Wednesday, April 29, 2009

happiness is a warm gun/ soul mates never die.

what is this constant need for need?
this constant want for something, someone to be present, so I can rest my head on their chest,
making plans to change the world, while the world is changing us. The heart sinks at the anticipation of nothing. Of finding you nowhere. These clouds we're seeing, they're explosions in the sky. Turn up the volume, turn it, turn it, turn it up, drown, drown, drown out excess noise. I'm tangled up in happy sounds with sad meanings.
I've decided, I don't really deserve to be happy. Good people deserve to be happy. GOOD people. And I don't fulfill those standards by any means. Who set those standards is not in question right now. I may keep you entertained, amused, excited. But that's it. Before you decide to refute this argument, just stop to think for a second. Everyone has demons in their closets, stuff they've done that they can never ever forgive themselves for. It might be one's triviality, but its another person's nightmare. I've stopped thinking, stopped wanting to achieve a happy medium. They don't exist. I can only hope to stay suspended in this carbon monoxide air, face upwards, waiting for years and people to pass by without a second glance. I am here for a purpose, so to speak.
I really do miss playing the piano.
I can hear stuff in my head and being able to hear it out loud was something very powerful to experience.

Monday, April 27, 2009

sad eyes

We fell asleep floating sideways on a white foam cloud. Sigur Ros turned feelings into sound. Nothing existed outside the wooden door except us. I don't like the things you don't say, and I love the things that you do. My shape contorts into things you want me to be, or maybe I have always been what you wanted? Your body is warm and taut against my shriveling frame, I huddle to share the blanket.

We don't know what will happen, when and why, if at all, but know that around you, I have completely immersed my soul in love.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

you'll speak when you're spoken to.

Friday, April 24, 2009

tats

1. jhanda and sitara
2. urban warfare
3. radiohead bear
4. some kalma in arabic.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

He lost to her ego
Me go, she go.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

you could say the king is dead

I have a Radiohead poster in my room. All five men are standing in a dark room full of damp cardboard boxes, and their eyes are closed. I don't know what exactly they are trying to say but I extend my imagination into thinking 'Well, now. What a good way to shut out the world'.

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed by the colliding thoughts in my head that I can do nothing but cry. And sometimes it makes me glad to know that crying is associated with sadness. There is nothing I can do, to change anything.
So I just sway to my music.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Infinite silence
flowing right in with the dawn
This is wrong, this is wrong
And I cannot sleep without the radio on

i hate rainy days.

I stand on my tiptoes, in open-back slippers, peering into my pantry. I'm standing on the freshly- cleaned counter top, but I don't really care. Right now, my throat feels like it has pins and needles stuck into it, and I am in dire need of a substitute for mother's TLC. There is a debate going on in my head about which soup my stomach desires, is it Minestrone or Rich and Hearty Chicken Pot Pie? Minestrone has a week's worth (ok that's an exaggeration) of veggies and Chicken Pot Pie has...well...chicken. I would want orange juice with Minestrone, and potato bread with CPP, quick calculations lead me to think 'well oj might not be the best idea right now' and 'cpp has diced potatoes in it'. Which one do I choose?
The answer is obvious.
Of course then my mind starts thinking in tangents and it makes me sad how much our lives depend on plasticity and perfectly shaped food products in neat packages with pretty handwriting. The most basic of necessities has been taking over by patriarchal corporate organizations. At the same time I'm thinking 'well if I just let my foot casually slip, I'll fall onto the ground, land on my head, maybe my skull will crack open, and no one will notice cuz my cell phone's upstairs and my roommates aren't home'
Instead I angrily load the dishwasher, stare at the orange going bad and look around to see why I never get flowers sent to me anymore.

Monday, April 13, 2009

she is sure

My lips are the same color as my skin and my hair feels like dry twigs. I feel like if I write down my moodiness in small letters, I could feel more connected to it. Plus I haven't written in a very long time.
Today was a bright gray day. I don't understand how I feel about this fluctuating weather and how its affecting my perception of things and situations around me. All I know is that its mid-April and the sun is not shining in its normal consistency. Also, I think if I tried really hard, I still could not be too monotone all the time. I would have to throw on a splash of red from time to time, I love too much, what exactly, I know not.But I never go around looking for comforts of home. What is home, but a building where certain people live who you are obligated to love.
I have this recurring dream where I have a dress made out of the sea. It is blue and cold and silky, with big holes for arms. It helps me fold you into an embrace and I thank invisible gods for sending you to me. It is poignant and terrible all at once, but at least you're with me.
My final destination.