22 / Hapa / ♀
"I am half-sick of shadows"
find me at http://www.last.fm/user/pladypusih8u
I don’t write anymore. I don’t know why–I could blame busyness, my career, my radical shift to adult competency–but I’ve always been occupied, and I handle it better now than ever before. It isn’t because I’ve stopped reading or stopped thinking about how much I love words. I think about words more than ever, now that I’m trying to teach other people how to use them. It’s frustrating to love words so much and not be able to make others understand the gravity of what they mean, what they can mean. I try every day to make kids understand that commanding a language enables you to have a voice, and otherwise, no one will hear it.
I don’t find new music anymore. It was something that consumed a good chunk of my free time for so many years. I still love music. I still go to shows and listen to new music. But it doesn’t come from my own independent endeavors. I don’t have the room for it anymore because my life is about twelve-to-thirteen-year-olds now. This change came more easily than I could have imagined, and I feel lost in my concern for other people now. Like I’m the last thing that matters to me now.
When I look through these posts, I see a child wrapped up in herself. I see a young woman who can’t express herself properly in spite of knowing many words, trying to talk into a void that won’t talk back. I see immaturity obscuring bigger issues by focusing on the self and sex and substance. And now, I feel very distant from all of that. I wish that I could say that I feel like I’ve accomplished something. But I feel like I’m disappearing.
sextet
i found you,
in-between spaces
foreign tongue, another language
the same key, attraction faithless
faking we knew where the place was.
-
i wanted
out-of-focus freeze frames,
to remember how forgotten the name
you gave me was, filling my head with
polyphonic intimations
-
from verses
we refrain, until
our crescendo, without those
tight-lipped staccato accusations
hooks undone, under the influence
-
of feeling
it again, to feel your flesh
within, our skin and bones
crashing in cadence, in union,
in reverie of the silence
-
that follows
the fickle alignment
of chemical harmonies,
harbingers of false infatuation
and admissions of falling
-
in like, like
explorers feeling hard wet dirt pressing
against the soles of their bare feet
with nothing but salt on our bodies,
and sun in our eyes.
(Source: SoundCloud / Angus and Julia Stone)
notches
dear maria,
I fucked your sister, tried to show her
that was the best thing that I could do
but my mouth lies for my less
‘optimistic’ personality.
-
dear jesse,
I fucked your brother, tried to tell him
that was what he had to do to
be a real man, I did not know
he was already a sad asshole.
-
dear mom,
I fucked up like you, tried to be some
person that I am really not
and when I went down, everyone just
kept surviving without my bullshit.
-
dear jason,
you fucked me, real bad, I still think
about how you used to roll joints
without your pants on, in front of
kids too young to be left home alone.
If hell exists, it exists for you.
this is how you lose fifteen pounds:
1. break up with your partner
2. don’t buy groceries for weeks, what the fuck are you even going to eat
3. spend the money you would have spent on food on getting TURNT
4. start sleeping with someone and make sure that neither of you cares about the other in the slightest.
5. burn 700+calories working out every day because you have nothing better to do
6. get food poisoning/flu/ebola and reject everything in your body
7. possibly die of sadness and dehydration
FLAWLESS VICTORY
this is an invention with almost a century of human engineering;
I chaffeur my invisible soul mate around in a speeding death box, I’ve got no idea how that works;
it took three days for the site of three different strains of influenza antigens injected into my arm to stop aching;
how did people even think of how to produce woven strands of fibrous plant material into masses for consumers to wear like the one on my body right now.
yet we have yet to figure out how to make a experiencial-otherness suit that one can try on and finally, truly, deeply understand and how to make her/him come like he/she won’t die alone, that all of the ways we don’t understand how text messages get into our phones or how all of the blood pumps exactly through the map of my arteries doesn’t somehow terrible remove us from how we interact with reality, and where are the people that know all of these things, and where do they put all of the things
You can fall in love with a wide variety of people throughout the course of your life. You can fall in love with people who are good for you and people who are bad for you. You can fall in love in healthy ways and unhealthy ways. You can fall in love when you’re young and when you’re old. Love is not unique. Love is not special. Love is not scarce.
But your self-respect is. So is your dignity. So is your ability to trust. There can potentially be many loves throughout your life, but once you lose your self-respect, your dignity or your ability to trust, they are very hard to get back.
(Source: SoundCloud / SOHN)
I find myself looking around and seeing all of the ways people have created to interact with one another: education is dominated by collaboration, professional careers are driven by networking, and social sucess is measured with how many ‘likes’ can be accrued on posts. We’ve created art and music and books and languages so we can share things we enjoy and then talk about those things together. I can not escape the constant stream of other people’s lives and likes; I can not use my phone too much or enough. I am forever attached to some mode of communication, and yet I feel as if people have forgotten how to have a conversation. I feel a million miles away from everyone.