Log in

No account? Create an account

[icon] waiting for a storm
View:Recent Entries.
View:Website (DeviantART).
View:DeviantART. Real life banter.
You're looking at the latest 10 entries.
Missed some entries? Then simply jump back 10 entries

Subject:Letter to No One: Dear Universe
Time:09:36 am
Current Mood:busybusy
Dear Universe,
  Just so you know, I am a girl.
  I want sex. I want to feel love again. I want to feel again. I want to have a life that is everything.
  I want to know where it is that I am going and if I really want to be there. I want to know if it really is the journey and not the destination that is the most important. I want to know why. I want to travel and see a world that exists outside of my experience and my own mind. I want experience.
  I want physical contact with someone who makes me happy. I want the people I surround myself with to know what makes me tick. I want to know if I’m trying too hard or not enough.
  I want a one-bedroom apartment with a balcony that is just big enough to hold a window box garden, a book and me on an early Sunday morning. I want bookshelves that reach so high that I need a ladder just to get at my favorite books. I want to read until my eyes lose their sight.
  I want to feel.
  I want to decorate my skin with ink. I want to change my body to fit my perfect ideal and not that of anyone else.
  I want to know what my ideal is. I want to talk with someone who listens as well as they speak.
  I want to have a crush.

Just informing,
The girl with wants too big for her to understand
comments: Leave a comment

Current Music:Bright Eyes - From a Balance Beam
Subject:Poetry: Walking Naked Through the Woods
Time:06:25 pm
Current Mood:thoughtfulreflective
Walking naked through the woods
My feet so sure on non-existent paths
The only company I have is the
Thin black roll in my hand
And the smoke on my breath

He has never seen me naked
Though I know he aches for it.
I do not mean to taunt him
As he says I do
But I only feel comfortable
With a thousand un-caring eyes
Watching my pale form
Instead of his
Appreciative two.

As much as he says he will not judge
I know he will, and does
His fingers will run along the lines of every scar
Asking how I've been hurt
And why
And by whom
And to him the answers will come
Though I try so hard to hold them in
Because he is the all-knowing god
I could never believe in.
comments: Leave a comment

Current Music:Death Cab for Cutie - A Lack of Color
Subject:Poetry: Young Mississippi Men
Time:10:35 pm
Give me the twang
Of young Mississippi men
Who believe in God
And love of country
That go off
Fighting wars
For unjust reasons
And trade bullets
With those they try to save
And when they die
Speak to god
Knowing they leave this world
For the next
They’ve been told
Will be better than the last
By Men who scream from pulpits
Not to judge
But always be wary
Of those unlike themselves
For those people
Who are not people
Want only to contaminate
Wholesome spirits
With words straight from
Different Gods
Who can be nothing but devils
Lurking in the shadows
Of human nature
Which is not nature at all
But something mechanical
And full of holes.
comments: Leave a comment

Current Music:Modest Mouse - The View
Subject:The Fall of the Berlin Wall as a Puzzle
Time:12:44 pm
Current Mood:rejectedrejected
The story I submitted to the UWO-Foundation short story competition. I didn't win and now I just need to drag myself over there to pick up my critique.

The Fall of the Berlin Wall as a Puzzle

I was three years old when the Berlin Wall fell. Three years old and the day I remember is not my birthday but the moment when east and west were joined. I blame my father for allowing newscasts to become the background to my life. I blame my mother for reminding me that my history is what I need to keep in focus. I don’t count either trait as a character flaw.

“Where were you when the twin towers fell?” they ask.

“In English class,” I reply, “about to give a speech on the importance of life. Where were you when you first stubbed the big toe on your left foot?”

* * *

Three years old and I can remember minute details. East Germany was yellow and West Germany was green. Tanya was chosen to help Miss Mandy. We called her “Miss” but I remember the ring on her finger, and the way it glinted when she turned on her desk lamp to supplement the weak florescent lighting.

“Push them together tight, hold them,” she smiled through a few loose strands of auburn hair that hung down the right side of her face. “That’s it, they’re no longer apart.”

