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Friday, December 10, 2010

post #21 (22?) [this one doesn't count, i don't think]

I just realized that I labeled two of my posts "post #6". So technically, I reached my goal one post ago. I'm not gonna delete any of my posts though. They are my babies, and I intend to keep them.

Okay, done now. See you next quarter.

post #20

"the only hope for me is you alone."
I realize I've started at least half of my twenty posts this quarter with a quote, but I just had to use this one as a central point of another post. It describes me perfectly at this moment.

I? Am hopeless. I just wander without a care, going through motions and living each day without thought. I can't stand this. I know I probably posted the exact same thing last quarter, but I feel like nothing changes. I'm not doing anything. I'm always too lazy.

When all my strength is gone, when I feel like it's too much, You're there. I know You are. I see You in the sunrise and the sunset and in laughter and hugs. You're with me. But I'm not with You. Why? I don't know. Maybe my subconscious decided it was too much work.

I feel like You're always trying to tell me something, but I'm too busy to listen.

Maybe my headphones are up too loud.

You're the only One I'll turn them down for.

post #19

Dear person whose name I will not mention,

Hey. I love you.

Now that that's said, I just wanted you to know that you bring me down.

Oh, I'm such a mood kill. Let me explain.

We confide in each other for everything. You vent to me, I vent to you... it works. It always works. Except when it doesn't, and we fight. We seem to fight about everything, these days. Being the problem solver that I am, I just want to know what started it all. Was there a turning point with us? Maybe it was the day you said I should work on my insecurity issues. Yeah, it still stings. But I wouldn't tell you, because you'd accuse me of trying to make you feel guilty. It isn't all about you, all the time, you know? I'm more selfish than you'll ever be, but really, all I want is for you to care about me the way I care about you. And for you to stop dwelling over every word, every letter I say and twist it into something insulting. I have to filter myself just so there's absolutely no chance that you'd ever feel bad about something I say. My goal is never to hurt you. But sometimes I feel like you enjoy hurting me. Making me feel bad. And that really, really hurts.

Okay, now that everything I feel is out on the table, it's your turn. I just want you to realize that I want the best for you, and I care about you more than you'll ever know, and I really want to know if the feeling is mutual. I don't want to fight with you, but you know my arguing mechanism. When I feel attacked, I fight back; sometimes a little too hard.

I'm sorry.

We straight.

See you in Cape Town,

post #18

"i don't love you, i'm just passing the time.
you could love me if i knew how to lie.
but who could love me? i am out of my mind."
oh, hey, angst.

i've never been in love. never had a boyfriend. i don't really care about the latter, the term boyfriend irks me for whatever reason. but never being in love... yeah.

(yes, i realize you get the love from the boyfriend. but seriously, it sounds more like a possession than a person. ew.)

well anyway, i've never been in love. a lot of the time it doesn't bother me, but other times i wonder what i'm doing wrong. why haven't i found what all couples rave about, and what everyone else is desperately seeking. i wonder what it feels like, the whole love thing.

the last crush i've had was probably in the sixth grade. not a single butterfly since. i don't know if there's something wrong with me, a defect in my brain or something, but... i don't feel like i need love. maybe i'm mistaken, maybe i'm missing out. ... but i just can't seem to want it so badly that i'd do anything to get it. and by anything, i mean change myself.

i've always thought, in the back of my mind, that i need to change to get a boy to like me. but just this year, i expressly concluded to myself that i wouldn't change for anyone; not a boy, not a friend, not even my mom, who i love more than anyone else (hi, mom).

so now, i wait. wait for a gentleman caller to admire my quirks and my vast, dangerous brain. wait for someone to love me for me.

but until then... i have all that i need.

post #17

Boots are cool,
Boots are awesome,
Boots are pretty,
Like a flower blossom.

I love boots,
They love my feet,
I tap my boot-clad foot,
To a random beat.

In conclusion, boots rock.
They make my feet happy.
I would write a love song for my boots
But it would be very sappy.


post #16

Remember haikus? Those pretty little three line poems we used to do in elementary school? Five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables? I miss those. I think they need to make a comeback. And I intend to be the leader of this movement.

Here, for your reading pleasure, is a Christmas haiku.

Sparkling Christmas tree
Blinking in the pitch black night
Perfect in its stance.

post #15

Dear person whose name I will not mention,


You know me. You see me every day.

I really don't like you.

I mean, you can be a nice guy and all sometimes, but all the other times, you're kind of a giant jerk face. Yeah, I said it. Giant. Jerk. Face.

You think you know everything. You think you're the most moral, upstanding man in the country. Well, you're not. Your opinions are offensive and heartless, and your heartlessness is overly evident with every word you say. You don't care about people. You just don't.

