I'm so afraid to invest all that I am into anything,
yet I end up doing it with each minute's passing.
I'm a lottery ticket you'll always cash.
You're a check that never stops bouncing away.
In the end I'll be broken, without, alone.
You'll always be the one on top, you always are.
So take my history.
So take my future.
So take my plan.
So take the reigns, be the richer man.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Carpe Diem.
"As one gets older, one acquires skills and resources which enables one to do things while simultaneously gaining commitments and losing physical ability which limit one's ability to do things. As for the last, as for the greater, there is one task which you may achieve once and once only, and in that task your heart shall rest."
Where's the appeal in a life full of wasted drives and subdued potential? Where's this undeniable world-wide attraction to selling out spawning from? There was a time when we all fulfilled the exact specifications of our own wants and desires. Childhood, such a simple self-pleasingly pivotal point in our lives. When and where did it all vanish before our eyes? When did the pupils seeking happiness turn to greed and selfish dollar signed self-written checks to the bank of moral disapproval? We as humans are always trying to pin the tail on change, and it's impossible. We notice every little aspect of every little detail on the person beside us, but we have no knowledge of the very changes we undergo. You're the person you were five minutes ago? Bullshit. Take a good long look at yourself in the mirror, you have no idea who you are. We're gut-wrenching, unconscious monsters from the depths of lake locked niavity. We think we're in control. We think we can stop time to fit our schedules, and we can't. Life is short, life is in control- guided by death. We accept wasting away filling our days with absurdities and egotistical preoccupations, while death is continually doing its job to its fullest potential. What are you doing to birth your legacy before you're food for worms? Because I know you're not caring. Because I know you'll read this nonchalantly and give me a big old, "Fuck you, Emilie." Because I know that it's so much easier to live in your possesions than in your head. Because today you're one day closer to being dead.
Where's the appeal in a life full of wasted drives and subdued potential? Where's this undeniable world-wide attraction to selling out spawning from? There was a time when we all fulfilled the exact specifications of our own wants and desires. Childhood, such a simple self-pleasingly pivotal point in our lives. When and where did it all vanish before our eyes? When did the pupils seeking happiness turn to greed and selfish dollar signed self-written checks to the bank of moral disapproval? We as humans are always trying to pin the tail on change, and it's impossible. We notice every little aspect of every little detail on the person beside us, but we have no knowledge of the very changes we undergo. You're the person you were five minutes ago? Bullshit. Take a good long look at yourself in the mirror, you have no idea who you are. We're gut-wrenching, unconscious monsters from the depths of lake locked niavity. We think we're in control. We think we can stop time to fit our schedules, and we can't. Life is short, life is in control- guided by death. We accept wasting away filling our days with absurdities and egotistical preoccupations, while death is continually doing its job to its fullest potential. What are you doing to birth your legacy before you're food for worms? Because I know you're not caring. Because I know you'll read this nonchalantly and give me a big old, "Fuck you, Emilie." Because I know that it's so much easier to live in your possesions than in your head. Because today you're one day closer to being dead.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
For Bailey.
We're raised with rocks in our shoes, to toughen us.
These dust-dirt road have immuned me to second hand death.
From the age of five we've been taught to turn our backs,
Hold our breath, and count to ten when the trucks pass.
The hawks left us gifts in the briar patch again,
Bass carcasses sucked of their livelihood.
Elbows linked, we walk down the middle of nowhere.
Remnants of the gypsies we keep in hiding,
Spring mattresses in the woods, secret getaway retreats.
The coverage breaks momentarily every so often,
Revealing clover fields topped off with daisy meadows.
Barbed wire dots the sunburt landscape.
Tractor tracks cover rover tracks cover our tracks from before.
Summer night spent in the fields, we're rooted in these crops.
Laughter follows our seemingly make-believe accents,
But they have no idea how hard it is to not use them.
We're bred with the inbreds that surround us,
We find ourselves cursing the very ground that gives us recluse.
We'll run, we'll hide, we'll finally break away,
Only to return again-this is who we are.
We're the screen doors slamming.
We're the buzz of the racetrack from your Grandpa's back porch.
We're the scent of nature that forever lingers,
That drifts into every knook and cranny in town.
We're the freckles on summer faces.
We're the ground after a beer can hail storm.
We're six month winters, and summers of drought.
We're the old station with the rusted Shell sign.
We're country down to our bones, and it'll never bleed out.
These dust-dirt road have immuned me to second hand death.
From the age of five we've been taught to turn our backs,
Hold our breath, and count to ten when the trucks pass.
The hawks left us gifts in the briar patch again,
Bass carcasses sucked of their livelihood.
Elbows linked, we walk down the middle of nowhere.
Remnants of the gypsies we keep in hiding,
Spring mattresses in the woods, secret getaway retreats.
