Haiku

Cutting class again

Writing outside of English

It's art for art's sake

Untitled

“All of us take pride and pleasure in the fact that we are unique, but I'm afraid that when all is said and done the police are right: it all comes down to fingerprints.” 

― David Sedaris, Holidays on Ice

The Hardest Thing

My father sat down, puffy-eyed and exhausted. My row rustled, the black dresses sat up and floated in front of me, passing me. It was my turn to stand up and fall in line with my cousins. I joined the dismal promenade to the front of the room. Through a blurry screen of tears I stumbled into place. The pianist began the prelude to "Be Still, My Soul" and I tried to clear my throat. This marked the beginning of the song and my own non-musical accompaniment, a rise and fall of emotions. As I choked out the first verse all I could think about was my sweet Grandpa and his final sickly strung out days with cancer. The second verse rolled out, I gained composure upon remembering that I believe in the idea of eternity. I will be reunited with my Grandpa for all of time and beyond. My mood darkened again when we hit the final verse. I knew that I would see Chuck's honest grin and hold his callused hands again, but some faces in the crowd did not know it. So few in the crowd knew it, knew that there is a light after the abrupt close of a coffin. Singing that day was almost a physical impossibility, but nowhere near as difficult as the swallowing of the true tragedy around me. 

The hardest thing is when the people you love the most do not hold the same hope as you.

little poem today

I printed this out on watercolor paper with a little painting and I'm CRAZY STOKED about it.

(for Emilie...there is a secret note on the back)

Sunday Nostalgia

Sitting in church.

Droning of little-one coos, fidgeting, and adult sighs who feel the same boredom.

The speaker is talking about knowing "who we are" by "remembering".

Well, I've been doing a lot of remembering and it's making me hate myself.

Shouldn't the present make you who you are?

What you are right now is who you are.

Missing my old self doesn't do any good for 17 years, 4 months, and 5 days old me.

a little thought

 Of all the things there are not enough, I find that goodbye kisses are the guiltiest.

Why Say Anything is the best movie ever.

Alright fine, maybe not EVER, but probably.
 Probably, because it says things like this:

 'She's gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen.'

'Are you shaking?
No.
You're shaking.
I don't think so.
You're cold.   

I don't think I am.  

Then why are you shaking?

 I don't know. I think I'm happy.'

'Dad, do you know what he did the first time I went out with him? We were walking across that 7-11, and he pointed out some glass to walk around. And I always think of that when people ask me what I'm doing with Lloyd Dobler. And I never get nervous around him. So we started spending all this time together, as friends. But I could feel him getting anxious. And then, I knew there would be a confrontation over getting physical. And he started to get that look the other night. You know that look? And then, you know its gonna be an issue, so I went thru all the different feelings and arguments you're supposed to go thru.'
'Did he get rough?'
'Dad, no. But I didn't want any problems. So I decided not to sleep with him.
But then I attacked him anyway.'

'Nobody thinks it will work, do they?
No. You just described every great success story.'

'I am looking for a "dare to be great" situation.'

 'I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. 

I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. 

You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.'

'Kickboxing. Sport of the future.'

'Okay, how ya doing? I'm Lloyd, and we're gonna watch the movie "Cocoon." I've never actually seen it, but I heard it's very good, it makes you happy, that's a good thing. It's about a group of older people who go to outer space... hope I didn't give anything away there.

  'I'm sorry, it's just that you're a really nice guy and we don't want to see you get hurt.
I want to get hurt!'

 [Answering machine]: 'Maybe I didn't really know you. Maybe you were just a mirage. Maybe the world is full of food and sex and spectacle and we're all just hurling towards an apocalypse, in which case it's not your fault. I'm been thinking about all these things and... you're probably standing there monitoring. And one more thing - about the letter. Nuke it. Flame it. Destroy it. - It hurts me to know it's out there. Later.'

