may 31 2010 monday

O world
Simple and slow
Not world in me
Not world in me


When will I know
I ask the wind
I ask the rain
I ask them every day
Questions, questions

We are here:
This is the numbing
Of my soul
This is me
Smoking a new cigarette
Silencer of thoughts
Listening to the rain
Beat the hard ground in punishment.

Once I could not
Remember me
I was driving
I call my parents
I go on a bike ride
I cannot remember
The world, the past
It stretches out blankly
In black. Or in white
It is an absence
Or it is the filling of everything.

Today his name is a poem
Today I feel love and tomorrow
Tomorrow I will feel

Last one to know
Is always me
Last one to strip away
The protective vest
And feel the velvet
Of moist words
Or feel without them
Feel the blank
Voiceness noise
Of nothing, it coos
My name, it hears
Nothing back
And nothings
Join together
And I stretch out to meet them
I stretch out
And I listen to emptiness.

See we all know
How this goes
The day being like a prayer
When you wake up
You get down on your knees
You waking up
Today
Is nothing less than a miracle
Nothing less
And yet a miracle
Isnt that something to behold
Isnt it something to remember
Not to regret
But a miracle
How do you know yourself?
Miracles do not go by
Names, miracles
They just exist and then
Scrape back along the intangible
And you are left remembering
What it is like to be touched
In darkness.

Me oh her
Oh six fingered
Oh counting
Oh what is simple
What is never simple
Oh this time
Stretching out
And the rain
Here we go
A listing of things
Always brings about
A memorium of thoughts
On this day
The day that is a memorial
The day that I forgot
Ringing truth like a newspaper
A black and white dampness
Stretched across hands
And clouds
They speak natures to me
And the ex boyfriend
Who lives across the street
He begins to end
In the voice
In the emptiness of voice I guess
Here is she still
She does not know
The writing flirts
With emptiness
The writing tries to make sound
And does it fail?
And would this be succeeding, then?

Rain is fat and hard
Rain is all those things I hate
And I love rain
I love the way it beats
I love the way
It never curves
Knowing just what it wants
Hit the ground
Hit the fucking fucking ground.

Lips stretch out to me to speak
They carry within them
Well nothing but we call it
Yes we hear our own names
Every day in this silence
I hear my name
In my head in the shower
Am I schizophrenic?
I think again again
Am I god? I think will God
Know its me and how will I know
When I meet God?
How will I know how to tremble
In front of something I have both
Always known and yet never
Been able to fathom?
The answers
Are always easier than asking.

Blurring the beginnings
Here I exist
I am typing
I make noise
A noise I don’t hear
No one else hears it
But I know
It’s there
How you ask? Well you
Are reading this. You have
Fingers and toes like me
You live and you will
Die, maybe
And then we will
Begin to count, souls
The souls they have voices
And the souls they have colors
And we cant see them
They exist in the thunder
They spin and collect
Dishes of hardness
Shattering shattering
You cannot hear their noise but
It hears you and their noise
Well its enveloping of you
Is simply how you exist.
If it weren’t for their background
Of simple white noise
There would not be this blur
Of you, stretching into shapeless
Shapes, you would not be
Typing their words.

sunday may 30 2010

Knowing yourself is a tool:
You crouch and use it
You dig and crush and mix
Yourself around
To see yourself
In some relief
But really
All that we build
It breaks down
That is the definition of life:
Breaking down.

If I could live as a tree
I would.
I would have leaves
And grow up and out
And I would regret
Nothing
And I would sing
Silently.

This wasp wants to build
Her nest in my deck
And we will have to
Crush it again
The nest built of her spit
We will get rid of it
I don’t like wasps
And I don’t like you
I will crush you too, certainly

Another relief is
Thinking about impending doom
But looking at the sky
You cannot help but
Relax into death.

I like phases
Things moving
Like the colors
In that sky over there
And like my foot
Which grooves over
Flat concrete
And sticks to dirt
And brings it everywhere.

Hanging
From a branch
Oh delicate assuredness
Of nature
That does not want
That does not fear death
That does not break
Without growth

I wish for a breeze
And I wish for nothing else
Just a breeze
I wish for nothing else
But a breeze
Please
I wish for nothing but that.

