pullmydaisyy

Truth be told

Sat, 30 May 2009 05:08:12 GMT

Matt: "What is thisssss"

Me: "Livejournal. I was thinking of posting an entry."

Matt: "You should. It'd be totally sick. Totallyyyyyy."

Entry posted.

Holy Moly!

Sat, 14 Feb 2009 02:59:20 GMT

Alright, alright.

Because my ipod has been out of commission... and I am far too lazy a person to buy batteries for my twelve dollar cd walkman... I have been listening to a lot of FM radio while I'm driving from point A to point B. I am here to say, the stories that DJ's often tell, are 100% the BEST!

For instance, today:
"A chinese thief was on the run from the cops. His pursuers finally caught up with him in an alley. He then decided it would be a good idea to drop his pants and moon them. He later stated "I thought they would be so caught off guard and embarrassed that they would cover their eyes and I could escape."

Makes PERFECT sense. I believe it's a good story like this that can keep someone going in a time of almost completely insanity.

In other news this evening:
I'm having a friday.
I'm the third person party who likes to give advice.
My dad is so stoned making buttery broccoli. He always makes such elaborate meals in this state.
I am quite ready to be able to look at life as something worth living.
I am quite ready for hope.

I get the creeps:

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 01:30:41 GMT

Today I ran off the road on purpose. I saw this spot where I have this memory. I drive by it almost every single day on my way to work. I've never stopped there before. I always think about doing it. Retracing my steps. I remember them so vividly. Yet, I always keep driving. The thought of stopping is like a tick, almost. The thought of life then is like a tick as well. I stopped today, though. So abruptly it probably looked like I lost control of the wheel. (If you had been watching). The feeling of being there again, totally different, totally alone; well I felt strange. But I felt good. All the wind at my back and blowing my hair everywhere. Well I felt sad. But I felt wiser.

It's not hard to let change get you down.
Challenge yourself by letting it bring you up.

These moments are fresh. I mean, you wouldn't eat moldy bread, would you?

On another note:
I'm excited. I just hope! Oh I hope.

Carpentry

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 04:42:08 GMT

Your feet move in circles.
Uneducated dance steps, soles of the shoes simply testing the floors without destination.
Hardwood, cement, grass, or solid soil.
Sinking soil. Mud couldn't trap you for your steps are just too quick. Too light.
We get dizzy, you see. Watching you.
Survival has thrived off of haste.
Avoidance of a firmly planted foot.
So long as you dance, you cannot be traced.
So long as you step lightly, you leave no footprints.
As well as your coreography is untapped; untrained...
You cannot hide stage presence.

You are no ghost, no matter how you float.

Walking on eggshells

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 02:44:45 GMT

Why's it all coming full circle? All at the same time? Why's it all making sense? Why do I feel like this can't be real?

It cannot be real at all.
Now, how can I make sure this isn't just me? I got to help you out. I got to see you shine. You need to know you're capable. You need to you know you're not alone.
I need to know, this isn't a fleeting whim of fight in me.

I'm glad

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 04:56:06 GMT

For every single thought in my head tonight:

-Everytime I recieve I want to give back. It's uncontrollable. Like a spasm.

-We've grown up like flowers. Because every bud seemed so beautiful until it bloomed. Then there was no comparison.

-Restlessness without means to cope. The only thing that fixes it tonight, is that little bit of the moon that shows.

-It felt like we really could start over. It felt like it was real.

-Books have chapters. People read them for every new chapter. Literature imitates real life.

-I don't feel beautiful. But that's okay. I was never meant to be. I'm happy when I don't compare.

-Future! Let's get together and talk seriously.

-To be objective is a hard thing. Especially when it feels so desperately personal. But I am going to try. No, I mean, I am going to do.

So, I suppose these thoughts could have been put altogether in a cryptic prose of sorts, but I didn't feel like it. I just didn't. I couldn't get it together. There's too much going on. Pull yourself together. You're no good to friends if you're a mess. And right now, someone needs you.
I love you. And you. And so much more.

For the record

Sat, 24 Jan 2009 18:32:13 GMT

Just this once...
I wish you could see me now. To have met under different circumstances. To have grown together when I had a half to give. Like I have one now. Like the maternal instinct to give back. It's really too bad that it all had to go. But then again, we humans, we have the tendancy to destroy before we rebuild. Expert at maneuvering the wrecking ball. Clever hands doing magic tricks. Slight of hand. Giving the slip. I wish you could see me now. Just once. So you could see the reconstruction. So it's not as though you'd given up. I don't need it back. But the feeling I have, like you're out there and you just don't know... Oh man, that's enough to bring me down when I think about it.