It reminded me a bit of 500 Days of Summer, the difference was just the ending, but if Say Anything had ended with Lloyd and Diane splitting up and going their separate ways - that would have been fine too. I mean, what if when they got to England they broke up and Diane met a British man in a bookstore who had glasses and bad teeth, and wore argyle sweater vests sometimes? That ending might have happened. It didn't, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that they met, they made out, they fell in love, and when that's all patched and slapped together it made a damn good picture.
 

el oh vee ee

I wonder,

the fight that broke out

amongst the words - or rather - the letters

 when they had to assign the combination that would be 

L - O - V - E

That famous, 

worn, advertised, constantly sought, 

sung about, thought of, cried over, hidden, coveted, hated, 

heavy, heavy, heavy,

killer-of-a word.

But then,

maybe none of them wanted it

too much responsibility to be 'el oh vee ee'

L, I, K ,E said don't put me in songs or poems

only the bravest, and unfailing team could be

L - O - V- E

Adaptation

Just a little poem I spit out.

Adult Things

Everything was in shades of gray, blue, and orange

The sidewalk was gray and the street winded along, a darker shade.

The orange bulb in the streetlight beat down, apathetic, lending it's minimal efforts.

I suppose the only blue was you, your loose blue shirt that hung about your shoulders,

The more dominant color that night may have been black,

But I don't remember the black as I do the blue.

I sat on the sidewalk, next to you,

And felt the lingering heat of the day through my jeans.

I noticed the lack of callus on my feet when they thumped the asphalt in front of us.

I smelled the sickly-sweet cocktail of gutter water, scrambling below our legs,

And the fumes of my recently watered lawn.

Your tongue scrambled to accommodate your apologies,

I watched your lips struggle to produce every sorry syllable.

"I'm not mad."

I think I was mad, actually, but not at you,

Sure as hell not at myself.

I was mad at Time, as people so often are,
Whether he stays too long, or leaves too soon.
His critics form a useless assembly line,
I got in line.
I was mad, because Time had brought us to this point.

I felt that he had tricked us,
he makes it seem so bright to grow with someone.
It seemed that I had been running to a point on his line,
expecting the light to get brighter.
So I took you along.

I wanted us both to go towards the exciting point,
the point on Time's line that reads "future".
I was mad, because you never really reach that point,
The point does not exist.
We had reached the point called "Adult Things".

Adult Things: arguing, discussing, fixing, lying, supporting, solving, talking, aging.
I was mad, because we have to start being older now.
There is no going back to problem-fixing kisses,
we have to be older now.

"There are gonna be some bad weeks Ellie, but there are gonna so many good weeks."

An Ode to Brothers

Let's be honest, boys are punks. Really though - they're just the worst. Except not all of them, and not all the time, and it's not always their fault I guess. I realized that the other day when Mrs. Seal said "teenagers...all you are, are just big water bags, of water, just filled with emotions..." So I guess if all we are, are just jumbled bundles of commotion sloshing around, some toes are bound to get stepped on. Boy and girl toes.
So anyways in regards to the title, a friend of mine has been bugging me about it for awhile now and it's about time I gave the guys in my life some credit...for dealing with this:

{Me} ...and all of the shit that comes with it.

Thank you.

 

 

  

I'm sorry for the yelling, and the punching, and the crying, and the swearing, and the indecisiveness. I really love you all a lot. If you're not in a picture, it's because we don't have one, and that's ridiculous.

Untitled

i will kill the spiders. i will share my fries with you when you’ve finished all yours and are still hungry. i won’t ever pop my collar. i will never be rude to your tummy- when i hear it growl and gurgle, i promise to bend down and reply respectfully. i will eat the mushrooms when we order the supreme pizza. i will kiss the papercuts. and the door-slammed finger. and the counter-bumped hip. i’ll try my hardest not to get annoyed when you whisper questions and comments during movies. i will be the big spoon. i will let you win at wrestling. sometimes. other times i will not. i will go faster. harder. i will pull when you want. and tease you when you don’t. i will leave you silly gifts. not always. not on schedule. just whenever i want to. whenever i think you need one. or seven. i will check your tire pressure. and remind you to take your car in. i will hold your hand. i will love you. i will love you. 

i will love you.

