one moment follows another

"And there was a great sigh"
-from where?
"And there was a great sigh from the world"
-Who's world?"
"And there was a great sigh from my world"
-can you make it less... prophetic?
"My world sighed"
-ok.... that sucks.
-no shit
-why did it sigh?
-psh, i dont know...
-oh come on. tell me. I am, after all, your best friend. you should be able to tell me anything
-anything? you're the one who got me into this mess, encouraging me to ignore my head and shit-
-woh woh, don't go and turn this around on me. You're the one who fucked up...
-whatever. lets fix this.
-ok
-ok
-ok
-so what wrong with it?
-something.... try again.
"And so my world heaved a sigh."
-of what?
-....what?
-what sort of sigh was it?
-uhhh-
-like, was it relief? pain? what?
-i dont know. something.
-like...
-a breath of air before going back under water.
-alright.
"And so my world heaved a sigh above the waters"-
-what the fuck.
-WHAT?
-you suck at writing.
-you're no better!
-better than you! no one gives me any paper though, so i forget half of it, and the rest I pass on to you, and you turn it into shit!
-oh fuck off...
-the point of writing, girl, is to get things off your mind that you can't do any way else. why aren't you doing it?
-because...
-....
-I dont know.
-you don't know..... how many times have you said those words in the past twenty four hours?
-like... fifty, at least.
-why?
-because...
-because....
-i dont know what else to say.
-why?
-i dont know.
-well I do. because you know what to say, but you know he doesn't want to hear it. right?
-sure...
-not too convinced?
-oh, i'm convinced...
-guess what
-what?
-you fucked up again.
-yeah. i did
-lets start again from square one....

What did I do? again?

I offer my advice on my mother's kitchen, which has newly painted lime walls. my advice is to change the cupboards, because they ruin it now, being wood and all. wood and lime dont go together. I tell her black would go better with the lime, make it more modern than anything, and that she could just get a very very dark stain for them...
and gord says "Gee, you don't pay weekly do you? Most people who work pay weekly, blablabla, i'm smart because i can stuff my mouth full of chicken and potatoes and sitll talk"

holy shit. I try to help out, and i'm shot down. what the fuck am I SUPPOSED to do? Homework? how do you expect me to be like a little bowl of sunshine with that happening whenever he's home? this is the guy who bitches at me for changing the channel, takes the remote, turns it back... and then goes and Barbeques for an hour with the tv still on inside the house. what the fuck. when did morality and sense become such a fashion No-No? when the hell did hick morons like him get in charge of everything? how can idiot people like that have so much power over your life?

fuck i hate my home. this is why i'm moving, right here. I almost called him an asshole. I can't believe how close I really was to telling him to fuck off in such a calm, almost sarcastic voice.

maybe this is where all that anger is coming from

You are Heroin (aka: smack, dope, brown sugar...).
You are the most dangerous drug between all
other kinds. You are bold, deep, dark,
mysterious, have your own world. You are
classified as class (A) illegal drugs.

What kind of Drugs are you? and how that reflect your personality?
brought to you by

Yet another lonely day

Almost got to go for a car ride with mom to belleville, but then Gord decided to tag along. so I'm stuck here alone now. those two don't include me. i don't include gord. mom gets to choose, i guess...

school is almost done now. three weeks left. three weeks. i have to re-read a book, write an entire essay, a presentation, finish my ISU, write a thematic analysis, and yet another presentation for photography, and write the exam for photography. take home exam. how nice. why can't english be like that?

a lot left to do. i am very tired right now. I even wrote a note telling Mrs.Davis about how tired I am and how little I really care about school, as long as I graduate. maybe that will sway my mark or something....

Macbeth was good. done now. thank god. done. some asshole came backstage at the belleville show, and people brought in flashbulbs. assholes. they disregard all signs. they wouldn't for a professional performance though, you know it. we're just highschool students, they can treat us like dirt.
fucking assholes. that guy knocked something over, then turned on a radio. what the fuck?!

i hate the empire now. it's retarded.

G forgot to put me in the program. oh well. Angus shall have no actor. buahah

rest of the week was alright. stressful as hell though. i have allllll my work to do today. i'm so tired. i want summer now. i want to sleep in all the time. i want to do what I want, damnit! guh!

errr.

i decided that someday i'll learn Indian.... i dont know if there's a better name for the language. likely. but i dont know it. but anyway, i'll learn it, and go to India for a while. i'll go everywhere. i want to be multi-lingual.

alas, i must go now. eat. yeah. clean. yeah. fuck

how much more can I fuck things up?

