the edges of the canvas have a stronger pull

.




the breeze was too much today. time was too much. the self was too much.
i could not allow my eyes to stay still, and the motion of the tree branches that were splayed across the sky, above the pavement, casting dull shadows--the swaying mimicked the coursing of thoughts in my head.
and a conspicuous sense of calm layered itself above it all so that the dynamic numbness was only a droning whisper.
that frightened me most.



_____________________________________________________





today was busy.
i went to borders& got dominique's gift
(happy b-day boom day birth day ballistic baby burn baby dominique) (!)
and i also got
A Vindication of the Rights of Women {Mary Wollstonecraft}
The F-Word: Feminism in Jeopardy {Kristin Rowe-Finkbeiner}
One Teacher in Ten: Lesbian and Gary Educators Tell Their Stories {Kevin Jennings }
yay me and non-fiction books.



_____________________________________________________








_____________________________________________________





and i am now annotating Wasted for the fifth time.

That paradox would begin to run my life: to know that what you are doing is hurting you, maybe killing you, and to be afraid of that fact--but to cling to the idea that this will save you, it will, in the end, make things okay.

The world won't stop for me and I have to catch it before it goes flying by and I MISS MY CHANCE to be INCREDIBLE. There is a deadline on incredibility and the clock is ticking away

People who have Been to Hell and Back develop a certain sort of self-righteousness. There is a tendency to say: I have an addictive personality, I am terribly sensitive, I'm touched with fire, I have Scars. There is a self-perpetuating belief that one simply cannot help it, and this is very dangerous. It becomes an identity in and of itself. It becomes its own religion, and you wait for the salvation, and you wait, and wait, and wait, and do not save yourself. If you saved yourself and did not wait for salvation, you'd be self-sufficient. How dull.

In retrospect, I can see that my manic run toward success may have been based on the belief? knowledge? that I had only a small window of opportunity in which to succeed. One night, earlier in the school year, Lora had asked me how long I thought I would live. I lay there in bed and considered the question for a minute. I said, "Maybe twenty."...I didn't particularly want to live much longer than that. Life seemed rather daunting. It seems so to me even now. Life seemed like too long a time ot have to stick around, a huge span of years though which one would be required to tap-dance and smile and be Great! and be Happy! and be Amazing! and be Precocious! I was tired of life by the time I was sixteen. I was tired of being too much, too intense, too manic. I was tired of people, and I was incredibly tired of myself.

--Marya Hornbacher.









_____________________________________________________







.

get ready, the best way

.







today i woke up earlier than usual& took a long shower. half the time i sat in the stall thinking.
thoughts so fast that it seemed as if there were none.
when i got out i rubbed lotion all over my body and dried my hair with a coarse towel.

by three, i was all dressed up with no where to go.
not yet, anyway.

by seven i was at a party, overdressed and underplayed, sober and half tired.
people blurred and shifted the awkward feeling around as skin touched skin.
movement of bodies like the beating of the music.
my ears went fuzzy afterwards.
i didn't really feel like dancing.

i came home late and changed into a loose shirt and boxers.
i wrapped a scarf around my head and took off my bracelets.
i don't think that i'll sleep tonight.













.

literally then figuratively, or the other way around.

.





i could not speak for the failings of our time had slipped from your mouth to mine,
the words designed in my throat remained unsaid,
and i could not paint in the way i might have before.












.



i seem to be losing more and more faith as the days go by. sometimes even in the span of hours, i can feel belief thinning, ever so slightly, barely perceptible unless i am absolutely still and almost numb, vulnerable enough to be aware and to feel what i hold so much fear of. it terrifies me, usually. but i must admit that at times, i feel an odd extent of relief.




