The New Place

Okay, I took a few pictures (few meaning very few) and there are more to come, but it looks pretty rad so far. Considering moving is not up for discussion, I guess this is an okay option.











some of my shit. can you spy the stack of Rolling Stones'? Yeah I made sure not to lose those.



Thoughts?

Re: Stacks

My mom left today. I'm content with it, I think. I watched her pull away in her teeny car and it felt like any other evening when she would make a last minute drive to pick something up. At first I was so angry. I was fuming. She had something I didn't. She was able to escape; to go some place where the yelling couldn't penetrate the walls of her bedroom. Of course she deserves it more than me, but I'm still feeling like a little kid who got duped out of a day at the beach. It just makes me look forward to leaving this town forever. Can't come soon enough, although I'm fairly certain I'll miss it dearly once I'm out. My life is a fractured series of longing for what I had minutes before and no amount of instant gratification or appreciation can undo that inevitable yearn.

Re: Stacks matches my mood right now. Bon Iver has the most beautiful voice.

That said, only excitement for this weekend. Showtime. Stage. Adrenaline. Fucking spotlights. What I live for. Dancing has proved to be the only extracurricular I've actually enjoyed this year. That sounds awful but honestly the rest I'm only doing for the credit. Screw honorablity and give me good beat.

I really like taking pictures.










what do you think?

Cars & Spurts of Consciousness

My mind has been on driving for a while now. I took a vow that as soon as I got my license I'd be out of here. Where is here, exactly? Do I expect to leave all of these worms behind? Honestly, what do I think is going to happen... Nothing. I've got a snake tied to my foot and it's striking at my chest because it's the only part of me that moves as I breathe.

I've got to get this done soon or I'll leave it for later and nix the whole thing entirely because it's sounds stupid once fed back into my own ears. But the beauty of it is that at the time it sounded perfect. One must learn to respect his own spontaneity despite its danger.

Young people are naturally drawn to risks. We are physiologically attracted to our own destruction. Is that what I attribute these urges to? Do I owe my need to go and lick the ground for a few minutes to how many years I've been alive? I've discussed this previously.

Is this stream of consciousness style too upbeat for you? Shall I switch it up.

I sank into the passenger's seat with a thunk. Car door slam (wow car themes again, don't call me inconsistent). "You just can't seem to get it right, can you?" my brain says with a sneer. I ignored it and picked at my finger nail, then sank further into the cushion at the realization of forgetting shit in my locker. All the same, maybe it was some subconscious upheaval of all responsibility.

No see it doesn't work this is still just my brain talking about shit only I care for. The name "stream" is pretty fitting but maybe "spurt" would work better. Typing this shit is just a handle for the door to what goes on inside my head all day. I don't start thinking this way every time I hit "New Post", rather: it goes inside this box instead of looping back around the curves of my spine.

A certain thing has been giving me trouble recently. Whenever I exit passenger side, and go to shut the car door, I shock myself. The metal slaps my hand back with a snap of invisible lightning. Sometimes I remember just in time and plant one foot on the front lawn before touching the door but this is a poor substitute for a remedy.

I really like the name Isaac. Or John. Have you ever noticed that you can't name your kid the name of a person you dislike, even if you liked the name itself to begin with. Enemies have a funny way of having a lot more loyalty than some friends. If I dislike someone, I just decide to not give a fuck about them because hate is a form of caring, and why should I care about the asshat who stands still in a hallway of moving people? Seriously get out of the way or I will push.

I don't it just doesn't look like it's gonna get any better. When you're young you believe that you'll have the perfect life when you're big. I keep trying to get it right and I keep failing. Or I do but I'm not happy. Sometimes I just think I would be happier if I was a homeless pot head. Having no one to answer to seems like utter bliss.

If making other people happy, makes me happy, then why am I so goddamn sad when I get good grades and don't go to parties. It doesn't make any fucking sense and there's no answer to this stupid equation. Whenever I try to communicate this to someone I just pussy out and tears come. I hate when people say that no one understands them. Are you fucking kidding me EVERYONE understands your situation because EVERYBODY goes through this. Everyone is just to pussy to actually talk to anyone else when it's not psychobullshit consisting of "did you do the english homework" or "omigod she's such a slut".

