Left Behind

I’ve changed so much since my days of going to the country school (which is closer to me then the high school I’m going to now) and I think I may have left a huge part of me behind in those halls.  I only realized this by driving past it for the first time in three years.  My friends knew me back then. After going to a small school with a handful of people for 10 years you can know someone really well.  You know their past, you know their present, you know what made them who they are, you know them through and through.  And I was tired with that, I wanted to be another face in a crowd of un-knowing people.  It’d be more comfortable or something like that.  The only way I could complete this self goal was to change myself.  I wanted to be different unique and that’s okay.  But the thing is I’ve worked so hard to change myself, my musical taste, my style, my thoughts, that now I don’t have anything left to change.  I’m a new person and I have left some of myself behind.

My friends don’t know my past that well, and I don’t want them to.  Can I be true friends with somebody who does not know that information? Have I finally got what I wanted, to be faceless within a crowd?

Oh boy oh boy oh god

Watch my face. Watch it closely. I’m so tired of acting like I’m unique and different then everybody else because in the end we’re all the same emotion and laughter grabbing as everybody else. Where did all the serious conversations go? Why can’t all the lives I lead connect?  No more money no more food.  My body can be the mechanism of my mind and I’ll never be able to say what I mean.  The words out of my mouth these days never come out right.  My speech is somehow slurred and people actually notice.  They look at my bottom lip (my brother used to call it fat and it hurt me but I’m over it) and that makes me all the more slurred.  Fuck if you had a speech impediment I wouldn’t stare, I’d accept that you’re different (but really the same) and I’d get on with life.  I wouldn’t hurt you.  I wouldn’t be mean and spiteful.  I’d let it go and whatever right?

We all begin life the same, and end it the same just in different manners.  We all feel the same emotions, use our senses, think, want and need, and communicate so why should I be treated differently then anybody else?  Why do people laugh at me?  Why do people talk about me when I’m not around?  Why do people imitate me and mock me when I’m not around?  If I were a religious fanatic I’d tell them that one day on judgement day they’d get what they deserved but I’m not.  Wish I was, but I know the truth and I know it like the back of my hand because I’m the truth.  Yup, my flesh, my blood, my hair, my eyes, my fingers, my calves they are all real and don’t lie.  If you were to break everyone down to itty bitty pieces we’d all be the same. Scientifically speaking, matter is anything that has mass (something along those lines). “Hi, I’m matter” “Hey! Nice to meet you matter, I’m also matter!” Well that conversation went well.

I had a traumatic dream last night. Trauma sucks.

Conformity and Distractions

And in the beginning I hate the conformity, the rules and regulations, even the people. But lately, I’ve been contemplating the end, because I know I’ll look back and reminisce about the relaxing quality of the sameness, repetition, and distractions.

Blindness

Riding there was fine.  He kept thinking that he should have asked if he could have sat where he did but instead he offered her some almonds.  After she grabbed a couple and chomped down on them she went back for a few more and that put him at ease. Getting off the bus he and she almost froze to death. On the ride home he asked her about what she thought changed in her life after she’d experienced the world.  His jaw was taut and she kept looking at his chin because it reminded her of his mother’s.

Just a Sec

In a second it all dawned upon me.  From the minute you opened your mouth to the minute it took for you to close it I knew you spoke nothing but truth.  I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.  I called you a badass (Imma bamf) and I meant it at the time but I’m not sure if I think you’re a badass anymore.  Whatever, it’s all up to the trees now!

It’s comfortable, knowing, all the words.  It really is.  I feel you in me, I see you on me, in the mirror.  Blistering rumours, aren’t that loud, manageable.  Again, those voices, aren’t in my head.  I’ll choose, to be, what I’m not.  It is rainging, cats, then dogs.  He’s entranced by the boobs, melons, and then hope.  The clay set, you bought, knick knacks.  I can’t, stay united, anymore.  The lone tear, gave me fear, on our cheeks.

Do you

Why do you of all people make me smile? I’ve been angry lately. Mad at my dad, my mom, myself, my friend, my truck tire, my stomach, the puddles, the radio, milk jugs, and my clothes. I’m distracted, so completely and utterly distracted. You know you’re distracted when you have to do everything, but aren’t doing anything, but still have everything in the back of your head. Being reminded constantly about things sucks. Loads.