Big Talk

I don't do small talk. I don't like it. Don't tell me something on the surface, I don't want to hear what I already know. I don't want meaningless observations rehashed in a different voice and then thrown back into the air, as if it's worth a conversation - "Nice weather we're having" - I know - "That's a nice shirt.", "I like those shoes." - cool story - "How are you?" - I'm fine - "What's your favorite color?" - Get out. Get out of here.


I want to talk about big things, let's talk, how about some big talk?


Do you speak another language? Where is your favorite place to be? Do you like people or do you like to be alone? Why did you start a conversation with me? Did you assume I was interesting? Was it because you thought I was pretty? Intelligent? Probably not the intelligence one. Are you happy? Really happy? Are you in love? Do they love you too? Do you usually have good dreams or nightmares? Do you like boys or girls? Both? Do you believe in a god? How many gods?


That's what I want to know, big things.

“You are beautiful,” he said suddenly.
“How do you know?”
“Because for women moonlight is the hardest light of all.”
“Am I nice in the moonlight?”
“You are the loveliest thing that I have ever known.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, Short Stories

ecSTATIC.

My hard drive crashed and I lost all my pictures.

All of them.


Dad: Well, I've got some bad news sweetheart.

Okay. Uh-oh. He's talking with his hands.

It looks like your hard drive crashed.

It looks like? What does that even mean? Bad news, bad, bad news.

El, your computer died. This probably happens to one in every twenty hard drives, sometimes things just break. It is odd though, because, well because, this was a fairly new one - probably a year and a half. That's right, I installed this one about 20 months ago. Hm. Not too old.

HMM. Okay.

{Then mom walked in} Oh! Sorry to hear about your computer, lovely.

Why? Dad can fix it. Dad can fix it, right? You fix everything.

Afraid not, sweetheart.

So all my things are gone. All my pictures?

Whatever was on that computer, yeah.


I cried for awhile, because it really sucked. It didn't suck so much after someone I love came over and reminded me that I have a crazy-good life and things could be a lot worse.

So instead of moping about this, and wallowing in self-pity {which is a talent of mine, actually} I'm going to take NEW pictures of my crazy-good life.
I'm going to take all the pictures of all the places and all the people that make life so crazy-good.
I'm going to do new things and the new pictures I take will be what I've become because of all the old pictures, and because of all the awful things like this that happen, and because of people that pick you up and brush off the dirt and give you band-aids for your stupid bloody knees. I don't think I'm making a lot of sense right now. I'm HIGH ON LIFE. It's fine.


.

Miserable, but not really.

“I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it.”

— J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Have you ever liked someone who made you miserable? I mean really, just miserable - but you liked them, because even if they were making you miserable at least they were making you something. Never mind that that 'something' wasn't happy - it was just something. I think that sometimes we like a person or a thing solely because they make you anything; They make you sad, or nostalgic, or angry and unsure.

I think I'd rather be miserable than be nothing at all.
“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see except standing there, leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”— J.D Salinger

Yeah, alright.

“Sleep late, have fun, get wild, and drive fast on empty streets

with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested”

— Hunter S. Thompson

Don't let me know.

"Above all, try something."

- Franklin D. Roosevelt

I have to agree with you Frank - and, if you can't pick one thing, try everything. Try anything. See yourself in things that aren't you. Look stupid if you have to. I've been talking about, and thinking about, and freaking out about growing up lately. I'm growing up and I'm going to college - but today I decided;
I'm young. I should act my age. I still have time. I'm still figuring everything out.

I get to dip my feet in the water, I get to glance and then shut my eyes again, I get to press my face against the display-case holding my future and everything real and scary will just stay sitting inside for now, while I fog up the glass with my breathe of anticipation and smudge it with 16-year-old fingerprints.


{I'm not sure of this is really making sense even, but that's okay too. I had to try it, to try and say what's been clawing the inside of my head and making the back of my eyes itch.}


"That's impossible." "Shit, nothing's impossible."

