Secret

I cry for you sometimes.

When You Can't Help Yourself, Try Harder

Something that's been racking my mind lately. Perhaps it's full of blame and a lack of responsibility on my part, but everyone has ways of venting. And maybe this will never be solved; I just wish to make my sentiments known to absolutely no one at all.

There's a bit of an issue that I won't get haughty about. But I don't appreciate being messed with. If you are my friend, let it be known for a longer span of time than a day or an hour or sometimes a minute. If you are not my friend at all, let it be known constantly. But don't be both of those contradictions, because then I will just be very confused, toyed with, and hurt trying to figure out which of the two categories you will fill in that given instance that we approach each other or talk. I can't always decipher your intent from one meeting to the next; I can't read minds; I can't handle a personality like this. If you wish to be friends, that would be great. Although we sometimes get on each others' nerves, I think we think in common. But even this doesn't obscure the dual-personality tendencies you exhibit while around me. I get it if you're just as messed as I am. I'm pretty sure everyone in this whole damn world is messed. Messed up, messed over, messed with: all the same result, right? A world of sad confusion. But even if you are, that's an issue you should work out. It's not right to hurt people by being bipolar with your friendship. I've been on a bad end of a bad deal for a long time with you, and I've just watched it unfold and fold itself again only to repeat. What should I do? Ignore you as you can me? The dramatics come into effect, and I dislike being the "dramatic" one as I was 2 years ago. It's not a fun job title to procure. I've had some of my best sophomore memories with you in more respects than one. Sophomore time of being alive and living. I came over to the school with inhibitions about friendship and getting close to people. I think I become too familiar with you, because it shouldn't upset me this much. It is the instances like you that will make me even more apprehensive about friendship. Thank you. So, if you're messed, talk. If you're fine and unaware: there's not much I can do. It's not like I haven't told you this. Sounding like a broken record is not an admirable quality that will make you want to be friends with me. But again, the old-age question of freshman summer--"Why should I have to prove anything?" Do I feel you're worth it? Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. It depends on who you were to me that day. I don't like tangible roller coasters, and you've seen me approach them with hesitance and fright, so please don't put me on one right now. I'm a person, and although I am cold and distant for most of life, I do care about you and it hurts to be toyed with. In the case that you don't want to be friends and you are (very unconvincingly) humouring me, it would hurt a great deal to be broken off from you because I think we are friends (?), but it would be a hurt that I'd move on from. It's like a broken bone; you just adapt and move on with a cast on your arm until one day you wake up and you are fine. I've done shit like that before. I can rinse and repeat. But continual and dull pain just becomes an annoyance. If it varies, it becomes unexpected. I never know. So, if you break it off today, tomorrow, next week, do it. If that's how you intend it to be for 2 more years. I try not to need people, so you'll just be another gerbil in that experiment. Just break it off and please, after, do not consider me at all because that's what I'll be doing for you. 2 YEARS, two years. It seems a lifetime ahead, stretched over moments where you'll be this and that and nothing at all sometimes, but it's closer than we think. It's sad that you're the kind-of-person I add to my "will-not-contact-after-having-parted" list. And maybe my friendship isn't worth it for you. It's only been less than a year and it's already an issue. Record timing. Be someone constant in my life, whether it's a friend or a nothing-at-all face I used to know. I can accept both. Just please give me one. That's all I ask of you.

Another day to watch; who will you be today?

Truth Is

It's the silence between the notes that really gets to us.

Got Me Nothing

"It's a funny world where machines can replace people."

Funny how all we say used to be hypothetical.

Funny how what we can't conceive will be normal in a few years.

Funny how we can't duck the future.

Funny how we perish in the past, cherish the present, languish all the while.

You know, a breach of privacy is a tidy little box in my mind at the moment. It's a quiet little box that keeps trying to unpack the foam peanuts on my floor upstairs. In a fit, they flew to the ground like they always would.

Would it be wise to use the word "no"? Contextually?

Down Upside Rumours

Let's explore yen.

One side of the problem: the other side of the problem. I'm scared of tallying up my discoveries on papers like I tried once. I feel as I failed. Typer.

Children With Asthma and Good Mothers

I saw a little boy today. Actually, I never saw his face or his mother's face. She was reading him a book about proper inhaler use. She was patient and she had a kind, young, pretty voice. She was a mother.

I saw a little girl today. She was dancing while a blues band played rip-offs of The Fabulous Thunderbirds. A woman in a white dress got up and danced with her and held her hands and smiled with sunglasses atop her head and white sandals abellow her feet.

