Tuesday, March 31, 2009

i'm wide awake and so alive.

Things I truly enjoy:


-the seaside



-driving at night with the windows down.

- my "Beach at Night" mix

-mobile smoke breaks

-eye freckles

-late night blog posts


-clear moonless skies


-sea grass


-1910s Victorian style




-new hampshire


-lemonade, homemade

-blank notebooks.

-used up notebooks too

-Rexhame and the windmill at night

-remembering dreams


-Alfred Noyes and e.e. cummings

-eclectic cuisine


-my pandora station


-climbing rocks


-space and time




-megan follows Y

i truly enjoy so much at the moment. my summer will be warm honey and ethereal.

i believe in godless pale blue skies

that match my eyes
in the end i surmise
it's all a surprise
making everday
a birthday.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Well I must say Joshua Radin is phenomenal.

Noah first introduced me to him about a month or two ago, and the song I heard was nice and pleasant, nothing more for me. I mean I enjoyed his simple lyrics and easy melodies but it didn't grab me and take me in wholeheartedly. However, more and more of him has been trickling into my pandora station.

And then I heard Brand New Day today.

It's real good, check it out.


I feel like kind of typing things out and seeing how things are going right now. Typing and writing are such a great way for me to take survey of what I'm thinking and keep in touch with myself. Everyone knows how bad I am with keeping in touch and my tendencies to disappear, I feel like I do it to myself sometime. I'm a runaway train half the time, going way too fast on tracks promising to take me anywhere new.

I have been giving a lot of thought to my travel piece for Creative Writing. I was thinking of prose writing or loose poetry, like my professor did about the rooms. I want to do hands, but pages are good too. Yeah, pages probably suit better. Going to be tricky making it about traveling though, tying it all together about how pages are well traveled. Maybe I'll type it all out on my typewriter and some old paper so it looks worn and weathered. I like my different ways to write. My old journal, my "points to ponder", my notebook doodles, my canvas new notebook, my typewriter, this shitty blog.

I guess I could say a bit more, I was planning on making this an actual meaningful post, but I'm just rambling at this point, and it is 4 am. Late night writes do hit the spot, but I have so much to do tomorrow! School and the gym and work and projects.

Ok no more. Bed now. Maybe tomorrow, same ridiculous time I'm sure.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Quiero sus manos en mi piel.

It's that second in time, when that one grain of sand through the hourglass, the last little one...
Your helium mind
your swimming vision
you're pushed in, you can almost feel large invisible hands pressing.
Time is slow and thick, like your thoughts
that no longer matter

that never really did
they just hold you back
so just letting it go and
smiling back feels
like opening roses
to soft rain
and summer warmth.
When cool moist air
can refresh and not dampen
and cigarette smoke
has never swirled and dispersed so easily
lazily lingering and waltzing under parking lot lights.
When asphalt isn't industrial and imprisoning

just a track for the magic carpet ride
to anywhere.
Because I'll go anywhere.
My life is a song lyric
on this skipping cd
with all the rushing of breaths and lips and skin.
It's anxious-excited

open and green
where five letter words are more important than four.
Trust and heart, are given both with a nod
and that last grain of sand is lost with the rest.

We live fast dream big laugh endlessly but go slow,
Because I'm scared too.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


I know I have something to say, I mean I need to put down something. I'm starting to feel mildly bored and stagnant again, but I shouldn't even. I saw four small robins next to the gravelly sidewalk, running in their odd quick movements between blades of grass. It's such a nice day, winter is finally allowing his icy fingers to relax their freezing hold, and rosy Spring is peeking her warmth in small corners of the Earth. I read a beautiful poem today that my professor wrote. It's incredible and inspiring and all about rooms. I want to write one about pages. Or hands.

I want to write something but right now this is complete stream of conscious.

I'm angry because I want to go do something, but I have work at 230, I still have to shower, and I want to exercise too. I need good hiking shoes. I need it to be 60 degrees and not 40. This time of in betweens and waiting is the worst for me. Waiting for warmth, waiting for school to end, waiting for summer, waiting for responses, waiting for time, waiting to go to work, to then just wait some more. Wait Wait Wait. I'm bored. I wanna go. I guess, really, I'm the only one who can change that. Because it's just me here, typing away, alone in my house feeling restless. I can leave whenever I want, but where do I go? I hate time restrictions. I hate routine. I want to have the luxury to have my days hold nothing, a blank page everyday instead of resembling a planner or itinerary. Life is better lived unplanned.

