Weekend Warriors

and our best friends.
Saturday.
Today I babysit, which I would usually be alright with but its raining hamsters and iguanas (not as brutal as cats and dogs, but you get my inclination). Oh, to count the other things I would love to be doing would take far, far too long. Or would it.

Drinking tea with my mum.

Curling up with Siddhartha (I have this strange thing about Hesse and rain).

Making pancakes for the fam.
Cleaning my room (strange, I know)

Sewing, painting, making nonsense in my amazing living/crafting room

Attempting to make this ADORABLE little felted Buddha. Oh, damn no knowledge on felting.

Lovely Saturday!!!

How to be Lovely

Pretty girl, you're not so pretty anymore.
With your fingers twist hair at the root until their tips are pinks and reds.
Crying yourself to sleep and whispering during your days.
They all think you're great, either that or far too gone.
Great, and nothing less than absent from your life.
I know it hurts to swallow,
and your throat is dry from a voice stolen.
I know it hurts to breathe,
and hurts even more to write, as the two are so easily one for you.
And with deepest apologies I must admit that I've lost anything encouraging to say,
down by the ocean they were swept away.
A hollow shell,
like puppets limp,
at night asleep in you bed.
Just listen to the solos and the vocals and the drums
and try to find whats led you through before.
Just look through the ripped pages and the folded ears
and try to find what led you through before.
Just stick it out,
they all know you're to logical to do anything stupid.

Children, Listen

So I have this awesome bestie (one of the three that actually read this this little attempt at narcissism) who is a musical genius that can't play an instrument. Actually I'm not so sure if she actually does know how to play anything. Way to go me. Good job being a best friend, right?
Carry on? Yes.
She was kind enough to give out an assignment via her a d o r a b l e blog. And here we are.

tittle: a lyric from one of the songs in this mix
1. a song from an artist/band you've seen live
2. a song that will get you going in the morning
3. a song you remember from your childhood.
4. a song about travel.
5. a song about a favorite hobby
6. a song discovered through a film
7. a song discovered through a mix
8. a song for a long car ride
9. a guilty pleasure
10. a song that will always make you smile
11. a song that can make you cry.
12. a love song
13. a song that reminds you of high school.
14. a song about a place you've visited
15. a song by someone who is now deceased.
16. a cover
17. a song for the rain
18. a song that mentions a religion/a religious character
19. current favorite song
20. all-time favorite song

if everybody is grateful, how come nobody's satisfied

1.Cousins- Vampire Weekend

2. Audiences- Cold War Kids

3.Sidewalks- Story of the Year

4.Vienna- Billy Joel

5.Another Travelin' Song- Bright Eyes

6.Words- Ryan Adams

7.23- Jimmy Eat World

8.A Man/Me/Then Jim- Rilo Kiley

9.I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea...-Fall Out Boy

10.Feeling This- Blink 182

11.Hallelujah- Jeff Buckley

12.Born to Run- Bruce Springsteen ;)

13.The Mixed Tape- Jack's Mannequin

14.San Francisco- Lucero

15.Indian Summer- The Doors

16.In Your Eyes (Peter Gabriel)- Ben Harper

17.Here Comes a Regular- The Replacements

18.To Be Alone With You- Sufjan Stevens

19.Gone Away From Me- Ray LaMontagne

20.When The Levee Breaks- Led Zeppelin

(MONDAY please. Thank you.)

That's What You Get

I drew this (in the girl's bathroom I believe) my senior year of high school. I thought I knew everything then, everything. Or at least I acted like I knew everything. I acted flawless, solid faced, sometimes emotionless. I'm afraid to figure out if this was a positive thing, or if being vulnerable was my best route. Vulnerable and sad and broken by souls that I thought built me up more than tore me down. Sometimes I crave being vulnerable again, or, perhaps, I crave someone to be vulnerable with. Someone to stop lying with. I walk around and quietly criticise, but in ways different that I do with friends and playing silly games to cover up the fact of my unhappiness. I've tried to be happy for the world, and so many days I am, but my unhappiness is for the people feeling like me. Sometimes for me. Sometimes for them.
It would be nice if someone could let me know exactly what I'm doing wrong.

Naked As We Came

I thought today, that it was going to be a normal day. Wake, and work, and home. And by the time tonight came I realized that this thought has come across my mind far too often as of late. I've lost myself lately, inside something too deep and dark to look up from in many instances. Nothing seems right and I keep attempting to get there, but I fall back.
This isn't about writing anymore.
Or about powders and potions.
This has become more about my life than my life has ever been.
I would love to proclaim (as I am so very use to doing) that this night will mark a changing point in my life. That somehow the loss and heartache and pain that has been donated to this world in these few weeks will be put to good use, and go into something beautiful and bright and joyous, but, in truth, I'm not so sure any of us really know how to do that just yet. Or more so how to do that in a purely selfless manner. In a way that isn't just for us, but for everyone.
But I suppose, whatever gets you by.

"The only thing wrong with love and faith and belief is not having it."

The Icarus Girl

I've taken to making written mix cd's.
As in a collection of explanations as well as songs.
It passes the time I guess.

