I read what you write

Around 2 am I grow bored with the silly game I waste all my time on.
The world is silent except for the hum of the computer and everyone is asleep but me.
I remember that the world is empty and open Robot Melon.
If I read everything, I will be able to write something amazing.

Something is wrong tonight, when I read I feel sick and knotted up inside.
No matter how much I read, I cannot be all of you.
I need to stop pretending.
I need to write like me.

The Poet's Voice

When I read a poem, I don't hear my voice in my head.
I don't hear what I think the writer sounds like either.
It is always the same voice(s), a girl and a boy who are the same person.
They are the same as the words on the page, the words on the screen.
(Is there a difference between them anymore?)
When the words behind my eyes want to live on the page, born through the pen,
I hear the voices again.

This time, they aren't reading old words from a screen, they read me my life as if it were written.
"A man and a woman exchange text messages, both talking past the other."
"A woman with nothing left but enough to live for watches imported English television and laughs."
"I am wearing a purple hoodie too thin for anything, and pants too large around the waste."
"He said... She said..."

The voices are dim, the words blurry, a hand cast out to touch the ephemeral poetry of my mind passes through them like metaphorical smoke or that fog thick enough to breathe.

The coffee.
I thought about it at 6.
Brewed it at 7.
Finished at 8?
Drank at 9.
Sipping the rest now, at 10 pm.
Why coffee at night? Because it makes the words clear.
Crisp, delicious, visceral and within reach.
The voices can be heard, transcribed, they are manifesting now, through the fingers on the keyboard.

I have not written a word tonight, just copied the voices and their words. Or are the voices just my way, that voice they tell me I have but I cannot see?

But this touch, this breath, the bleeding of the words onto the page.
It has begun.
Please.
Please, don't let it ever stop.

Define Summer: Empty

The first entry in a long time. I have no one to apologize too, because nobody reads this text on a black page. It makes me wonder, are all these words that float in front of my eyes, a novel in a week, are they wasted on me?

I sleep 12 hours a day. You think I do, anyway. I sleep 10. The other 2, I dream. Beautiful pictures and fantasies of a life that could have been, should have been, could be. I see Em, Sarah, Megan, today I woke up in an empty bed with Jamie on my lips. My love isn't for them anymore, but it is Love. It's an idea that fills me when I try not to remember it, reminding me every sunrise that I have a future. With her. Whoever she is, wherever she may be. The one I felt on the steps of Whit when I was alone, when I kissed Sarah and she cried, when Jamie told me secrets, when I asked Em to coffee and fate said no.

Yeah, I used your names. Nobody reads this, and none of you are Juliet anymore. Did you know when I play World of Warcraft online, I pretend to be you? I'm Neveret. I just typed it in and it stared me in the face like it was meant to be. Neveret.

I feel tears that don't come, like I used too. Am I sad, or just alive? I need a new place for this, for me. A place where I'm not Rose of Montague, Neveret, or Anthony. A place where I, and the girl who never shows her face in the mirror can be. Just be and keep living for the day when I hatch the brilliant game mechanic, write the story that makes the government want to kill me, or teach a class filled with a bunch of sleepy kids who don't give a damn about anything but the beer in their dorm room.

Who am I? I'm alive. And I've gotta grow up some time. But I'll tell you this. Truth and Beauty and Sparkles, they won't go away. I won't let them. I can't let that go, even if everything else falls apart.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

I didn't see the girl today. The current holder of my heart. I thought it would be horrible, and it was in the beginning. But then I started moving, and I never stopped.

I did laundry, sent e-mails, downloaded programs, and applied other much needed maintenance to my life. It was largely unimportant to my academic career and it certainly didn't help my social standing, but I'll go to bed tonight knowing today wasn't a wasted day. I had time to think, and the value of that can never be underestimated. While I've been feeling especially self-destructive lately, this space to breathe helped a whole lot.

Riding A Trainwreck To Hell

I love her. I love her laugh and hate to see her tears. I love her allusions to obscure mathematical phenomenon and the way she finds puzzle games erotic. I love the way we slip into lust from the maddening depression we derive from the real world.

I know, above all else, that being with her will leave me broken and bleeding on the rocky shores of life. This cannot end well. But I will never leave, because I will make life into a love story, even if it kills me.

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Now playing: System Of A Down - Lost in Hollywood
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Don't Forget to Shine

I did this wrong. All wrong. I lied. About the beautiful people. I said they were cheerleaders and drama queens, jocks and class presidents. I lied to your face and for that I'm sorry.

The beautiful people are real. They are the poets who never write, the musician who can't afford a square meal, those honest-to-god souls who are bigger than the skin they wear and the blood in their veins. You probably can't see it, but I can. They sparkle. I found one and I fell in love. Short, passionate, I wanted to see us burn up together. Of course it couldn't end well, nothing ever does. But I wanted to wring my heart out and squeeze every last drop of sunshine from her smile before I broke under the pain of being so close.

