Solstice
I sit,
in the corner,
amid the cushions detailed,
with white cat hairs and,
faded tea stains,
in my hand I cling to a glass,
shining and red,
full of unnatural liquid,
that tickles my nose,
as I put it to my lips,
and sip,
I swirl the liquid in the glass,
making it glitter and sparkle,
in the dim room,
and the candle light,
with the smoke curling and,
swirling around the atmosphere,
dancing a waltz with the ghosts,
to the music only I can hear,
over the hum of sophisticated voices,
I can hear the music gradually rise,
pushing the murmurs to a higher tone,
it's beating-
and flowing-
and pulsing-
inside me,
my pulse,
is louder than the vibes and,
the waver in their voices,
as they don't know what to say,
I'm out of place here,
sitting among the instruments,
and the amps-
the stands-
the wires-
they don't know what to think,
as I finger the sticker above my breast,
that says I'm with the band,
I wish you could see me here,
I wish you could be here now,
but you aren't because I’d never,
let you see me here like this,
alone in a room full of strangers,
sitting with a look of disintrest,
but really I'm enjoying it,
but stil I'm miserable because,
I'm alone,
I long for you with a passion,
that knots my stomach and,
consumes my mind,
the kind of wanting that,
can only come from a desire,
for something lost long ago,
if only you could see me now,
in my ratty jeans and my faded dress,
I've aged and been worn,
I think of you more often now,
not like I used to,
you never really mattered much,
as far as I could see,
I never really knew you,
I guess you didn’t know me,
but it matters now,
because I need you,
and I'd like to think you need me,
I want conversation,
as I sit alone,
in the corner,
in a room full of
smoke and-
noise and-
thirty-somethings-
who like to pretend they can relate,
but all they really are,
is washed up hippy's who,
when the weekend comes and,
they work week ends,
they shed their suits and ties,
and lipstick and curling irons,
that mask how they really feel
and betray who they really are,
they light their cigarettes and sip wine,
and play music from places like,
Morocco and-
Iceland and-
Africa and-
they attend parties,
like this one that celebrate,
then end of a season,
a year-
an era-
a day-
they order Chinese or Thai or Indian,
and they graze the table with paper pates,
and talk about thing that really matter,
like the war of politics or-
the politics of economics or-
the economics of war-
and they glance at me,
sitting in the corner,
plastic cup in hand,
they falter when they can't relate,
so they don't try,
instead they glance at me,
with my sixteen-something hair,
and my boots with neon laces,
I wish you could see me now,
I wish you were here with me,
we could hold hands,
and talk about what really matters,
like life-
and love-
did I already say love?
because that's what it's really about,
and you could teach me,
how to see-
or hear-
or feel-
or any of those crucial things,
that nobody does the right way,
and the thirty-something would circle us,
and click their tongues,
and turn their backs ,
but that's ok,
we're not alone,
because you're here,
and I'm here,
who cares if they don't understand us,
with our delicate hands,
and our small breasts,
and our innocent eyes,
they never tried,
yet I am out of place here,
I wish you could see me now,
I wish you were here with me,
but you aren't,
cause I'm in reality and,
you can't exist here,
so I stay in my place,
and tap my fingers and bob my head,
in time to the pulse outside me,
to distract me from the pulse inside me,
my arms-
and my head-
and my heart-
it's in my veins and I can't avoid it,
so I sit,
in the corner,
amid the cushions detailed,
with white cat hairs and,
faded tea stains,
I am out of place here.
-Vinyl
[music: Black Box Recorder: The Facts of Life]
Today was fine. Not exceptional or anything though. Periodically through out the day I would realize that's it is Thursday, and I'm not sure why I am so excited about it, other than tomorrow is Friday and then Saturday. Tomorrow is Buy Nothing Day and Saturday will be awesome. Anyway, each time I remembered that it would go something like this:
"Wow today's Thursday!!! That's amazing/fascinating/extraordinary!!!"
Then the same thing would be repeated later in the day. It was quite odd.
It's a lot better to walk down the hallways grinning like an idiot rather than being sullen, so now I'm the grinning idiot. I'm happy!
On the number 4 bus home tonight I got to talk to Vanessa, and then we walked home together. We used to spend so much time together before I went into Jr. High. It's kind of a shame that we don't see each other much anymore because she lives a block away and we are quite similar. It was great to talk to her.
