i would like to reach out my hand

SO I DID IT SUE ME! things i miss times like tonight. not in any chronological order, though i love timelines. what i remember is, "you know what they say about the young". when she called me from the concert so i could hear sleeping lessons and i cried.

listening to django

s ; t ; u ; p ; i ; d ;

i cant/stand/people who lose/their/heads

you lost/your/head

you lost it

typewriter tip tip tip tip tip tip tip tip

yesterday was a really reassuring day, it was just like the same day i had on ALMOST the same exact date last year, except i wasn't in 95% purple, and there was a slight difference in location and those present but it was essentially the same and the same people and it was really happy and nice. i got a call from alex julia apres lecole when i was reading Anna Karenina with popcorn outside and ten minutes later got on my bike. this morning i woke up pretty early after an odd, suggestive dream, and then i fell asleep and another completely different but also suggestive dream. the first dream took place in a very bright clear day and in the second it was always black and raining. these past 24 hours have been good ones, and i love having so many plans/addresses that i have to write them all down. my goal of 30 pages a day for Anna has not been completely filled, but i think it is a-okay. i still listen to good intentions paving company too much for my own good, though :c ive been thinking a lot about the man who tried to make the happiness machine in dandelion wine. also: when one person is consistently present in dreams, what does that mean?!

"official bombay, bone and boat saturday"
listening to regina spektor, the gories, pogo and of course joanna

zach condon's voice makes me really just upset. that reminds me:

"Like a good coffee, these Titanian dunes are dark and rich."

"somewhere in time a child is convinced that his little fingers and his face between them are rays from the sun there for everyone to fight off the night"

do you ever have those days where you don't really use a cell phone or a television or computer or whatever the fuck everyone uses and you do things outside and you might be a little dirty and it's sunny and you do other things like read or feed the pets or go grocery shopping or make a painting and feel "okay" about it or mend a small rip in some shorts and the day feels a lot more full even if you might go to bed twice as earlier, and then while you're in bed (earlier) you start to think about how empty some days are and how full this one day is and then you think about why that is? and how you went to bed earlier because the day was done and you could feel the finish drying with sleep?

another feeling, i always know it is summer when i come home and i walk up the stairs and i can feel the heat everywhere on me. as we r i s e like bread. and so you see, i have to laugh. it's sort of funny when i look back at old pictures of myself from weeks or months ago and then i think "my gosh my bangs were short" or something else about how different i looked and how i didn't see so until that moment, and in the moment the photo captured how i didn't see that i was different from even longer before, or up to that present time. SO UNAWARE. to laugh, sometimes, quelquefois, when my peau must have been slightly colder

(today was a fairly empty day, but i did discover in a new tea length dress i have, the inside hem is stitched with lace; the inside hem, so it's just like a secret) "denying his poetry to the public is his way of getting back at the world"

full stomach

HOLD IT;

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x

it seems the quietest at first. it always feels so much quieter than it really is

"weary memory"

birthday card for dad. drinking hot earl grey with milk and brown sugar and then
off to s l e e p, to s e a


"like heath that, in the wilderness,
the wild wind whirls away."
want
edit: did beck get the idea for the name of his album Sea Change from ernest hemingway's short story, with that same title?

oh but you see then it's something new you've never known that you now only know with one person and it becomes special. i found something that tells you how you can practice lucid dreaming, and i realized it's almost strange, however common, because when you think of it how can you lucid dream by mistake? it's so so interesting and bizarre and nice. it's like being trapped in a bon place. on the plane i had so many lucid dreams, and they have developed such an odd pattern lately. dreaming is like knowing and not knowing for me it's very confusing but very assuring and oy. roo roo. another thing, coincidences, and fate, and other things of that nature: i have been recently thinking today and tonight about all of this, and things i have not known, and things, and pan's labyrinth, and lucid dreaming, and just now i read tonight that guillermo del toro got the idea for pan's labyrinth from lucid dreams he had when he was a child. i feel like that always used to happen to me when i was really little, i looked for coincidences everywhere and i always found them, or they always found me

you like me
more than you think

you do too

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pan_(mythology)

ives

way up yonder above the sky a bluebird lived in a jaybirds eye
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim
way up yonder above the moon a bluejay nest in a silver spoon
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim
way down yonder in wooden trough an old woman died of a whoopin cough
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim
way down yonder in a hollow log a redbird danced with a green bullfrog
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim

cmere

i get my self worked up into a state where i have these rushy thoughts and i shake my hands and hop like i'm on hot coals and i have thoughts like "i miss everything i try but i can't i try but i can't i'm trying" really these things get repeated over and over again literally i repeat things like i'm touching a hot faucet and you jump UP UGH when i see old things that i have said or look over all the old conversations i saved ( there are so many like five per person) and think wow this was so great i wish that could happen again. it is too strange to leave a place or a state of yourself and then return, completely the same as if you had never left. it's just as if you never made a ripple with your oar even though it dipped into the water over and over and over. old birds. once in a while i write long posts that are very reminiscent of something but i think that everyone just thinks that exact same way all the time, in long reminiscent paragraphs. "i love you and you're my best friend and you can tell me anything." "i used to be so honest." really i just don't want to have to come back and be here and things seeming untouched but then all of these wavvvves crash about and then there is so much to learn and study and do and write. you can't just carry your entire world around with you wherever you go because there isn't room for change if you do that. and when you leave sometimes maybe it's good to change. i think partly the reason i shake my hands and get jumpy is because i feel like everyone can hear and see everything i'm remembering, thinking, or dreaming, and i shake my head to get rid of the thoughts really i SHAKE MY HEAD, shake it grab my head stomp my feet i'll be sitting in math looking over and grabbing my face to try and focus. and they come back like ghosts, new things, or old, like ghosts and just taunt me. maybe not taunt, but haunt, or something a little more pleasant, but exist, there for everyone to see. so maybe i wear my heart on my sleeve but not my HEART, but my emotions and thoughts, i feel like i emote very obviously. this is not a good thing. i have a friend who jumps every time she gets excited, it's not even annoying or childish or anything it's just a natural occurance, when she tells a story or agrees or identifies with something she jumps and claps even sometimes and it makes me so happy. and then she sort of coils again. it's the coolest thing, what a wonderment

i k n o w y o u

lawlessness

ANYWAY

it was clear

everything is too connected for my liking tonight.
see you in napa

"those old birds"

ch ch

i think it's the realization that never more will you be seeing them, or experiencing the same things again, or feeling and thinking the same since they aren't there any more, and feeling empty, a little more empty each time. full or sparse, they're there [we agree] and when they're gone their memory isn't a brevity any more, or their existence by your side. while it was once a subconscious knowing that they'll always be there. and when they aren't; then they aren't. but then i always begin to wonder whether i grieve for myself or the dead. "isn't it selfish" to cry and say "i didn't get to say goodbye" and think of "all the things you won't have any longer, what you'll miss, how sad it makes you". while i know we can be sad for the wrong reasons for the sake of others, i know that this time isn't one of them.

i only wish i could have fed her another apple in her day

hop along

"now it's october and all those people, they're gone, gone, gone"

my hair is red

ggggg

how dependable. there's an elephant around my wrist and a huge owl around my neck. which reminds me, mom told me that she thinks our cat is a reincarnated owl, and then my dad said the same thing, and then looking through our eastern birdwatcher's book. this morning i found my pulse and kept touching it all day and sometimes i would have to stop because it felt too interesting or something that shouldn't be touched all the time and i was getting scared too, it feels fairly very strange if you touch it for too long! it is so neat to feel though, especially when you feel the pulse on your wrist at the same time as under the corner of your jaw bone, it's just two tiny movements perfectly coordinating and in sync, keeping everything secret everything home free. how dependable we are, no wonder our bodies are like locked boxes, we can't be trusted
"i have spent all my life seeking all that is still unsung"

"everyone knows that custer died at little big point. but what this book presupposes is, maybe he didn't"

edit: i JUST REALIZED that i am now thinking the reason i leave so many things unfinished isnt because i'm afraid of endings, but because not finishing things tends to be the way i finish things. regardless of the mode, things still end

(the last one is mine, and it's a little bit "old")

"what makes winters lonely? now at last i know"
edit: i just cracked my back and there were so many sounds and when i straightened up i felt so much better. come to think of it, yesterday, for about twenty minutes of french i spent massaging my neck. i think i made it worse that time, but i digress. listening to chet baker and davis my boys

squint skyward and listen

"it wandered along in curves and easy angles, swayed off and up in a pleasant tangent to the top of a small hill, ambled down again between fringes of bee-hung clover, and then cut sideways across a meadow. here its edges blurred. it widened and seemed to pause, suggesting tranquil, bovine picnics: slow chewing and thoughtful contemplation of the infinite. and then it went on again and came at last to the wood. but on reaching the shadows of the first trees, it veered sharply, swung out in a wide arc as if, for the first time, it had reason to think where it was going, and passed around.

"On the other side of the wood, the sense of easiness dissolved. the road no longer belonged to the cows. it became, instead, and rather abruptly, the property of people..."
(from Tuck Everlasting)

dig for victory

when i have to explain "idiopathic thrombocytopenia" usually it sounds like a lot bigger of a deal when it really isnt, aka i just happen to have low blood platelets, so i couldn't donate blood today, and when i came home i found out that the horse has a tumour, which i felt really bad about. other than the out of blue, odd things that have been happening lately, i'm almost finished Atonement, my dad is mowing the lawn, there are three bandaids on three fingers on account of pricking and collecting, i feel very constrained, and my lips sting red

i feel i see everything

tired awake tired tired awake tired awake awake false waking. bare shoulders, you curl, press, knead, pound, delicately into a fine softness and bake bake bake. threadbare seams of fingernails pull and extend and grow and grow and grow until they swirl in front of your eyes and spell things out to enable seeing, quickly hands become idle and ideas come. two cherries, cut in half, rub them on your cheeks and fall purposely on your face in the face of everything, the grass, "the meadow at dusk", until your nose hurts, and pull up when you can breathe again with tears in your eyes see everything