She wouldn't let me. She is staying with her boyfriend, who she loves very much. She knows he will dump her, this year most likely. But she cannot end it herself, she has to suffer through his abuses. I suffered through hers willingly, trying to break her out of her torture and set her gently into my arms.

But none of this really matters. What matters is that I never kissed her. She said that if we kissed, she could never see me again and her relationship with her boyfriend would end, violently. I thought the most virtuous thing I could do was break her. Make the sacrifice of never seeing her again and destroy all that she held dear so that she could live free and well. I couldn't do it, though. I kissed her on the forehead and told her "I will never leave. Not until you forget how to sparkle."

You see, apparently I sparkle too. I'm not happy like she is, exuding magic into those around her. I don't love everything that breathes. But I sparkle too. So, apparently I am a beautiful person. And the worst thing you can do, to anyone, is take away their ability to sparkle. The world likes them better that way, and it happens eventually.

This is why I don't love Juliet like I used too. A boy took her, held her, and broke her heart. When he did, she lost what made her special. She succeeds now. Plays sports, gets good grades, and will probably be a great success. But she doesn't love everything anymore. She is jaded and real, not an angel with a mortal smile.

So, if you are a poet or a dream. Don't ever forget and don't ever take it away. Always love and protect those beautiful people. Even if it kills you.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Outside

I thought my feet were on the ground. Then I swept her up in my arms and suddenly everything was just a blur. I see three stars and I find them all so beautiful, it is a crime to choose. And yet, it is a greater crime not to. I feel no guilt for my actions, as my wrists don't bleed in payment to the voices in my head that whisper my crimes. I hope that I am judged by a merciful God, for I did not mean to sin.

I did not mean to sin. I just wanted some fireworks.

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Now playing: Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - Damn Regret
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Which way is up again?

I am lost. Love forsakes you. Friends are ephemeral. I'm trying to find myself but all I've done is lost my own hope. I don't believe in a benevolent God, but the strength of the human self and the inherent stability within. Right now though, I doubt myself so much I could get hurt.

I am actively suicidal. I am going through a very rough time right now. I am trying to make love exist in an uncaring world throguh sheer force of will. Pain is love, and I am in a great deal of pain.

Someone help me?

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Now playing: Shiny Toy Guns - Money For That
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Bad Decisions Make For Good Times

Diving off a cliff of romance.
Falling.
10,000 feet.
8,000.
3,000.
500.
Boom.

I don't know how this will end, but I hope if it blows up in my face I see the beauty in the flames.

A Poetic Thought

Juliet gave me what I asked for. A promise to see this unrequited love through. I've got all that I wanted, now I just need to face everything else.

"So now I can write in my suicide note that hers were the first and last lips that ever kissed mine. I guess that's all anyone can ask."

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Kerouac

I've been reading a lot of weird writing lately, mainly Down In Me and Reclaiming Imogen. I really like it, it's manageable in brevity and thought-provoking in the way it disturbs me. I might take up writing like this. I worry that someone will find it and the works will ruin my future career, but then this comes to mind. This thought process is the same thing that prevents me from linking my blog on facebook. I have over 100 "friends" but I still hesitate to show more than a few (those who are reading this) who I really am. I know they won't accept me. This knowledge is odd in that I enjoy playing in their world but need to live in mine.

So really, time will tell what I will do. Oh, and I should really get around to reading Kerouac, he sounds like a pretty cool guy.

Oh, and Juliet thought I killed myself. How quaint. Some days I wish I had. Hopefully the new medication will help with that. But really, I think the world is more beautiful when looking at it from the perspective of "after I die, she gets to live and..."

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Now playing: AFI - This Celluloid Dream
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Awakening

I've been asleep since I came home. College was torture, it only took me until the end to see it. So when I came home, I blotted it out. I've been playing World of Warcraft upwards of 12 hours a day lately.

But tonight I read a book, called "Manic". It's about manic-depression, whihc I'm pretty sure I don't have, but it was a trip anyway. I usually avoid reading literature or watching movies because my emotions merge with the art and I lose myself, leaving me depressed, euphoric, or even dangerous to be around. But tonight, I read and woke up from the malaise. But only time will tell if this feeling will last through tomorrow morning.

Oh, and Neveret?
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Now playing: The Spill Canvas - This is For Keeps
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Home and Miserable

The first thing I did when I got home from college was call my best friend from high school and get drunk, waking up to realize he had used at least half of my brand new pack for cigarettes and bookmarked porn to my computer. I almost would have preferred a hangover. After the bonding was over though, I was forced to resign to my mother's new house.

So, all I've done since coming back is smoke cigarettes and play World of Warcraft. It's an existence without meaning and I'm absolutely miserable. The worst part is that I don't want anything more than to sleep. I don't feel the need to change even though I have the vague memories of meaning and desire. Now I'm left without passion in the place between the hours, what was previously my refuge.

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Now playing: Good Charlotte - Misery
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Snow is a Blanket Over a Sleeping Town

Years ago, a man I greatly respected at the time said "You are the center of the universe, and at the same time you are the most insignificant part of something infinitely greater than yourself. When you can hold both of these truths in your mind at the same time, you will have achieved something."