.




today i was very absorbed.
i walked from class to class with halting steps and a mind that buzzed so constantly that the movement of thought seemed unbroken, whole and monotone.
it was one of those days where the air seems cold, regardless, and surroundings seem to have adopted a tendency to fade.
i tuned out in class and let voices spill into my ears without significance, made a sarcastic comment or two, but mostly stayed quiet.
i didn't look at him in the eye today.
and even when we walked together from fifth period to sixth, his frame less than a foot away from mine, moving in a gait that i'm so tenderly familiar with,
it seemed as if i was miles away.
i didn't want to be near him. he didn't speak to me either. maybe he was angry with me. he usually is.
it didn't matter, though. not today.





.





i really enjoy my walks with eric. maybe too much.
its bizarre because although we're not much in regard to the relationship between us--
i mean, he's just the boy i admire and put faith in from a distance, and i'm just the girl whose ramblings he listens to with small gasps and awkward chuckles--
but it feels like he cares about me more than some of my closest 'friends' do.
most of my closest friends.
and maybe he does. he's very gentle in that way, i think. maybe that's his little gift. he's just plain... kind. not that that's a normal thing. at least not in my opinion. a precious characteristic, if you ask me.
anyway. i'm thankful to have met him. he's a fabulous listener and he makes me smile.





.





i think that's enough writing for this entry.
i think that the people who observe usually look at the picture anyway.
which is fine by me. i personally find myself staring at these images, wistful and all of that.
so.




.

walk in someone else's shoes bullshit

.











it's interesting how, if you really think about it, i don't know you.
dickens described humans as mysteries to one another, and i'd have to agree, regardless of my lack of affinity for his all too imagery-heavy writing style.
can you imagine what it's like to be me?
can i imagine what it's like to be you? or him?
now i don't know about you, but it all has a rather negative connotation, don't you think?











.

open envelope

.















the faintness of the scent of green tea, like the soft layer of his scent on my skin.
i can still feel the pressure of his fingers on my lips, gently arresting their movement so that i'd stop, mid-word and slightly confused.
he didn't speak, but i felt an imminent sigh. for the moment, i let that be enough.













.

you won't feel a thing.

help me please. i am not what you've seen. or what you've touched. i feel that sometimes i am the angel on the fringe of the holy ground. and other times, i am swimming in your eyes, trying to make out how harsh the heat is, getting burned as i stumble, confused and amazed.

.

within an inch of my life. save me please.

.





every intake of breath increases in difficulty.
sometimes i wish i made better friends.
and other times i hope that blood will eventually overcome differences.




















.

no thing

.







i cut my hair.
___________________________________________________

words collapse on your lips, mid-kiss; i am intoxicated with the fall, and you realize that you can not be a poem. your eyes are too dark and there's too much bad faith. the world breaks. we were going to go to the sea yesterday, but days can unravel, just like you can unlove and unsex, uncare and undo everything &me. you want to do to me what the sun does to the fruits during autumntime, but i'm so enraptured by winter, taken under and fallen through; i love the cold more than i love you. what happens now. but hey, i think i was taught this way. i said, so long ago, "please be steady, please be kind," but maybe i spoke too softly. or they chose not to hear. or i only said it to myself, really, in my head. i find it so difficult to sort out my thoughts, as if they're irreversibly embedded into all the wrong places and i can't stand how alone it makes me feel. so i rush towards people, all the wrong people. there's a song in my head but they can't hear it; maybe that's the problem. but most tell me that the song being there in the first place is what's wrong. i can't believe that, that's like letting a part of me die, isn't it.

___________________________________________________

.

crossed and no where to go?

.











______________________________________________________________





______________________________________________________________


a senior at our school committed suicide a few days ago.
the first thing that i thought when i heard the announcement was "what the fuck is wrong with this place."
miss mesdjin broke down during class when she heard. she was really close to him, i guess. his name was andrew rosen. was. how sad is that.
i wonder what's going through the minds of his parents.
when i told darius, the first thing he said was "well it's in time for the june issue."
sometimes i wonder what it is with people like him. and other times i wonder what it is with people like andrew. either way, the world seems too sad sometimes.
it gets difficult to smile when you hear of things like that.
too young.
god bless.




.