expecting words

happens all the time

natural order slightly restored. error in circadian rhythm. lips chapped and mouth dry insomnia. still no solution. shorter days and longer nights, no method for mending. muscle ached from cramped spaces, no room for growth, spurting out roots to find sturdy planting space, no sign of life.

finally cold weather. wind chill and need for closed toe attire. unfathomable how a year can pass so quickly. what now? time between us, thick heart beat emanating under polyester comforter that isn't yours. where is the concave chest, the palm rest, the beautiful flaw. and who am i, long nails but quick temper, quick to judge, to change my mind, to think i belong here.

maybe i do i must examine. maybe i shouldn't be so quick to run, to assume i'm the stranger. not given enough breathing room, exasperated, emotionally exhausted, no time for napping. wheres my acuity, i fear of become dull-edged, like the rest, blended and smudged into this big picture, colors bled into one another until you cannot point me out anymore, until i really am just a particle floating in this inextricably vast universe, a freckle on the brow of the cosmos, impossible to define, fundamentally ingrained into the carefully crafted system, a fraction of an organism, the dust at the beginning of the windstorm, someone you can't find.

i am far too preoccupied in writing my eulogy. how my heart will ultimately fail, too short of breath, gasping at the edge of my seat, fish out of water until i disintegrate. too concerned with what it will be like to be here no more that i am convinced life is passing me by so quickly. it is what i believe it to be; so i will pretend and allow it to inch on, slugging by and dragging my heels in the sand of time. its slow. a process, we are all dying, as if i know what that means. but i do still know the fear that lives between me, in the index of my own clavicle, my heart, a dwelling pain and trembling idea that this is it, this is it, it is this is this it it can't just be this. there must be more, an open door leading us into the next phase, whatever is waiting for me, a life on a cloud screaming out loud and those below can't hear, not too far from what it is now, impossible to look beyond, the climb too high to comprehend, no thought can decipher what else could possible be there for me, if any breath of existence and being-ness takes place on this brief and subtle planet, a dream in the night, incomprehensible and deeply imagined, easily convinced that it never happened, a fabrication of my own delusion, how do i set free. so do i sing at my own funeral,

do i sing out with joy for whatever this life does indeed provide. nails on silk skin, will harden with age, like me, waiting for the steam to break through this pore and release, oh the release, the extraction of this suffering, the condensation and warm touch, humid interaction, leaving it fresh as dew, new as the morning, ready and clean

into the caverns of tomorrow

with just our flashlights and our love

we must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge

Nostalgia always cuts the deepest. I always promise myself not to indulge in the drug, all too easy to become addicted, the high never good enough. I wish to return back, to any day but this one. So counter productive, the opposite of my impossible path to enlightenment. Wishing for a glass of red wine, close friends and a cold Los Angeles night. Instead I find myself so disgustingly alone. Abandoned. I could vomit, I swear I will, with disgust, for how failing today is, the unrewarding, grinding reality of daily life. No matter how hard they try to alter the chemicals, my brain waivers towards a heavy heavy weight. Incredibly consuming never shut down. So I dodge this moment and wish to escape elsewhere. To my back house, my past lovers, close friends and a time long gone. The past. What a looming, unidentifiable notion, longing for something that truly doesn’t exist. That maybe never did. I can’t prove that you were once here standing next to me. There isn’t proper evidence, of your tongue in my mouth and the stain you left on me. No longer bruised, for there wasn’t a wound, but, still holding on to a distant sound of a heartbeat that I cannot hear anymore. Attachment. The promise to never let go.

But it isn’t that the promises failed. A dog’s liver. The end of a life time. What does it mean to him to be gone. I am still here, faced with empty chairs and all too present absence. The silent witness. I will not let go.

So, this is the mantra, the refusal to release, to purge. The need to stand over a bridge, puking every ounce of my gut out until I am released of the poison. The unintentional nicotine. The sorrow I’m left with. I want to strip and run bare into an ice cold East Coast river and pray I don’t die, maybe then I’ll really get to feel alive.

The numb days pass by and I feel less and less. I long for a pinch, a scream, a tug of a shirt and the lift, the reward, the human interaction, the knowing each other differently, fully. Yet I am left isolated, holding my forearm loosely to acknowledge myself as my greatest companion. Always ready to annotate, to comment, to let myself know what today feels like. To ponder if morning will ever come. Wide awake with arm raised insanity, three-position tossing until head ached I come to a nightly conclusion, a promise to do better tomorrow, to wake up earlier, to be productive, to find what it is I am dying for. Longing for.