The coverage breaks momentarily every so often,
Revealing clover fields topped off with daisy meadows.
Barbed wire dots the sunburt landscape.
Tractor tracks cover rover tracks cover our tracks from before.
Summer night spent in the fields, we're rooted in these crops.
Laughter follows our seemingly make-believe accents,
But they have no idea how hard it is to not use them.
We're bred with the inbreds that surround us,
We find ourselves cursing the very ground that gives us recluse.
We'll run, we'll hide, we'll finally break away,
Only to return again-this is who we are.
We're the screen doors slamming.
We're the buzz of the racetrack from your Grandpa's back porch.
We're the scent of nature that forever lingers,
That drifts into every knook and cranny in town.
We're the freckles on summer faces.
We're the ground after a beer can hail storm.
We're six month winters, and summers of drought.
We're the old station with the rusted Shell sign.
We're country down to our bones, and it'll never bleed out.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Hallelujeah.
Wainwright had it right when he said they were cold and broken.
I'm always so critical until I'm broken into a million pieces.
I never give up until there's absolutely nothing left to cling to.
My biggest mistake is ever believing that I'm strong enough.
I know I'm strong, I know I'm fully capable.
But I'm not strong enough, I can't safe myself from Pandora-
Be it box or this big mouth I've grown myself.
I lay broken in the dust with Adam, searching for my crux.
It's nights like these that I run from in hopes of returning.
Nights full of tense silence and the house talks to itself.
No sound rings throughout but that of the rain hitting glass.
I can close my eyes and pretend, I'm three again.
Nothing can touch me, nothing can touch me.
There's nothing but me, and the rain, and you Lord.
I can picture my own little Eden full of secure sanity.
You're always here, Lord.
You never leave, Lord.
These cries do not fall on deaf ears, Lord.
You're all I need, Lord.
Hallelujeahs whispered between choking breaths.
My hands are bruised from clasping to death.
Things will get better, they must.
Things will get better, I'm investing completely.
Things will get better.
I trust.
I'm always so critical until I'm broken into a million pieces.
I never give up until there's absolutely nothing left to cling to.
My biggest mistake is ever believing that I'm strong enough.
I know I'm strong, I know I'm fully capable.
But I'm not strong enough, I can't safe myself from Pandora-
Be it box or this big mouth I've grown myself.
I lay broken in the dust with Adam, searching for my crux.
It's nights like these that I run from in hopes of returning.
Nights full of tense silence and the house talks to itself.
No sound rings throughout but that of the rain hitting glass.
I can close my eyes and pretend, I'm three again.
Nothing can touch me, nothing can touch me.
There's nothing but me, and the rain, and you Lord.
I can picture my own little Eden full of secure sanity.
You're always here, Lord.
You never leave, Lord.
These cries do not fall on deaf ears, Lord.
You're all I need, Lord.
Hallelujeahs whispered between choking breaths.
My hands are bruised from clasping to death.
Things will get better, they must.
Things will get better, I'm investing completely.
Things will get better.
I trust.
Wish.
If but a single wish could pass these lips,
I'd wish for not a single thing a'new.
Not for selfish brains or a tender kiss,
I'd spend my one lone wish on you.
I'd wish for not a single thing a'new.
Not for selfish brains or a tender kiss,
I'd spend my one lone wish on you.
GET.
The car's never been this silent all my life,
And I find myself craving anything.
Just sing to me.
Sing to me and make this all go away.
Sing me something sweet,
Something to fill my heart with anything.
Anything besides this burning contempt.
Fear is ringing in my ears, now.
Fear to ask all you fear to admit.
Sweet recluse, I seek you now more than ever.
It's all your fault, don't I know?
Oh, trust me.
I know better than the silver creator.
You'll never know, I'll never tell you.
This is where I bleed hypocrosity.
Rolling down these hills in silence, now.
No chassis to keep us in tact now, sweetheart.
We're getting away now, sweetheart.
180 in a 75, and we've never felt so alive.
Flying.
Freeing.
Braking.
Being.
Being more than anything we know.
And I find myself craving anything.
Just sing to me.
Sing to me and make this all go away.
Sing me something sweet,
Something to fill my heart with anything.
Anything besides this burning contempt.
Fear is ringing in my ears, now.
Fear to ask all you fear to admit.
Sweet recluse, I seek you now more than ever.
It's all your fault, don't I know?
Oh, trust me.
I know better than the silver creator.
You'll never know, I'll never tell you.
This is where I bleed hypocrosity.
Rolling down these hills in silence, now.
No chassis to keep us in tact now, sweetheart.
We're getting away now, sweetheart.
180 in a 75, and we've never felt so alive.
Flying.
Freeing.
Braking.
Being.
Being more than anything we know.
