fast

i didn't realize what an oxymoronic life i lead. i want things instantly. when i want to watch a movie, i hope it's on instant queue so i don't have to wait for it to get mailed to me. when i have to pay a bill, i do it online. when i need to ask someone a question and they don't answer a text or phone call, i see if they're on facebook. All instant communication; which i hate. i guess it's because the generation i've grown up in grew on technology. i don't know a world without internet, a place without cell service, a time without email (which is becoming outdated in itself). the world is becoming entirely too fast pace to even stop and enjoy anything in it. in high school we had to read Fahrenheit 451 (a book about the disuse of books and an electronic future.. bad description.. it was a while ago that i read it), and as much as i dreaded summer reading, this is one i actually took a liking to. there is a part in the book that i briefly remember where one of the characters stopped being so stuck in a fast paced, electronic world, and was merely staring at a tree and enjoying outside, and everyone questioned them. the book itself was written in the 50s i believe giving an ominous look at how we would become. it was a little farfetched and extreme, but in the back of my mind i can't help but think that's exactly where we're headed. anytime we go 4 seconds without cell reception we vow that our provider is "the absolute worst" and we must switch over to someone else asap. when was the last time we just stopped.... 


sometimes i just want to get a handwritten letter, or write one, whichever. knowing that i had the time, or someone else had the time, to get up from the table and stick it in the mailbox. even with electronic billing i rarely use the mail anymore. working in a fast food chain priding itself on fast, friendly service, where we must serve a customer in 2 minutes and 30 seconds or less and meeting these deadlines for school while paying bill after bill that never seem to catch up, really makes you want to stop, or wish you could stop, and sit; grab some coffee, read a book, and breathe. 


however, the coffee is most likely an instant brew while you read the latest books on your kindle while checking facebook in the other hand; but its close enough.


i say this as i write it on my blog which quickly posts to my facebook for me to monitor and edit on my phone... whatever. 


SLOW DOWN. BREATHE. DON'T WORRY. 


you'll still live... maybe. 

the potter's madness

madness. i've reached it; i've felt it; i feel it. i became an addict clinging to my narcotic, my gateway, my iron clad chains i didn't want unlocked, my religion. A potter can only attempt to sculpt his clay in a way so similar to the twisted and coiled disarrayed vessel i've become. the cracks have formed over time, linking themselves to one another and forcing their way through what used to be resilient. He can, however, glaze over the cracks, gently masking them for a time. your supplied vapor; a poisonous venom that often wafts and dances through the air, lifting me to a higher state of intoxication than i've ever felt before. Unable to defy gravity, i must come down. The crash; the crash, the potter cannot prevent. No matter the labor, the pain, the infinite amounts of time, the potter cannot repair the broken and distorted that now remain lifeless on the pavement. the glaze will never mask, and the hands will never heal the sharp edges that will slowly wither and fade to dust; back to it's origin, only to be reshaped, for another day.  

1.8.11

I don't know references. I don't have a favorite band, song, or cd. my movie knowledge is highly limited. no favorite author, artist, actor, quote, lyric, line. and I will nine times out of ten not know what you're referring to. I will forever be lost every single time you ask a popular culture question, look to me for a music choice decision, or wonder what movies I've seen in the past year. no. I don't live under a rock. and yes. I watch movies, listen to music, and read a good book every now and then. I merely receive them differently than most. you see, when I hear a song, I can't tell you what else they've recorded, the name of their lead singer, or even the title of the song. but I can tell you how it makes me think, feel and react. I like each song I choose based on the emotion it allows me to feel, which I can't feel without it. in turn, I'll write about it, letting a reader feel this way as well.

I can laugh at a movie but only get so much enjoyment from repetitive notions. my books have marks and tear stained pages, but they only inspire ideas and emotion rather than burn a quote into my memory.

I'm a different soul. one that is rarely understood. but if you took the time, unlike the rest, I think you'd grow to enjoy picking my brain, as I do yours. time will only tell if you'll stay long enough to try.

love

from the very beginning, it seems, my care and unaltered love for others has been apparent. i always thought it was completely genuine, but as i grow, i see that it's not well received. clingy, emotional, attached; many hurtful adjectives misinterpreting my seemingly misplaced love.

do we all expect to only get hurt in life? is that why we can't accept true love when we find it?

i've found that no matter how pure and genuine a person is, they are not trusted 95% of the time from the very beginning.

i, however, am in that minute 5% that believes that they are truly there for you, not wanting anything in return, but genuinely good people wanting to love just as much as i do.

more than i want to be loved, i want to love. i want to show absolutely how much i can care about someone, but not out of arrogance, not out of selfishness and not with the intent to get something better in return, but because my heart has been entombed for so long. the beating walls have almost cracked the very foundation of the cavern it is trapped beneath. it holds so much "love".. a word that's lost so much of what it deserves.

finished.

drunken breath along my face, tastes so bittersweet. 

knowing you're hers, never really choosing me.  

however tonight I burn all of my mistakes, all of my addictions. 
I watch as the embers of memory blow in the stale air and remember the pain I've felt through everything. 

tonight I put an end to it all. I wash my hands of every insecurity and every sick twisted feeling I've caused myself. 

will it be hard? more than anything. is it worth it? more than anything. 

i regret waiting so long but can only look forward. 
my tear spotted glasses have in turn blinded me to flaws and failures to which I subdue myself. 

in every way am I worth more than I've gotten. so let me for just a moment become a conceited human being and inform you of what I deserve. 