Tomorrow I will be talking a stroll to Beverly's
(seeing as I am lucky enough to live a few blocks away
and dumb enough to never ever have walked up there)

For lovely, pretty, antiqu-ey wire,
pretty, pretty felt for magnets (and more magnets as well),
and not so pretty mosaic adhesive glusies/mixture.

And lace. Plenty of lace.

I'm quite sure I have a crush on lace. And our local weather guy.
Happy almost Sunday!

To Be Alone With Me

Don't bother looking this way for inspiration.
Babe, I'm down in the dumps
and down and out,
way out for the count.
Want some healing words?
Want that insight I was craving a year ago?
I think the boys took it,
the ones with all the books
and the ideas that I still tuck into my coat every night at eleven.
I can't help you out.
But maybe those butterflies in your stomach can.
Maybe.
Maybe.
But that's a pretty big maybe.
Almost as big as the one sitting on the tile floor
in the ladies bathroom
where I dropped a trail so I wouldnt get lost.
Because this time I got lost.
Real lost, Babe.
And I think you turned those butterflies over to me,
because I'm terrible alone,
as well as when I speak.
Better get use to that first option, eh?

Early Mornings, Dim Lights

But I wish something could come out of this. Like a heart, or a poem, or something disgusting and beautiful, but nothing can, and I wont stand around like the lump of ignorant that I more than always feel like. But I will. Because it's my natural nature. It's all I feel like I know how to do.

favourite

oh, how I wish I could make videos like this (and be more like Kristen Dunst, but alas! that is for another blog entirely!)

Welcome Home!

I feel like deleting you.

Drown

I have famous people on my walls and paint under my nails, and my head is quite buzzy, lemme tell ya'.
I have one hundred books exactly, lemme tell ya'.
I keep reverting back to safeties.
I've been tryin' to stop it, lemme tell ya'.

Camp Half-Blood

I am very aware of the pretentious blog I wrote a few days prior to this, and though I am not retracting my statement, I am, in fact, taking a slight detour for this morning. So without further ado.

Top 5 Most Wanted:

I WANT THIS SO BAD

TIMES 5.

Happy, lovely three day weekend!

The Kids Don't Stand A Chance

The heart shaped locket has started to rust, with powders and perfumes, in a wooden jewelry box from lifetimes past. A box, which has sat on different dressers but consumed the same necessities, now glows in a diffused sun while the owner searches, waiting to hold an earring or charm and glide into corner booths, long sunset drives, and metal mountain top views. This box has seen more secrets than the fullest of hearts. The gold band engraved in silver, with diamonds holding future failures and apologies not so lightly forgiven. The silver feathers from a woman who remains a mystery, fallen far before she fell. Birthday gems. Stolen birds. Jade circled like eternity. And nestled inside of the caverns sits a heart, not touched in years. Silver, worn and tarnished from a million uniform finger smudges. A single amethyst teardrop landed on the front. It has become hard to open and close because of the years of over use, of nervous clicking, of the powder and filth which have become caught in the hinges. The owner holds it now, in a pale palm, before refilling it with the messy past and slipping it into her new purse, neat, clean and solitary.

Recreation 101

I have recently taken to writing pithy, meaningless, horrid and scattered bits of poetry and calling them, just that, poetry. Trying to pass my minute musings as Kerouac or Ginsberg-esque has come out as nothing but childish and an inadequate means of reaching my potential for writing once a day for the entire year. For what good are my writings if they're merely for filling a number every month? Isn't that what Literature courses are for? Should I then recollect my days, weeks, or months in between writings? (Though I doubt I could go months without)

I remain quite unsure on the matter. Perhaps I should get a hobby, or a passion. One that is material and indulgant and tangible, like fashion, or knitting, or sex. No more writing or reading. Who needs literacy anyhow? No need to read Kafka, lets watch the Anime version. Who needs Plato's Allegory of the Cave when there's a Lego version on YouTube?

I sound snobby and I am well, well aware. But my foots asleep and I'm exhausted and have come to accommodate a scratchy, Porn star voice. Good night sweet ladies, goood night.

Sometimes

I wish I was a stranger. They always seem to be having more fun.

I'm all yours

at least for a little while.

I had a dream last night.
A dream not dreamed by anyone.
I enjoyed it.
And awoke, thinking it was reality.

"She said 'We're doin pretty good,
if we could just get out alive.'"

Amuse Me

Darling.

"She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind." Toni Morrison

If Joni Mitchell's Voice

were to have a love child with Dallas Green's insanely lonesome and glorious lyrics, she would be Emily Jane White. Shit. She's amazing.

Before You Speak

think about what you're trying to say.

Read Weep

File

Feel that steel.
Cool like the past.
Pressed up against the commotion that is your mind.
It's odd because I miss you before you even came to exist.
In my mind anyway.
Great job retreating.
Seriously.
I've decided to do the same.
And so we'll both lay us down to sleep.
Pray to the lord that I no longer weep.
I no longer care.
Ask me tomorrow.
I'll be sure to change my mind.
It's okay.
No one is listening anyway.

Long

Day. Short Nights.

I miss last semester.
And knowing people.
And respecting people.
And secretly staring at people.

And Moleskines.
Definately Moleskines.