"Sorry" seems to meaningless to say. it's not about whats spoken, but what isn't. I'm all about the Not Spoken part. but it seems like no one picks up on that. I try to explain that I'm not a vocal person, and people say they understand... yet they get upset when I don't "Talk". "Intimacy is sharing things, talking about things" but I can't talk. and when I try to talk, I either mess it up and make them even more mad, or confuse them because I use so much sarcasm to make it look like I don't really care. when, in fact, I do care. i try to make all of my actions mean something. I try to make all of my faces actually represent something, all of my movements a hint to what I'm saying without words. but no one gets it. No one. So even when I use art, people misinterpret it. art is left for interpretation, yes... but it's my language as well. and no one seems to understand it at all. no one. and this is where I'm left alone. No one picks up on these things. When I don't say anything, I'm saying something. When I'm loud about something, I'm saying i would rather not talk about it. I'm the paradox that way.
so, when someone gets upset with me, or takes offense (such as by my last blog. easy to do that), I can't verbally apologize, because it's not me. i mean, I say sorry all the time, absent mindedly. I don't even know i'm saying it. so it can't mean much if I say it. not all the time, at least. sometimes I do. but to apologize for my last blog...? how? if I were to follow the "rules" i seemingly just laid out, someone would have to have been following my actions and movements for the past month to see my apology, to see my shame.
I can't communicate with other human beings. if I ever find someone like me, I think I will marry them. of course, I already have an idea of someone like that, but.. I don't know.
the spoken word is my enemy. it hates me. therefore, I'm afraid of it, and avoid it at all costs. I've been afraid of it since public school, thanks to my beautiful lisp.
and he wonders why I don't talk. because it was beaten into me that if someone heard my slightly wierd "s" sound, or see how my mouth moves a little funny to say anything with that horrid letter in it, they would make me regret ever speaking. thats what happened. and for such a long time that there's no undoing it.
so will the world bend for me? fuck no. but the least it could do is let me be as I am. personal relationships will have to be warped to work out, and that I can apologize for. I really am sorry that I can't speak well, and that I can't voice my emotions as well as other people.
apparently only writing does that.

so, in that long bit, i was trying to Say This:
the last blog is being kept there, because for the most part it's true. although, I think I can warp it back into the utter truth by saying that I'm simply stressed to the point, right now at least, that everything else added to my load pisses me off, because I don't want it. right now, I want routine to keep me stable, even if my own boredom kills me. it just pisses me off when other people cry in public, making it another small load for those seeing it. I know they don't intend for that, but when you're as stressed as I am right now, you get pissed off that other people have the ability to expose themselves such...

fuck, even that isn't true. ok... that night, i was having a horrible night. I've been predicting my future in Ottawa, and it's going to be hard for me. very hard. I will be depressed not long after moving there, it's inevitable. and I tried to tell Joel this, but he couldn't quite understand why. mind you, I am keeping some things from him, but those are too deep for him yet. too deep right now. so, I am stressed about knowing this will happen. and then I'm stressed about not being able to tell Joel WHY I'll be this way without him trying to cheer me up or teach me something. and for fucks sake, why do people have to do that? I hate it. I'm stressed over my teetering english mark, and how very close I am to failing and not being able to move at all, let alone get a job if I somehow made it to Ottawa. I'm stressed over all the work I have to do, Macbeth, Money issues... everything is getting to me right now.

alas, I have made yet another pointless blog trying to save myself. from what?

I work all weekend. tomorrow night, sunday for the day, then to Angus' that night for a party, then monday night I work. then the rest of the week is Macbeth, and I'm scared shitless. I am not confident in anything right now. I am so lost, that winging it is pretty much impossible.

what do I do?

but the biggest thing killing me, besides school, is finally leaving him behind. finally getting somewhere else away from him, and admitting to life without him, eventually. I don't want to. I wish I could be with him all the time, but it won't happen. therefore, I'm already lost.

oh, fuck. late night. i'm tired. I want to sleep in a warm bed right now. so, I think I will

If you hold things in long enough, what happens?
You bust, right?
what if you don't really bust. what if you work up to one bang, but not a really big one?

