, and then forget it's good and use it and abuse it? and sometimes i'm so afraid of being smothered, so afraid of losing my air from a great, big distance, that my heart will fold itself into a paper origami crane and fly its paper wings away from something comfortable like lemons and artichokes and toward things that will give in to my self-pity complex, like being lost and leaving (never something as familiar or as foreign as 'coming home' to a name and place that don't exist).

have you ever lost your most important words, as if they grow wings, or meld into keys and open and close doors you can't even fit through? and i know i'm not the greatest friend, but i wish there weren't always such a need to spill words and thoughts when i think i am smothered by a really, really good thing. i'd prefer silence and maybe motion and emotion, sideways glances and half smiles that knowingly exist even when eyelids are closed across the country or maybe only two-thousand miles or maybe only the same unreal bedroom, with heavy curtains and afternoon light - hardwood floors and an emptying of the world. my heart sank when you left without warning and i've missed you all day. all i wanted were somebody else's words to express the pitiful emptiness that sank inside, and the closest i've kept to what i wanted:

'i close my eyes to think. thoughts swimming inside a flood of your thousand year rain. a nonexistant you & i, a fragment of you & i, careless on the brink, worn thin and gone

the telephone rings, rings, and stays silent

what i really want to say is,'

because he certainly understood (this brilliant boy) wanting things to be easier. i want to be left because i am not safe, i need you so much and i am not safe. i can't share words or sideways glances because of my transparency and lack of peripheral vision. i know this is silly, but i need to feel something big and i'm going to pray for color on the horizon tonight.

i would say 'something great is going to happen' but it is only this feeling in my stomach. she will probably leave (you have already gone home and left me here) and i'll read his books and sleep in the afternoons and hold my breath when i'm driving and the sun's inside my eyes. i thought you almost came back and i wonder where you went and i need to be left and let go and sometimes the sheets aren't white enough and friendship just doesn't taste very good anymore.

next year i promise to only spend time with frank o'hara, jose saramago or gabriel garcia marquez - in madrid, lisbon or in the gardens. i will dream about astronauts and galaxies as flower bouquet's, offer poetry to the cities in the daytime and feed on artichoke hearts on cement steps. i am not safe and there is an otherworldly need to leave me. do you understand, now, when i say 'self-pity complex?'

like a shipwreck (23) we die going into ourselves

friday underneath my covers [Sunday
April 9th, 2006 at 3:24pm]
and i've looked all day (under cushions and around corners) but i still do not feel that i have the right words or look on my face to feel like i've done anything. i have nothing of comfort (like someone else's cigarettes, blue eyes or an old friend). i cannot even cover the inches of yesterday's snow outside my window with pleated blinds or eyelids, because it still won't be dark enough. what i would like is for him to come back, even to just be close so when i feel like screaming at him, i can, and i won't ask for more. or i would like to breathe in real air, to have full lungs instead of dust bags inside my birdcage chest, to smother my (great, big) artichoke heart. (of late),

there's something different about the way i write my 'k's and suddenly my name doesn't even feel like home anymore.
like a shipwreck (4) we die going into ourselves

March 28th, 2006 at 9:37pm]

'I don’t care that happiness falls this way,
gone tomorrow, half a life
and rising.'

sam brown witt

my weekend served several purposes for me in this life: to bring back color and self indulgence, as well as to kick some 'feeling' back into gear. i was surprised by both the choices i made and how i realized, one of these days, they're going to bite me in the ass no matter how careful i am. it was ethereal, either way: the sun was shining, i was allowed to accompany a series of adventures downtown for a birthday present and a thank you gift to an old teacher (for buying my lunch earlier that day), high as a kite and good beer after-hours while listening to reggae at work, and a series of unfortunate events that followed thereafter to celebrate a birthday at another friends' house. i am a very lucky person, to have what i have and the opportunities and luck i have, the family and friends and job and intelligence and car and money and everything. i know i'm not complaining deep down. my emotions have such great potential!