Memorized

There's a point when you know someone so well that you've memorized them completely. Upon observation, there are no surprises about them - only acquaintance. You've memorized the contours of their face, and the way their hair sits, you can translate every wrinkle in their expression; you know the emotions packaged into every sigh, laugh, and tilted grin. You can find their hand effortlessly, and slip yours into it without looking. You can hear their voice in your head when you read notes from them, and you can smell them when they're gone.
It doesn't really make sense, but, it doesn't really have to.



I always see more shooting stars than you, but when you miss them it's usually because you were looking at me - and that's a good way to miss a star.



"Humans are born with drives; We all have the drives to eat, to sleep, to connect. People want to understand and be understood. You shouldn't understand everything, not everything should make sense, or you lose that drive."
- Stephen Van Orden

.

Star Valley

My aunt used to own a cabin in the rustic and pastoral Star Valley, Wyoming. Every summer she would take her two kids, along with my sister and me, to stay there for a few days. As the trips became ritual I started to take them for granted, but I will never forget my final visit there. The ride to Star Valley takes 5 hours. It is one of my favorite drives: going from suburbs, to highways, to winding country roads, and finally jostling up the dusty pebbled stretch of land that leads to the cabin on a hill. I stepped out of the car with my sleepy legs, trying to take in the vaguely familiar landscape, and shake the daze of a long car ride; I felt like a wobbly, callow lamb.

We spent the afternoon unpacking and the night eating Cup-o-Noodles in front of the television until exhaustion got the best of us. My, cousin, sister, and I passed out, all sprawled across the couch like ragdolls. Looking back, I now ask myself; why was I about to waste a night in Star Valley? Why would anyone rot in front of a television with so much unexplored earth lying all around? In order to chasten me for my crimes against nature, the universe decided to wake me up at a ridiculously early hour. I still am without a precise explanation as to why I jolted awake when it was still dark outside, and why I slipped out onto the front porch while still dreadfully foggy-headed. I considered going inside when my feet froze on the crimson porch stones that were fiery hot just the day before, but in my sleepy stupor I meandered to the bench overlooking the valley.

Sitting there on the dew-dampened wood, I surveyed the valley. It was a different place at night, with oceans of shadow filling up the vast spaces where spritely fields of grass reside in the daylight. The pulsating sounds of crickets and frogs rang in my ears. Then all at once, the eerie hush of night turned into the cool calm of morning. The black and navy silhouettes of pine trees began to pale into green, and the sky jaundiced. It was that time just before the sun comes out: an instant of perfect stillness.

This was the reason I woke up: for the moment right before the light and just after the dark. There was nothing inside of me but a fervent conviction that day would come. Just as gently as night fell, day materialized. It is a miracle and a mystery that the inky, looming shapes of the dark become the daylight’s masterpiece. This phenomenal display of nature has stayed with me, as a reminder that the day will always win.

Oh Mrs. V, you make me do things I like to actually keep. Screw calculus.

Strings

I can die happy, now - since this exists.

Nonsense, really.

I'm always scared of happiness. I don't like slipping into a good mood, or letting myself be happy {even if I really should be}. Being miserable is easy, though - I'm not afraid of it. I'm not worried that someone will storm in and tear down my fort stacked with heavy books and gray sheets of sad, or distract me from deliberate depression, or interrupt my expert wallowing. No, those ideas don't scare me. It's laughter, and joy, and "I love you's" that you have to be careful with. Those are tricky, because losing them is scary. I'm not afraid of losing a bad day, but being happy - happiness in general - happiness is terrifying.

'Hey' I love you. I just thought I should let you know.

We packed everything we had and a blanket in a bag for the weekend.
And you'd say "the perfect getaway is just what we needed."
But oh man when we got there, not a hotel in town, not room to spare.

Do you remember driving home that night?
We sang our favorite songs along the radio.
And it was heaven being by your side -
We made the most of every chance we had alone.

And dimples, are dangerous as H-E-double hockey sticks.