I have a problem right now.
I've noticed a horrible trend coming out in my actions and words. I've noticed a lot of new emotions I'm feeling, concerning everyone around me. friends, family, everyone. I'm suddenly very bitter about everything. I'm pissed off at everyone for some reason. I'm bitter about things. I'm jealous over things. I'm pissed off at the world tonight. I'm frustrated with my "Close" friends, because.. I honestly, cannot, understand... a thing they do anymore. Nothing they do make sense to me. they seem so stupid to me! what is this?
what the fuck is happening to me? I'm bitter about my best friends, and now I feel alienated from them completely. I feel like I'm cut from them. sometimes I like it, too. thats the horrible part. and yet, when they do something on a night I work, I'm jealous and angry about it.

some part of me says it's from holding everything else inside for so long. some other part of me says its my genes catching up with me finally. another part? stress, i guess, over personal things, maybe school.
i'm angry at myself and everyone around me. who am i NOT angry about?...
Joel.... because he's in Ottawa. my dad... family in missisauga...
Angus.
Calista.
Scott G and M...

thats leaves a lot of people, guys. a lot of people i'm bitter about, even thought I dont want to be. everytime a horrible thought comes to mind, where i'm fantasizing about cursing or something, I curse at myself for thinking such a thing.
I'm swearing a lot more.

I'm being tempted by the dark side.

I hate my life right now. all over again. I absolutely hate it.
I wish I wasn't here

wtf

stop
time
go
back
forward
this
that
stop
far
close
near
distant
voice
silence
stop
stop
a gain in time
a loss of time
lost time
gained time
a face alone
on unwelcome concrete
of daily duties
of minutely meditates
a lost face
in smogged air
awaiting darkness
in safe smoke
aching muscles
aching heart
cooled blood
no blood
a memory all
thats left in there
a memory all
thats left to tear
all memory is
a faded thing
never seen
never sings
a single thought
becomes two
but the first
is gone by dawn
a single emotion
results in many
many more
to kill the first
humans to be
but barbarians
nothing more
than beasts to eat
people to be
the mob
the horde
feelings to be
stolen
murdered
martyred
fantastical thoughts
realizations
none to be shared,
none to be spared
enlightenment
wished to pass
pass from
to the other
nevermore

take me somewhere nice

This is my funeral.
Whats forgotten?
The candles, the cake, happy pictures, what else?
something else is missing.
something is missing from this thick air
from this small, barely filled room.
No one knows but me,
but none of these false friendships remember my voice,
all that are heard are the murmurs of unworthy condolances.
if someone would listen to me,
if someone would lean into my casket and put their ear to my lips,
they would hear me whisper.
they would hear me whisper a time, a god.
they would hear me whisper a place, a body.
they would hear me whisper a face, a name.
once.
not twice, but once.
and then I would ask them to open my eyes.
let me see the world again,
like I always should,
before I'm cremated.
Open my eyes to what I have whispered,
so I can feel a tear in my eye one more time,
but never let it fall down my cold cheek.
If someone would lean into my casket,
and look closely at my face, my hair,
they would see that I only coloured my hair a few times in my life,
once before I died.
They would see I had a small scar above my right eye from when I was just a babe,
just new to this painful world.
they would see the stains on my face from the times I had cried.
Times that I had whispered my tears to sleep.
and if what I whispered would come back to my lips,
I would maybe feel the kiss it left there on my pale lips.
and if it floated back to me,
maybe it would whisper my name, my time, my god.
This is my funeral.
I no longer know anything or anyone,
but souls recognize nothing in this croud.
I see no smiles, I see no tears.
Both would be here,
if this was really MY funeral...

But this is not my funeral.
I whisper the life of he who is now laying in the casket,
his dead eyes covered with powdered flesh and eye colour,
trying to preserve the life that left his body two days ago,
but none hear his name,
nor remember it,
only their own sobs.
all that is seen are tears of the living,
nought of the dead.
nought of the forgotten god, time, face, place, body, name.
I go to the casket,
but dare not lean into it,
for fear that he might whisper my name


if a dream came to you one day
while you stood gazing at beauty in all it's grace,
and it told you that this would be the last thing you would ever see,
would you blink?

if a voice came upon the air and reached your ears
while you listened to your heart in rapture,
and the voice screamed for help,
would you stop listening?

if the light broke through the clouds
while you stood with a broken heart in the street,
would you raise your face to the sun?

if your greatest opportunity came in the middle of the night,
while you slept from a long day of work and labour,
would you wake up?

if you understood what you would give for yourself,
if you understood what risks you were willing to take
for a world of uncertainty,
do you think the world would applaud you?

ALL FOR ME. NONE FOR YOU. RAMANA!

Lists-

School:
1) Good copy of ISU essay
2) POA Essay. ike.
3) Not Wanted essay
4) read more of Not Wanted
5) start for on oral presentation
_____________all that was english
6) Photography Digital Essay
7) Oral Presentation for Photography
8) Memorize Lines

Accomplishments thus far:
Rough copy of the ISU. Metel Tree from Last Semester, as well as Photography ISU, in Art Exhibit. cool.

