Saturday, November 12, 2011

A Song

a blank slate leaves me speechless
spotless in a vault all full of dust
broken dreams hidden in rafters
faded memories long lost to rust
resting in a puddle of spilled drinks and ashes from last night
there's no chalk in sight

the sun shines in the window
dancing with a cobweb
it casts away the shadows
and the ghosts from in my head
reflecting off the chalkboard that has nothing to display
words can only betray

i can't trust myself
running away from help
always playing the same old game
living for today
hiding from the shame
keep on making the same mistakes
how much can you take

the attic starts to shudder
an earthquake's taken hold
files flutter from their shelves
the pessimist's dream foretold
splintered hope rains down like tears everywhere i look
you're the ground that shook

i can't trust myself
running away from help
always playing the same old game
living for today
hiding from your name
keep on making the same mistakes
how much can you take

i don't know what to say
i can't seem to portray
my thoughts right
but tonight
i just need you with me
i do and i don't but
i can't so i won't
i know you are long gone
so i'll try to move on
why can't they ever see
i don't want you with me

i can't trust myself
running away from help
sick of playing to same old game

i will trust myself
bidding you farewell
no more hiding from your name
starting over today
taking on the blame
no more making the same mistakes
i'm writing on the slate

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Ashes

I started smoking last night.

I guess technically you can say that I started smoking a few months ago but I'm not counting hookah. No, I'm talking about cigarettes. Real, can-totally-kill-you, addicting, tar-filled cigarettes. Smoking. You know, that thing that you shouldn't do -- yeah, I did it.

Call me a hypocrite. I already know its true. Doesn't change anything, but I accept it. Working in healthcare, berating relatives, scowling at smokers. I actually just had a conversation today with my mom about how cigarettes consume people. I'm a hypocrite. I don't care.

There's just something to smoking that makes it all worth it. I think part of it might be my slight masochistic tendencies: I dance because I love dance, but I also love the associated pain and injury. When I first picked up a guitar, I liked the way the strings bit my fingers. I like my coffee just a little too hot. I like my liquor plain and harsh. I like the way the smoke burns my lungs and the fire warms my fingers. I like the risk.

More so than just the enjoyment of smoking, I like how it looks. I think people look cool when they smoke. There's something very individualized about the way each person handles a cigarette. It fascinates me.
I like the bond that forms between smokers, cast outside to light up.
I like the looks from strangers, like I'm doing something naughty.
I like being one of those people.
I like being forced to take a break from life and step outside.
I like the way you can watch time turn to ash.

We're turning to ash too.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Turning Tables

your taunts and lies
will never fly
they just serve to fry my brain
going insane
I don’t want to play your game
it’s hard enough to forget his name
don’t shift the blame
as you rub it in my face
replacing me with him
on just one drunken whim
so now he’s the center of your world
but the plot’s yet to unfurl
cause girl, he may hold your life together
but he’s not forever

I withstand your scheme
with my triad of kings
as you stare down
at your lousy two pair
you know you can’t get anywhere
I swear
this has gone too far
just pray it doesn’t leave a scar
when we go all-in
cause I know you want to win
how the hell did this begin?
I can’t believe what you’re putting me through
but now it’s my turn to speak the truth
I just have to be honest
it’s not me
it’s you

Friday, September 2, 2011

All These Things I've Done (ARC)

To make up for ignoring you for so long, Bloggy, I thought I'd post a second time today. Recently, I acquired an advance reader's edition of a book. This fact excites me way more than it probably should. I feel so privileged to be reading something before anyone else. I feel like I should have done something to deserve it. That I'm not worthy. I'm also a huge bookworm if you couldn't tell. Haha.

But really, I love the fact that I have this book. The way it came into my life is kinda roundabout and not very interesting so I'll spare you the story. I think of this book mostly as a super cool collector's item and as a marketing tool for the author. That being said, I'd just like to share with you a little about the general story (without spoilers, I promise) and some quotes that I found particularly amazing. The book says right on the cover "This edition should not be quoted without comparison with the finished book" but screw that. I like quotes.