I think tonight, five minutes ago, I successfully held both truths in my mind, and I understood something meaningful. It's true and it's beautiful.

Another Poet

So, I know another poet, and he said I could share some of his work here. This piece really spoke to me, and the phenomenon of falling in love on the train, which I'll talk about another day. So, without further ado, I present "Sincerity" by Prester John.

Sincerity

To the dearest, precious woman
The dandelion of the garden
She who breaks the ice
Just so she can go fishing
For compliments.

To the lovely
No, beautiful
No, pretty
No, cute girl

I thank you
For everything
You never gave me.

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Now playing: Good Charlotte - Misery
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A Shoulder To Lean On

Earlier tonight I thought about this.

I am a cigarette.
A tube of chemicals and addiction that burns until there is nothing left
Nothing but a foul taste, an odor
And regret.

But then, I ran all around the dorm fixing things and looking at the lives of everyone else. The industrious souls who slave away or break down into elaborate rituals of alcoholic self-destruction. I am one of them, but tonight I walked among them alternately fixing their problems and making new ones. I like to think of myself as a bad person, but in reality I get the feeling that I walk the line pretty damn well. I help those I care about and break those I don't and don't feel bad about it either way.

Tonight, the popular kids asked me to do their dirty work and talk an annoying kid into leaving them alone. I agreed, because it's better him than me. Is this what the Gestapo felt like? Regardless, I'm popular now, and that status comes with a price. The price of course, that I am willing to pay.

Last but not least, some truth to go with all this beauty. The truth being that I tell nothing but the truth when I'm drunk. Not the facts, but the truth. There is a distinction in that the truth is real where facts can be unfortunate or banal. I told a girl last night that "I'm engaged, so I can't be in love with you." Now, I haven't been engaged in over two years now, but in my heart I still belong to Juliet. I may not care so greatly about the girl I told this too that I love her, but I cared enough to make it true, if only for a moment.

What am I doing here? I don't know. I'm just trying to make ends meet and hearts heal. Well, most of them anyway. Living in this dorm is like putting a frog in a blender with a thesis paper. I think I'll drop out of college and go to The Ringling College of Art and Design. Seriously, it's as good a plan as any.

The Most Beautiful Poems, You Will Never Read

It's 7:33 and I'm falling asleep even though I woke up at 4
And all I can think of is
Polish castles,
True love,
and how sorry I am for everything I ever I ever did to you.
Sorry,
Will you marry me,
So when I die you can use my money
To sing and make it big on the indie scene?


I'd rather kiss a girl than have a thousand bucks,
I'd rather taste good chocolate than eat well for a month,
I'd rather smoke than breathe for a week,
I'd rather say what I mean than watch what I speak,
I'd rather love you tomorrow than be married to another,
I'd rather die terrified than live forever.

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Now playing: Death Cab For Cutie - Someday You Will Be Loved
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Juliet

I knew a girl once who was beautiful. She talked too loud, stumbled when she walked, had few friends, but loved the whole world anyway. Her love was endless in this respect, shared amongst everyone and everything while never being diminished.

Then, she let someone in, which she never did, and they broke her. The cruel, damnable world we live in broke this beautiful angel made of glass, replacing her love with a fountain of tears and her madness with a dim acquiescence to the rules laid out before her. Before the change she saw the extraordinary that lay beyond the veil, where now she sees only her broken reflection in a mirror.

Where is the justice? What happened to my Juliet?

I don't know, I left her behind in favor of freeing myself of the fetters our past had become to me. If I could take anything back, I wish I hadn't broken those ties, but just played cards that day. I'm sorry Juliet, and I'll come back for you some day.

I promise, on the only thing I hold sacred. My memories of Juliet.

We'll live in your Polish castle on the sea, and we'll dance in the rain once more before we die, I swear it.

Burnout

Fine. You win. My first research paper, 10 pages on Revelations and Ragnarok. I thought I could do it and I was wrong. Class is in 2 hours and I have 2 paragraphs, not even a whole page.

So what? You win world. But only for today. The final draft is due next week, and I'll see that this is the best essay I could make. I won't sleep in, because there is no more fear. There's either making it in the big time, or there's failing and failing hard. I know which path I'm going to take, how about you?

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Let's Talk About the Weather

Pathetic Fallacy in Macebeth is when the weather mirrors the human emotions and events in the play, as the constant storms and rain accompany unrest and inner turmoil. Sometimes, I see this happening in this wacky little town I'm in. First, an unending downpour that soaks you after 10 seconds, then an incessant drizzle and mist that makes the outside a drab and miserable experience. Today, a blue sky with an oppressively hot sun that tears all the moisture out of everything, followed by the return of the drizzle, then at sunset a hot and dusty wind that knocks you off your feet. The confusion and wonder at my new life are reflected in the weather. I'm from New York, so I have experience with unpredictable weather, but this past week has just been outright ridiculous.

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Now playing: Paramore - For A Pessimist I'm Pretty Optimistic
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