Amidst the ebay fettish, the freshly colored rainbow totem pole on the white board (with the exception of the color yellow's absence), the anticipation to see Precious (Based on the Novel 'Push' by Sapphire), and the bruises embelleshing my skin from the waist down due to a ridiculous slip down the stairs last night, it is yet another Monday afternoon inside of the cave. It has been a rather reflective, dramatic weekend involving carbonate dreams, hurtful words, and the movie "Coraline".
It was a grey weekend. One that I wish I stayed inside for. Or at least slept off. But I guess that's what tonight is for.
I don't even know what I feel like writing. I feel that there is so much to say, but I couldn't even start it. Let alone divulge further. It seems that November is the end and the beginning to so many things. The beginning of Holiday cheer, and bankruptcy at the same time. Thoughts reflective on the year and setting up goals for the one underneath the fresh fallen snow.
For me, I hope to be making more music than ever. Investing more of my empty brain space in cinema knowledge, lose 20 pounds, gain muscle, cast out the murky waters of my mind dirtied by others or things I've done myself. I hope to have done at least 12 shows by the end of 2012. Be in my new apartment. Work. Work. Work. And play. Live harder than I've lived this year with a clearer head and a brighter, finer tuned outlook on myself and self worth. I want to spend more time with my family, balance out my time easier. To share more. To take more. To sleep more. To be awake for as long as possible. Be the best of everything and not close out 2010 with the bittersweet taste in my mouth that 2009 has left me.
That's not to say I haven't learned anything.
Oh, no.
As always, we learn more and more every year. And I am no exception. Despite the screaming, the pity, the tears, and the successes, I believe I am that much stronger having gone through it all and being here to tell the tale.
In other news, on a much lighter meal, as much as we all wish we could hate her, Lady GaGa has done it again with another quirky, bizarre, and freakishly stylish video.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving Feedings
And its another Thanksgiving.
A time to be reflective on what we are thankful for having both within ourselves and around us.
I find myself, in my tye-dye sweatshirt, on my roommate's bed, at 3 AM, in a state of enigma.
Of how much.
I
am thankful for.
Yet, at the same time, I find myself empty.
When I should be so full.
Why do I always get like this?
"Is this what I really want?"
"Is this how I really feel?"
"Is this really right?"
"Am I really supposed to do this?"
I guess time would be the best answer to all four of these questions.
Yet in the pit of my stomach.
And in the apparent evidence of my faces.
And aspirations.
And dreams.
The answer is probably there.
...
So what's the issue at hand?
You're empty until I digest.
Maybe processes for me are slower than most.
...But what if I'm right?
Then again, I'm so often proven incorrect.
Just let me swallow.
And try to take this
one
day
at
a
time
and
not
waste
space
thinking.
A time to be reflective on what we are thankful for having both within ourselves and around us.
I find myself, in my tye-dye sweatshirt, on my roommate's bed, at 3 AM, in a state of enigma.
Of how much.
I
am thankful for.
Yet, at the same time, I find myself empty.
When I should be so full.
Why do I always get like this?
"Is this what I really want?"
"Is this how I really feel?"
"Is this really right?"
"Am I really supposed to do this?"
I guess time would be the best answer to all four of these questions.
Yet in the pit of my stomach.
And in the apparent evidence of my faces.
And aspirations.
And dreams.
The answer is probably there.
...
So what's the issue at hand?
You're empty until I digest.
Maybe processes for me are slower than most.
...But what if I'm right?
Then again, I'm so often proven incorrect.
Just let me swallow.
And try to take this
one
day
at
a
time
and
not
waste
space
thinking.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Hunger Pains
It hurts to be hungry.
When the acids burn in the empty atmosphere.
When you clinch and wince until your muscles break down.
So indecisive.
Oh, it hurts.
It hurts to want.
It hurts to wait.
It hurts to wish.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Like when you lost your teddy bear for the first time.
Nothing is worse than being hungry for something.
Except for not being satisfied with it.
Until the storm passes.
And its over.
Her eyes stared into yours.
So hollowed in their chestnut hue.
Aimlessly invested herself in those shallow pools.
For the favor to never be returned.
And all for one bite.
Just one taste.
Just to satisfy the pain.
Because now,
everything tastes like
ash.
And her soul growls for it.
For something to taste.
Like anything.
Like you.