I guess I should tell you that the book is All These Things I've Done by Gabrielle Zevin. I've never read anything by her before but after reading this book, I have plans to hunt down everything she's ever published. So take that how you will.

Back of the Book:
"In 2083, chocolate and caffeine are illegal, water is carefully rationed, books are scarce, and New York City is rife with poverty and crime. And yet, for Anya Balanchine, the sixteen-year-old daughter of the city's most notorious (and dead) crime boss, life is fairly routine, But when she finds herself falling for the son of the new assistant district attorney, and her ex-boyfriend is poisoned by the chocolate her family manufactures, Anya is unwillingly thrust into the spotlight--in the news, and more important, within her mafiya family."

So there's this girl Anya, and she's pretty badass. She's been through a lot and is the main provider in her less-than-normal family. All These Things I've Done is more or less, the story of her life a this particular time.

Now, I've read a few reviews from other people who have gotten to read this book, and the main complaint I keep seeing is that the way Anya is portrayed is way too mature to be her actual age in the novel (16). I don't necessarily agree. I think that, under the circumstances, she behaves appropriately for a 16 year old dealing with all the family issues. So there's my take on that.

I find Anya to be written in a way akin to Kinsey Millhone (from Sue Grafton's mystery novels). Obviously, there's an age difference there, but they really share a kind of phlegmatic, though witty, personality.

The book is written in the first person (Anya narrates, of course) and often, Anya interjects into her story with interesting tidbits that expand on the futuristic world. I recall one place towards the beginning of the novel where Anya flat out tells the reader that there's foreshadowing going on. I found this hysterical, but not abrasive. It still felt very natural in the flow of the story. Anyways, Anya and her dad had had a really close relationship and Anya is always bringing up things that her father used to tell her. The brilliant thing about this is that they not only apply to the story, but to the reader as well.

Okay, so before this gets ridiculously long (it's already long) and boring, I'm going to leave you with a few bits that really caught my attention throughout the novel so. If this book sounds interesting, I strongly suggest you pick up a copy. I absolutely loved it. You can grab a copy of All These Things I've Done by Gabrielle Zevin on September 27th.

Don't read these if you don't want to be spoiled at all - They don't give away plot points, just real words from a real book.

"It was a strange thing to say, I suppose. But I knew what he meant without having to ask. All of these teeth had once been in real, live people. They had talked and smiled and eaten and sang and cursed and prayed. They had brushed and flossed and died. In English class, we read poems about death, but here, right in front of me was a poem about death too."

"Even though I was still a child I knew enough to clamp a hand over Natty's mouth so that no one could hear her sobs. And though no one was there to clamp a hand over my own mouth, I didn't cry either."

"I let myself feel good and sorry for myself, but only for a second. Daddy always said that the most useless of all human emotions was self-pity."

"This, I realized, was how parents end up lying to children. They promised certainties when all they had were pretty speculations."

"In theory, I understood wakes--they were about respect for the living as much as they were about respect for the dead... It wasn't enough to be sad inside. You had to look sad for other people."

"Business is always personal if it's your business."

And the last (oh so good) line: "May God forgive me for this and all these things I've done."


I'm Back! (with Conundrums)

Hi Bloggy!

Miss me? I missed you. I blame my prolonged absence on the summer conundrum. Maybe it's not a conundrum, heck, I don't even know if I can define conundrum, but it always happens to me:
Summer comes and then I stop. I just stop. Everything. Life loses its meaning. I fall distant from my friends, I stop reading, I stop writing, I stop caring. I just stop.

And, you know, it's not like I try to do this. I don't just say "Hey, I want to drop everything and become a lazy bum and not have any meaning in my life" because I don't. I want these things. I miss them when I don't have them. It just always happens. Always. I go into summer saying "Not this one. This is is going to be different."

It never is.

I guess I accept this now. It won't ever change. I'll never have different. But you know, it's kinda okay with me. It makes me appreciate what I have. How truly precious all the art is in my life. How I have friends that appreciate it too. Without the loss, I'd never get the gain.

