starting a blog and telling nobody about it is surreal. it's like shouting into the void, except it's inhabited by search engines and occasional human readers. i'd like to time travel into the middle ages to run up and shake the shoulders of some innocent civilian- "in the future you can put anything on display for anybody to see!!!"
i'm in a different place now than i used to be before and it makes me wonder how different i'll be next year. and the year after. i'm drifting away from everything and everybody that i thought were the constants in my life and i just don't have a sense of trust anymore. i don't know what will happen next.
old poetry i don't understand still seems to apply to the present day- "fearing the future, missing the past." is life wasted if all i ever do is look back? i digress. maybe someday i'll get over it.
change is something that, i think, i've already accepted. it's just harder to get back up on my feet once it's happened. and it's as if i'm on a stranded island with everything i once had, lost in the ocean.
at least i have you. you're the only thing keeping me together.
"is it weird that we only miss things when they're gone, or is that inherent in the meaning of the word?" - bryan lee o'malley, lost at sea
2nd floor lunch
may 20th, 2016
el gato gordo
tuesday on the couch
Piles upon piles of stapled booklets, the
highlighted print read so many times
he swears that they’re burned onto the inside of his eyelids.
for it’s his responsibility to shape his voice,
his character, until the puzzle piece fits perfectly with all the others,
locked into place, just what the director wants
it’s just a bit of a long process, that’s all
translating his lines from two-dimensional text on paper
into raw emotion, articulation, projection
from his eyes to his mouth.
A flawless performance doesn’t come from sitting and waiting.
She, too, has got piles, not
filled with colons and light cues but
of watercolours, of abandoned
shapes that she has given up on.
It’s tough, chasing the artworks you
envision in your mind’s eye, and then
making eye contact with the monstrosity that
greets you from the page.
Haphazardly she flings lines of grey on to white
sheets bound together as an exhibit of trial and error,
flipping through will show you that
fully completed works are few and far between
yet she doesn’t give up. She never drops the pencil.
She’s not simply waiting until she gets good at this.
And myself? Well, I’ve got piles, not
splattered with paint or purple highlighter but
adorned monochromatically with printer ink
with staffs, clefs, and, how’s that rhythm go again?
Not much variation at first glance, other than
weird jazz fonts that make me squint. But
I digress. Sometimes I wonder how my
flimsy little fingers have made it this far,
how my lungs haven’t caved in
and if, upon hearing me, the composer would
wince in sheer agony, or perhaps his skeletal remains
perpetually have his bony hands over his ear-holes
because of those just like me.
Sometimes I retreat to my room, hands
aching, bewildered by the sudden absence
of sun (was it dark out when I started?)
and I tire, but stress and injury aside,
I cannot wait to play those melodies again.
I cannot wait to grow and improve.
i didn't expect that spending 6 days away from my family would make me grow a fonder appreciation for them. in fact, i viewed the trip as a getaway from just that. an escape from those i share a home with. however, as soon as i felt the dull rumble of the plane as the ground fell farther beneath me, i knew i'd be coming home in a week with some souvenirs and a little more love.
i guess i should be more grateful. growing up the stoic indifference towards my parents and childish aggravation towards my brothers that just happened to be the default began to bloom into the frustration of wanting freedom and coveting the way my siblings were raised differently because of their gender. more so recently, being a (gagging noise) teenager and all. but coming to the realization that my parents really are not out to get me, they're just raising me the way that they were taught how, is sort of bittersweet.
am i still frustrated? yes. but do i have the same lack of empathy towards my parents as i used to? no. i understand a little more now. and i'll just have to sit tight and endure it in this weird stage of life.
this is the happiest christmas ive had in a while!! tbh i dont even care about what im getting, or any of that. im just happy that i can spend christmas with all my friends and all that gay shit ❤❤
ill write more later im so tired rn
- from -
Someone once told me that the universe wants to align itself in ways that act in your best interest, based on how you actively express your desires to it. Also, it doesn't understand negatives.
What this person meant was if you're running late and you think to yourself "I don't want to be late" then the universe doesn't understand the negative part, the "don't" part. It thinks you're saying "I want to be late."
Instead of thinking "I don't want to be late" think "I want to be early" or "I want to be on time." The universe understands these requests and will align itself to give you them. If you think "I don't want to be late" the universe might give you the opposite of what you want!
I'm not sure if I believe it, but I find if I think in positives instead of negatives ("I will do better" instead of "I don't want to do worse") it makes me feel more powerful. It makes me feel like the universe is on my side.
Friday, Jun 27th, 2014 at 10:51am