i really am a strong believer in the power of color, in case you were wondering. yellow really is sunshine, and blue really is liberating. green really is the birth of life and reds really are passion and fury and love and all that. i live in my art and my words far too much, maybe, and that's why i don't really breathe air or notice people or anything: i'm making attempts, instead, to pass through life without existing, to maybe focus on my imagination and how to describe air like clean laundry or how light hits cheekbones and flows over jawlines and into necks and shoulders, and how skin is like milk or velvet, but i can't make milk or velvet because i am only pretending.

something like livingCollapse )

like a shipwreck (4) we die going into ourselves

earth is not a cold dead place [Wednesday
March 22nd, 2006 at 5:56pm]
[ mood | curiosity killed the cat ]

what is your favorite poem? share it with me (and everyone else) here, please. i'd love to see.

like a shipwreck (26) we die going into ourselves

'i wanted to hurt you but the victory is that i could not stomach it.' [Thursday
March 16th, 2006 at 11:37pm]
[ mood | this is what you wanted ]

'Much has passed between us or was it always only
on the one side? I am at fault, at fault, I asked
you to be human - I am no needier than other people.
But the absence of all feeling, of the least concern
for me - I might as well go on addressing the birches,
as in my former life; let them do their worst, let
them bury me with the Romantics, their pointed yellow
leaves falling and covering me.'

too many memories, i need to sort and reprioritize. i am afraid of life, and not necessarily so much the noun - the big, ominous thing that haunts me like bacteria or dust - but more of the physical entity of living. breathing, blinking, muscles contracting and relaxing, atoms that make proteins that are the root to all my problems; essentially, the idea of something inorganic collecting together to be able to process thoughts and ideas and emotions. my proteins made me do it. that's why my body won't function - malnutrition, insomnia, overworked, overprocessed, overexpressed - excuses to explain disinterest and the ability to absorb and not see or be or breathe. so stillborn, in fact, to not voice an opinion anymore; to not back up an argument, to call it stupid. so numb to forget feeling, to yearn for something other than anger or complacency. i can't hold conversations or go out or eat the (right OR wrong) kinds of foods. that was a lie. i can't tell the truth. i eat a lot. you've heard all this before, you know all this already. you all know what it's like to breathe and not be, to not exist despite everything in the natural law of science that says you really are. i'm afraid of [you]. i'm afraid of human contact. when a girl goes so long without being touched, she solidifies. i'm impermeable. i think, maybe, the best way to explain it, is to think of a hollow body dragging through life by a rope from around the waist, faltering, flailing, eyes closed, rubber skin. like a vegetable, kind of. like the girl on that commercial, the pot-smoking commercial. that's me, to a 't'. i miss the wrong person.

i'm going to be the type of person who's fifty years old and looks back on life and realizes i made all the wrong choices and met the wrong people and did the wrong things. i'm going to realize i'm not happy and i am of solitary character and not all the people or things or places can make me less alone because i do it by choice. i can't see or be anyone else or with anyone else because i live in a great, big world of ideals. that's why i can't get what i want, and i never want anything enough to have it, and i'm always okay without it. i'm always alright, i'm always alright. like when sartre writes about perfect moments, and how things were meant to fall into place and the dominoe effect takes over and fate makes perfect moments - but they don't exist at all. there's no such thing. all there is, is chaos. and that's why tarik said chaos is beautiful. i just now understand - that's all there is. that's why everything in this world is so great and big and grand - it's chaotic and fucking wonderful because it's not supposed to exist and the slight chance it does it extraordinary. and it makes me fucking hate probability because that means i can't be lazy. i can't let things just 'come'. they don't come. that means i have to make myself breathe, and i have to make myself live, and i'm the only one who can let someone in, let my skin breathe. but i won't. i never, ever will. i know i won't because i've never been that motivated and that's why i'm going to be fifty and looking back at my life and hating everything.

