my mom tried to kill herself last night.

maybe everything that falls down eventually rises

when i close my eyes all i see are dried up flowers and cold crashing waves
every sound is amplified and leaves echos ringing in my ears in my ears in my ears

you were laughing with me earlier and i wanted to write you a song or a poem or a story about dying our hair in a motel bathroom with shoplifted colors

and about five dollar lipstick

and your 1 am cigarettes

and drunken kisses that are sweeter than the purest hit, the purest hit, the purest...

but you aren't here now, and i'm trying to recall the way your eyes look in the murky morning light

and the way you cut your own hair with the kitchen scissors

and the curve of your hips as they shook along to the radio

and words keep bubbling up, but i can't put them in order

battery acid, midnight, corporeal, shimmering, laughter, lonely, longing, looking, star light, star bright, first star i see tonight tonight tonight tonight

wishes for kisses for wishes for something

and i'm trying to make a mixtape just to keep my thoughts in order

but it isn't coming out right because i don't have that song from that movie that i love

the one by Blondie or the Nerves or Flowers Forever forever forever forever

don't leave me hangin' on the telephone

don't leave me hangin' on the telephone

i can never understand what's going on around me. there are all these noises and pictures and i can't tell the difference between what i see and what you see and it's loud and chaotic and everything's happening all at once and i can't deal with it anymore and i don't know what's going on. i can't tell what things actually look like or sound like because the world is always changing and i just. don't. know.

but i always see you. and i always hear you. you are warm, and constant, and you show your feelings on your face so that i can see them. most of the bad things go away when you're near me, and i just want to hold your hand.

it doesn't have to be in a romantic way. i don't ever want to make you angry or uncomfortable, i just can't handle what's happening to me, and i want something stable to hold on to, and i know that your hand won't twist into claws beneath mine.

and if it does, it's okay if you hurt me.

i don't think i'd mind.

i am full of peace.

sometimes i get terrified for no particular reason. my heart pounds and my chest feels tight and i can't breathe right and adrenaline courses through my veins. and whenever this happens, i get this feeling in my gut that tells me to scream. something tells me that i should scream hard and loud, that i should rip my vocal chords apart with this scream. my gut says it will help. my mind says that it won't, though. so i don't. instead i bite my tongue and concentrate on my breathing and work. i write or draw or sing or clean or fold or organize or recite poetry from memory until i feel calm enough to stop. i spent the past two hours folding and singing to myself. it's 3:10 in the morning. i'm writing because it feels like there are words banging around in my body, bouncing off of my bones and circling my ribcage, and if i don't get them out, all they will do is give me bad dreams. i can't find the words though. they are there, but i just can't make them out.

i have recently gotten into a band called Perfect Pussy. they have a song called "I" and near the endo of it, the lead singer just keeps on repeating

i am full of light.
i am full of light. 
i am full of light. 
i am full of light. 
i am filled with joy. 
i am filled with joy. 
i am filled with joy.
i am filled with joy. 
i am full of peace. 
i am full of peace. 
i am full of peace.
i am full of peace.
i am full of peace.
i had this dream that i forgave my enemies.

i find that if i repeat this to myself before i sleep, my dreams are not so grim. 

it was very warm today in California. 

xoxo

all in a week's work.

my feet are covered in bandages
my knees are mottled purple and yellow and green from bruises new and old
my thighs ache from over use

there are deep circles under my eyes that are purple around the edges
the nail polish i applied the other day in a fit of boredom is pink and sparkly and chipped
my knuckles look strange in this light
scarred and bruised and knobbly

what remains of my eyeliner is smudged up to all hell
my stomach hurts
it's so fucking quiet tonight

earlier i got angry
i swilled coca cola like whiskey
paced a divot into my carpet
and drew until ink and graphite stained my fingertips
and my heart felt like it would burst.

and now i want to be angry
like i so often am
but i just don't have the energy to feel much at all

i am fucking sick of the world we live in. i am sick of this fucking 50's mentality of what womanhood should be, i am sick of the people who surround me, i am fucking sick of it all. i am fucking sick of the fact that because of my genitals, anything i say can be written off as the ravings of a mad woman. i am sick of being helpless, being pushed down, muted, put on hold. i fucking hate that no matter what i do or what i say on here, i'm just screaming into the faceless void of the internet and hoping that what i hear is something more than the echo of my own voice. i hate that i don't change anything, i hate that the world is not on my side, and i hate that all the same i will scream until my voice is hoarse and my lungs give out and i will bang my fists against the table until they bruise and bleed to try and be heard. i fucking hate that i will die before i quit because there is an optimist inside of me that refuses to give up hope that maybe one day, someone will scream back.

there's just something about the stars tonight
that i can't put my finger on
i'll chase and chase it while it flits away
as soon as i touch it, it's gone

there's just something about the stars tonight
that's making me feel awful sad
it's rhyme without reason, it blooms out of season
it's enough to make someone go mad

there's just something about the stars tonight
that's making the sky seem so blue
there's just something about the stars tonight
and it somehow reminds me of you.

