trouble sleeping, trouble waking

Like ripping off a Band-aid. I haven't listened to music in a real way since I saw you.
I was selfish for keeping it to myself, and now that it's yours, I've been floating around like a ghost.
I want this hollow feeling to subside, I want to be filled with joy and laughter and smile—!
(Like the way I smiled around you)
And I just want to feel like...me again.
I keep waiting for phone calls that shouldn't come,
and won't.
I keep wanting to relive that final moment,
or day, or whatever—
it was like you were dying, and only I knew.
and I had to love you with all of me before you left.
And I am tired of pseudo-Romeos—
I think part of me misses you and your...robotics.
You don't believe in dreams,
and dreams (nightmares) of you are all I have left.
Ironic.
I just. miss you.
—but don't want you! don't need you! (can't want you, can't need you)
threadbare heartstrings, and neck bruises
and remembering.
please make it stop, all of it.
I'm mourning something—someone—that was dead long before
either of us realized it,
and I can't. stop.

chai, and then some

Conditional kindness is a little tragic.
It's easy to tell with some people.

dazy gaze through the eyes of blue

I can't stop smiling! Dead Mickey Mouse is on Quin's back, head cocked at an inhuman angle, staring blankly at all of us like he wants to kill us. And the voice. Take the backpack out of the room. All I can think of is Danny from The Shining staring at blood-spattered mirrors—WHY!

So dorm life is a little strange, I guess. The five of us have been sitting here for at least three hours, trying to do homework—we even had a quiet time countdown!—and all we've done so far is reminisce about high school, giggle about boys, and try really hard to forget that it's only Monday.

I think the only enjoyment that anyone will get out of this post is Quin; it's the first time I've included someone's name in my blog! Quin's wearing that "So 2013" shirt, the one that all the freshman get, the one that I've lost.

I just promised my good friend breakfast at 9:30am, and am proud of myself. Mornings have always been a challenge, but look at me now! A bold adventurer in the face of wake-up time, saying "I WILL DEFEAT YOU!" Okay, it's probably been one energy drink too many... Goodbye, goodbye.

beginnings

I have a six page draft due on Wednesday, and am currently experiencing Writer's Block. In hopes of alleviating this, I drank a bottle and a half of water, chugged a 16 oz. Americano, and listened to Animal Collective, to no avail. As a result I have a headache...and have to pee. Awesome.

The coffee on campus has never tasted good. On the rare days this quarter that it has been up to par, I've been too busy huffing and sweating my way to the Arts and Sciences Building to experience it fully. I know grumbling this much should be a sin when our campus is the size of a large shopping mall, but I just...miss...Starbucks. Ha, I can see you now, you silly coffee connoisseur, turning your nose up and scoffing. (Starbucks isn't real coffee!) Maybe so, but I miss it nonetheless. Seattle stereotype #1 fulfilled.

And coffee is all I've been craving this entire week! With Santa Clara's recent bout of sporadic rainstorms, all that any of us have wanted to do is curl up with a nice cup of Joe, and watch Edward Norton films,  in the meanwhile, pretend we're disturbed by all the violence, when in reality...we're enjoying it. Perhaps I'm speaking for myself. Self-appointed crazy points...

I'm only blogging with the faint ambition that my brain and fingers will warm up, and I'll be able to write this silly paper that I was so excited about three days ago. Badabababa...I'm loving it.

the greatest thing you'll ever learn...

"...is just to love, and be loved in return."

he ate my heart (i love that girl)

Excuse the title. Recently I've developed an addiction to/fascination with Lady Gaga—lyrics:
"That boy is a monster/he ate my heart." Haha.

TGIF, especially with this week's weather. Rawh. And...Happy Birthday Kara & Rob!

I wrote a couple songs this week. (Yes! Two!) Feeling accomplished, but as expected, have abandoned my good sleeping habits (solely birthed from sort-of-strict New Year's Resolutions, and not actual choice)...

Ahh, I can't stop loving.

dissonant

On the last train of the night, trying to filter fresh air through that sometimes-clean train smell—dull and lifeless, like these compartments gave up a long, long time ago, just as the people did. Scars on my hand.........