You're just downright crazy sometimes. You talk so fiercely and heartily on so many topics that aren't even relevant to the human race. Just calm down. You stress me out.


post #14

This is an except from a novel I never finished. Keep in mind that this character is a male celebrity, and is as shallow and girly as they come. Enjoy.


I can't believe those jerks. Sure, she looked a little different without her makeup, but not in a bad way. She always had this glow about her. That didn't change. She looked just as beautiful as ever.



Where did that come from?

Sure, Audrey's cool and hot and everything, but... beautiful. I can't remember ever thinking of her as beautiful.

But she is.

Petite, delicate, artistic frame, with legs that went on for days... the way her dark black bangs fall lightly on long eyelashes, big, alien-esque blue eyes, button nose, full pink lips, dimples, perfect white smile... The girl was beautiful.

How did I miss it? How did I not see it before?

Audrey Billings was beautiful.

Everyone else seemed to know it. I guess I missed the memo, or something.
Or maybe no else truly knew it, realized it. Maybe I was the first person to figure it out.

Sure, words like beautiful were tossed around a lot in Hollywood. I might've been called beautiful once or twice, or handsome, maybe. What a laugh. I'm not beautiful. Audrey is.

Audrey Rose Billings is beautiful.

And it wasn't just her exterior. No, of course not. I knew as well as anyone that Audrey's real beauty was in her heart. I might as well smack myself in the face for sounding so stupid, so cliche, but come on.

Audrey is funny, intelligent, and has insane music knowledge. And most importantly, Audrey had more love in her heart than any girl in the world. She cares about everything, and everyone. She knew how to cheer up the hardest of hearts better than the rest. Well, maybe not as well as Nate, but he was gifted and all that crap.
I lost my train of thought. Oh yeah, Audrey Billing's beauty. How do you even start, with such a broad, vast topic?

I really need to stop hanging around Ryland. That idiot actually thinks sounding dramatic and poetic and... un-manly will make him sound smarter. He still sounds like an idiot.

Okay, train of thought lost again. But case in point, Audrey is perfect.

And I'm in love with her.

Yeah, I'm totally screwed.

post #13

Lyrics. As Webster says, it's the words of a song. But to me, it's so much more than that. The marriage of music and lyrics surpasses the test of time and simply inspires. Lyrics of a song can uplift you by their brilliance alone.

Trust me, I have encountered some brilliant lyrics in my time (I sound like a grandpa). Some of the most brilliant lyricists are people who are even more skilled with melodies. That's why lyrics have more impact on me than just writing does.

A writer can create images with words, am I right? Words can make you feel something, can make you relate to someone, can move you to tears or make you laugh or just make you feel.

Lyrics do the exact same thing, but they have a melody.

A melody. Music. It's so simple, yet so complex to think about. A set of notes that go with a set of words and together they make a song. A song to laugh to, to cry to, to feel to. It's so much more.

post #12

Good day, dear readers. Today I have a story for you all.

There once was a student (spoiler alert: this student is me) taking a Spanish test. She was nearly finished answering questions in Spanish when one question in particular stopped her dead in her tracks.

Quien eres?

Now, to those who don't know what this means, it means "Who are you?". What is your identity? And she stopped, pen hovering over her paper, utterly perplexed.

Who am I? she thought to herself. Musical, for certain, but she didn't know what that word meant. Pretty? No. Beautiful? Even more off. Intelligent? Humorously mistaken. She went through the list of vocabulary words in her head, and nearly cringed at the fact that none of them seemed like her.

Finally, she scrawled, Yo soy interesante. I am interesting.

But is this girl really that interesting?

Her teacher seemed to think so, after this student saw the smiley face on her paper next to the ever-brooded-upon answer.

Maybe she is interesting. I haven't decided yet.

post #11

you're a contradiction,
so freezing it burns.

you're a deadweight,
never a help, but a hurt.

you force me to put on layers and layers.
you stifle my true self.
most importantly, you're just unpleasant.


post #10

More snarky, realist commentary on the decline of our generation, you ask?
You got it.

Our nation is oxymoronic. Without the oxy.
We aspire to be like celebrities; they "fascinate" us.
These empty, mostly talentless individuals
who do nothing but try to out-weird each other.
And on the other hand, we adore making fun of them.
Justin Bieber puberty jokes, anyone?

We are so hypocritical. Maybe one day we'll learn that no one should be kept on that high a pedestal.

(... Yeah. I was watching Barbara Walters.)

Thursday, December 9, 2010

post #9

My homework habits
These constant habits
These horrid habits
Of incompletion.

I lounge in oblivion
Blissful oblivion
Until the night comes
And I am swamped.

My eyes are drooping
My eyelids closing
Until I finally
Call it quits.

Work not finished,
Not ever finished
Until the sunrise
Of the next day.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

post #8

 I love rock and roll. Put another dime in the jukebox, baby.