Jill's angsty poetry part 1

I have to hate this, I say to myself
Sitting here with the sun in my hardy little eyes
I have fought and I have fought against
It
This permenent feeling of wantedness
Of being somewhere and of their being
Love available
Straight from the source.
And now that it is here
And I am craving it’s open space and it
Sips in little forgiving motions
From my heart, I know
I am edged out of myself
I know I feel myself fading
Wit the love
The love it takes me away
From myself
From the girl I know I had to be
And here I am
Ripped over and given to love
And I hate the way it hurts
I hate how I have to crack and burn
T feel something that might be good
But that right now is just awful.



















The heart it will wait forever
Just to be filled for one portion of a second
And forever it will remember
How that second felt
Comparing every other second to it
So that they may stack up for years and years
And never be equal to the one
Never ever coming even close.



Love it burns and opens
Like a wound
It grafts its name
Onto the skin of your heart
And you feel it and for some sick reason
You still want it after and through its pain
You still realize that it will make you grow
The sickest part is that you insert yourself again and again
Into the love game
Knowing that your heart will burn and forge itself
Into a new disease each time and time
And that the disease is really you
Being happy.

Love cannot be anything other than
Addiction
I guess,
And I am unwilling
To see this for a little while
Because addiction is
Inherently bad
But love isn’t or so we’lre told
But why do we know
We are less than love
Why do we let it beat us into submisison
Why do we do exactly what it tells us to
Even if we don’t want to
And even if it doesn’t sit right in our souls
We do it again and again
For love
As if love would beat and hurt and even
Kill us if we did not run after it
Well I want to tell love
Well I don’t need you
You ugly tramp
You sick villian
Not even that I can make my own
But I can live without it
But I know I can
And so I have nothing to do.
But sit and not die, not yet.




It will begin one day
When you are alone
Completely along
You will feel it
Like a train from faraway
Only the passengers
On it are all you
Yes those are your faces
Up against the window
And the air is composed
Of all the yous breathing
And you can feel it coming
Feel all the bones shaking
Yours and the other yous
And their voices mingle
With yours, you guess
An the weather it all
Multiplies as the millions of
Your eyes see it and they all
Want to scream out how much
They want to love you
And each other
But then the train passes
And you feel the whoosh of your
Own bodies slipping away from you
And you know now that you
Are truly alone in the world.


I am afraid
Of leaving love and never having it
Know where to find me.
So I put myself in its place
Here I say, dangling myself
Befor love
And wearing bright colored clothing
Reds and blues
So the heat and the coolness
Knows how to get into me
Knows which path to take
Through my eyes or through
The fingers, through the toes
I don’t care, I am a giant
Welcome mat for love
But then I lay around
And I sit here typing
And I know I fight it
I have dug a moat, know this
All the bodies love has flung at me
Floating dead into it
And I have put up iron gates
And thoes gates have spikes
And on them are my heads
And all of them are laughing
And I don’t know what to do
To take them down
They have been there for a long time
I guess I will wait
And see if anyone
Knows how to get around
My elaborate traps
And maybe I can show them
Maybe I can begin to reveal
Some of the secrets to the labyrinth
That is me
And hopefuly one day
It won’t just be me inside of
Me anymore.
Hopefully.

pensamientos

voy a empezar a escribir completamente en espanol. porque no? no tengo que preocuparme que voy a aislar a mis lectores porque a ser honesta no se cuanto lo tengo en este momento.. y los que tengo probablamente entiendan un poco de espanol. si no, me digan ok?? de todas modas.

mi espanol es muy SHITTY lol pero esto no te importa.. lo que me importa es practicar, poder ser and entender el mundo a traves del otro idioma. creo que me falta mi libro en espanol ahora y esto me molesta, voy a tener que buscar un libro en el internet en espanol, quizas un cuento, me recomienan algo, mis lectores???

estaba pensando en unas cosas de recien.. algo es lo que significa ser y tener (sigo escribiendo AND por y!! arg) un SELF no se como decir en espanol. anoche escuche un lector para AA quien dijo que hay que abandonar o algo el ego, el self, y ... no estoy segur si primero, me gusta esta idea y segunda, si es possible o algun saludable. porque.. y otra cosa que me interesa... hay tantas personas por la historia, todos hombres, quien habian encontrado la paz o su spiritud a traves de abandonar todas sus nociones del self, pero nunca he oida de una mujer quien hicio esto.. y esto me molesta un poco tambien. las mujeres no capaz de llegar a un alta nivel del espiritud? no estoy de acuerdo. pero hay un rompe entre esto por las mujeres y hombres y no se exactamente porque.