Ok I'm going to go walk in Wompatuck, maybe I'll take my puppies. Or see if Paul would like to come. Even though I'm feeling very pensive and detached, surprisingly I don't really want to take this walk alone. I am actually starting to enjoy the company of others. I'll probably write more later on tonight, because though this helped, I still feel full and clouded. I'll be back.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

This felt great to write!

I woke up late for class again yesterday. The daylight savings change really isn't working for me.

When I snuck in, the class was dead silent, which never happens in Creative Writing. Usually we are yelling and laughing and scheming and it is easy to sneak in. But of course today, the day I'm way behind, the room is a vaccuum.

On the board is written one phrase "The emptiest word...". Dan tells me we are writing what comes to mind, then sharing. I look around and watch the girl to my far left write frantically. I watch a few stare blankly at the ceiling. Some shift their glances to others' papers, trying to get some ideas. I know what word is empty to me;

The emptiest word has only one name in our language
Overused, overexposed, doused and saturated.
Like a dirty sponge it is wrung out
and left dry and deflated.

Your tongue will snake out to form its sound
Your teeth will bite off the end of the little letters
Everyone should know better.

It can mean anything to anyone, and to the naive
who see stars and dreams
This piece of language fills them like molasses streams.
Sticky thoughts and slow grins, lips and fingertips.
It oozes and drips
Like poison through pinpricks.

Disappearing gray thin smoke through a window above
Is there only one word to mean love?

Yeah, brutal I know. I really enjoyed writing it though, and it got me thinking of other words. Like distance. What an empty word. I instantly think of a long blank stretch on a map, or the clear space between hands. Or worse yet, the distance between people. The word can mean emotional, physical or mental, and it envokes negative feelings. Incredible word, says so much but yet I can still find myself calling it empty.

When I went to Tommy and David's house later to get them off the bus, I realized how empty all words can truly be. Me and David got in a fight; he wouldn't share with his brother and was getting out of hand, and he really got to me. I had to take away his privilege of having a friend come over and he lost it.

"I hate you, you're the worst!" Nine year olds know just what to say...but deep down I knew he didnt mean that at all.

"Fine, David. If that is how you feel then we just can't do fun things anymore. No more games or going out to eat or anything like that. Now you need to sit upstairs and calm down for a bit" Again...I didnt even kind of mean that. I love these kids, I'd do anything with them, they're so fun.

After he stormed upstairs I went into the bathroom to wash my face, realizing I had started to cry at what a nine year old said to me. Hahaha after everything that doesn't make me cry over years and years, a nine year old can break me down in one minute...but I stood there looking at my watery little eyes in the mirror and the little blotches I get on my face when I get all worked up and I thought about words. I thought about my poem. I thought about the distance between me and that little kid; that an hour ago he would've told me anything, and now he was locked away behind a door and up the stairs probably wishing my hair would catch fire. In one sense, these words are so empty. We say things we do not mean to everyone everyday.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Good thanks!"

Sound familiar? Is everyone "good" everyday? God no. And do people asking really care how you are? Doubt it. Yet David's words, as empty and hollow as they were, sent me reeling. Not because he said them with any meaning, but because of the attachment behind it. Distance is relative and love can mean 83784389 different things, so I guess neither are empty unless you make them empty. And after this past week of little revelations I've been having through some pretty amazing people I have met, I think I am all done thinking things are so empty.

Rory took me to the beach the other morning and we watched the sun come up, and it was freezing but he waded in the water anyways. I stood there with terrible deja vu about something similar I did last summer and that was empty to me. But there wasn't emptiness here, I felt a little wary still but also, I felt like things were filling in a bit and that though we were the only ones on the beach, it wasn't all that empty. The sun was fire orange and the ocean was periwinkle blue, a color I'd never really seen in before. It was like a fresh start, a blank slate. Even "blank" slates aren't empty, you can put on them whatever you like.