When I cam home I started reading on my bed and then I fell asleep and no one woke me up until now, so I didn't end up going to the Extravaganza. It's kind of sad but I have a social test tomorrow and I should probably fix all the rest of my homework. It was so nice to have a nap though.
I'm still happy!
Ok, I have a big favor to ask of all of you. Yes.. you.
Could you please read the poem at the bottom and then in the comments box please tell me what it means to you. Depending on the turn out this might become a school project.
Thanks.
Mgmt.
Public Angel
Somewhere, smiling among the broken china with the wisdom of some horrible knowledge in your eyes, blue like the scattered and fractured fleur-de-lis on Grandma's dinner plates. You told me in the flicker of an ancient TV set of those late night terror visions where angels with wings like twisted wire and charcoal and burnt barbie dolls. And then the Boeing 727 of my compassion ditched into the suburb of my heart.
My life is glorious. I can't help thinking that now I'm one of the stupid happy people. The best thing of all is there isn't a logical reason for my happiness, I just am. It's wonderful.
This evening I picked up library music: Echo and the Bunnymen, not as great as I thought they would be. Black Box Recorder, better than I expected!The Facts of Life is great as are all the songs of the CD with the same title.
I also went to a customer appreciation party at A&B Sound Downtown this evening. At first I didn't want to go, but I love that store and all their CD's are pretty cheap. They were having a big sale. I got free buttons and a poster that I've been wanting for a long time but didn't think existed.
Talkin' Honky Blues by Buck 65 is awesome. Very lovely and boppy.
Dad bought me Like I Said by Ani Difranco, because "You're a good girl."
I also bought Christmas presents which shall remain undetailed.
Hurrah for an excellent day, and so far, week!
This afternoon I took a short break from my homework and went cross-country skiing! It was a lot of fun!
Sunday has turned into work day. I spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon working. I'm no where near done. I did two loads of laundry, and next I get to make dinner! I don't mind though, I like being a self sufficient human.
Meanwhile the house is scaring me. It's like the ecoli nightmare. I don't think the kitchen counter has been washed in a while, and it's covered in various different goop, which is then covered by any assortment of pots/pans/cutlery/paper. It's great. I guess I'll have to clean that before I make dinner.
I had the best toasted tomato+avacado sandwhich a few minutes ago, first real meal type thing I've ate all day.
My wonderful cousin Emily e-mailed me in response to my post from early this morning. According to her (she was 5 when he died) my little girl and grandpa fantasy is mostly true. He would sit in his green rocking chair that is still in the living room, and smoke his pipe, and he liked puns!
So now I can go about my life remember my little grandfather fantasy with the comfort that it is mostly entirely right, and I shall grow up to be a well adjusted self sufficient woman.
Thanks Em!
In a desperate attempt to avoid the two inevitable in life, homework and the need to sleep, I cleaned the basement this evening. It had become unbearable.
Under a pile of Eriks socks I found a leather covered photo album. I love that album possibly more than most every other physical item. It's full of black and white photos from what I assume to be my grandparents photos from their early lives, most of the dated pictures are from around 1939. Many of them are framed in white and faded so much that the images and figures within the frame are almost invisible like the ghost many of the have become. I don't know who any of the people are, the handwriting on the backs is almost indistinguishable, and that which I can read has no meaning to me. They are pictures of people I will never meet. On the inside front cover is printed in elegant penmanship;
-To-
->.Mom & Dad.<-
- From - Your Son
->.Fred.<-
that's what makes it special to me. This was made by a man who I never knew and given to his parents. That man was my grandfather, and he is responsible for my life and my brothers life and my fathers life and he is a man I have never met. I always think about this, and that I wish I had the opportunity to meet him, to talk to him. During the Remembrance day assemblies I don't remember the men who died in war, I remember my grandfather. I pretend that I have fabulous memories, ones where I'm four and I'm sitting on his lap while he tells me a story, or that he is sitting at the head of the table while we have family dinners. I always wake up though, I always come back to reality and remember that he was not there, and when he was, or if he was it would not have been like that, he was probably a stiff or old man who disliked children and watched television all evening. But I wouldn't know, no one has told me, they tell me how great a man he was, and that he was a brilliant pilot and that he worked for the CPR in his old age, and that it was the shift work that killed him.
These are all I have, they are pictures of him, and of his life, or of life in general long before my parents, and long before me. There are pictures of men in uniforms going off to the war, and there are pictures of people in Banff, and at the Prince of Wales Hotel.