Today my friends told me to just not do something because it was ‘lame’, so I go and do it, and I felt a lot better after wards. Maybe not because it cleared things up so much as it made me feel good to do something different then what I normally would do. I wonder how creepy you think I am, like really. Does always being around with nothing to do creep you out? Does not having any other people around me creep you out? Does wanting to go into graveyards at night creep you out? Does updating my twitter often creep you out? Does being active creep you out? Does being comfortable with eff shit all make me creepy? Yeah maybe it does, but you could at least tell me that I’m creepy, because then I know that you know for sure and we can know everything about each other.

I replied for once, because you make me smile, more like grin vastly. When you make me grin it’s all vastness. I’m not going to say I love you because I’m not feeling cliche today, and who’s to say that I of all people know what love means. Because I totally have no clue what that entails because nobody is in love around me (at least I don’t think so). These times remind me of when I was a kid. And watching Shrek reminds me of all things that I was oblivious too. It feels good to know I’ve come a lot farther than where I used to be.

The band room was filled with teenagers. As far as the eye could see in this small space. The chairs were bright yellow and we were late. There were only 2 seats available and they were right beside the girl I used to know. I’d forced her not to kill herself, to stay alive. She should be thanking me for still being alive. She should be telling me how much she appreciates what I tried to hard to do. She should have breathed warm air on my neck to show me how much she was alive. How she was still able to breathe. But I didn’t look at her, she moved her legs to the side to let me get by, and I sat down angling myself towards the speaker who smiled at me because she remembered me or something. The talker talked for 30 minutes and it didn’t seem that long because I forgot about who was sitting beside me on purpose. She didn’t exist to me. She’s dead for all I’m concerned. Another ghost in this spirited world. Just the wind (it can be scientificly proven not like all that gaudy god bullshit). There is no warm breath on my neck tonight, but maybe in a few days, if I don’t ask for it.

Body Out

Out of fucking body experience. I turned off the bathroom light because there was nobody needing any light inside. And I took a handful of those knock off candies (nordic not swedish) because on some level I think they’ll make me feel better. When I feel gross I look for something to eat. I open the fridge and just stare. I open the freezer and just stare. I open the pantry and just stare. I’m so fucking numb all the fucking time. I don’t think I’ve been able to breath in a while. I need to start doing yoga or something. And I’m scared to say how much I like your girlfriend because I don’t want people thinking that I like her too much (compared to your boyfriend). I’m ready for what my brother has, but not what my sister has. They are two totally different spectrum’s I suppose.

This is me craving more. This is me not crying. This is me dreaming and hearing cats race around on the roof. This is me frustrated and craving craving craving. This is me lusting. This is me stuffing my mouth. This is me being completely irrational. This is me seething. This is me listening to ‘new stuff’. This is me trying but not hard enough. This is me petrified of 1000 people. This is me not knowing where to go. This is me fantasizing about doing shit to you. This is me pulling my hair out. And this is me being me.

The Lone Trail

Excerpts and based on the song ‘The Lone Trail’ by Robert W. Service

Narrator: very dramatic, reads the original song
Narrator 2: describes the scene
Camper 1: eager, outgoing, interested
Camper 2: sensitive, thoughtful, and positive minded
Camper 3: jokester of the group

Narrator: Ye who know the Lone Trail know few follow it, though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit. Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love goodbye; The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow you till you die…
Narrator 2: The sounds of the night enveloped a group of adventure seeking friends. Everybody was immersed in talking about how their days went except for one person, their guide. There was a long pause in the conversation and everyone gazed into the fire, tired and content.

[group is set up in a semicircle in front of the audience]