i'm dying to spill my heart to a stranger. i'm a coward, and that may be the best way to come to terms with the distances inside my heart. i've never made a decision and been 100% okay with it. it's usually more like 50.5% okay. 50.4%. the numbers are irrelevent, you understand. that's why i can't say anything. that's why i can't say anything. that's why i have to say things more than once. i have a self-pity complex, and that's why i cry so much. i miss my dad. he and my stepmom left this morning for hawaii for ten days, and i didn't get to say goodbye. he left me a note that said he woke up early to say goodbye but he didn't know i left early. i'm so mad i left early. i cried about that, too. it kills me to know he loves me. you have no idea. it absolutely kills me. the fact that i can be loved and can be missed, kills me. there are some things i don't think i'll ever forgive my mom for, and telling me all those years that he hated us and conspired against us, is probably one of those things. i don't know if i can even forgive myself for believing her. i don't know if i can forgive myself for never calling him when we needed help or never believing him when he said 'i'm sorry' or 'i love you'. this entry is maybe too much, too honest.

'how often have i lain beneath rain on a strange
roof, thinking of home'.

like a shipwreck (24) we die going into ourselves

March 13th, 2006 at 10:11pm]
[ mood | asthma won't let me feel ]

at work on saturday, i had a handsome young man from a table, as he was leaving, ask for a pen. he took one of the business cards and hustled around to the other side of the hostess stand, behind the lamp, where i couldn't really see. of course i thought nothing of it. but as his table's taxi pulled up, he looked at me and kind of closed-mouthed a grin, a very smug but charming look on his face, and slid the card toward me and walked out the door. on it said 'che bella' and i just started blushing and smiling extensively and waved good-bye as he turned to smile, in the entry way, and left. it really entirely made my day. i keep the card in my purse.

sunday, i was sick and dying in my bed. i am still convinced it's rhuematitis or bronchitis or something. no, just kidding, but really.

i don't trust myself. my decisions fluctuate like soundwaves. i find constants through literature. often i am singed by sunlight, i find its existence to be too fierce and consistent. i am afraid of dust, dead skin cells and certain kinds of bacteria. something about throat losenges calms me, and i have perhaps taken too many drugs for one sick girl this past weekend. i do hope my insides fare well, for i waver out here in the bed sheets and dirty car seats.

'although she seemed expansive and cordial, she had a solitary character and an impenetrable heart.'

like a shipwreck (12) we die going into ourselves

pulling the puzzles apart, don't speak as loud as my heart [Tuesday
February 21st, 2006 at 2:59am]
[ mood | i had to find you ]

oh my god, i don't even know what i'm supposed to do. what happened? what the fuck happened? why is it this one boy makes me feel so alive? i only feel compelled to write when i'm near him, when he's close. i'll tell you, all, right now, three in the morning, from the beginning, because i need to understand. this will be point by point. fact by fact. please excuse me if you've heard this all before, if you remember from some old entries (here, here and here. those might not be in order), but i have to do this now. i miss him and i can't sleep because i keep thinking of green eyes and an old stage presence. i feel like every question i ever had about him was just answered because he held me and kissed my forehead. this isn't going to be beautiful or poetic, i just have to get this out. you have to understand.

and it, this 'new', started and ended and birthed with bob's death. i was getting dressed and knowing, denying and praying, praying to deny that i knew what could usually only be wishful thinking. keir and i drove the two hours down to gunnison - i drove too fast and it might've been closer to an hour and a half, but it couldn't come enough. i wanted so badly to see him, but not at a funeral. i didn't want it to be bob's funeral. my god, poor bob. bob and that fucking church, some bullshit about jesus christ our lord savior and faith and only having two purposes in life: to develop faith to return to the heavenly father and something about keeping that faith. i don't even remember because it was so stupid and i wanted to hit the guy and his stupid rock repelling analogies to faith and life and bullshit. and when keir and i saw bob's body, we started to cry. and i just wanted him to show up, i just wanted that fucker to come so i could see him. he came and keir and i interrupted the sermon and everything to walk over to where he was, and i hugged him. he gave me his seat and i heard him crying behind me. every bit of my body wanted to hold him to make him feel better, but i held back and cried and thought about how much i had the mormon religion and god and religion in general. bob did not need that at all. after the sermon, he stormed out and we, keir and i and the other boys, followed him out. i grabbed his arm and pressed my forehead to his bicep as he lit a cigarette, and then held me. and i swear we stood there for ten minutes. at the cemetary, we were shivering and i held his hand in my gloves. he smoked more on the car ride over. before he went to talk to bob's mom, i linked my arm inside his and rested my chin on his shoulder, my head on his arm, held him close, etc. to keep me warm and to comfort him some for so, so long.