el lector tambien dijo que tiene que abandonar el self y dios va a venir... pero esto quiere decir que el dios es una criatura separade quien puede venir como a pie or algo... y realment, en mi opinion, esto no es una saludable manera de pensar de dios, porque algunas personas dicen, a el fe es como un regalo, y el dios solo los da a algunas personas muy especial... y hay ellos que pasan todo su vida esperando a algo como un tren cuando realmente no tienen que esperar, nunca... y no soy de acuerdo con esto de abadonar su poder, so capaz de ser human. que es el punto de ser, si no tengan estas cosas? quizas ser mas cerce de dios pero no es esto mas lejos del mundo? abandonar el "self" no es algo mas dificil que ojear una flor or cocinar su almuerzo, besar algien, porque en estos momentos siempre te vas de tu mismo, por algunos segundos. y quizas es mejor tener esto calle entre nuestras mismas y el mundo---porque si abandonar nuestras mismas completament no tengan selves, y creo que en punto de esto es no tener que experimentar el dolor.. todavia no se el punto de no experimentar dolor... el dolor es necesario para crecer... pero hay algo mas que dios, y esto es tu. y no puedo ignorarar esto concepto, y cuando una persona trata de decir que el dios es mas poderosa y mas importante que TU, me pongo enfadada porque es una mentira en mi opinion.

random

hi, i just woke up. well not just. i woke up like a half hour ago. i made myself a lil snack. i think my body wants me to be nocturnal right now. not sure why. but i have started eating less and sleeping a lot during the day, and waking up repeatedly in the middle of the night and eating more then. who knows. i guess i will have to listen to it for now. i have no real obligations to get up early for anyway.

the birds are up this early. so i dont feel so alone. not that i really feel alone when i wake up in the middle of the night. i feel more alone in the daytime. at night you feel this sort of sadness wrap you up and it actually makes me feel a little less sad, if that makes any sense. also in the dark it is easier to be fixated on one moment, i think, because you can't really see that far ahead of you.

so when the light comes in i am reminded of all of my obligations. 1) finish my thesis. 2) figure out my life. 3) figure out myself. pretty hard tasks. i know most people say oh you dont have to do those things it takes an entire lifetime, but for me it's not really like that, to some degree i do have to do those things, and now. it is highly uncomfortable otherwise.

which brings me to a new point: people don't like to make themselves uncomfortable, even though i think this state is one of the primary ones from which growth can occur. im not going to give a for instance because i think it's relatively obvious and everyone could probably think of an example within him/herself. i think i would rather be sad, angry, lonely, depressed, etc than uncomfortable, which really makes little sense when you think about it.

i guess i should practice being uncomfortable. i'm not sure how. maybe i can put myself in positions that make me feel that way just to show myself i can endure. i but i cant think of many that a) wouldn't be dangerous and b) would make sense in my life right now. however i know there are probably millions that i'm just not thinking of. for instance (here's one) sleeping all the way through the night. not snacking in the middle of the night. not sleeping all day. etc etc. not that i always did this, this is all fairly recent for me, but who knows where it'll lead.

tho at one point those things made me uncomfortable too... what i'm doing now. it's all about change i guess. constant evolution and change. however it's one thing to be aware of that change and force it and another to just let it occur naturally. i'm not all that sure people change naturally, besides their bodies and maybe their minds a little. most people i know... well actually, they probably do put more effort into not changing, than changing. i think if we let ourselves we would all change naturally all the time. but this would be uncomfortable and inconsistent and confusing not only to ourselves but to others so we don't let ourselves do it. i think that is silly.

new post seth

to be honest life seems absolutely hilariously meaningless and meaningful at the same time. it's like how can something with so little meaning have so much at the same time. i have no idea. this is just how i feel. its' kinda hard to reconcile. the worst part is that i know deep down that both of these things can be true at the same time.