I deserve to be happy. 
that is all I ask. and in every way that I have had in my power, I honestly can say I have sacrificed my happiness to allow you yours. and now I'm saying it's over.  

Its my turn. 

you don't owe me anything. for I am deserving of far more than you could ever spare. 

long time no talk.

i lay in bed for the millionth time, scanning over through the daily grind.

i cant help but wonder how long its been, since i've seen you hold that girl you're with

you make me feel like i'm brand new, like i'm special, love, and important too

everyday that passes by with care, i see your face, breathe your warm air.

what the hell am i doing, laying in my bed crying, knowing she's with you, in your warm arms. 

i'm just a footnote, while she gets a whole book, when i should be bolded, you edit me out.

what the hell am i doing, tricking teasing and lying, telling myself, i belong in your arms. she's yours forever, through any weather, she's your sweet baby, while i'm alone in the rain. 

drenched in my own anguish, pain sorrow and danger, i cause myself, thinking i deserved you. 

bliss.

sometimes the world takes you by surprise

you live everyday in fear of the unknown...

why does it have to be fear? 

i live everyday excited for the adventure i'm about embark on..

whether its merely trying a new food, meeting a new person, or putting your shoes on in the opposite order of your normality.. its new, its different, and it can open your eyes to a new adventure, one that you never thought you'd see or stumble upon. 

as i sit here for the second time, hopefully of many, i explore past the pale blue pigmentation of the afternoon's blissful and unflawed sky, and notice the behavior of those around me.. 

to them i am a nameless face with a lit cigarette and a purple hat thoughtlessly peering through my spotted glasses at their gossiping sun-kissed faces. 

to them i am a peer.. 

another face in the crowd and another student, waiting for class to begin. 

what they don't know is how i have dreams. i have aspirations, and as i sit here observing their lives, i ponder my future. 

he lays there in the sun, not a care in the world about what he must do next, or maybe those thoughts rush through his mind, but his grinning face leaves me believing that he has no worries. his hands neatly folded on his shallow chest, sleeping peacefully. he is happy. 

he dances like a buffoon, with the only goal to be making his friends laugh, trying to impress a girl ? or does he already have her? did he win her with his unrhythmic and patternless footwork? or perhaps she sees past his boyish figure and looks to his eyes, seeing the mere joy he gets from causing that smile that slowly grows across her windburned lips. he is happy.   

who will i be? 

who will know, or not care for me?

who will love me, who will i care for?

questions that will forever bounce through the disconnected and tangled wires of my mind. 

i do not envy the thoughtless mind. 

i do not wish to not have dreams. 

i do not want to forever be content with who i become.

i wish to continue with my dreams, whether they are reached or not.

why should they be reached? once they are reached i admit completion, and i don't want my life to have  a completion, if we all stopped thinking, dreaming, and contemplating, who would then create? who would then invent the world of our future, and the art works for others to question?

my balding and bearded professor made me think today.. as should all, but not all do. 

at first i thought that these professors, causing us to look at painting after painting discussing what the artist was thinking as he used geometric shape to map out their plans, were just bullshitting us to believe that there was a point beyond paint on a canvas.. but as my overly worded professor made me realize today, we create the meaning. we create the point. we INTERPRET. the artist did not sit down with a pattern or a meaning in his head. he saw an awkward woman and asked her to sit still, but still presently fidgeting, and decided it was a moment worth capturing. 

it was then, as we discussed her misshapen hands that it hit me, art, be it music, painting, drawing, lyrics of poetry, is meant to provide an idea for its viewers/listeners. the artist did have an idea in mind, but just one, maybe two. however, any observer will create their own. and that my friends, is what art is about. PERSONAL INTERPRETATION. 

whoever reads this, depending on their choice of study, or their brains habitual reasoning and ways of interpretation. they will see and read what they choose. 

an english major may see my grammatical errors; a misused comma, how i would be lost without spell check, a misspelled word, or even how there is in no way a sentence structure, rhyme or reason..

an art major may look at the lines and see how the spaces between and breaks in the page can create a seen or a portrait of its own.

a music major may see notes and sustained beats. 

they made read in a rhythmic pattern.

one may even see a song or lyrical capability. 

others may see just a story. a page written by a girl in a green sweatshirt on a break in between classes writing her thoughts for her day.

i only meant it for me. 

my interpretation is so i can look back and see how i've changed. my outlooks, my dreams, my thoughts on class, my inspirations. 

this is me. coffee in one hand, phone in another.

not conscious of those around me, just my music, caffein and nicotine. the ladder of which my mother does not approve. she's still on the fence about the caffein.