This has a wonderful note on the back;
It says:
Toddy, another
swell girl at the Bus
station, now up at
Banff; likes it too
according to her letters
but misses us. Also
vice-versa! Obviously.
My grandfather in the middle.
Ghosts on the bumper.
Ghost.
The past, things before us, are hard to make real and important. It's hard to say that the word war means nothing to me, but it really didn't, until I saw these pictures, these pictures of young men with guns and bayonets in their arms, dressed up proper to go off and fight. That's what makes it real, this is what I remember.
It Was A Very Good Year
When I was seventeen,
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for small
town girls and soft summer nights.
We'd hide from the lights on the village green When I was seventeen
When I was twenty-one,
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for city
girls who lived up the stairs
With all that perfumed hair and it came undone
When I was twenty-one
When I was thirty-five,
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for blue-blooded
girls of independent means
We'd ride in limousines,
their chauffeurs would drive
When I was thirty-five
But now the days are short,
I'm in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage
wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs
It poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year
I heard this on the radio this afternoon. I really like it. I'm not sure why. It meant a lot to me at the time.
...I used to be so articulate.
Tonight was awesome. I'm tired and cold and I still miss her. A lot. I don't know what happened.
In other news. She smiled at me!
Sorry for being insanely unrevealing.
The house is in a horrible state. It's like the pit, as I realized this evening. No one has done any homemaker type things in a long time. I have been sick, mom has been wrapped up in her cards, everyone else around here is useless. So, we are living amongst our garbage and all the rest of our crap. Tomorrow I clean and go to the library to get fab. Eggers novel. Hopefully also Kensington, and also, a horrible stint in the Triwood Community craft sale. Help.
At ease!
Short concise notes:
- Tonight I had fun.
-Tonight I didn't cry.
-I love Nico when she isn't on drugs.
-ER almost made me puke.
-ER was amazing.
-I hide my head and cover my ears when the "god please forgive me and save me prayer" comes on TV.
-I ate too many Skittles today.
-meh... need sleep.
So, I'm sitting here in the school library, contemplating the various benefits of doing my English essay or posting. I came to the improper conclusion that I should post. Suddenly in the spare chair sitting beside mine at the same computer Alex sits down. Now, Alex (of my former English class) is probably one of the friendliest and generally nice guys I know. I hardly ever t-a-l-k to him, which would involve a proper conversation, but I do say hi to him in the hall way possibly everyday. So he sits and we exchange common introductions "hi, how are you, what are you up to these days?" for the record he is tired because he was home alone last night and can't sleep while the house is empty, he's going to buy a hamster when he has to grow up and move out, and lately he has been doing nothing except school and watching Family Guy. I'm not sure what Family Guy is about, but I'm sure it's good. I found myself struggling to carry on the conversation, on my end. He talked for a while, I smiled and nodded but I didn't really offer anything. Eventually he went to go work on his work, and left me to do my posting.
Tonight I have been given the job of escorting the Chief Superintendent down to the theatre. I don't know why I was picked, Ms. Smyth loves me I guess. I'm nervous, and I'm worried, because I don't really know what this guy looks like, or who he is. I wonder what I did to give people the impression that I am good with people, strange important dignitary type people.
Anyway, I'm rather worried about the large amount of homework I will have, from both CALM and social, and I'm not entirely sure when I will do it, and I shouldn't be sitting here typing, but I am.
Message Board:
*Cuz'n, you make me smile. Keep being perky! And yes, we can do art when you are here. Love ya, -Vinyl*
Pizza party tonight, and then rush and then important duties. Then sitting in hallway doing homework. All in all, should be a decent evening. And tomorrow... WAH!
Absolute Truth #1:
My favorite segue way ever is:
"Umm, ah, yeah...*insert awesomely funky guitar chord progression here*"
-Ani Difranco - Letter to a John - Living In Clip
I attempted school today. I failed. I tried making something beautiful in art, instead I made mess. Don't let me touch art supplies for a while, I'm just destroying everything lately, artistically speaking.
Sarah McLaughlin was on Martha Stewart *gasp* Yes, Martha is terrible, but... Sarah is an amazing musician. I hate Martha as much as I hate Tyler.
The new Evanescence video for.... My Immortal is really cool, and I love the colours in Sam Roberts' Hard Road. It's very pretty.
Today is better. Things are better. Life is better. I'll be back soon.
It's approximately four minutes to ten, mountain standard time. I think. This is the first time since four AM that I have left the couch.