OUT.
Sitting and thinking always seemed to be our existential indulgence.
Those nights we'd fill our lungs with the night.
Breathing in lonliness, exhaling all oppositions.
Those nights are long past and I'm still willing myself back into them.
Just one more night of peace and quiet, one more night of silence.
Those nights, now burnt and crumpled.
They lie like a leaf on the dirty cellar floor.
Go reap your fucking wares, seller boy.
Go work the street for your own enjoyment, you scum.
Go get all you're worth, seller boy.
Fetch your dimepieces.
Fetch your dimebags.
It's all about inconvenient conveniences these days.
Fetch your lies you threw in my face, they're still waiting for you.
Fetch them and take them home to Mother.
I'm sure she'll be proud.
You've always been a man of tens.
Filthy, street-stricken dimes in your pockets.
Ten fingers keeping me calm.
Ten fingers keeping me still.
Ten quivering fingers preaching equality to each.
Ten fingered strangulations in my sleep.
Those nights we'd fill our lungs with the night.
Breathing in lonliness, exhaling all oppositions.
Those nights are long past and I'm still willing myself back into them.
Just one more night of peace and quiet, one more night of silence.
Those nights, now burnt and crumpled.
They lie like a leaf on the dirty cellar floor.
Go reap your fucking wares, seller boy.
Go work the street for your own enjoyment, you scum.
Go get all you're worth, seller boy.
Fetch your dimepieces.
Fetch your dimebags.
It's all about inconvenient conveniences these days.
Fetch your lies you threw in my face, they're still waiting for you.
Fetch them and take them home to Mother.
I'm sure she'll be proud.
You've always been a man of tens.
Filthy, street-stricken dimes in your pockets.
Ten fingers keeping me calm.
Ten fingers keeping me still.
Ten quivering fingers preaching equality to each.
Ten fingered strangulations in my sleep.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Do you remember?
Do you remember sneaking out to play tag at 2 AM
While your dad slept three rooms down the hall?
Do you remember jello bunnies and grass babies?
Do you remember running around all day on the roof?
Standing on the chimney, playing baseball.
Do you remember our tea flowers
That we boiled to death on accident?
Do you remember boys stappling walls
And breaking into windows and locked cabinets
Just for our 'carpe diem' shits and giggles?
Do you remember bike rides three states away?
Do you remember hiding at the park
And just talking for hours about imaginary people?
Do you remember stuffing your cat in a suitcase?
Do you remember nearly burning down your house
With our pink baking soda volcano?
I doubt you remember any of it.
But I do.
While your dad slept three rooms down the hall?
Do you remember jello bunnies and grass babies?
Do you remember running around all day on the roof?
Standing on the chimney, playing baseball.
Do you remember our tea flowers
That we boiled to death on accident?
Do you remember boys stappling walls
And breaking into windows and locked cabinets
Just for our 'carpe diem' shits and giggles?
Do you remember bike rides three states away?
Do you remember hiding at the park
And just talking for hours about imaginary people?
Do you remember stuffing your cat in a suitcase?
Do you remember nearly burning down your house
With our pink baking soda volcano?
I doubt you remember any of it.
But I do.
Friday, May 8, 2009
5/8/09
Tonight has been fantastic.
I went out to the country with Bailey, and rode the ancient tricycles around the barns. Talked to the busdriver, who pulled the bus off the side of the road for a chitchat. Had the best veggie burger known to man, and downed way too much grapefruit juice. I'm soon going to be a re-redhead. If all goes right, it should be a pretty massive change. I'm so fucking stoked, but I'm mildly terrified at the same time. I have no idea how it'll turn out, and I hope Lex's mommy will be willing to get up early and dye me up. Fingers crossed.
I went out to the country with Bailey, and rode the ancient tricycles around the barns. Talked to the busdriver, who pulled the bus off the side of the road for a chitchat. Had the best veggie burger known to man, and downed way too much grapefruit juice. I'm soon going to be a re-redhead. If all goes right, it should be a pretty massive change. I'm so fucking stoked, but I'm mildly terrified at the same time. I have no idea how it'll turn out, and I hope Lex's mommy will be willing to get up early and dye me up. Fingers crossed.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Realize.
I just want to live in a really small apartment, and paint, and write, and work photography, and walk. Walk everywhere, and see everything, and meet everyone. Write books full of testimonies and lessons, and leave them all behind when I'm gone. I just want to find the happiness everyone has. not just my own, but to experience everyone elses also. I want to wake up in the morning like I do for the rest of my life. I want to wake up and just lay there and think about everything, and put everything back into perspective without stress, and without a single care. I don't care if I have nothing but the clothes on my back, as long as I'm tied to nothing except everything that I want. I want to backpack. I want to travel. I want to minister. I just want one person in my life who will stay there and be there when I wake up every morning and just laugh with me for the sake of laughing. Everything else can fall to the side.