you have to understand: he's the type of best friend where you can't say 'i love you' or give him hugs. you can't tell him you miss him or you care or you're worried because it's his pride complex. he'll be angry or embarrassed or things will be awkward. he's the type of best friend where you make jokes and laugh at his jokes and hang out here and there, silently knowing you two are best friends. and you buy him a graduation present that says 'best' on one and 'friends' on the other, knowing he'll wear it every day without taking it off. i'm the type of best friend to acknoweldge something without words. i don't usually tell people (in person, i guess, at least) that i love them or miss them. over the phone is hard. i can do letters. i don't like to be touched, to be honest, and i just expect people to know that i love them and appreciate them by the things i do for them - the things i say, the advice i offer, etc. all alludes to my love and care for my close friends. so you have to understand that, for me and for him, this is so strange. for me to cling onto him and for him to hold me so close is so, so strange.

i bought him lunch and he sat down next to joe, pulling me in by my side, next to him, to squish three of us into one bench, three on the other side, and two of us at the table on the other side. he was touching my knee and they were all making jokes about bob, about the old times and how well hung he is and what a good, funny guy he was. when he turned around to look at something behind us, he put his chin on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. i bought joe a burger because he wasn't eating, and i had to go to the bathroom to catch my breath and look in the mirror and realize what was happening. why does this happen? what the fuck happened, brad? every question i ever had about him was answered everytime he stood by me, or put his arm around me, or held me with my face buried in his shoulder. after lunch, we went to mike's house and i sat down on a block of wood. they all wanted to smoke a cigar and i was going to memorize his face and the fields, the color of winter dirt, sunshine and snow when it glitters down instead of falls. something, perhaps, closer to the nature of acid deposition than snow by it's outward appearance. he grabbed my hand and pulled me up and pulled me in to his chest again, grinning. i stopped to put down my purse and hugged him, again; for forever, again. he said 'don't breathe in too deep, your boobs are right below my ribs and it hurts' and i started laughing and got embarrassed. i pushed him away and ran to put my purse in my car, bringing him back matches and a blanket which i wrapped around my body and my head.

we drove over to joe's house and he told me about whitney (the girl he's currently interested in) and smoked another cigarette. he spilled ashes over his pants and apologized: i called him a jerk for making my car smell but i don't really care. to be quite honest, i want the smell to stay, to remind me of him. i won't, but i'd even start smoking, i bet, to think of him, because i miss him so god damned much. at joe's house, i sat down and he sat on my lap. mike sat on his and i wrapped my arms around him. he, laughing, made mike move and made me get up and sat me back down in his lap. my legs didn't even reach the floor, but i sat there and swung them and made jokes and laughed at his jokes and everybody else's jokes because i'm just a laugher and i didn't feel like saying much. he got up to smoke a cigar, and came back to sit by me on the couch this time. he kept his arm on top of mine until i smoked a bowl and then had to pee. when i sat back down, i wasn't as close to him as before. we stayed like that for a while - me, slightly 'happy' on the green and him talking and making jokes and playing games and things. he said something and pulled me into him again, wrapping his arm around me and i put my head on the soft spot on his shoulder. i could hear his heart and his lungs and i was just feeling because i didn't want to let go and they were going to have to leave soon, for vegas en route to california. keir was playing the guitar and said, with my eyes closed and listening to his breathing, 'why don't you two just get married? it'd solve all your problems'. and i said 'no, we can't, i'm only 17', and he said 'and i'm only turning 20 this october ... plus, we wouldn't get along. i'd piss kelli off too much.' to which i began nodding my head furiously. his hand was by my thigh and i had my arms wrapped tight around myself. everytime i looked at him, my stomach would drop. he'd kiss my forehead, and my stomach would drop. my heart would stop because i couldn't come to terms with what was happening. i didn't understand, really, what was happening. oh my god, what happened?