I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Not even Tyler. It's hell. I can't help but ask why, or why I deserve this shit, or why anyone does. I used to think that if I just prayed enough, or I just followed the rules and stopped screwing around that it would just go away. I used to be crazy, maybe I still am, but it hasn't gone away and it won't go away and so I spent my day on the couch half conscious.
I don't want to talk to anyone either, it doesn't matter today that everyone likes me again. I don't know why, maybe because I'm sick, or that I'm not getting better, or maybe just because they don't care anymore. I don't want to talk to anyone.
I'm a mess, and because of it no one in my family has talked to me for the past 10 hours. It wouldn't be such a big deal if they weren't continuing on as usual, walking in and out, going about their business, but avoiding the fact that they aren't talking to me.
I'm a mess.
I like checking my online bank account. It reminds me that I am not as financially stricken as I believe to be. I just can't touch any of it. However, know that I do have that much money in my possession also plants the idea in my head that I could actually go somewhere. The idea had never occurred to my before, I could actually go. I say it all the time, but I actually really could just go.
This helps a bit.
Tonight I am going to read my delightful book, and re-evaluate my possession, and re-arrange them, and watch TV and then go babysit my girls who I miss, a lot. It will be great. They are... well... Brats, but I love them.
APRIL:
Active and dynamic. Decisive and haste but tends to regret. Attractive and affectionate to oneself. Strong mentality. Loves attention. Diplomatic. Consoling, friendly and solves people's problems. Brave and fearless. Adventurous. Loving and caring. Suave and generous. Emotional. Aggressive. Hasty. Good memory. Moving Motivates oneself and others. Sickness usually of the head and chest. Sexy in a way that only their luver can see.
I hope the last one will be real someday.
Thankfully borrowed from Jess.
"...possibly try some holly, people seem to like holly."
I have a bunch of social homework to do, my mark is plummeting.
Tomorrow I am going to buy over priced art supplies with my fathers money, and go skiing. I am going to make cards, and dance, and thrash my head around like I'm having a good time.
[music: London Calling - The Clash]
M/F FLATMATE TO SHARE LARGE 2
BDRM WITH SCHIZO CHICK - Clean
sane and mature preferred.
$450/mo. + DD spitting distance
from 17th SW fully furnished ALL util.
inc. smoking apartment. 410-1953
Move in ASAP. bring flowers to interview.
My life is a series of assignments and dirty busses and cold beige bus stops and cute girls on the busses. I have determined that I either need to A: Talk to a girl, B: Get a girl, C: stop riding public transportation.
As it appears that none of the options are likely to happen in the near future, I'm not sure what I will do. I'll keep talking about cute girls on public transportation, and continue to ride public transportation and attempt to preoccupy myself with some sort of money making scheme.
Today my father speaks in an indistinguishable accent. "Mad scientist," he says. He dissects the computer humming and hawing, and blundering all the way. I had two moments of ironic-I'm-smarter-than-the-scientist moments today.
Moment 1. I figured out the simplicity behind opening the computer.
Moment 2. I figured out how to turn the computer on.
I would like to say that these were incredibly intricate and detailed procedures involving man flashing lights and a yak. They however were not, difficult but merely extremely simple.
The mad scientist continues to baffle the geniuses, and wage war against the computer virus in my closet while I try my best not to worry, and bury my head in the book.
I am back, temporarily.
It is in times like these that one can find solace in their little bit of webspace, the spot on the vast world wide that will never betray me. It is in times like these that one needs the support of their little blocky friend who lends a virtual shoulder to cry on.
It seems ironically appropriate, that something like this should happen on the day that is nationally remembered as the day that will end all wars. I don't know really what I'm saying, but I know that I'm am using great hyperbole, and I'm listening to Bright Eyes, and Modest Mouse and Wilco and Spoon, and I'm trying to grasp the great devastation that has occurred in the past 24 hours.
Two of the computers in my quasi possession have been obliterated. One, being my baby has been turned into a lovely desk ornament in my closet, and I can't remember the last time I turned it on, because there is nothing on it.
The second was the vital main system, the brains of the network, and the professional filing system for the last four years of my life. Now it is all gone. Imagine, that computer was my office, or my bedroom, or any of the places I could store my memories, and my pictures, and my art, and my thoughts, and my LIFE'S WORK. Not to mention several English assignments that are due tomorrow but will not be handed in.
It's impossible to even remember everything that was there, and everything that will be lost. It's a hard process, and it will continue for months to come, as I realize all the memories I have lost to cyber space.
