tag

you cannot catch me / for I have been caught

and I am unfurling

like one of those little towels you poured water on / that expanded
that you were convinced grew because of magic
when you were young.
You stared at it with your mouth agape
You wondered How?

I am confused-- at moments frantic / still at others
trying to play as if I know my own movements
enjoying every moment
a dose of uncertainty / must not breach my defenses
and brim over into my actions

because the second I verbally admit it
my second-guessing
will send you running.

And I would prefer if you remained.


...This probably belongs on This is Not a Poem.

You are a fast explosion, and I am the embers

My classes and professors are great.

I am exhausted.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Cryptic and silly.

Go here for phenomenal lyrics from one of my favorite albums of the year: http://www.sunsetrubdown.net/lyrics.php

So it begins

Tomorrow I have my first writing workshop with Hettie Jones and I am excited/nervous because she is brilliant. She said she had an exercise ready for class, which made me more nervous than excited. haha Kidding, sometimes I get good phrases or lines out of writing I have to do on-the-spot. Still, I would not say it's my forte. Then again, I like to think about things and never write them, so it's good to have to let a bit of it out.
Yes. No. Yes. No. Maybe. Oh dear, internal conflict and confusion are running a muck in this post. If it seeps from my pores, why not let it seep through this post?

It's beautiful outside, and outside is where I am headed to sit on grass and think of everything and nothing at all...and possibly do some somersaults...and cuddle with my dog...and skip. I like skipping.

Passion Pit makes me happy.

Songs that don't make sense

"And I miss you...like the deserts miss the rain."

Last time I checked, the deserts were fully-functioning ecosystems, and therefore, do not miss the rain. This bitch is saying she does not miss you, but is trying to confuse you into thinking she does with her illogical language trickery.

Are you just gonna take that deception?

In Good Humor

I had the COOLEST ice cream man growing up. I preferred Good Humor to Mr. Softee because our Good Humor Man was amazing and the old guy who drove the Mr. Softee truck was kind of a grouch. The Good Humor Man used to give the neighborhood kids riddles/jokes, and if we could solve them, he'd give us free candy- the penultimate prize being a Cry Baby. Over time he didn't even have to ask me what I wanted; I consistently ordered a wrestling bar (crossing my fingers for a Bret Hart card) and a small vanilla dixie cup for my dog, which amused him.

Eventually, he brought his wife and baby along in the truck with him. It was a real family operation, and there was something fantastic and personable about it. They always had smiles on their faces. He was proud of his truck and his work and his family, and the fact that he could make so many people happy selling ice cream.

I have to admit, I've been feeling a little lost, like I've been running around accomplishing things of minimal importance (while my soul slowly dies and my ambitions become figments of what they once were), but remembering the Good Humor Man made me realize that you have to work hard for the things that make you happy. (CUE: LAME, YET INSPIRATIONAL MUSIC) You need to let the joy, the meaning, in your work radiate to the people around you. As lame as it sounds, you need your energy to be contagious. I hope wherever he is now, that the Good Humor Man and his family are happy.

I think I'll still chase ice cream trucks when I'm 46. My friend and I chased down Mr. Softee on the 4th. Chocolate ice cream, chocolate dip- it's how I roll. A few days later, we were in the park and heard those glorious electronic chimes and tried to locate the source of the sound. At first, we thought it was coming from opposite directions. Then we saw it on the opposite side of the park, and then it vanished. Harrumph! Another friend joined us on our ice cream journey, but after we saw that every Carvel in the area was closed, and my friend didn't want to deign to anything not soft serve, we all ended up at Martha's getting other (non-ice cream) goodies.

I used to sing this song to our Good Humor Man.

On soul mates

See that glorious purple-ish notebook? That lovely little bundle of wonder is my soul mate. People have given me notebooks as gifts forever. It may sound silly, but I don't use most of them. I can only sit down and write in a notebook with which I feel a connection. My friend gave me this notebook for my birthday last year, which was right before she went away to be a genius and get her doctorate (she's brilliant, really). This notebook and I formed an instantaneous visceral and tactile connection. I vaguely recall a spark of electricity traveling through my being. But on the real, this notebook was simple looking. It was purple-ish and made of papyrus and bound by rope. It looked like someone took the time to sit and make it (and someone did), not like it was mass produced in some factory. It engaged my spirit, and it made me want to write in it. Now it's the home of the beginnings of my big idea.

When my laptop began to get slow and I didn't want to lug it places anymore, I returned to the good ol' pen and paper. I never entirely forfeited the age-old method, but I definitely was lured into the lappy due to the speed of my typing vs. the speed of my writing. Thank goodness this technological disaster occurred, because it served as a source of inspiration. There's something much more comforting about clutching and writing in a notebook. It's traditional, and it is great.

I want to go the roof and scream some things (cathartic vocal explosion), but I'm afraid to admit them aloud. Plus, it's hard to get on my roof. Instead, I shall sit on my bay window and sing the songs I feel in my gut. Sometimes it's easier to use someone else's words (soulful plagiarism).