Do you know why there are stereotypes in high school. Do you know why there are 8 million cliques. It's because people need a place to hide.

The Morgue

I can remember my first panic attack. It's been my only one so far, but I feel like it won't be my last.

I'm 16 years old, and this happened about 5 or 6 months ago. I am only dwelling on this because I feel as shitty now as I did when this went down in September or October. Whatever.

I had just taken a shower. I wasn't, y'know ecstatic, but I wasn't feeling down. I was comfortable. I crossed from the bathroom, past the stairs, aiming for my bedroom, not much on my mind. Then I heard my mother's call. She was downstairs on the computer, like she always is. An avid Facebook addict, there is little more she does. That's fine though.

I trampled down the stairs, overcoming the irritability of the interruption. She had a Youtube video set up for me. It showed kids getting into car accidents and their mothers having to identify them at the morgue. I dunno why but suddenly my stomach got all twisted up and I sprinted back up the stairs, still in my bathrobe. My mother was calling after me, confused as to why I wasn't sticking around to finish this cheery little flick. I ended up in the closest room to the stairs: the bathroom. It's always the bathroom.

I just collapsed onto the tile floor. It was cold under my cheek, and I could feel the lines between the tiles pressing into my face, leaving their prints there so I would have to remember this gut feeling for the rest of my life. I remember my chest heaving, and wanting to cry but not being able to.

I just sat there for what felt like a really long time, but it was probably only about 10-15 minutes. I don't know what it was... maybe the possibility of losing the ones I love, or maybe just the sympathy I felt for the mothers on the screen... whatever it was it's stuck with me. I guess it did its job.

Weather

Why can't I cry?

I've wondered this for a long time. There's something wrong with me, I know it. I listen to saturatingly depressing music, I got 99 problems... let alone bitchez, and I never break down. I sit there and I immerse myself in the melancholy shadows of the world and the most I ever get is eye watering. Just that painful chest tightness. Am I heartless? It just makes me feel guilty - like I'm don't care about myself; I do. I promise. So why can't I let it out.

Sometimes all I feel like is a good hour-long sob fest, but it doesn't come. Last time I really cried was August, in a gross hotel room. Like that day where you know it's gonna rain, you're so sure, so ready for the cool pounding on the roof, but it taunts you. An interesting concept, weather taunting you. At this point I'm just waiting for it all to... rip out of my head. It seems so cruel of me. I don't know.

I kinda want to learn to play the piano. It's the greatest invention ever created, apart from the fridge. Keeps all yo food cold. Pianos don't do that. But I want to learn to play all the same.

I might have seen my 99 year old great grandmother for the last time in August. Ugh, August. It was so painful. She didn't speak a word of English, but she looked so happy sometimes. Her whole family in the same house. I can appreciate that. Other times she just stared sadly out th window onto the narrow street outside. Her arms were skinnier than Meg's. Barely any hair. So much heart. God, I wish I knew what she was saying when she spoke to me. I regret not spending a year there instead of a month.

I hate when people say "No regrets". Most times it's a lie. Sure, you gain valuable experience from everything, but don't tell me you wouldn't go back and change the rough spots if you could. No questions asked, I wouldn't have said that to him. I wouldn't have.

My first big decision about the mess coming up. Anyone up to making it for me? LOL. I refuse to take sides. One thing I won't do, ever. But how can I decide without doing that. Fuck.

I love this silence. It's happy silence, heavy and wrapping.

The Fucking Puppy

I had another nightmare last night. Woke up in a sweat. If it's ever happened to you you know how lovely a feeling it is.

It basically showed me what would have happened if they'd had another baby. Jesus, I used to think it was a good idea. Terrible. I was like the mother of the child, for one thing. Because my mom was... like she was out of the picture. All throughout the dream the perspective kept toggling from me to her. I was driving with the baby and the 3 other kids in the car with my dad, and she was in her car with our friend's dog. Obvious symbolism is obvious. And then there was an earthquake... and my mom never checked to see if we were okay, all she cared about was the fucking puppy. And I was responsible for the baby, I couldn't cheat the baby out of a good life I had to make sure it was safe and situated. I don't want this to happen to me.

That baby was so goddamn cute. It was the cutest thing ever. Ugh I have school.