I saw them yesterday. The cursed, the untouchables, the dirty, sniveling sort—wait. They were smiling and laughing, drunk out of their minds, and almost happy, I think. I was almost envious of their struggle. For hours we walked around, and spoiled as I am, I gawked at the district walls like a toddler, sipping air through my mouth and holding onto it, avoiding cigarette smoke and the smell of vomit like a poodle wading through a sewer. I am terrible. We walked through the “garden,” a poor imitation of sustainable life, a tiny patch of green in a city of gray. The art reached the skies—a teary-eyed Latina girl, a rap artist wearing struggle like bling, and faceless bodies reaching upward, grasping clouds, palms bared. We have always been ashamed of our hands in America.

Sympathy is necessary, no—sympathy is cruel, or beautiful, or something. People do this every week. People do this every day. And here I am, a sheltered, middle-class college kid, whose eyes were jerked open unwillingly—at a frightening rate—and I’m not sure what to think. (What I should think.)

The town is sandwiched between the three richest districts in San Francisco. We literally stood outside a convenience store, and stared across the street...at a Hilton. I don’t understand. You can take five steps and be in an entirely different world.

But they seemed happy, in a way. They were yelling across the street, and up at windows. People walked by each other, slapping each other on the back in greeting—brotherhood...Hmm...ten toothless smiles later, I realized how lame I was. In my head I was feeling bad, I was ridden with guilt, but why? ? ? They smiled more often than a lot of people I've met.

The town smelled like death—well, the town looked like death. People were curled up in stairwells, holey blankets hiding their faces...I don’t think they were happy. Why would they be? (Why wouldn’t they be?) I don’t know. Of course I’ve encountered poverty before! Of course I have seen homeless people. But not like this. Not where there’s no escape. I am terrible. The most I’ve experienced of poverty is walking through a small district in downtown San Francisco...is it strange to want to see more? I don’t know. I don’t know. ......i’m sorry.

dust on the stadium seats

crawling, slowly, to that golden promised land where writers sit, sipping coffee

spinning thoughts into lace

craving coherence and balance,

and losing inhibition without...losing...inhibition

"this is a right not a fight"

more nightmares again,

but more entertaining this time

and cleaner,

and i woke up feeling triumphant

(unsettled)

but victorious nonetheless.

hmmm.

"taken by a nursery rhyme"

i miss smiles on yellow shirts

and morning donuts......

steve from scotland

airports are strange places. everything—everyone—in transit, everyone rushing and waiting and wired and sleepy. airports remind me of romance, and that final scene in all those movies where the main character's lover shows up right before they board the plane, tells them how much they love them (cue the piano music), and blam! forgiveness for the win. (insert crescendo of brass instruments here). wonderful.

i have two luggages and a guitar, along with a huge bag and my camera gear; haven't exactly planned out how i'm going to manage everything, wish me luck avoiding awkwardness and tripping.

again, underslept and glad for it.

strategic

I didn't notice how small my luggages were until now. After two hours of folding, rolling, and shoving, my bags are packed and I have a headache (which is more likely due to my drowning in Americanos today).

One of my contact lenses is blurry, I'm not even halfway through The Shining (where did the time go?), but I'm okay and looking forward to old/new habits—I'm not sure which are which yet...

Crossing my fingers and hoping I don't have to pay for all the extra baggage weight.

Figuratively, too. Ha.

spice

I haven't slept yet. Like what happens every new year, that Death Cab for Cutie song has been replaying in my head over and over, and for once I can't relate to its nonchalance.

"So this is the New Year, and I don't feel any different."

Not that I changed when the clock struck twelve, or that anything spectacular has actually happened to me—but the past month I have learned more about myself than I have this entire quarter. I am learning how important it is to take time for myself, and how much I love waking up to a bright gray sky, and how the kiss of a coffee cup has always been more consoling than yours. Nonetheless, you are still very much...there, and I'm grateful for it. Only time can heal some things.

Happy New Year. Here's to twelve more months of love.