Personal:
1) Resumé together
2) start looking for job
3) save money
4) look for art Exhibit....? somewhere?
5) shopping for summer/moving shit

lots of stuff to do. LOTS... and i've got so far to go in so little time.
how do you spell it again? Stress, right...

Gremlins

I hate it when you do something based on a single thought, and for a moment you move onto something else that needs to be taken care of... and when you go back to that first thought, you forget it. and then, you can't for the LIFE of you, remember it.
I say this because I was going to blog about something, SOMEthing, and then I read a comment from my previous blog.. and then I forgot what I was going to blog. FRIG! thats annoying. and that is why I need a stenographer in my head.
as well as more chocolate milk.

so I was up late last night, about 2. night before I was up until... 4 something, at Ron's Birthday thinga. Almost didn't go, almost wasn't in the mood. lots of things were getting to me that night, but I had a good time. didn't get drunk, just hung around, laughing at other people who were very drunk and their crazy antics. it was good. I'm glad I went, and I'll remember the outcome for just going, even if you are doubtful.

so I've found my musical taste changing, yet again, getting a new hue to it. I've purchased a Violin, and in a while I'll get some books. but in terms of what I'm listening to?... Kaki King, Mogwai, Death cab for a Cutie, Dallas Green, Guster... different things now, things more towards Emo, or something. I don't know what this is, I think it came around thanks to Vanessa. mm... I mean, if I were to be critical about it, I would say it's alright. there's some good stuff though. like Mogwai, great band. Kaki king, I love her. and then, there's the Decemberists... heh.

I don't know. Musical taste is wierd. is this more Open than before? must be. I was very critical about that stuff before...

I missed the coffee house. but I guess it was a good thing. there was only two sets I was looking forward to anyway, and things were going to be rough, I'm sure. different. I couldn't go because I had a thing to do in Stirling with the quartet. And then, I just happen to run into Calista across the road, and BAM! Party that same night. I love it when things like that happen.

I love Realizations. they rock. like, when you come to the realization that you're drunk. I love when you realize you are becoming drunk, and you can feel it. I love the feeling of realizing what your body is doing, what your head is thinking, and what life is doing, and how pivotal that can be.

ahh

from way back....

"I seem to remember, while holding my guitar and trying to write this fucking song, a time a few years back, when I was at an earlier party of mine. I remember standing outside this one room, on my own while everyone else went somewhere else for a bit, sort of this brief moment to myself with nothing but a drink in my hand. A cooler, I think, back in the days when I drank coolers. real 'Girl Drinks'. anyway, I was standing there, just taking a moment, 'cause I was pretty drunk, and stoned, and I was just listening to this band downstairs. everyone had been fucking around all night on their instruments, just going at it like... something. and then, the guy who was holding this party, a guy I had known for a few years and had, quite pathetically, fallen head over heels for in respect, he came out of this room. I think it was his bedroom, but either way, it was just the two of us.
Now, I have to tell you, I was IN LOVE with this guy. I admired him for everything he did musically, the things he would talk about for hours while no one seemed to soak it in, I agreed with it, because at the time I was into that shit. And, I suppose you could say that he really had opened my eyes to music. he got me into it when I first met him, he made me fall in love with the sound of a guitar all over again, he made me see that there was more than the radio would ever offer in those days. He showed me the underground world of drugs. he turned me around.
So, he comes out of his room. know what he does? he ushers me into his room, and he tells me he thinks I'm beautiful. and I listen to him, taking sips from my drink, trying to be casual about it, because this fatuation of mine is a secret, see? I stand there, but my head is trying to peel itself off of the wall behind me. and while it's doing that, while hes talking about the first time he thought I was beautiful, My head is already far from tonight, a few weeks from now, when he's confessing his dying love for me, when we spend a romantic night in this very room.
and when he askes me if he's making me uncomfortable, I say 'Nah, no'.
I think, in that moment, I realized how hopeless I was, as a musician, as an artist, and a Drug User.
So now, I'm holding this instrument in my hand, trying to be him. I'm trying to feel the modes, scales, all those notes flow through my fingertips to make this profound music, to express what I felt that night in his room when he told me that simple, casual remark that probably everyone of my girlfriends have heard from him, just as casually. Buddy to Buddy. and my point of making this 'Music' is to try and mimick that emotion I got from him saying those words.
And i realize, just like I did that night, how hopeless I am in even bothering to try. The only music that will ever get to me the way it did on that night, would be the music he makes. and the only music that will ever transfer that very emotion to someone else, is music that I will never be able to harness. It's not in the stars for me."

Seems to me, remembering can and can't be a good thing. look at it now...