then why do i fight it? i dont know. if i know it can be true, why does it hurt? i dont know, it just does. i think when i look at people it just breaks my heart. when i look at our town, yeah that is pretty depressing, but when i look at people i just see these hopeless fragments, these bundles of dust, but yet they do have so much hope and nobody can deny them. there is always this balance of however far it goes in one direction, it goes just as far in the other, and this makes me doubt everything i hear anyone ever speak around me because unless they can understand that people are nothing and everything at the same time then i dont want to hear from them or talk to them.

head hurts: seth

hey everybody. i have to keep this stupid thing so i'm just going to write...

today i smoked pot for the first time. haha. it was really fucking weird and i liked it. we smoked with my friends brother. he's a musician. we sat on his roof and took hits off his bong. it wasn't dave's first time and obviously not his brother's but it was mine. after that we sort of just sat in his room and i stared at his posters and a weird looking blanket on the wall. i didnt actually feel much in my head but i felt different, almost like a change in my identity. i'm excited to do it again.

so the second time i did it, we went walking out side. this was where things got really weird. we started making up shit about the trees being people or alive and for a couple of seconds i think i actually believed it, and then when i caught myself believing it, or just convincing myself it was true, i got really, really scared. i don't know. but other than that it was cool.

so we pretty much smoke every day on our way home. dave gets shwag from his brother and also he bought a small bowl off of him. he carries it around in his pocket which i dont think is too smart esp because that thing is going to smell soon, but he doesn't care, he wraps it up in this little cotton rag.

recently it's started to hit me harder, maybe because i'm more accustomed to it, that's what they say anyway, is supposed to happen. what happens is that right at the beginning i feel myself sort of loosen up and then something in my brain sort of snaps apart and i start seeing the world in a new, interesting cool and somewhat scary way. it makes me think or wonder if i could handle anything harder; because sometimes even pot makes me think things that i hate. like for instance we were walking home from the bus today and i was stoned and just staring out at our neighborhood everything looked so sad and stale, it was like we were all some project and everyone was just failing, and even the colors were useless, and the air was all filmy, and it was like everything was running under this huge static, and i was just there to zoom in on it all and figure out how i was supposed to fit in a useless world and it was just impossible. of course this only hits me for a second; if you get me focused on something i forget all about these terrible thoughts and start to enjoy the effects it has on my mind. for instance, food. i love eating grapes stoned. probably my favorite thing. and last night i was laying on the couch watching some special on bridges. actually i was trying to distract myself from those other thoughts. my parents dont have any clue when i come in stoned. i dont think we make eye contact much.

the worst is when i'm stoned around other people. i feel like i can practically hear there thoughts. everything is so loud and hurried and time passes in this strange fast-slow way that i realize that nothing is happening but it is a nothing so thick that everything is happening; i am just standing there but standing there is everything, there's not much more that i can handle. i am very quiet when i'm stoned. i just can't stop my mind from thinking things. and when i'm around people i can't stop thinking about them and all the possibilities of things that could happen between us and them and one to the other and it could go on forever and it takes up all of my energy and time. i dont know how people say that pot relaxes you, it does just the opposite for me.

a lot of time we get stoned at night and drive around. it does make the night a lot more fulfilling, real, open, vast, deep. i feel like i could go swimming in the sky at night; i feel like the night sky is alive above me and it communicates with me in some vague but real way. it's possible that i go slightly crazy when i'm stoned but i think i do it to myself; i think i want to feel so badly i play tricks with my mind. and i know when it starts to shut down; things go back to normal, people become people again and not so much noises, tho not that they're noises i can actually here, but it's almost like a noise i can feel, if that makes any sense. people when i'm stoned are noises i can feel.

but just sitting there and being open and stoned makes sense when i'm stoned. which might not make sense. but like there is no need to be you can just hang out. you just let your mind open and wander. and that is the one thing i really like about it; you're allowed to have a mind you dont have to squish it into your stupid little body, you can let it wander all over the place and it does, it wants to go anywhere, it's like this little animal, this pet you have, and when it's stoned you're letting it run out all over for a while, and then inevitably it has to come back and be in its little cage.

so the first time i got stoned before soccer practice was an absolute disaster. it would have been hilarious if dave was there bu the ended up not going, which i was mad at him for but didnt say anything. but we smoked a fat joint his brother rolled for us for some strange reason and then i went to soccer practice two hours later still stoned out of my mind. i kept absolutely quiet in the car and my dad turned the music up and and and it was one of the most hilarious experiences i could never reproduce not even in my own mind. i just remember i was loving every second of being alive in that moment. it was awesome.