Nails bitten to blood and I weep. I mourn. A sibling lost, a baby, a brother, my greatest companion. Along with him goes childhood , I must conclude. For he was there all along. Too sad to comprehend, the winter depression setting in. Day lights saving, there is no light here, just darkness, just me and me in the dark, looming and harassing to my bright eyes, unwanted yet ever present.

I listen to old songs and cling to the small waist, jutted hip-bone indecision that drove me to an older, more specific lunacy. Missing when things were simple. So overwhelming then to sip on iced-tea and wish for peaceful matrimony, now just one nice night would suffice. I do not mean to sound so down. No, this is not the case. I value life, its glory, the beauty and promise of each clean day. But it’s all too easy to see the truth behind the sunlight. That there is indeed a stomach-wrenching illness that drives me and the world from which I originate. An error in the equilibrium, no matter how deliberate, an intentional glitch that brings us to one another. The man the solution to woman. How I continue to long for you, anonymous, figureless, the remedy, proper equation, concoction, to heal you.

My depression lingers like an unwanted guest. Always present. Allowing for no time alone. We are always together. Standing in the hallway when I’m trying to get to the other room. Blocking my way. It is so persistent, lingering, dragging. I am constantly weighed down. So I plow forward, tearing down the weeds that grow in my veins and block a proper stream, but I cannot bleed out. I am stuck here, in this wandering yet stationary gridlock condition, waiting for escape.

erase yourself and you'll be free

mandala destroyed by the sea

feeling ill is so specific. the dry throat, clenched neck/jaw contraction. shoulder throb, thick, consistent nausea. if only just the physicality of nausea took me over, but the emotional, the disgust

"I've been sleeping so strange at night, with a head full of pesticides"

i'm not quite sure what to do with myself anymore. quite honestly. i stare at my collection of seven chapsticks, my folded clothing and intricate hospital corners. this is the brief alleviation. removing one brick off of my chest at a time. placing them slowly on the ground next to me so perhaps, over time, a wall between me and this inexorable darkness will be built. something solid that comes between us to guarantee we never see each other again.

but what ignorance, sorrow is everything, right? change intrinsic, life is suffering. ok, i accept, life is suffering, but that just brings me full circle, questioning my existence on this planet and whether or not i would ever bring more life to this planet. if only i could think smaller.

thats when i get in to minute details. filed nails and precision. tiny, immaculate handwriting. clear, intentional steps on the elliptical. this feels like a crisis, like i know no matter where i am there will be an inherent and pressing problem. the nightly panic, the sweat, undeniable and bitter taste in the back of my throat, the everything i have to do.

but for now i am young, i must listen. the sky is bright and the birds soar high. but i do not. perhaps this part of the problem. the 96 degree november weather, this is not what i asked for. its too early to pack up and give up on this place entirely. i know hiding behind a tree is a person right for me, if not, i'll head elsewhere, get the hell over myself and board the goddamn plane, perhaps with my incessant possessions left behind, and go somewhere new.

so why is he standing in his own back yard

crying out

at least it's been raining, i must reason. at least i can feel a drop off fall and have an excuse to wear fleece. but i wish it was colder. i wish i was in new york city. i wish i was far away from here. i wish the people here were more like me.

it's funny feeling like an outsider. i've always thought my self to be socially fluid and adaptive. like i could put on a tank top and a french manicure and fit right in. but my oddities are sticking out like blood stains and they know i am different. i cannot help but express the electrically bizarre currents that run through my brain and manifest into funny faces, fast talking and plainly being myself. and i do not want to apologize, for being me, for not fitting their bill of polished existence.

october is always a challenge. close to november, close to something more tender and valuable, but still weening off the bitch of september, the back to school nausea, the carpal tunnel, late night tension, no solutions.

i cannot fathom how i feel so desperately lonely. like everything that ever meant something has disappeared into the past, onto airplanes with packed bags and a mind stripped of memory. leaving me behind. in the suffocation of my own anxious delusion. in all my fears. trapped in this little tiffany blue box of materialistic seduction distancing myself from the meaning i want so badly to find. it's not here, that i know, my existence isn't justified among smirnoff ice, hell i don't even care to drink anymore. drink myself further into my depression? numb myself more until i truly can't even feel a thing? until this all means absolutely nothing and i can retreat into my faux-down comforter and occupy that space permanently, sealed tightly into comfort, where i have a container as plush and lush as i could ever desire. maybe then i'll be whole.