5/7/09
Great-Grandma Marie,
I'm so sorry I never took the time to get to know you.
I'm so sorry I took every second with you for granted.
I just know you're smiling down now.
You know I took everything from you that day.
You taught me so much from a casket.
Holding my hand all night, smiling away.
You were so happy to leave me behind.
You knew I'd figure it all out.
You had more faith in me than I will ever have.
I miss you so much.
I wish you could just come back.
I have so much more to ask you.
Everything I never took the time to visit for.
I just want you back on that day at the park.
Do you remember?
Your wheelchair under the tree.
It was such a nice day, Grandma.
Trevor and I looking at those pictures with you.
You were so happy.
You were always happy.
I remember playing with the salt and pepper shakers.
I was your little chef, and you'd buy all my food.
The stories of you living with the gypsies.
The stories of you in your skirt on the porch.
The stories of you, Grandma.
All I have are stories.
I can't wait to meet you at the gates again.
I'm older, Grandma.
I'm smarter, Grandma.
I'm ready Grandma, teach me.
I'm so sorry I never took the time to get to know you.
I'm so sorry I took every second with you for granted.
I just know you're smiling down now.
You know I took everything from you that day.
You taught me so much from a casket.
Holding my hand all night, smiling away.
You were so happy to leave me behind.
You knew I'd figure it all out.
You had more faith in me than I will ever have.
I miss you so much.
I wish you could just come back.
I have so much more to ask you.
Everything I never took the time to visit for.
I just want you back on that day at the park.
Do you remember?
Your wheelchair under the tree.
It was such a nice day, Grandma.
Trevor and I looking at those pictures with you.
You were so happy.
You were always happy.
I remember playing with the salt and pepper shakers.
I was your little chef, and you'd buy all my food.
The stories of you living with the gypsies.
The stories of you in your skirt on the porch.
The stories of you, Grandma.
All I have are stories.
I can't wait to meet you at the gates again.
I'm older, Grandma.
I'm smarter, Grandma.
I'm ready Grandma, teach me.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
5/6/09
I'm not entirely sure why I never post much of anything on here. All I ever do is rant and rave about things, yet I never classify my thoughts into categories and actually share them. I'm going to attempt to start posting atleast one blog every night, regardless of how pointless and superficial they'll probably become.
With that being said, I'll begin on my slow progression of ruining your life with my opinions and complaints. Today was a fairly boring day like all of the rest. I got up late, got around late, got to school later than I'm used to. I'm starting to realize more and more about myself more and more quickly. I used to preach the whole, "wear your pride on the inside, appearances don't matter" thing all the while never really giving myself half of an earful. I've gotten to the point where I just don't care anymore. I really don't. What's clean is clean. What's on my body, is on my body. It's just fabric. It's not me, and it never will be. There is absolutely no point in trying to impress someone with anything outside of myself. I've wasted so much time in the past years trying to perfect my image, trying to become something that I'm not. If I don't wake up in the morning looking like I walked straight out of this month's issue of Vogue, so be it. That's not who I am. I'm through with trying to cover up who I am to be what you want. Call me beautiful, call me ugly, call me whatever the fuck you want. Atleast at the end of the day I'll look in the mirror and see myself, instead of seven layers of foundation, six shades of blush, a truckload of lipstick, and fake eyelashes. Don't give me the whole, "beauty truly is skin deep" schpeel, because I won't buy it. You think your skin's beautiful? Really? Well so do I, so get the shit off of it. That's all for today.
With that being said, I'll begin on my slow progression of ruining your life with my opinions and complaints. Today was a fairly boring day like all of the rest. I got up late, got around late, got to school later than I'm used to. I'm starting to realize more and more about myself more and more quickly. I used to preach the whole, "wear your pride on the inside, appearances don't matter" thing all the while never really giving myself half of an earful. I've gotten to the point where I just don't care anymore. I really don't. What's clean is clean. What's on my body, is on my body. It's just fabric. It's not me, and it never will be. There is absolutely no point in trying to impress someone with anything outside of myself. I've wasted so much time in the past years trying to perfect my image, trying to become something that I'm not. If I don't wake up in the morning looking like I walked straight out of this month's issue of Vogue, so be it. That's not who I am. I'm through with trying to cover up who I am to be what you want. Call me beautiful, call me ugly, call me whatever the fuck you want. Atleast at the end of the day I'll look in the mirror and see myself, instead of seven layers of foundation, six shades of blush, a truckload of lipstick, and fake eyelashes. Don't give me the whole, "beauty truly is skin deep" schpeel, because I won't buy it. You think your skin's beautiful? Really? Well so do I, so get the shit off of it. That's all for today.
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