For the record, I never stop loving someone. Every little someone.

back talking

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 17:04:18 GMT

I believe in this year only for:
A fresh example of lies.
A fresh example of growth.
A fresh example of how bad character can get.
My character got bad.
A fresh example of how good strength can be.
Just how strong people can be.

I think it can get so much better from here.
I have some things to make up to people. I have some things to make up to myself.
And it isn't even because I want it all back. No, the remorse I feel is irreparable. The damage has been done. But I never want to look at any experience like it never developed to it's full potential. This feeling is so awful. Like you missed it. Like it could have.
I never want to look at any one person and think that they have no heart. Or think that I have no heart. Because it would be a lie. And with time hearts get jaded. They get to be so tough and branded that it's hard sometimes to remember... just how red they run. Just how warm it's trying to be.
All I've done, for years and years, is push people away.
Complain, complain, complain, because it just wasn't what I wanted.
The strange destructive satisfaction when it actually happened that they were gone.
Tests in how invincible a body can be. It cannot be invincible.
Let me just say that one day can't change everything. Just because it's going to be 2009 tonight at midnight... doesn't mean all of a sudden things will be clear.
What I can say, it makes me think so fervently, so intensely, so bewildered about how I feel like this year never actually happened. But also that it happened so harsh that it's still stinging and I just haven't noticed it. Like the few seconds you have touching the burner before you realize you're getting burnt. This year, this year has been like those seconds.
Maybe now, it'll sink in.
I'll have a nice abrasion to show for it.
And a scar to remind just how much a few seconds can effect the rest of your life.

Being careful

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 15:19:44 GMT

To be lost. To be a two beer kind of person. To wonder what it's like to know that life is all around the corner. To want to take care of things you ignore. To want to serve but never be served. To give yourself a moderate dose. To be alone with yourself in a manner of reconstruction.
It's all your choice then. It's all your game.
Let's gain power over this terrain. I don't feel much like trudging anymore.

Awkward entry

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 01:49:07 GMT

So in your heart you're only trying to figure things out. Think of all the times on the road that you looked out the window and saw land staked out with little wooden pegs. Some flagged. Some painted. How for awhile it baffled you, but then you learned.
It's beginning to make sense that you're a land surveyor.
And dear, I think you're standing exactly where you need to to see for miles and miles.

new terms.

Sat, 08 Nov 2008 07:24:43 GMT

Kind of like rot-gut.
Kind of like a fall garden.
You look out your window and you see how the cold's settled in.
Nothing like a dying flower bed to turn your gut so rotten.
Nothing like frost-bite to make you feel the Fall.

You are kind of like rot-gut.

Underground

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 03:59:37 GMT

Escaping the droll bird.
Escaping the swinging trees.
I touch you, arm to arm. Limb to limb.
I cannot keep swaying with such loose roots.
Digging with intent on stability.
How it looks like a storm will sweep us away easily.
Clouds form in the distance (thunder heads a plume),
All bark, no bite.
I keep digging.
If you wanted me a thinly shapen branch, you should have let me be.
If you took me for a simple sap, you didn't really get a taste, did you dear?
Escaping the droll bird.
Escaping the swinging trees.

Testing out the soils with my toes.
You will see me safely shifting into place.
Then you won't even notice me.
Among the forest.

I think:

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 15:18:45 GMT

You believe you're being done to.
You've done the doing, too.
It's in the walking to wherever you're going, because you barely know where you're going.
So you just keep walking even when someone tries to stop you.
Even when someone walks along beside you.
Destination has been becoming just having a place to end up.
Somewhere along the way, forgetting what it is you even like the best.
You just see straight ahead.

Here is the worst part:
You believe you're being done to.
Alas, you've done the doing, too.

The Epic Syndrome

Sat, 25 Oct 2008 06:05:04 GMT

It's quite funny. I find it funny.
The white walls are stained in the sweetest way.
They are like sad stories of a failed system.
The stains are of blood and smoke.
You pretend this isn't happening as you paint the walls with your own hands.
Records and sex and beer.
It's quite funny. I mean, I find it funny. Because our systems all fail.
The problem lies in the action of creating a system in the first place.
If your walls were white with the pretense of being decorated by your existence...
then there wouldn't be any problem at all.
It's because white makes you feel clean that you feel like you have to own up to it.