maybe then i wouldn't feel the glass housed sadness. the blatant vulnerability. the solid exterior but the ever collapsing, self-doubting ever-critical interior. the poor design. too obvious i'm in dire need of some rearrangement, some out-of-here realization and experience so i can feel that maybe i am living life. and that this life is good. that there is a vision i have for what is in perfect accordance with the universe. that i will fulfill the silhouette that looms above my mind and the picture will come into focus, and i'll just have to step into the frame.

the social network

instead of attending this saturday's football game, i went to go see the movie i promised myself i wouldn't. it was the only thing remotely relevant playing at the sketch theatre across campus and i thought i'd give it a chance.

initially, i vowed not to see it because it felt awkwardly premature. like those films that came out right after 9/11 that made everyone extremely uncomfortable. not to compare the history and existence of facebook with the tragedy of september 11, but the vibe remained similar.

after paying only 5 dollars for the movie (student ticket) i leave the theatre surprised and impressed. the plot was compelling, well-sustained and well written. subtle humor but ever-present attention grabbing dialogue. and, the acting was actually good. which takes a lot for me to say. the characters were more than believable, and consistent throughout the film.

as embarassed i was that a movie about facebook was coming out, it took seeing it to understand its important to hear the story behind the vessel that is so imperative in our lives. one in fourteen people on the GLOBE uses facebook. as sick as it is, i don't know what things would be like without facebook, remember when it took off exponentially and feel almost, weirdly inspired by Zuckerberg's story, the notion of invention, doing things differently, innovation and a chance to start something new, something infectious and overpowering, needed and well-receieved.

overall grade: A-

so if i just exist for the next ten minutes of this ride

that would be fine

life makes more sense here. it's simple. wake up, or attempt to, awake finally, grogally, skip breakfast, bike, half asleep to class. where i learn, finally, about things that actually are of interest to me. the philosophy of love. history of film. acting, the mechanics, impersonation, harnessing talent and that which will mean something to me.

the world outside of class is a little more complicated. being away, taking care of myself, learning how to not be a colossally big baby. for the most part, i'm doing a good job of making my bed and practicing the ways of being adult, perhaps, too old to be a college student. indifferent to binge drinking and getting high, although numbing and temporarily distracting, they do not provide enough comfort and in the long run, feed my anxiety, inability to sleep at night, and self-loathing natures.

i just can't quite seem to figure out what is worth caring about. i know its not football, or expensive sunglasses (although i'm impatiently awaiting mine to arrive in the mail). i think it might be health, not destroying my lungs, and seeing things from new perspective, head-tilted, i will attempt to be a better person, less narrow, less confined to myself, more interested in what the wide world has to offer.

and of course, behind it all, is my more-than-frustruated, fed-up disgust with still being in los angeles california. where the people are the same and the weather never does change. i'm sick of the sunshine, the 76 degree, smog, thick pollution of downtown la. something tells me, this is not where i belong. i pray for nature, a fallen leaf and a bite in the air that provides significance. something to rely on, look forward too. i'm sure i'll find my place here, until then, i'll be using my new found addiction stumbleupon and drinking diet coke, my preferred, slower, less violent suicide.

i miss my best friends. home isn't too far away but those i love most are. i miss the past, my wonderful, held-breath summer, and the promises it held but failed to deliver. i continue to make reason out of dead memories, nail-biting mistakes and ever existent error. i continue to apologize, curse my impulses and put my money on personal development, doing it better next time

, next time.

i hope there’s some room still in the middle

summer begins to wane after the initial very strong and overwhelming swell. the heat never hit too strongly and now i find myself with little time left to tie loose ends, close chapters and write up my summaries. i'm trying hard not forget the annotations, the footnotes, the margin scribbles we discussed. driving 42 miles per hour shouting, incredulous,

i continue to wonder what exactly it is all about, each day blends into the next and i do not know where i stand.

my friend sam takes beautiful pictures. he spent part of his summer on an island called nantucket, his photos remind me of what seems to hold meaning in life, raw, honest footage, to me he captured an essence:

i regret spending my summer trapped in LA as i knew i would. i do not have photos of my own like those above to show. i've made some emotional developments, purchased a smart phone and cleaned up only to re dirty my room a few times. every day i check on my rabbit who is still (miraculously) alive and try to spend these last weeks making amends and paving over all these little pot holes that still stick out in my memory, and more importantly, forgiving myself.

ahead of me awaits some land of promise, "college," where "things will be different," and i "can start all over" yet i am increasingly afraid of bringing the past with me, showing up on campus with my bags packed to the brim with my anxiety, clothes i should've thrown out, and bad habits i just can't seem to quit.

but perhaps, things will be different. i will make a bulletin board with pictures of friends and good memories i still do not want to forget. it is a big adventure, no matter how close to home you insist on saying i'm staying, it will be something i cannot expect.