and then when i got to soccer practice my brain started making all these weird connections, some of which it had made before and more that it'd make afterwards, like strange sociological or philosophical revelations kept happening one top of the other, and not that i even thought that they were that brilliant, it was just i knew deep down that they were true and that there could be no other truth. and the scary part was i knew this truth was limited and that i could only see it in that moment, that eventually the truth would stop becoming truth and some other stupid truth would come to take its place and this ripped me apart inside, and i dont think i'll ever really understand why this is the way things are, it's a hateful way to be, to live, this falsely. i dont even care.

but what i saw at soccer was like, the world had turned into machines. everything was streamlined into this impeccable math. it all made some malicious sort of emotionless sense; like everything had some cold purpose it had to be constantly fulfilling and anything apart and beyond this focus was a dream and a ruinous one at that. i felt like even me was this cold being fulfilling its cold purpose; i saw all the soccer players as little uncomfortable dreamers who had no clue that their lives were being lived inside of them by cold machines. i thought that the sport of soccer was a destructive force used to keep peoples' minds quiet about how machine-like and cold we all are. i could not see people as people; they just looked like a blanket of facial features over a clownlike face, a description of nobody that we could all identify. my coach talking to us was just the saddest thing. he wanted us to think that soccer mattered and for the life of me i could not figure out why it did; i could not figure out why there was any use to me kicking that ball; but then when i looked at the ball, i saw more than just a ball. i saw something that i felt i needed to touch. anything touching brought up a strange sensation of life in me, life where there was no life. it's like, everything felt like it was glued together in a dream. there was no cohesion to anything, it was like it all fell apart and some cold metal threads held us all together in something like hell to keep us from breaking. that is the one main word i'd use to describe it, hell. because it really felt like all that was holding us away from the great abyss of doom and nothing was a giant lie that we'd all have to subscribe to for the rest of our lives, a place we agreed to live in and that would take us away from ourselves and essentially into nothing. it was like when adam or eve bites into the apple; they have to do it but they know that it's going to destroy everything including human beings. but they do it because they have to; they have to die in order to live. if that makes any sense. i don't know. i look forward to those highs being over but they leaves me with lots to think about, however uncomfortable it is at first.

as seth

this is seth from a short story of mine:

i hate writing. but michael jackson is awesome. that's all i hafta say for now.


it's so late. i have nothing else to do. i'm not sure the point of writing but i'm going to do it anyway. maybe one day someone will read it, ha. i guess i could just list things that happened to me today. but i think that'd be boring. i will just go around my room looking at shit and you can decide if it's interesting: there's my hellraiser poster. i love that thing. all the pins in his head. that was a great movie. i like how people can take on other peoples' skins. that would be freaking awesome.

oh then there's my desk. i hardly ever sit there; it has some trophies from soccer on it, and a couple of things i bought on vacation, a snow globe, all that crap. it reminds me.. of being a kid. and of how crappy growin up is. it's funny because it should make me happy, but it doesn't, it does the opposite.

i have some books but a lot of them are old. a lot of the stuff in my room is from when i was younger and i just never got rid of it. kinda wierd, i know. for example, one of the books is called The Giver. i actually like children's books better than other ones. i think all books should be written at a children's level. well, no, but those are the only ones i like to read. they are simple and you can understand them and they use clear and vivid descriptions. i think they have a lot more to say than the books we read for class, for example the jungle. they try so hard to use "themes" and "symbols" and shit when really that stuff exists anyway, you don't have to try and put it there. for example, the theme of this post is my room. the symbols are, like, all around me. they are all symbols for me. see, i just did it without even trying. people think that to make something great you have to be thinking really hard, but i think not thinking hard or at all has just as much value, if not more.

there's my computer, which is pretty old but i still like it. i play computer games a lot. well i used to more than i do now. mostly now i just use it for schoolwork and to go on the internet and download music. let's see..the last song i downloaded was called Fire by Jimi Hendrix. I want my parents to get me a guitar, but my dad just says i can have my uncle's old one. i dont want his old one, i want my own. he hates getting me new things. i hate him.

then there's my bed: it has a blue comforter and gray sheets. i love my bed. i picked out the sheets, they are jersey cotton. i like to just lie in bed wiht my window open some mornings when i dont have school. in fact that is probably my favorite thing to do. we have a big oak tree just outisde my window and i swear I spend like hours just staring into its leaves. well not hours but probably a long time. that is where i do all my daydreaming. oh, and i dont have real dreams. they just don't come. it's weird. i dont think i sleep well, or normally. so i have to dream when i'm awake. it's funner that way because i can control it.