The sweetest poison.
Illustrious in your shades of ivory and metallic black.
She starves.
While you're full.
And until she finds the strength
to find the sweeter tastes.
And she doesn't need you anymore.
She will starve.
Weening is never easy.
And comes in time.
Minutes. Hours. Days. Months. Years.
But when her time comes.
Then the hunger will be satisfied.
And all will be at peace.
When the acids burn in the empty atmosphere.
When you clinch and wince until your muscles break down.
So indecisive.
Oh, it hurts.
It hurts to want.
It hurts to wait.
It hurts to wish.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Like when you lost your teddy bear for the first time.
Nothing is worse than being hungry for something.
Except for not being satisfied with it.
Until the storm passes.
And its over.
Her eyes stared into yours.
So hollowed in their chestnut hue.
Aimlessly invested herself in those shallow pools.
For the favor to never be returned.
And all for one bite.
Just one taste.
Just to satisfy the pain.
Because now,
everything tastes like
ash.
And her soul growls for it.
For something to taste.
Like anything.
Like you.
The sweetest poison.
Illustrious in your shades of ivory and metallic black.
She starves.
While you're full.
And until she finds the strength
to find the sweeter tastes.
And she doesn't need you anymore.
She will starve.
Weening is never easy.
And comes in time.
Minutes. Hours. Days. Months. Years.
But when her time comes.
Then the hunger will be satisfied.
And all will be at peace.
18.19.20
Due to my roommate, boyfriend, and best friend having coinciding birthdays for the next three days.
Here is a little image for the three of you. I love you all.
Here is a little image for the three of you. I love you all.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Songbird
The songbird sits in the windowsill.
While her bright red feathers become the blackest black.
She was left in the rain.
Its such a shame.
She never sings anymore.
Little songbird is far from home tonight.
Some creatures aren't meant to be caged.
But those who are caged, are caged for a reason.
To keep them from singing their song.
What I wouldn't give to set her free.
What I wouldn't give to hear her sing.
What I wouldn't give to say goodbye.
And let her know everything will be alright.
But that will come in time.
Time.
Time.
Time.
Such an envious pot of molasses.
Thick and heavy on the wings.
She won't be going south for the winter this time.
Stuck in that lonely, somber cage.
That cage that paints her already greyed days an even deeper grey.
And covers her eyes when it's already dark outside.
But she'll come to find on her own.
In whatever nest she'll call her home.
That her wings may be clipped.
And her feathers may never be the same.
But she'll sing again.
And she'll come home to me.
Where she belongs.
Wherever the song will take her.
She will sing.
Damn.
Right.
She.
Will.
Sing.
Silence is only temporary until you have the power to open your lungs and let the world know what you have to say.
To sing.
And.
Damn.
Right.
She.
Will.
Sing.
Goodbye, my songbird.
I await the day to see your red feathers one more time.
Until then, know I love you.
For these words mean nothing unless you know the truth behind them.
And.
DAMN.
RIGHT.
SHE.
WILL.
SING.
While her bright red feathers become the blackest black.
She was left in the rain.
Its such a shame.
She never sings anymore.
Little songbird is far from home tonight.
Some creatures aren't meant to be caged.
But those who are caged, are caged for a reason.
To keep them from singing their song.
What I wouldn't give to set her free.
What I wouldn't give to hear her sing.
What I wouldn't give to say goodbye.
And let her know everything will be alright.
But that will come in time.
Time.
Time.
Time.
Such an envious pot of molasses.
Thick and heavy on the wings.
She won't be going south for the winter this time.
Stuck in that lonely, somber cage.
That cage that paints her already greyed days an even deeper grey.
And covers her eyes when it's already dark outside.
But she'll come to find on her own.
In whatever nest she'll call her home.
That her wings may be clipped.
And her feathers may never be the same.
But she'll sing again.
And she'll come home to me.
Where she belongs.
Wherever the song will take her.
She will sing.
Damn.
Right.
She.
Will.
Sing.
Silence is only temporary until you have the power to open your lungs and let the world know what you have to say.
To sing.
And.
Damn.
Right.
She.
Will.
Sing.
Goodbye, my songbird.
I await the day to see your red feathers one more time.
Until then, know I love you.
For these words mean nothing unless you know the truth behind them.
And.
DAMN.
RIGHT.
SHE.
WILL.
SING.
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