we stood up to leave and walked outside. i walked in front and by the cars he hugged me again for a really long time. he kissed the top of my head and then i gave mike a hug before they left for vegas en route to california. we stood and talked for a little while - i began to shake from the cold again and he pulled me close and put his arm around me and i stopped immediately. time seemed to pause all day long. he'd hold me and i'd stop breathing. i still don't understand what was happening and i refuse to admit something may have been there all along between my best friend and i. mike and keir joked about never being able to leave because we kept talking so much, so i slipped out from under his arm and opened the passenger door to my car and stood in the doorway to wait for keir. he gave me one of those looks and came over and kissed my forehead again and i couldn't look at him. i couldn't look at him. i mustered a really meek 'bye, brad' and got in the car and closed the door and studied some papers. and i was so quiet for the whole drive home. i still don't understand. what am i supposed to do, now? what am i supposed to do? what was that? what the fuck happened? my god, i miss him so much. i need to talk to him.

you have to understand that nothing can come from this. absolutely nothing can come from this because he's brad and i'm kelli and we don't get along. we argue all the time and i tell him i hate it when he smokes and we just don't get along, don't you see? if anything had ever happened between him and i, it would've ended terribly. nothing can come from this. we have a terrible enough love-hate relationship as it is, and, you see, we'd end up killing eachother if we ever decided to fall in love. a part of me really feels like i ought to have held his hand more, or kissed him or made him come take a walk with me or something. i have always, always always yearned to be closer to him - to be better best friends alone, not even anything necessarily romantic. he just fucking draws me in. he's like the tide or a drug and it kills me. he pulls me in and pushes me away, and i love him and i hate him so god damned much. i couldn't even watch him drive away. keir got in the car and i immediately started talking about the best and most efficient way to get back to I-15.

i came home three hours too late (it wasn't even seven) and now i'm grounded. i've never been grounded before, really. i took a nap from 8-10 and then i couldn't sleep and i've been on myspace and watching tv ever since, reading some of your guys' things here and there. i don't have the mind for it, though. i really don't. i can't stop thinking about him. my sweater and my jacket and my hair all smell like him. i changed so quick when i came home so i wouldn't smell like weed or cigars or cigarettes but i fell asleep on my sweater and thought of him. i just can't believe he's gone again. alicia was here this weekend, too, and she left this morning before i went for the funeral. i had my two best friends leave me on the same day as my other friends' funeral. god i just don't know what to think or do. i'm so overly emotional all the time.

sweet boy to whom this entry was not directed: i can't wait to talk to you. i hope i fall asleep until you come home so we can talk about all this because we really need to talk about all this. i hope you understand. god, you have to understand. i miss you so much.

i can't see him again. my god i can't go see him again. it's safer for him to be in california. why did this have to happen now? i swear, fate likes to fuck over my timing on everything. my heart is torn across the country; i have to recollect. i have to forget all this and redirct.

what happened? what the fuck happened down there? i really need someone to talk to. oh god.

i'm sorry this was a mile and a half long. it's 5:11 now. what am i going to do with myself?

like a shipwreck (15) we die going into ourselves

February 17th, 2006 at 9:29pm]

rest in peace, bob carnes.