i wanna sing one for the cars that are right now headed silent towards the highway, abd it's dark, and there is nobody driving, and something has got to give.

so yesterday i went to my first ever proper gig. it was the Mountain Goats playing at Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco, and it was fucking awesome. it wasn't a really big venue, and all the people there were fans and it just had this sense of... camaraderie. there's just something about being smushed into a small space with a hundred other people, all in varying states of intoxication, and all singing the lyrics to the same song. i don't know what it is, but i definitely like it.

and right now, it's 2:06 in the morning and in the small amount of light coming from my screen, i can still see the fading X's of sobriety on the backs of my hands. and nobody else in the house is awake. and i can hear the cars speeding towards the never-ending Somewhere on the highway. the crickets are chirping, but never as happily as they once did. the moon is waning, the clocks tick on, and it is a very, very big universe we live in.

the night is warm in California.

xoxo

for those who think this is going to be entertaining, fuck off.

so more and more often lately, i've been avoiding writing about things that happen in my life because i'm afraid that you won't want to hear about my sad, depressing emo rambles. i have also come to the conclusion that this is faintly ridiculous. if you don't want to read my sad, depressing emo rambles, then fuck off. seriously. you are completely delusional if you think this blog is about anything other than me. i write what i want to write, you can read if you want to read. if you don't, then don't because i could honestly not give a flying fuck on a stick. this isn't about you. none of this is about you. this blog is a completely selfish, whiny, bitchy, depressing, piece of shit. you are here purely of your own free will. this is the textual equivalent of you sitting in while i ramble enthusiastically at a wall. you can leave at anytime, ridiculing or insulting me will do nothing, and you can do whatever the fuck you want because you know what? i am going to ramble at my fucking wall and nothing you can do will stop me. you want to be entertained? fuck off. you think i'm awful for not entertaining you? fuck off and die. i am a selfish fucking bitch, go find your own goddam wall. you need it.

diddly bobbity diddly doo
i fucked your dad in the ass 'till 2

boppity poppity diddly dee
eat shit.

love,
Frank.

yeah i'm double-blogging it.

so i did some research (read: freaked out and texted my therapist) and apparently not being able to focus is a symptom of depression.

cuz i don't have enough of those already. woo! everything feels like shit! i can't sleep! i want to die! and i can't even do my homework!

woo fucking hoo.

anywho, my psycho therapist thinks i'm hallucinating. more specifically, she thinks i'm hallucinating due to combined lack of sleep and high anxiety.

i'm not hallucinating.

i know that other people can't normally see what i see or hear what i hear, but i'm not hallucinating. nobody sees the world through the same pair of eyes, everything is different. some see more some see less some see things other people can't some people refuse to see anything beyond their noses. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not fucking crazy.

today i was talking about anger and rage and somebody spoke up and said

what are you even raging against?

but that's not the point. sometimes you don't need anything to rage against, you just need to rage. you need to riot, you need to make a scene, and you need to find your passion(s). and you need to scream something, even if it's just "i have something to say."
yell
scream
swear
punch shit
rage.
and never say it's not your problem. because the future is always going to be there and somebody you love is gonna be right there with it.

so fucking rage while you're still angry.

i feel... weird. it's like my head is full of static. everything's jumping from one thing to the next and i just can't focus. i'm tired and i'm jittery and i keep getting distracted. everything is everywhere and i feel both panicky and deathly calm. i just don't know.

i don't know i don't know i don't know and it's really freaking me out.

i know i made a post really recently, but i'm making another one. it's 9:45 pm and i went to bed an hour ago out of pure boredom. i've got my window open because it's been raining and i can't stand not hearing the rain when it's happening. it smells like... i don't even know what. rain and dirt and that smell that asphalt gives off when it's wet and green growing things. it's dark outside. but anyway, it's one of those nights that keeps reminding me of things out of the blue. books i've read and poetry and the way the smell of cigarette smoke lingers in your nostrils and clings to clothing. i know i shouldn't romanticize cigarettes so much, but i like the way they smell, okay? and it's not like i can actually smoke them anyway. my shitty fucking lungs would pitch a fit. and i wish somebody was here. not just over the internet or on the phone, but a person i can look at and talk with and tell all the things that pop into my head that make no sense. i just want a friend.

daffodils, Lyn-Z, the void, reversal of fortune

sooooooooo...

hi. not dead. sick, tired, not dead.

went to England! and Scotland!

here is what i learned:

• i have a really really bad sense of direction
• traveling is a great lesson in how not to give a shit what others think of you
• always pack extra meds
• make sure to get a roommate whom you don't loathe.
• Doc Martins are excellent shoes for traveling (provided you have sufficient sock coverage)
• be prepared for 80% of the people you meet to hate you on sight
• the British love daffodils.