White, is just a backdrop.
I think that's what's the funniest thing.

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 01:35:28 GMT

my fingers are getting cracked
watch the pavement lose it's edge.
and didn't you see the lines fade out.
The leaves all changed while you were looking down, at the steps, you wondered how they were yours.
at the track, you wondered how you ever ended up moving backwards.

-------------->
I digress....
I wish that a simple game play in the offense was enough.
I wish that when the ball truly did end up in your court, you'd play with it.
You'd toss it around like the player you are and let me know the score.
Maybe score.
I'm sure I'd airball.
I'd hit and miss like it was my job.
And when the board showed up sadly in favor of your footwork and net skills,
I'd sigh and shake your hand. Say "Good game."
At least then I'd have the sense of a game won or lost.
You have home team advantage.
You've got refs on your side.

this is my last entry

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 03:57:58 GMT

I honesty don't even understand the true effects of a livejournal. But I'm tired. I'm tired of a lot of things. I don't feel like stating them. I don't feel like elaborating. I don't feel like being told I'm not what I am. I don't feel like being misunderstood. I don't feel like much of anything you want. But I feel a whole lot like I did before I even knew you.
Goodbye lj. You've been alright. I suppose.
Private postings from now till I die of overexposing myself to myself.

Oh my word

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 17:25:18 GMT

less! wordless!
Sometimes, I cannot place the difficult things in "The difficult category". Because I feel like there should be a category for it. Seriously. I could then put it in it's rightful place and move on with the easier and finer things in life. But it's because I have nowhere to put difficulty, that I'm not even sure it exists.
It would be nice to believe that I'm not wrong for once.
Start a filing cabinet, sort through the experience, and put it all away in the appropriate order.

Then move on.

and of

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 05:54:42 GMT

Just of the wisdom. Just of the sadness. Just of the greatness you think you know. What are the words that mean your life. Summed up. I'm afraid that all I've ever encountered will define me too soon.

guard dogs

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 04:17:02 GMT

I have not been faithful. In the evenings when the windows are up. I put them down, I close the curtains, assemble the props and begin to forget all the reasons that I found love. Closed eyes and a wretching, thumping thing in my chest. I love the emotion but hate the circumstance.

bother

Sun, 03 Aug 2008 00:55:10 GMT

Garbage. This isn't what I intended. Outta the loop. "This is the loop *makes circular motion with hands*... we are in the loop *points inside imaginary circle*... you, you are outta the loop. *points outside the loop*"

And sometimes, something said five years ago can make more sense in the present than then.

Currently speaking;

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 17:31:33 GMT

Just when you get a breath,
It shoots back in your chest.

I wonder now, if this comfort is also to be temporary.
New corkscrew,
old ways.
new t-shirt,
old ways.
New music,
old ways.
Good friends,
old ways.

I hope it would stay a little while longer. But the things I say have lost their appeal. I don't get eyes full of hope, or wonder, or intrigue anymore. I just get these stares that seem to be filled with nothing. What happened? Words I get sound so rehearsed. Like I could be mirror and they're just pretending I'm someone else while looking directly at themselves. And I never got an explanation. And I say please. And I get "okay!". And then I get a week of silence. Even the new things seem temporary. I'm trying hard to invest. I have been investing. I invest so much I don't even realize when the polls go down.

I guess what I feel is that I'm sad to be losing such a wonderful person, when I could have been so comfortable just sleeping on her couch forever.
And I guess I should stop looking for the love of my life. But it's been that way so long and I can't do the flirting stuff.
Where do I go now? Inside, inside, inside.

(sorry for the sentiment. )

zoo

Fri, 25 Jul 2008 04:59:58 GMT

I'm pretty pent up. I'm pretty spent up. I've got dollars of wisdom and nowhere to spend em'. I'm just buying time till the fucking zoo closes it's doors. I'm just waitin' around for the popcorn stand to shut down. Bolt your doors and windows and means of entrance because if ever I figure out the combination on this damn lock, you're all in serious trouble.