February 13th, 2006 at 9:32pm]

a work in progressCollapse )

like a shipwreck (17) we die going into ourselves

February 5th, 2006 at 5:00pm]
[ mood | will you leave me here, dying? ]

'I forget it isn't you
grown quiet in the green light spilling through
strange trees, but my memory of you.'

like a shipwreck (22) we die going into ourselves

January 30th, 2006 at 10:00pm]
'Say we belong to each other. Say the same thing
holds us holds us apart.'
like a shipwreck (7) we die going into ourselves

no words, no words: no mas palabras para mi [Saturday
January 21st, 2006 at 10:41pm]

snowCollapse )

you guys can probably start deleting me if you want because i don't know how often i'll be posting important things or beautiful things or anythings because i've lost all my words (verbally and otherwise). i might give you pictures here and there (like my painting or these pictures of my backyard), but i can't make any promises. i just don't know what i'm doing anymore. i don't need this anymore because i get caught in the middle of too many things (past more than just one situation) and i don't read or comment much anymore. i just sleep and think about winter and artichokes and light on the windowsills and highways and vacations and things.

like a shipwreck (25) we die going into ourselves

if we drove side by side [Wednesday
January 18th, 2006 at 6:44pm]
[ mood | burned down bridges ]

but then mariaCollapse )

like a shipwreck (14) we die going into ourselves

January 10th, 2006 at 4:05am]
i really hate everything this has come to.
i'm either quitting and giving up or starting over and laying low.
i'm not sure how often you'll hear from me? i'm not keeping any promises to anything.
just, forget about this.

i'm apparently pretentious and stay at home too much. this is a waste of an entry. [Sunday
January 8th, 2006 at 2:08pm]
[ mood | the vastness of pavement ]

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Gravity B.
Date: Jan 7, 2006 12:05 AM

you're a pretty girl, and undoubtedly intelligent but your focus on literature seems pretentious. have you ever tried drinking and making trouble? not to say its the best way in the world, but theres nothing like self-destruction to settle internal reflection. your great authors weren't abstinent in their own existence, they lived their lives and turned it into art.

My reply:Collapse )

that asshole. he's not really an asshole. he just doesn't get it.

in other news, i'm so close to my goal for money for europe this summer. like $100 short.

like a shipwreck (34) we die going into ourselves

'as long as i keep talking, i can once again live the life i had before' [Wednesday
December 28th, 2005 at 4:58pm]
[ mood | there's life left to live ]

i'm beginning to get used to the smell of turpentine and having permanently stained extremities. i hate what i've come up with. i hate these thin shirts and shorts and having to ventilate the room so as to not poison my blood and lungs with the turpentine [i'm beginning to love]. right now everything is quiet and still, but when i woke up this morning, the wind was shaking the house and trembling it's cement core. i was reading sartre and staring at old paintings that need to be finished: first, second and third layers of paint like skin. beginning a new painting is, i have decided, one of the most liberating bits of life. then i decided finishing a painting is one of the most accomplishing bits. then i decided i hate what i've come up with. i always hate the finished product and it's merely the process that i love. i love my dirty hands, arms, legs and face - paint on the floor and in my hair - paint in my lungs, perhaps, moreso than on the canvas. i'm such a messy painter. i'm just messy, period. my life is put together really quickly, but in a very sloppy manner, but that's okay i guess. there's no fun in perfection because it lacks character. right? i shouldn't say that. that's like saying helenistic sculpture lacks character because it's perfect versus a painting like klimt's 'medicine'. there's no fun in perfection because i'm not perfect, no matter how hard i try (and then, there's my sister).

sorry for being so vain, by the way. i'm in love with light and the way it rolls and turns like the ocean. except light is so gentle. light is what gives things essence, it is the antithesis of nothingness. that's why i'm basing my concentration on light this year. i have to try and capture the relationship between light and skin, and light and cloth; reflections, refractions, neon light, flourescent light, natural light, light spots, hard light, soft light, night lights, alpine glow, indoor light, outdoor light. but i especially love figures in light, light on skin and cloth. skin and cloth. god, it kills me. i mean, that's pathetic. light kills me. i die every morning when i wake up, and am born whenever i go back to sleep. this world is such a great, big wonderful place, you know? the wind is blowing again every now and then the neighbor's trees hide their christmas lights. that kid is in my art class. he wears 'aqua teen hunger force' t-shirts and said he's only in that class because he thought it'd be easier than art history. the wind is blowing again. oh, god, the wind is blowing again.

like a shipwreck (18) we die going into ourselves

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