in the winter of 93'
I wrinkled my nose to the
soft smell of saffron snow
melting on the roof of
my grandparent's house.
Then I fell in.
The river was cold,
and the current's arms were tugging me under,
but I was rescued by my protective father.
in the summer of 96'
I inhaled the sultry
while catching lighting bugs in a jar,
little figures that shined so bright,
and were dead before the morning fell.
And justice, it doesn't exist.
Just random events
that sew together pieces of life,
with hardly visible seams.
I jumped off the wagon
into a pool of instinct;
so, if the poison reaches my blood,
tell them to clear the needle please,
because all of this,
this is all I am.
and all i am is free.
In the dawn of my youth,
i wished to experience death
through rose-tinted glasses,
not the kind I saw in 96',
but a more selfish and relieving kind,
to paint my peaceful bliss,.
I don't want this onion bagel anymore.
I'm convinced that the rest of my life, I will be hanging out with dorks. They seem to be attracted to me for some reason, WHY!?!
Jeff is doing his public speaking speech on atheism in a Christian school. I think that's funny, but he is going to be known as the atheist from now on...
So, how does a girl find decent people to hang out with in a shitty school and a shitty town? eh?
Last night Jeff and I went to Charleston. It was our once a week excursions into the Holy City. I've been doing them for the past couple months and can honestly say that Charleston in getting boring. I thought about how lonely I would be next year if I decide to transfer to CofC; I will walk those uneven streets alone. We didn't go to open mic night, but instead went to the "mini" beach and sat on top of a statue at Marion Square. Jeff is afraid of roaches, so we had to get off. I was explaining to him how strange it was to be alive. I felt like I was looking on the outside in. I was only this organic being trying to survive just like the roach that frightened him. Charleston will always have a place in my heart; I spent part of my childhood there, but sometimes it brings me down. All the hustle and bustle of the city drains me. I feel like everyone there is trying to be something rather than themselves. They're all trying to be artsy. I guess that is why I don't fit in, I don't try to be a part of anything.
This water is much warmer than I remember,
and the building seems smaller among the new
plants covering the skyline where I used to
wonder if it ended, or was a beacon to heaven.
I remember these candles;
beaming their ruby red glaze through the back hall.
I recall seeing the priest raise his hands
and his ornate sleeves would fall,
and he would speak of a metaphorical process
which I now recount as cannibalism.
And I would sit in the pews with my hands underneath the wooden bars,
pretending I was a prisoner in God's lustrous jaws.
I hated the way I couldn't stay seated,
but enjoyed the choir in their black robes
singing praises about Eden, that echoed through the empty halls.
I suppose the general impulse of people drags behind me every day. I no longer feel I can have curt conversations about the weather or the style of one's own shirt. I read much about the people who devote their time to some pursuit; I know a few. Maybe they are not happy, maybe they are driven by some compulsion or obsession to do those things. And maybe I fall somewhere between them too. Maybe I wish not to. Either way, it doesn't matter much. I will continue to be dragged along.
Why am I so disappointed in people's lackluster cares and ignorance of things? Why does it matter? It is rather sad that most do not believe the scientific theories. It is sad we stick to our old beliefs because we're too afraid to let go. It is sad that the majority of people hold their hands up to the sky as if something will answer them.
Words are just concepts. That is all there is, and all there will ever be.
I am content with the concepts. In fact, they make me tremendously joyful. I am enthralled at the idea that I can even have thoughts, but amazed at the fact that I, just like every other living creature, am just an organic being trying to survive.
There is something magical in that idea, though it keeps me up at night.
Why do people thank God for curing their child's cancer? Was it not he who gave it to him in the first place? Was it not modern science that saved him? Why give credit to God when doctors and scientists have spent their lives in order to save people? We complain of the pretentious stoic doctors who are over-paid and don't talk to their patients, but they are the ones we should be thanking.
The progression of human intelligence is an amazing thing. I think about the other things we cannot even fathom because we are simply not smart enough. Is there some kind of barrier that says "this is how far our brains can go?"
If color is merely a perception, maybe reality is too. Maybe a schizophrenic's reality is just as real as the average person's.
Today I may talk to my anthropology professor about my synesthesia. He is a world renowned synesthesia expert--lucky me!
America, let me sing my songs
like children's hymns
and collared nuns
in tin-canned domes.
Cater my needs,
my health, my freedom.
I promise I won't
walk on your
or gold-plated sidewalks.
Violin player, your music does not heal.
I saw the crumpled up dollar bills,
thrown into your case
like the way boys throw paper balls
eerie buzzing sounds,
I wonder, is this reality
mashed up with dreams
and extra worries?
Talking with Lucy,
she told me,
in unlikely places
on the floor,
in the mirror, in my eyes.
That night should not have ended.
Now, silence protrudes itself
And I want out of this college city.
this god damn hilbilly town.
Magic airplane, take me to