* * *

Three years old means that one moment was over fifteen years ago. Countries have fallen and been reborn. In those fifteen years my teachers have promised that if I just did the assignments and worked hard I would have the world. But no one really wants a broken toy to call their own.

“Do your school work now, go to college, get an education, there will always be time to explore the world when you are older,” my high school guidance counselor has advised decades of students to continue life in just that fashion.

“Have you ever traveled?” I ask as I sit in front of her desk, told to decide my future in the next few hours.

“No,” she says and her eyes fall at the edges as she makes her excuse, “but then again I never really wanted to.”

* * *

Three years old and the puzzle wasn’t broken, it was fixed. The yellow of the east and the green of the west were each a part of the new Germany. Two become one in the union of wood glue.

“What’s so special about it?” my three year old mind caused the question to tumble from my mouth.

“About what?” my father asked patiently, shuffling paperwork on the table and turning the constant stream of NPR down for a moment.

“About the wall,” I explain, “it’s just a wall.”

He gives a light chuckle and rubs his hand through my short hair. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll understand one day.”

* * *

Three years old and a puzzle of Europe was the extent of my world view. Each colored shape fit perfectly with the next, and peace was all that was known. Clean cut wooden borders were never conflicted and colors never ran one into the other.
comments: Leave a comment

Subject:Poetry: Vanessa // Beautiful Eyebrows
Time:05:05 pm

Vanessa // Beautiful Eyebrows

And we say
One day we’ll live
On a boat
And we’ll call it
Foggy Bottoms the second
After a gray tabby
Who lives on a farm
After I had
To give him away
And we say
We’ll have a cat
Named Rufus the second
After the prettiest gay man
She ever saw
And she says
She’ll have to take a lover
Maybe that beautiful boy
We saw in that café
The one with the beautiful eyebrows
comments: Leave a comment

Current Music:Death Cab for Cutie - Death Of An Interior Decorator
Subject:Coffee House Scene
Time:10:58 am
Current Mood:busybusy

comments: Leave a comment

Current Music:Death Cab for Cutie - The New Year
Subject:Poetry: Human Nature: The last refuge of the un-cool
Time:11:31 am
Current Mood:okayokay
The last refuge of the un-cool

The last refuge of the un-cool
Was taken over
By men in black berets.
The last refuge of the un-cool
Was infiltrated
By daughters of the feminist movement.
The last refuge of the un-cool
Was filled with sound
By many pairs of snapping hands.
The last refuge of the un-cool
Was choked to death
By the definition of cool.
comments: Leave a comment

Subject:Poetry: Spoken Word
Time:09:02 pm
Current Mood:quixoticquixotic
Tight to My Heart

I see him standing there
And I wanna just say
Hey beautiful
Why the long face?
Before I realize
He isn't there
And I'm talking to a wall
And people are beginning to stare
And mothers with small children
Grab their hands and quickly
Wisk them away
And the boy
That boy I saw right in front of my eyes
Laughs inside my head
And pulls at the strings tied
Tight to my heart from the inside
Making a bloody mess
And bloody not as bloody hell
As the boy
That boy inside my head would say
But bloody as bloody red
As the boy
That boy's lips inside my head.
comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment

Current Music:Badly Drawn Boy - Once around the block
Subject:Poetry in Progress - Another Girl
Time:10:58 pm
Current Mood:accomplishedaccomplished
Don't know why I like this so much, especially since no one who reads this will know the truth from the fiction, I have too much fun lying about myself though the written word.

Another Girl

I’ve never kissed
Another girl
Although I’m sure
I wanted to
Lips so soft
That taste of cherries
And giggle so happy
She tastes of love

That girl
That one girl
I know her
I knew her
I wanted
What I shouldn’t have.