Guide: [leaning back in his chair] Would anyone be interested in hearing a story?
Camper 1: [startled that he had spoken after being so quite for so long] Oh sure! What kind of a story do you have in mind?
Guide: Hmmm… [Scratches beard] I was thinking of a story about a place not far from here.
Camper 2: That sounds cool!
Guide: [clears throat] The trails of the world are countless and most of them have been tread upon. You follow in the footsteps of many until you come to a fork. One of the paths lies safe in sunlight while the other is dreary and foreboding…
Camper 3: [whispers so the guide doesn’t here] What does foreboding even mean?
Camper 2: [whispers frustrated] Shhhh!
Guide: ….yet you look curiously sideways at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on. You’re sick of the highway, with all its noise, its needs and its predictability and you seek the risk and mystery of the trail fore you know not where it leads. It could lead to a mountain top to the light of a campfire just like ours…where do you think it leads?
Camper 3: [says sarcastically serious] It could, it could lead to the South!
Guide: Absolutely! It could lead to the swampland in the South where the orchids grow where you could catch a fatal fever and someone robs your lonely corpse of its clothes!
Camper 2: Ewww!
Camper 3: Shhhhh!
Camper 1: It could lead to the North too…
Guide: Yes! Go on…
Camper 1: [begins the sentence slowly while thinking and then picks up speed] It could lead North where the…the scurvy softens your bones and your cheeks become sunken in and you spit out your teeth one by one like stones!
Camper 2: [sounds disgusted] Gah, you’re all so morbid…you know, it could lead to a good place too!
Guide: Well, where do you think it leads?
Camper 2: I think it leads to…a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea. Where you can sit and stare at the endless blue sky and white sand with the sounds of gulls and the water lapping gently on the shore!
Guide: Mmmm, it could also lead to the arctic where the snow freezes your weary feet and you whittle away your impending doom by crawling on your hands…it is possible that it leads somewhere like a beach but it probably leads to pain, if you’ve stood at the entrance before you’d understand! And yet even though there’s something inside of you that tells you to not to go on, part of you wants to tells you to keep going. And until the day that the end has been reached no one knows where the trail leads…

Narrator 2: The weary campers gazed out into the darkness uneasily. They huddled a bit closer and their wide eyes glinted from the light of the fire. It’s safe to say the guide’s story didn’t let them get to sleep any easier, but it did get them thinking. Is predictability really what they want? Or could we all use a little more mystery in our lives?
Narrator: Bid goodbye to your sweetheart, bid goodbye to your friend; The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end. Stay not, and fear not, chosen of the true; Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you.

Body Coffin

Boredom led to me flipping through an old green photo album. The plastic pages slithered through my fingers. I had distant memories and recollections at my fingertips. A specific darkly exposed photograph caught my attention. There was sand as far as the eye could see and there I was, just a speck on the horizon. I want to see that again, I really do.

It was a summery Sunday with an overcast sky. Even though it wasn’t sunny it was still warm. The air was thick and heavy with moisture against my skin. My camera strap around my neck made my skin uncomfortably sweaty and sticky. I saw nothing but dune after dune after dune. It was worth it to walk so far just to get to see this. I stood like a board, not moving an inch. I dug my feet into the sand. And as I dug deeper the grains of sand got significantly cooler. My body welcomed the chill. A ways back there was a water station and even though there was a white metal sign with bold black letters advising to boil the water before drinking but I was too thirsty to care. The water was cold and thick with the taste of iron. The water was so thick with iron that it still lingered in my mouth. All around me were these beautiful yellow flowers. I’m not sure how they were able to living in this barren place. They grew straight up out of the sand. There were no sounds except for the wind relentlessly flinging itself upon the dunes and spraying sand left and right. There were no birds chirping, no tourists talking, nothing. It was just my thoughts and the wind. The sand was everywhere! It was in my hair, on my clothes, and between my toes. I lay down into the warm sand. I had sand everywhere, between my toes, in my hair, and on my clothes. I just lay there, like a body in a coffin, and took it all in. The wind lulled me into a content trance. I clasped a handful of sand in my right hand and let the dry sand mingle with my moist hands. I looked more closely at the sand and could see how many grains were in it. So many different colors and shapes and sizes, they were like people, all unique and with their own personalities. I took a picture of my feet and the sand and the horizon so I could remember those good feelings for a long time to come.

There’s a picture that goes with this memory snapshot but I’m not willing to show you it, it’s too intimate, shit.

Running blind (in the dark)

The first time it’s bitter, the second time it’s better. It’s like that banana medicine I used to love but now hate. I think I only used to like it because it was yellow, and the bottle said it tasted like banana’s.

I’ve been finding it harder and harder to be interested sexually in people. I can’t wait for someone to give me that (spark).

Don’t make me sick, I just want to get a taste of what it used to be like.  I need to respect, and you’re not giving me any! My first thoughts are, this is a totally unrealistic family with realistic problems, or t this is a realistic family with totally unrealistic problems.

Now I have to think about school, peeeeerfect. This yea will be totally different, it’s exciting, and invigorating, but then again I think I fall back down to earth and think about it being school and all.

I remember the last time my head was in the toilet

I can do this

This is me trying to hold together all the pieces of my past present and future. This is me trying so very hard and this is me needing to cry, needing to come up for air. This is me promising myself its a one time feeling, a fling. But this is me forgetting where I need to go and what I need to do. I need a map but there are no cartographers for this sort of thing. There never will be.

Ever hear a saying for the first time and then hear it twice that day? Mind-fuck!