the daffodil thing is really amazing, though. seriously, they just grow everywhere. in parks, by statue, at the side of the road, these bright yellow splotches of color, stark against the somewhat muted background caused by years of stormy weather and smog.

on a different note, i want to be Lyn-Z Way when i grow up. (holyfuckshe'ssofuckingcoollikehawdoesanybodylikeheractuallyexistgaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh)

on a different different note, i am really, really sick. again. fuck. i feel like my brownie is about to mutiny. stay down, you delicious bastard.

it's recently occurred to me that there has never been anybody i could completely share with. well, except here, but i can only say as much as i do here because i can pretend nobody's listening. it sounds bad, i know, but this doesn't feel like talking to anyone. this is just a shout into the void, 1's and 0's that get hurled into the ever-expanding network of people all trying to shout their bit the loudest. someone could hear me, but most people look right past. it's like screaming off a rooftop. your average passerby is just too used to the noise to notice one little addition.

oh fuck.

the brownie mutinied.

not nearly as good the second time around.

fuck this.

i'm going to bed.

it's raining again. i don't know if you have figured it out by now, but i love the rain. i love how every color stands bright and new in stark contrast to the sky, and how the clouds lay low and thick like a big blanket, closing off the world. i've missed it.

in my room in The Old House, i could hear every drop of rain on the roof. it would pitter-patter against my window and slap onto the concrete outside, plinking into deep puddles with floating islands of leaves and wisteria flowers. at night i could close my eyes and hear the gurgle of water in the rain pipes. now everything is insulated and i can barely hear anything over the tick-tocking of the clocks in my room. the only way i can sleep is if i open the window and listen to the staccato of the rain beyond the overhang of the roof.

i used to be neighbors with my best friend, and every day we would walk our dogs to a park about a half mile away. one time in particular stands out in my memory. it was a few weeks before i moved away, and we were trying to make the best of the time. we walked to the park like any other day, and when we got there we ate carrots that my friend had brought in a sandwich bag and hid out in the play structure. it was one of those days when summer is just around the corner and a promise of rain makes the air muggy and muted. we traded stories and whispered secrets and just talked for hours about nothing and everything and nothing again. when the sky started to darken and the time came to leave, it started to rain. just a soft drizzle at first, but it quickly grew into a raging storm with winds that made leaves dance in the air and our hair whip in and out of our faces. we ran down the streets laughing and screaming and dancing like lunatics, like wild women, drunk and elated. people always say that teenagers think they are invincible, but that was the only time i ever thought that was true. skipping down the street with wet hair throwing itself about like a living thing and my laughter being snatched away by the wind, that was the only time i felt like the world could do what it wanted and it still couldn't break me.

there are about 500 things i should be doing right now, but i just can't. i have spent today in various states of hysteria ranging from mild to having to frantically root through my backpack to get to my inhaler because i cried so hard i got an asthma attack and my hands are shaking too hard to hold a pen and i can't stop crying and i am freaking out like freaked out fucking freak and i really really don't want to be alive.

so i'm drinking cocoa while craving coffee and wanting something one hell of a whole lot stronger than the both of them. ladies and gentlemen of the school board, i present to you the product of all your hard work. see? you are making a difference.

once upon a time, there was a man who felt nothing.

this man's name is not important, you do not need to know what he looked like or how his voice sounded, just that he felt nothing.

he did not feel the wind that whipped against his cheeks or the sun that beat down on his back or the blisters that bloomed on his hands and feet, only to be hardened into callouses. he did not feel the happiness of the salty smell of the air, or the exquisite sadness of the sea. he did not feel a thing. the touch of another hand was foreign, the gaze of someone's eye was but a distant memory. he was alone. and he felt nothing.

one day, he met another man who was alone. he met a man with golden eyes and a wide smile, and something inside him changed. he started to feel the rough wood against his skin, and the way the water would sting. his cheeks would hurt from smiles that would never end, and his chest would fill up, as if the sea itself was flooding into his heart. he did not have words to give names to what he was feeling, but his golden-eyed man gave him one that he accepted with glee.

Love.

this word fit like a glove on everything that strummed over the man's heartstrings. the feel of someone's hand in his was Love. the shrill cry of the gulls was Love. the clouds and the sun and the wood and the pain and the smiles and the stars were all Love.

and he was Love.

and they were Love.

and days would pass and nights would pass and the golden-eyed man changed every day. his hair grew white, and fine lines appeared and grew around his eyes and his smile. and then he was gone.

and the man was alone.

and the man still felt the wind and the sun and the sea and the sand, but the world was no longer Love. and the man wanted more and the man wanted nothing and the man wanted his golden eyes and the man wished they had never been there at all.

but he got none of these.

and time grew, and the man tried to feel nothing again. and he succeeded.

and the man felt nothing.

nothing except for his dreams of golden eyes and wide smiles and memories of when the world was made of Love.