I only kissed
Two boys
And both times
Were disappointing
Lips sun chapped
Or wet with spit
Taste of lust
No other emotion

I’ve never kissed
Another girl
Although I’m sure
You know
Is a lie.
comments: Leave a comment

Subject:Short Story - What it is to Art
Time:04:29 pm
What it is to Art

There is something about the cold mountain air flooding our room that allows me to sleep in, and yet I am always up at eight, long before Anna who shares my room. I know I must romanticize Cedar Mountain in the three seasons I spend away, yet the disappointments are nothing compared to the memories I create while here. Every summer I share the upstairs twin bedroom with Anna, that is to say every summer except the ones we spend on the floor of the screen porch. Anna is my cousin and was my first friend, and every night when we go to bed we talk for hours. Last night we spoke of Lizzie, and how this would be her last summer here. We spoke of acting like nothing was wrong, and how hard it is to act now that she can’t even hold a cup. We spoke of how this was not death, but dying. We spoke of when she would arrive next Saturday, and how we wanted to be there to meet her. We spoke of many things, and this morning I couldn’t even remember when we stopped speaking and fell asleep.

Today is absolutely full of chores. Anna and I had promised to spread mulch today, and somehow we are also roped into burning the trash pile. By the time Daniel calls in the afternoon to invite us for a swim our arms are stained with soot and there is one stubborn piece of mulch entangled in Anna’s ponytail. We readily agree, after all the fire has almost burned itself out. By the time Daniel arrives Nathan and Will are here from working in the yard at Sue’s. So we all pile into Will’s decrepit, not to mention smelly, old Buick for the seven mile trek to the rope swing that years ago someone erected over the deepest part of the river.

We take turns on the rope swing, with only a few minor mishaps and bruises, until we are almost exhausted. We continue swimming, the boys racing each other to the far side of the river and back again, while Anna and I lay floating on our backs listening to the rush of the water over the falls that’s at least half a mile down the river. When we finally return to the house we tell jokes and laugh over tomato and cucumber sandwiches, that only Anna and I really like. Somehow we wind up on the front porch, minus Will, where the jokes continue but now with musical accompaniment as one by one they each pick up guitars, Anna and Nathan sitting on the couch glider and Daniel in a rocking chair.

Anna leans forward, causing the unsteady glider to rock violently. This evokes a fit of laughter from Nathan who tries desperately to keep the acoustic guitar from sliding off his lap. Daniel laughs in that low, husky voice of his and I can hear the love behind it. I understand these people and yet I feel so out of place with these musicians. I am the only one here that doesn’t play the guitar, I will admit that I have tried and failed miserably, music just isn’t my thing. Music is what comes naturally to these three; Anna, Nathan and Daniel. They understand notes and frets and chords intimately. The only consolation I have is that I will always know more about photography with its exposure times and lenses. I appreciate what they have though; their ability to discuss dropped d’s and know exactly what the other is talking about.

As I sit cross-legged on this uncomfortable floor my senses are bombarded with the scent, taste, and sound of their music. We all still smell of the river where we spent the better part of two hours cooling off, the scent of rich river slit and hemlock needles permeates our still damp hair. The music that floats upon the air tastes of home grown tomato sandwiches and the dill that Anna always adds. As they trade tips, and tell each other just what they’re doing wrong they gather closer forming a tight triangle. I pluck my camera from where it is sitting on the coffee table between us. I’ve been made fun of extensively this summer, everyone saying that this old 35 mm had become my third eye, but it doesn’t bother me because I know they’re right. It has been said that the photographer’s favorite subject is people, and this is the case with me. I hate people. I love people. I can’t stand people telling me I’m too opinionated. I love when I receive a hug. I hate when I feel left out, I hate when others say the same. I know what they feel and I don’t understand them. These are my reasons for taking photos, because through my camera lens it is easier to see these people for what they are. Daniel is at least a month past when he should have gotten a hair cut. There is a silver chain around Anna’s neck from which hangs two charms: a silver guitar and cross. Her faith and her passion, and even she doesn’t know which is which. Nathan’s obnoxious Mississippi twang that no one will hear in my photographs. These three, they exude the spirit of true artists, dismissing every stereotype of punk rock and garage bands and I try desperately to capture their essence in my photos.
comments: Leave a comment

[icon] waiting for a storm
View:Recent Entries.
View:Website (DeviantART).
View:DeviantART. Real life banter.
You're looking at the latest 10 entries.
Missed some entries? Then simply jump back 10 entries