Last night, Paul and I had a good conversation about our friends and how much fun we all have together. Even though we do nothing, our time spent is never empty. We fill it with jokes and laughter and dreams and music and plans for the summer. It's incredible now that I sit here and write this all down.

For a while, I have felt so hollow and empty. But these last 24 hours or so have showed me my life is brimming and full. It took quite the cast of characters to change my view, but its a complete 360. Summer's coming, changes will be imminent, but I'm ready. I know my future isn't empty, and it will be filled with lots of words.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

I remember...
dark green water and pale summer sun
fast silver slide you and I clung
to hot metal rungs.
Ice cream bells,
bikes, sticky fingers shy glances
swingsets in sand, brown cottages
the video store, beach dances.
Velvet moon, splintered dock

four shoes, don't drown!
jumping for the up
because you'll never be down.
See you around?

I recall...
wind in the cab and two door pickups,

fast driving fast music and fast food hiccups.
Giggling and soundtracks over

state line leaping, feelings seeping?
it was just sleeping
but wake up, up, I'm back up!
I missed you under the ice cream bell.

I reminisce...
different scene, different time, how much time since last?
Steel train, cold night, cement steps
Same moon.
Big city, country kid, with
Cigarettes, apartments, our frosted breath
cheap booze.
Summer's coming again,
See you soon!

But I can't forget...
a long drive, state line, and blindside.
Time has elapsed, but our years are on my mind.
Believe that I tried
phone calls and stars, basements,
beach walks and sunrise.
Dirt roads are for fourwheeling
And ice cream is for eating.
But I'll let mine melt on my hand and the sand
while you keep on swinging.
I'm singing,
but threes a crowd, and hugs are for
goodbyes and friends and trees.
Let go please

the drive is long so this can't be.

Even though it's sticky and melts away like morning dreams
I'm still fond of summer, bells, and ice cream.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Feliz Maria, que hora?

Get used to seeing some Spanish sprinkled into my blog posts, because I think Spain might be my big adventure this summer! At first, I was going to fly out on a one way ticket and figure out what to do from there but good ol' Matt K. said he could get me out there for free, and by boat.

Sailing across the Atlantic...for free...to Spain...um whaaaat??

I better calm down, I can't jinx it yet. Nothing is set in stone, but I am already feeling excitement. I wanna dock near Gibraltar, see Seville, jump to Portugal right quick, then breeze through Madrid. Honestly I hope this trip includes me stowing away on a freight train to France for a little while too, but i dont know how feasible that is nowadays.

Maybe I'll stay for a bit, get an under the table job, make some acquaintances, and just relax. Nothing like the promise of the Mediterranean sand and pink Spanish sunsets to ease the torturous restlessness in a gray and forest-green freeze.

I need some more sundresses. And endurance training, since most of this will be biking, HAH. Travelling dirt poor is the only way to go!

Secrets Make Friends!

you're not well, girl
he said
she stared at him shaking her head.
normal is what your thermometer read.

you're a shell, girl

he said
she picked the rose, cold and dead.

It's a path you can't tread.

but you're swell, girl

he said
she laughed a little, the fire is fed.
You talk too much...come to bed.

you're a well, girl
he tried
bottomless pit and vacant eyes,
falling down fast, what do you find?
she smirked
Blackness and size.

He sighs.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Seasonless Anectdotes Pepper My Days.

full and heavy
haven't eaten. today,
i'll watch you through
thick glass that catches sun
and burns ants.
You're my latest diamond in sand.
my dear restless soul,
release comes quick to those who drink
in sea grass winter coats salty ice locked bays.
Travelling alone is never a good idea
you'll always be a million miles away

not one step toward you i can give.

Maybe this blog will just be poetry tid bits.

I'm the cool clear water in summer
cupped tight in your dusty hands.
Give me time, I'll find my way
into the creases of your fingers and
down their smooth knuckles, weaving

in and out of trails of black hair,
down the summit of your arm.
I'll pool at your elbow, then

Drip drip...

into a free puddle!

Just a little muddier.

Inhaling slow this
moment and watch ghosts dance,
Exhale nostalgia.