Sum

once
upon
littler times
another beginning
another face
yes and no
three four simple words
and a highlighted
back road
into yourself

disregarding plans
allowing faith
to mingle
in little pieces
of light with shadowy
pictures of death
yes i know she says
but they cant hear
they are already tomorrow

this is the first earth
wow i breathed
and these are the primary
beings, the new golden
outlines, you are here
to wring trees faith
to listen to jibbering
birds at ungodly hours
yes and i suppose
also to make some sense
or to listen to its unwinding

what came to her
on a simple night
was enough to cause
a simple pain:
yes a blue monday
yes an ordinary
tuesday, it all
wracks molten
through her hair.
the way the body knows
it never knows.
the way the skin cups
fragrant, useless blossoms
however; i am not
given to breaking;
i am stuffing
shelter back up
through my nostrils
the way of the world
given to waking up.

first of all: a heat exposes
and a cold withdraws
the one simple law
completed with an oath
shelter strangles the past
freedom unleashes the vat
and allows faith to come
galloping through wider
pastures of green bodies.

who doesn't understand
that what cannot exist
without lines is because
voices post secrets
unallowing of their own
fantasies; i have scripture
in the back of my tongue
but nobody hears or sees
it; what little routes
function repeatedly
to enlist my heart and its
hickory beats
i guess i will never
know besides a hand
besides a courteous
overview of birds' noises

never knowing how little
in his eyes:
which way to meet
me; of course there is always
myself overloading, there are
twelve versions of guardedness
to untangle
a flower
a petty little flower
beeping her horn
hello you must be a survivor

wishing someone could tell me
all this before hand
hello was this supposed to be
on the exam haha but no
i am unsure i am trying
to not have to understand but it rings like
a lake full of brown noises i guess
let the time steal someone
else's voice i will couple mine
to the earth's brown glue.

today earth has stretched out
her fat fingers and i dance
unfurling horrendous clowns
of thoughts in the direction
of a muted sun. laughter:
the closest version
of a horizon
begins in me: and the severe
graduated outline of me
a basketball sheet
pressing a doll shaped
pattern over toes, over thoughts
however: one would not like
to be understood, one desires
completion, one desires
to be known on some level
or felt, like wind in trees.
being alive depends on it.

je peins

just started painting water colors for first time in years. its a very nice medium i think. you have an optimum amount of control but you can also get a more abstract feel and less precise, but it still looks precise, it is an elegant mess. i painted a branch which took about an hour. and i painted a shitty (hour under the brain)? rereading--what the fuck is this? funny, i dont know why i wrote that--a shitty house under the branch i meant!!-- but to be honest it's way better than i'd have expected for my first one. i did the whole thing in blue. i understand why picasso painted all in blues (well maybe): i think if you're going to paint in all of any one color blue is the color to do it. not sure why, but it's better than black or anything else. it's almost nuetral; maybe our eye sees blue underneath everything. when i see the painting in blue i don't see the blue i just see the painting. maybe it's because i am blue!! haha. also painting is a very strange experience on the mind i must say. i feel like i am a little manic but also relaxed. quite different. it was fun, i'm going to keep painting, i hope i get better at proportion bc i must say if i hadn't fucked up the house several times and had to paint darker and darker lines over it it would be a real nice painting, maybe one i'd even give away to someone special, but now i guess i'll just keep it.

ciao!

just blogging as me lil ole me

sittin on my porch just made myself a fab dinner. i'm a suzee homemaker.

just chillin with my off candle my new best friend.

and youtube a constant companion for music.

trying to enjoy the evening without having to think about making some connection via writing texting facebook phone etc etc
and i've failed, here i am on the blog.

i guess it's too much i just have to let some of it out: so here it is.