I saw a man who ate a salad alone, at a far off-table. Then he ate a pretzel and I never saw the man again. He probably got in his car and listened to some Jefferson Airplane.

It's amazing the things you can understand when you look at people. It's amazing the things you can understand when people look back at you.

Then we set out little French fries for the crows and they flew in, one by black and iridescent one, and gobbled them down like presh little fotatoes. I incidentally got some Nutella on my mother's doily that my grandmother had made. I bet my grandmother didn't even know what Nutella was when she made it. That's what occurred to me when I did this, so I immediately attempted to remove the Nutella. My poor grandmother would have thought it was chocolate, but it wasn't. It still bothers me.

But Houston will always bother me the most. And the things that we said there to each other.

It's funny how when you don't see someone for a while, they become unreal. They become something much less than human, something too obsolete. They become a word or a bother or a worry or a feeling. But they never become a name until you can hold their hand when you won't. It's not transitional either; they're just real one moment and unreal and real and unreal. I have a hard time regarding people as real people... When it echoes, they just become the echoes and not the origin, and that's a scary thing to have friends who are echoes. Because you can't hug an echo. And echoes cannot say anything that they are not programmed and taught to say; they will say what you say. And friends who agree are not friends at all.

Folding Chair Next To Me

"Maybe one day you will understand that I don't want nothing from you... Just to sweetly hold your hand. Until that day, please don't be so down. Don't make frowns, you silly clown!"

-Ms. Regina Spektor.

Do we all want that?

There's so much to say, so much time and so little time. I don't know where to start it.

I feel like a failure because I can't get that song... So I learn easier ones? What am I doing?

What?

WHAT?

Yeah, that's pretty much it. I feel like a Gershwin piece for the orchestra... I feel like moving to Taiping and becoming Buddhist and spending the rest of my life sans contact save for music, piano, journal, pen pencil... In the off-somewhere, just thinking. We're all going to die with something missing from us; you know that, right? We're all buried when death untangles the navels and we're buried under some minerals and some worms who know.

I do think that some people know... That woman in the middle of the road.

And then there was that man without a leg, not even begging. He was just sitting in the shade of a highway overpass.

And the girl with a bandanna to cover nothing. She was younger than me. It was wrong.

And greeters at the stores who don't smile; and the greeters at the doors who smile but wish they wouldn't have to.

And the people in alleys with no chances and no choices.

That's life at its truest. It's pure and it's raw; it's unfiltered and it's ready to understand right now.

And then there's the balance:

We need a belief. We need love. We need kindness and personality and understanding.

But there's something else that I know that we're missing. And this bothers me every single day of my life... All of the moments I spend trying to be a good person but I still feel filthy; all of the moments I spent acting selfishly and I think nothing of it until it is too late... All of the moments that I breathe anything, anything, anything: the thought is always there.

And it's always nagging at me.

It's always telling me there's something missing from the world and from our knowledge that I can't die until I find. I can't die without knowing this one thing, but I do not know what this thing is or how to find it. It's like life has asked me to complete a task but continued no further than the last and the first instruction. It has left me with nothing but a want. I will discover this unimaginable trait one day. I'm afraid that I'll turn insane in the process.

It is all about how we curdle.

We all curdle and crumble and cook up, fry up differently. We will all lead different lives and want the same things. We will all follow the same death.

A FUNNY THING:

Anesthesia. It is truly funny.

Because we can withstand a stab wound and we can stand on buildings and scream like little beaten eggs; we can write beautiful, timeless pieces of orchestral proportions, we can glue macaroni and cheese to paper and make a heart melt.

I can go

and I can

do whatever I like.

But when you give me anesthetics, I will fall asleep. And that makes me laugh because we think we are capable of so much, but when we are given a tiny dose of a chemical we are under its control. No matter who you are, let's face the facts:

-You will fall asleep.

-You will get sad.

-You will die.

And that's life in its harshest form. We all need to accept that. I wonder what will matter to me when I'm almost done. I won't remember faces or names or foods or hobbies or loves or nightmares... I won't want to remember. Dying is just an event like all else; it is a soccer game and a concert and a school dance... Just go with it.

The sweet little crickets are humming outside of my window and the clock is telling me that it is 10:47 pm. I don't agree with either one.

You know what's beautiful? Caring for a creature that cannot care for itself, like a baby or a dog or a cat. Imagine the daily relief (unobserved yet unconscious) of a creature such as this. Sometimes the beauty of it makes me want to cry when I look at my own pets and I wonder where they'd be if we hadn't have taken them. If I can save something, I will.

Reading is a good thing.