annie hall

"Never something you do, that's how people are, love fades"

contender

"everything is more complicated than you think. you only see a tenth of what is true. there are a million little strings attached to every choice you make, you can destroy your life every time you choose. but maybe you won't know for twenty years, and you may never trace it to its source, and you only get one chance to play it out. just try and figure out your own divorce. and they say there is no fate, but there is; it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons you're only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. but while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call, or a letter, or a look from someone or something to make it all right. and it never comes. or it seems to, but it doesn't really. and so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. and the truth is, i feel so angry. and the truth is i feel so fucking sad, and the truth is i've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long i've been pretending i'm okay, just to get along, just for.. i don't know why. maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery. because they all have their own. well, fuck everybody. Amen."

-synecdoche new york

i have to sleep downstairs again

"where is fancy bread? in the heart, or in the head?"
found, while i was painting

No

j'ai seize ans

however vast the darkness, we must supply our own light

"you look like christopher robin with that bandaid on your knee." -my dad
my work here is done. i'll see you at the ball, one day again

it's ringing you to hell

because that isn't who you are. i read things out loud and it sounds like they affect me so much and i'm getting extremely emotional about them but it's only because i get so tired after reading a few words. by tired i mean out of breath. since i'm a baby and everything.and i have to read everything out loud.

les marionnettes

today i came home and drank hot drinks and put on my dad's red coat and went to sleep. on a side note in rudolph the movie when yukon cornelius falls off the edge of the cliff with the abomidable snow monster i always think of when Gandalf falls off the edge of that stone thing with that big dragon. i should probably stop relating everything to lotr. also why are there girls that are fans of "women should not have rights" on facebook? moreover, why do things like this exist? the world may never know

midnight surrounds you and the moonlight makes you proud

sentence structure

"It doesn't matter to me where you go."

try to remember always

i love the word "her" so much. it's so intimate.
why is everyone so happy without me? wait up guys

myriad harbour

when we met and you didnt know anything about me and you asked if i was an artist

ne me quitte pas

amelie

"Instead, she cultivates a taste for small pleasures: dipping her hand into sacks of grain, cracking creme brulee with a teaspoon, and skipping stones at St. Martin's Canal."
This movie frustrates me to no end.
but i do love it

i'm nervous

do you ever get like phantom limb but with people?
wahoo
i do

you're lost!

Coyote's Ode to Nightingale

At dusk the coyote entered the forest.
He heard the nightingale sing from atop a tree.
The night songstress' trills led the trickster
Up the trunk and into the canopy.
Just as he reached her branch,
He fell into the brush below and broke his knee.
He hopped and cried back to his home.
She gathered straw, grass, and twine
And entered his burrow to nest and mend his wound.
feel the waltz
was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music - do i wake or sleep?
-thomas macker


i think this story and the images in it are beautiful. i'm not even entirely sure thomas macker is the one who wrote it, i think he did though.
either way, enjoy it

edit:

electro forest. thanks for stickin around

summertime clothes

don't cool off
i like your warmth

and you will go to mykonos

i don't think anyone really likes me that much.

edit: i remembered things today. infinite: watching you play with your pretty hands and look at them when you get sad. finite: falling asleep with you and waking up with red words on my arms and my shirt. i realized what nice things these are.

gg

"How did animals in the snow tipped pines, I find

Hatching from the seed of your thin mind, all night?"

gggGGGGGGGGGGG

i picked out photos for this post and it shouldn't matter but i picked them out of my old archives of photos and so they weren't easy to find and it didn't work uploading them. they are kind i wish you could see them.

i'm sleepy

the unicorns

1: I'm not a fan of yours anymore
2: Yes you are
1: No I'm not
2:Yes you are
1: No I'm not
2: Yes you are
1: But you broke my fragile heart
2: No I didn't
1: Yes you did
2: No I didn't
1: Yes you did
2: No I didn't
1: I hate you
2: I hate you too
1: I hate you
peter rabbit prevails
edit:
"if you're killed, i'll be free. if i'm killed it really doesn't matter. if we both die, good riddance!"

as your friend died he asked about a living pyramid but such a thing does not exist

sommelier, irenic, flotsam, pointless nostalgic.

i want to know who wrote that and never stop hugging them and feeling their breathing on me but then again i want to do that to most people. time travel.

scallopped

there is something about georgia font that comforts me, georgia and times new roman. i feel like it's used so often and is considered very commonplace. i like that. i miss to build a fire by jack london. i love that story. i missed it so i typed the title in on google so i could read it, since it's just a short story, and i clicked on one of the links and the entire thing is in georgia. the first copy i read was in times new roman. so i'm comforted, i'm comforted on this wool with my tea and snowflake roll, reading jack london and being proud of my nostalgia. indentations.

edit: enchanté

edit pt. 2: john napoline gave me a call and we talked about jack london. what a small world.