... I had to, okay?

Rock and roll is rebellion, more than anything else. The music with the most grit is never about love, or loss, it's about sticking it to the man, and standing up for your rights. Doing what you want and yelling (or singing) at anyone who gets in your way. I guess you could say it's the most political music there is, and maybe not even purposely. It's always music and lyrics, working together to create the most impact a song can have. That's why I think rock and roll is the only hope for the music industry.

Not just rock music. There is so much more to it than just the music. The way one carries himself, performs live... there are so many different factors. It's a way of life, not just a genre. Or, dying genre.

Today's music is just like our generation: cheap thrills. It's meaningless words and soulless bass and a beat you can dance to for three minutes. It's nothing.

When will we get the substance back?

Edit: I realized something.

Rock and roll is the dance-pop of my generation.

Maybe it doesn't have substance; maybe it just stood the test of time.

You never know.

post #7

I don't think I'm a good writer.

I've always had a certain stereotype pegged to the "writer" title. A bookworm, with rich vocabulary and an imaginative mind, always creating images in words. Their brains are their weapons, and the pen is merely a partner in crime. Metaphors, irony, allusions, alliteration... it all comes naturally. They can write effectively and efficiently in any topic, can come up with brilliance in mere minutes.

I am so, so far from this stereotype.

I don't read as much as I should. I use big words out of context. I write words, not images. My brain is more of a thing of chaos than brilliance. When I use literary devices, they sound forced and fake. I'm very limited in my writing topics. I write for hours and come up empty.

I know I'm wrong about writers. They aren't these perfectly brilliant beings with wonderful words. They're just writers. They write.

I write.

I don't know if I'm any good yet, but I'll sure as heck try to be.

post #6

I have so many music-related posts. So I hope you don't mind another.

I have a lot of music-related dreams. Some plausible, some unrealistic, some downright bizarre. But don't all dreams fall under those categories? 

I recently had an idea. Or, if you will, a dream. One day, dear reader, I will dress up in Rastafarian garb (you know, dreadlocks, tie-dye shirt, the works), stand out on the street and sing every Bob Marley song I know. I think that makes about four (I love that I proclaim myself as a Bob Marley fan. I'm kind of a hypocrite. Oh well.) You may be thinking, What gave you this idea in the first place?, Why Bob Marley?, or the ever obvious, Are you out of your mind?

I can answer all of these questions. To the first, my brain gave me the idea. And my brain is a very dangerous, eccentric place. Especially when it is this overworked, this tired. And to the second question, why not Bob Marley? He preaches a message of happiness and positivity and I think we need more of that in the world, to be quite honest. And to the final question, I can only answer yes. 

So obviously, this "dream" falls under the bizarre category. But fear not, I may be a tad bit crazy, but I can be normal every once in a while.

Heh, funny. 

Anyways, I have many other music dreams as well. I dream to play guitar and piano well. And the ukelele. And lately I'm becoming fascinated with the cello. But I digress. Mainly, I just want to sing in public, because I can't. No, really, I literally can't. It is physically impossible for me to sing on pitch when another human being is near me. I dream to overcome this fear; this is my biggest dream.

Another piece of the puzzle that is me.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

post #6

I feel my skin shiver.
I feel my bones quiver.
My eyes grow huge and my smile grows wide.
Ice crystals fall from heaven,
No one identical, each with varying intricacies.
Covering the ground in cold blankets,
As much a comfort as the one drapes around my shoulders.
It's all so foreign, and yet I feel so at rest.
"First snow of the season," I whisper. Beauty at it's best.

post #5

E is for Everything I do is homework.
X is for ... Xylophone.
H is for Having no life. Unless you count studying as having a life.
A is for Always tired.
U is for Utopia nowhere to be found.
S is for Stupid words flowing out of my brain like Niagra Falls.
T is for Too much homework.
I is for I hope this week ends soon.
O is for Oh, goodness, did I really write this?
N is for No more ideas. I'm too tired to think of any.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

post #4

"when we were young we used to say
that you only hear the music when your heart begins to break
now we are the kids from yesterday."

back to early june, so many years ago,
every day was a new adventure, but more of the same.
the sidewalk was the only thing between us; now thousands of miles fall between.
our own world was only a scooter or bike ride away.
when i think you, i think freedom.
i also think of the past.
every summer was you and i; we took the days and never gave them back.
we would spend every minute together, doing everything.
when we were younger we played pretend,
when we got older we talked about the past, the present, the future.
... and maybe we played pretend a little more.
lazy days by your pool, filled with bug spray and firelight.
then i went away, and now i wonder where you are.
i always used to know.
there's something so beautifully tragic about falling out.
knowing a person so well, being with them every moment, and then forgetting they exist.
i remember you.
i hope you remember me.