I still feel like I'm meandering. There are moments when I decipher meaning in a face, but I question my instincts. Hello, how are you?
002110 Goto 013500
013500 Peek 16388, 236
013510 Poke 16389, 346

P.S.- I like when the trees and their green brilliance stand against the rainclouds.
P.P.S- I love the smell of rain soaked concrete in the summer.
P.P.P.P.S.- Trying to get back into that state of mind so that I can be productive about my story. So it goes.
encircle me / I need to be taken down

And the Hazy Sea

I want to know what that looks means.

Tell 'em I'm lost on the sidewalk

I've counted out / and no one one knows how far / I've driven in the dark (tell them I'm lost) / with echoes in my heart (tell them I'm lost) / Phone my family, / tell them I'm lost / Yeah, I'm lost / and no, it's not okay - "Kamera" by Wilco

Lately, I've felt like I've lost myself. I allowed myself to get distracted by things. I don't want to say they don't matter because everything has some significance assigned to it, but I've been allowing them to occupy more space in my mind than they deserve.

I allowed myself to become too sucked into the moment and ceased paying attention to things I am passionate about (especially writing and politics). I also became lazy about keeping in touch with some people who have had a profound impact on my life. I feel especially crappy and am apologetic for this. I need people who care about things again.

The good thing is that I've realized it, and will do something about it NOW. I'm all like "O HAI, THERE YOU ARE!" to myself.

Less on the self-actualization front, I recently turned 24, which seems like the weird age before the impending doom of 25. Oh, the horror! Kidding, I know I'm not old. When I was younger, I imagined to have things more figured out at this age. Now I'm also old enough to know that you never have things "figured out." haha

Not one for big celebrations of my existence, I went to see Sunset Rubdown at Studio B and then met up with some buddies at a beer garden. In general, I don't like beer, but they had one I liked. Can a sister just say--I love Sunset Rubdown. IMHO Spencer Krug and company are brilliant. Their new album, Dragonslayer, pwns my face.

This song is forever stuck in my head:


During my attempt to consume a decent amount of news coverage, I just watched a bunch of videos of the protests in Iran. I'm outraged by what I've seen. It's terrible that people are being killed and brutalized because they're courageous enough to stand up for their rights. I admire their strength in the face of corruption and horrific violence.

Black Hole Bayside

I'm not going to get all space-time continuum on your arse, but sometimes I walk the streets and don't feel that I'm in the moment. Or maybe I'm too in the moment? It's like my mind is a balloon floating slightly over the rest of my body and the concrete that's there for me now was always there when all of these other people walked over it. And I think about them. And I think about myself. And I imagine their existence, what their steps were like.

I transcend what I want and what is expected of me.

When I put my hands in the soil, I spread it over the rocks. I feel the peat. It gets under my nails, but I don't mind it.

the art of being evasive

Quite a strange week.

Confession: I totally went to see 17 Again last night. It was what I expected it to be. My friend and I were laughing hardcore because in addition to cheesy lines, there were obvious moments that screamed "LOOK, IT'S ZAC EFRON. ISN'T HE SO DREAMY?" ...like the opening shots where they pretty much focus on a shirtless, tan, lean and muscular Efron shooting hoops. On the plus side, there was palpable chemistry between Efron and Leslie Mann. The movie could have been interesting if they milked that, but alas, it wasn't intended to be that type of movie. Maybe someone will see it and try to make a cougariffic film starring both of them.

I went to the Mets game today and I sat BEHIND HOME PLATE. I never had a chance to sit there at Shea, and since these seats are something ridiculous like $1000 a pop, and I will likely never sit there again, I relished the experience.

My friends send me the best postcards. I need to find some humorous ones to send in return. Any ideas on where to get them?

I'm excited to go to Boston next week. A change of scenery, even if for a few fleeting moments, is appealing.

I need to write more.

P.S.- Notice the title? Do you get it?
P.P.S- I'm a catch, an Endy-Chavez-style catch.

Young Adult Friction

I'm going up to Boston in a few weeks to visit my cousin and see this with her again. And, um, I really love that song. Not that I'm all fangirly about Spring Awakening because I think the book has a few ehhh moments, but that song is eleven kinds of great. "Consume my wine / consume my mind / I'll tell you how/ how the winds sigh" uh, yes.

I guess SA might be like a young adult musical? Maybe? I'm not a moron; I know it's based on the play by Frank Wedekind.

Any suggestions for what else to do while in the land of tea party rebellion, the sox, and all things wiiiiiiicked awesome?

On another note, does anyone know how to fix a lens error in a Canon PowerShot SX110 IS? It tells me to restart it, but that does absolutely nothing. I just got this camera in Dec. wtf!?

I love YA, and this song is called "Young Adult Friction"

P.S.- I'm so glad I'm not "cool". what a bore. what are you afraid of?
P.P.S.- I mailed my deposit into The New School.

on the real

cruisin' for a bruisin' / not operating under the illusion that I'm glued to one state

Tired of the wait

it does not feel like a waste
or a misstep

so I go.