So.
I don't know what to say.
I'm thinking that because I have no idea what to say,
I should take some time off.
See you in about a week.
Maybe.
Post script: You can still contact me via phone, or e-mail, or if possible talk at school.
"What is your greatest weakness?"
I fall in love to easily, without falling at all.
Today, I realized that I like wearing who I am around my neck. A lot of people do. Crosses, spikes. A few years ago I wore a cross, then letters, now I wear colors. The past colors, blue, blue, purple, pink, pink, and now the rainbows. It evolves as I grow.
Tomorrow I have a job interview. I will never receive any benefit from a successful interview, aside from a pat on the head and a good job, you passed. I suppose that's a good thing as I'm applying for a job that I don't really want. I think, tomorrow I'm going to act, I don't know how, but I'll be someone else. Make things interesting, as I won't be receiving benefits, monetary or otherwise.
I had something else to say, but it has slipped my mind.
The post office lady didn't want to take my love. She was Oscar the Grouch, Jess will soon be getting my love anyway.
I'm beginning to doubt that there will ever be a day where I don't encounter homophobia in some form. It's getting harder to bite my tongue. I'm sorry if you are around when finally my tongue is too short to bite anymore, and I finally snap. I've stopped restraining myself at home. I don't care anymore. It's too hard, and everyone around here is far too self absorbed to really notice anything anyway. So, life, and love goes on.
Oh and the stupidest thing I heard all day:
"I think this should be played at all gay marriages" insert background music:"the purpose of a man is to love a woman, and the purpose of a woman is to love a man."
It doesn't matter if you play it on vinyl, 8-track, cassette tape, CD, MP3. It makes no difference if it's playing through full, high-tech speakers, or headphones, or live. It doesn't matter if you're dancing, or sitting, or how loud it's playing. No matter how many times you can listen to your favorite song. Nothing beats the pure satisfaction one gets from hearing it on the radio.
I bought Dave Eggers. I found him on a book shelf at Revolution. I handed over my crumpled $10 and carried him home in my arms.
I also wanted to bring home Catch 22, but my mother doesn't like too many strays at once.
Memo:
In a final attempt to keep my internet life separate from my real life, resulting in the avoidance of creepy men e-mailing me, I have edited my posts, and the comments. My real name appears no where on this site. I would like it to remain that way. If you comment please use the name Vinyl instead of my real name. Thanks.
thanks,
the mgmt.
When I talked to Emily the other night, she thought that I was "doing the whole not on internet, free from technology" thing. I think I stumbled through that one, trying to make it sound like I was on the internet but not blogging or on MSN. In any case I realized how amazing it would be if I could actually not go on the internet.
Then I get comments like these:
I've been having complete conversations with my cat.
I make jokes with her, like I expect her to laugh!
And e-mails from complete strangers, and friends that make me grin like a mad man,
and I realize that if I was not on the internet I would have no life. I wouldn't be any happier, just lonelier.
Thanks Ari, and all of you strangers who have e-mailed me over the past few months, and of course, extra special thanks to Nicole who despite being horribly busy and on the other side of the country has still kept in contact! THANK YOU! All of you.
I was listening to Ani really loud (what's new?) and between songs I heard the phone ring. Then again. I jumped up from my typewriter ran through the door way, tripped on the baby carriage, and then the big red exercise ball, collapsed on top of Erik, WHO WAS SITTING RIGHT BESIDE THE PHONE, and picked it up.
I'm sucking all the caramel out of the Caramilk bars. It's the best part. I'm vaguely wondering where my mother and father are, but I'm not really surprised they haven't returned yet. It will again, be another long night of frantic construction.
And Wal-Mart.
When you first start writing stories in the first person if the stories are made so real that people believe them the people reading them nearly always think the stories really happened to you. That is natural because while you were making them up you had to make them happen to the person who was telling them. If you do this successfully enough you make the person who is reading them believe that the things happened to him too. If you can do this you are beginning to get what you are trying for which is to make the story so real beyond any reality that it will become a part of his memory. There must be things that he did not notice when he read the story or the novel which without his knowing it, enter into his memory and experience so that they are a part of his life. This is not easy to do."
--Ernest Hemingway, unpublished manuscript, Kennedy Library collection
Halloween was quiet.
I've spent the whole day making "crafts," purses made of upholstery and snowflakes made of stained glass. Soldering is so much fun!
|
|