I'm back.

Do you ever feel like you're living in a circle instead of a line?

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Are People Good at Heart?

So today I was cleaning out a bunch of my old school stuff and came across some old papers I wrote. This one discusses whether people are inherently good or evil. I wrote this on May 27th, 2003. I was eleven years old. I'm copying this verbatim, so please don't judge me on my horrible spelling and appalling misuse of "weather." I was only eleven!

Good at Heart

I think that it depends weather people are good at heart or not. I believe that most people are, but a rare few truley do not have any goodness in them whatsoever. All bullies or mean cranky people have at least a little goodness in them. Weather the goodness someone has is a softness for something like animals or small children or a heart full of pure kindness doesn't matter as long as they have some goodness in them. The rare few that have no kindness are speacial. Speacial in a bad way, though it is not all their fault. Everybody in their lives has added a small bit of evil. For example the little old lady at the supermarket may make them angry which builds on their anger and meaness. We can not help but to feel sorry for them because no one is born bad. The worst person on Earth has the tinyest good inside. That makes us feel better but thinking about it the nicest person on Earth has the tinyest bit of evil. Nobody is pure and good but some are close to it. What is inside of your heart is affected by everyone you meet which is something you really can not help.


Also, here's a doodle I drew on the assignment:

So I wasn't the best writer eight years ago. I wasn't the best artist either, but that one's a bit trickier. If Picasso drew that same platypus-thing it would be worth millions. But I'm no Picasso. Anyways, what do you think? Little me, if you can look past the grammatical war-zone, made some good points. I know what I think about this topic now, but I want to hear from you. Are people good at heart? I'd love to hear your opinions!

Monday, May 2, 2011

One Gloomy Day

It was gloomy outside. The kind of gloomy that makes you want to sleep all day in order to avoid the gloom. Miserable. It was also Christmas Day. Something about that fact combined with the gloom just seems so ironically perfect in retrospect. But maybe that’s just me.

Christmas is something I’m contractually and morally obligated to slice right down the middle. Mother on one side, Father on the other. I’ve never been too particularly fond of this arrangement but we all have to take our lumps.

Anyways, I was bundled up, bearing horribly wrapped, half-assed gifts (which wasn’t really my fault. Dads are impossible to buy for) and stuffed into a way-too-small and way-too-hot car on the way to Christmas: Part 2, Father Edition. And then it happened.

Well, it didn’t really happen just like that. Slightly more process was involved. Really, the whole thing seemed to stretch out several minutes when, realistically, it probably took a whole three seconds to hit that car. We had a green invitation ahead and failed to notice the idiot who was in the process of flagrantly disregarding traditional traffic rules. I say we like I had a part in smashing into that car too. But really, I wasn’t driving. The most I could do was sit there. Helpless. And watch.

I knew that we were going to crash. I knew it before anyone even noticed the other car running the red light. I knew it before I looked up from my book. Before I felt the brakes grind against the ground.

People say that right before a crash, your life flashes before your eyes.

Mine didn’t.

Here’s what did go through my mind:
Something’s wrong. Various distances and speeds considered, we will crash. We’re going to crash. He’s not swerving. Doesn’t he see what’s happening? The brakes aren’t working. We will hit that car. We will hit that car fast. Straight and fast. I might die. This isn’t happening. Was that a gun? What happened to my ears? I can’t feel my face. I’m bleeding…

I never panicked. I didn’t freak out, scream, cry, pray or cuss. I just watched. I didn’t think about who I would miss or who would miss me if I died. I didn’t spit out some splendid, well-crafted words of wisdom to be remembered by. I didn’t do anything. My life didn’t flash before my eyes.

But what if it had? Would it even have been worth watching?

I hope that it would have been. That whatever happens in my life, whatever I do, I hope it’s meaningful enough to remember before I die. But I’ll never know. I don't remember a whole lot of the immediate aftermath of the accident but I’ll never forget not knowing.

People say that right before a crash, your life flashes before your eyes.

They were wrong.