Try To Find Some Source of Light

I can't believe it is July. Half a year since we rang in the new year. And now summer. Though it is gloomy and misty outside.

I've been doing the best I can, it's been two months since I went to Ojai, the photo on the left is the view from my dome. Ojai was five days of magic, the most needed respite from this city and into a lush and secret nirvana. I must try to remember what it was like.

My therapist keeps asking me "what makes me feel

better," and it really pisses me off. Why? Because the answer is either nothing or an honest I don't know. Friends? Reese's Peanut Butter Cups? All things miniature? Coming home to Edward and Jacob waiting for me?

I just really hope something good is waiting around the corner for me. It seems like its just been six months of torment, of disappointment and gut wrenching anxiety. Perhaps I could find an app on my iPhone 4 for that.

And They'll Be Laughing

Today my mom came in my room at 6 a.m. to let me know she was leaving for a conference. Why on earth she had to verbally communicate this, I do not know. She did, however, leave gluten free pancake batter and a pan out for me. Which was nice. She left before I was out of bed. It was odd having the house to myself at such an ungodly hour. I went to Coffee Bean on my way to school and the man behind the counter asked me, for the second time this month, how many "fingers" worth of soy milk I wanted in my coffee. 1, 2, or 3?

Today I missed the "don't come to school memo." My only friend who attended school today said to me, "I'm gonna vomit and then go home," and that was that.

Today everyone was bitching about sleep loss. Like, "oh, I didn't do the homework cause my sleeps all off," or like "I'm so tired cause of the time change," and I'm all..suck it up!!

Today I realized that I haven't done school work in at least a month. My Pre Calculus teacher actually laughed at how behind I was today. Laughed!

Today I bought Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on my way home. These small chocolate delights are actually my greatest enemy. They are sent by the Devil to bring me down. The high fructose corn syrup kills me slowly. Why I ate two of these delicious babies before starting my four hours of homework, I do not know.

So I wonder, how I can articulate more clearly that ALL I want to do is bake gluten free banana bread. Throw EVERYTHING I have to do off the table and measure out the ingredients because it is this that seems will bring me sanity. To use my hands and be in the process of something based on practicality. Something, perhaps more grounding than this fleeting, wandering plane I am currently occupying.

spring it did come slowly

So today we jump ahead an hour. To a little more daylight. I used to think, what is the big fuss about winter? I always notice how much the despair of winter is expressed in literature. I always wondered, why is winter so bad? For a while I assumed the modern man proceeded unaffected by the seasons. I concluded that in our virtual world we remained unaffected by the weather. But personally, the minute November rolls around and the days start getting shorter, so do my nails (as I proceed to bite them) and so does my sanity. Something about seeing less light sends me straight to this uneasy, weary ground. But now at 6 p.m. there will be daylight outside my window. And I find this remarkably refreshing.

I'm trying to see which direction this "blog" should head in. No one reads it but I feel I have so much to say. I could rant for hours, about the College Board, or college admissions, or the End of Senior Year and Leaving Home. Or about the Oscars and New York Times Bestsellers, or Technology, or Jersey Shore. Or Relationships and Breakups. Apparently I have funny things to say. I amuse my parents to no end. But lately, instead of paying attention to these topics, I spend my days listening to Bright Eyes and Conor Oberst and looking for Truth and Meaning so I bet half the shit I write here (like the blog title today) will be from his mouth, not mine. And during this quest for Meaning I fear I get further from it. I now have a twitter. And a tumblr. And a facebook. And a blogspot. Somewhere I still have a myspace. But I'm pretty sure signing up for these internet programs sends me further and further away from my life purpose. From anything of value.

Now I'm researching how to get my blogged "noticed" which seems absolutely ridiculous but hey, it's worth a try. One day people will want to know what I have to say

Until then..