Aero-type

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 03:52:34 GMT

Stripped of my role models. Stripped of my responsible archetype. It was my mistake to put you so far on the pedastal to begin with. I ask myself that question. If by searching for a good example, I defeated myself right off the bat. I have faith now that these expectations are unrealistic. I have enough faith in this to start having faith in myself. It hurts. It hurts to know I've got nothing to look forward to. But it's also exciting breaking all ties to your ridiculous ways. The funny thing is, you didn't even try to talk it out. You cowered when I gave you the cold shoulder. That's a change in you I thought I'd never see.

Erika is leaving. I don't know how I'll deal with that. She's been such a good friend to me the past couple of weeks. And I owe this new job to her entirely. Her smile and hugs and laughter and good knowledge of beer and fine dining is going to be what I miss the most. Collaging in her living room watching Howl's Moving Castle. Having numerous dance parties in the Lost Dog. And seeing really AWESOME AMAZING movies together! I don't even want to think about it right now.

I'll be house sitting for Lissa all next week. It will be fun to be right in town and have a beautiful house by the river all to myself. The guinea pigs will be keeping me company.

And lately I've just been wanting to curl up in a ball and twist my hair and think about some special people. So I do. I wrote a poem about things that have been going on. I just love that I can do that and the people never know it's all about them.

"Aquatics"

I watch the blue turn to gray. In my veins, oh in my veins. Always like shallow ponds and creeks the way they run endless. Another person might look down and see a gorge. See a valley so deep like a canyon of sun-soaked water. Actually, reality would forsake me. A tributary ebbing. All it takes is a glance at the wrist to know what kind of life to lead. Do you see oceans? Do you see valleys, gorged? Do you see shallow creek water? A sunray dances across the ripples. To feed into you is my only wish. To meet you half way, make brackish of our thoughts collide. A mesh of sadness, laughter, hysterics and apathy; Homogeneous. To carry out the current you began. Propel the stalling waters and lay waste to any tranquil inclination. Together turn ebb-to-flow. Together wash away into the sea. With veins so visible have we forgotten to push the blood along? Holes in our fingers, and we just watched it form a puddle in the grass.

I watch the blue turn to gray.

Lethal

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 03:49:07 GMT

The sidewalk was looking lethal. John walked with two long legs. Each step was like leaping across the ocean. Mark made gestures with his hands to leap. But stalled right out the gate. The light flickered above our heads like God. The street, dirty street light. Dirty street lamp. Killing flies. The flies with little tired wings that buzzed together to their death. The grass poked up and out the cracks of cement. The flowers wilting in the heat. John says jazz lyrics slowly. John puts words to the movements and says them outloud. Mark begins to look wild with passion. Passion and fear. The words are quick and rebellious. They describe the ocean as deep and choppy as the saxophone improvisation. Suddenly the eyes are raging. Red with fury. Dialated eight ball. Mark is swimming in the ocean. Mark cannot swim. He gasps and then he walks right off the sidewalk. It's like he never even tried to tread water. The sidewalk jumps right up and bites him. John is left with two long legs. I am left to observe his fate. There are tiny dead flies at his feet.

To say

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 01:55:44 GMT

TOGETHER!

What an odd word. to... get...her. That's how my first grade teacher taught me to remember how to spell it. Never fails. Though it's context has never failed just that either. How does one stay in a sense of "gettin her" and why couldn't it have been "togethim"?
I believe that with every right of passage comes a very intuitive notion of what we're meant to be doing at that moment in our lives. How it differs from what the current status is. Because why would we search out a right of passage if we were not content in the current status of ourselves. Why couldn't we be together with that status?

A person is only as good as their status. A person is only half as good as what their status should be. And I wonder if what I'm doing is perfectly along those lines. If there is a quo I am not meeting.
I'm not too worried about what I'm doing. We fret about the time, and the conditions of our personal lives. Our personal lives get too personal if you ask me. It's great to be in touch with what you feel, this is evident. But to be so wrapped up in it that you cannot sense anothers woes. My god, a step backwards is necessary. I think friends do not fall away from each other. They just lose contact with the common ground. Why would that happen? Because you believe for a second that you never had common ground to begin with? Nostalgia is a dangerous thing. And I think that it's addictive.
It's not hard to admit that you miss something. It's hard to admit you could be doing everything to get it back, but you're not. Everything to get together. To get her.
But you're not.

Nostalgia, is giving in.
Don't give in.
Just let go.