Thursday, March 5, 2009

Life Is So Quick And Sometimes It Goes Away Too Quickly

It's my favorite time of year, spring. Something about the world changes in March, I'm sure of it. I didn't write in my journal during February and March last year. That's a good thing. It means I wasn't dying.

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Now's a good time to write a song about the people I love. Or have loved. I think so much about love that I don't even know what it is anymore.

This scar is a fleck on your porceline skin, you tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in..

Live through this, and you won't look back.

But we always live through it. What else can we do? What else can we do but raise our tired bodies off the ground and keep living. What else do we do except pick ourselves up and keep moving. Affirmative action. We must always move forward.

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"I love that a list like this always must extend itself, and must exclude, slash. Loving: such a ruthless thing." - Stephen Dunn "Loves"

Movies to buy:
  • Milk
CD's to purchase:
  • Coldplay - Viva La Vida
  • Stars
Things to Do:
  • experience
  • take more pictures
  • write
  • celebrate
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sometimes i dont like punctuation
i like to learn
i never used to care if my friends loved me
but now i do.

If I haven't lived to the fullest it's because I didn't know how.

[if I haven't loved you it's because I didn't know how.]


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I've got
two bags of popcorn and a pack of licorice in my locker. I overindulge when you're away, but my life seems less full. [more empty]. That's the nicest compliment you'll ever get from me and you're not going to read it.

I never used to care if anyone loved me, but now I do. Because I've discovered that I love other people.

I'd like to write a book where the good guy loses. 'Cause sometimes that happens in real life,
you know.

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[Attention: Service is slow on the green line from Angrignon to Lionel-Groulx.]
Attenion: this is the story of my life. A lot of people are angry. I'm kind of waiting for someone to push me into the metro doors as they rush past, so desperate to get to work on time. I wouldn't even mind waiting for the next one, but I too, have some place to go. I haven't panicked or worried. I'm apathetic in fact. This is a sign, I think.

Attention: We are all trying to get somewhere. I already know where I'm going, I already have my routine planned out. Our goal is this: to get from here to there and not break down in between.

Here, to there. There and back again. On s'en fou des autres. Just don't get in my way.

Are you late because of the metro? She asks. Sure, he says. Sure.

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She laughs like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard and I want to punch her in the face, 'cause I hate her, I just hate that dumb bitch.

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Books that have stayed with me:
  • the perks of being a wallflower
  • the neverending story
  • losing forever
and
  • the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy
because it taught me how to fly and that a towel is all I might ever need.
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Sometimes I worry my computer will crash and everything I have will be lost but I still never back up my hard drive. I have a lot of irrational fears, this isn't one of them though. It's irrational because it's never happened to me, but it has happened to a lot of other people therefore making it rational. I read an article about a guy who lost all 500 pictures of his baby son because he forgot to back up his hard drive. I have a lot of pictures and documents I'd be really upset about if I lost them. Kind of like if my house burned down. Sometimes I worry about that. It seems irrational but it happens to people. Just not me, yet. Hopefully never. I think the first thing I would grab if my house was on fire is my laptop. I would probably trip and fall down the stairs though. Such is life. I'm not really nervous about this because I doubt it's going to happen. But I think about it, and I wonder if my house is on fire or if we've been robbed or if I dropped my Obama pin leaving school the other day and I did and I'm sad. I'm sad when something innocent is lost but I don't envy the innocent.

Today I was thinking that I don't have enough stories to tell and that means I should go outside more often or be more sociable or live more on the edge. Then I thought that I don't know how to do that so I should become a recluse and invent stories. But I don't really want to do that. Stories only come in retrospect so maybe by the summer I'll have a story to tell, something to write about. I mean, I've got stories, everyone's got stories. But are my stories worth telling?

Actually, I always knew that this would happen. That coming out of my depression would mean I wouldn't be able to write well anymore, wouldn't be able to find inspiration, would not have that sense of creativity, or artistry. That it would all be bland, really bland, boring, forced. I just never thought I'd come out of my depression.

And I never thought happiness would be so fucking boring. [I must not be happy then.]

"And the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap"

I just want to feel. I never thought I'd say this, but I want to fucking feel something, like the way I did before. I want to feel the way I did, to the extreme, with passion. I want everything to hurt so much that I have to scratch at my skin to try and get to my heart so I can rip it out because it's swelling and it might slide into my stomach at any second. Dear God if you exist never let me settle for anything less than passion. I just want my anger back, burning sadness is better than apathy. Dear God I want to be full of emotion. I want it to hurt.
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I think people misinterpret my body language sometimes. Really, they are just totes off the mark.

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"Oh, the importance of ground
when leaving the ground."
- Stephen Dunn "Loves"

running, returning

So what else do you do besides feel?
Contemplate the unusual and analyse human behavior.

Do you ever get tired of that?
Yes.

What do you do then?
Enter in a scholarly conversation with myself.

Define 'scholarly'.
I was JK.

Do you think talking to yourself makes you crazy?
No.

Do you think there's a point to this?
Maybe. There must be if I keep doing it.

What do you miss most about the past?
My old house.

Why?
It reminds me of flowers, and summer.

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And sometimes when you're on, you're really fucking on.
- Rilo Kiley "A Better Son/Daughter"

2 comments:

laura said...

i know you say you don't want to revisit your old blogs but i like visiting people's pasts and i just wanted to say that i read this and like 12 things you said were how i feel today. thanks.

saint modesto said...

i don't want people to read the posts i'm embarrassed about, but i can't tell you which ones those are because then people would read them. let's be friends.