| I said I don't kiss losers and I don't kiss winners |
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The world that made us can no longer contain us
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[28 Aug 2007|12:57pm] |
The Spill Canvas- Self-Conclusion
Minus the Bear- Drilling
The Arcade Fire- Neighborhood #3(Power Out)
The Get Up Kids- I'll Catch You
Welcome to my survival method.
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[25 Aug 2007|12:50am] |
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"Excuse me sir, I had plans to die tonight. You are directly in my way, and I bet you're going to say it's not right."
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[22 Aug 2007|08:41pm] |
I’ve become something I’m no longer familiar with. I write sentence after sentence in hopes of getting myself out of my system, but instead I stare at the words I write until they become monsters, blurred shapes that suddenly don’t seem spelled the right way. Eventually I have to look up words like “eventually,” only to realize I turned it into a monster all on my own. That’s what I’m doing. Taking whatever this is and putting it on paper only to hate it all the more. Maybe that’s what writing always is. Maybe that’s why I throw away everything eventually. Maybe that’s why I overuse the word “eventually.”
I get out of bed in the morning and I’m hit with a barrage of realizations that I only minutes earlier was blissfully ignorant of. It’s pretty bad when that happens. You know the feeling. You can barely fall asleep because you’re tearing yourself to pieces, you’re breaking yourself down, you’re deconstructing ideas, facts, dreams, fears, all of which are seeming more and more like something urgently pressing you to do something, but you still don’t know what exactly. Everything suddenly seems dramatic and important. You remember the first time you skinned your knee. You fell off your bike, the blood trickling down your bony little leg into a shocking little red pool by your ankle that threatens to spill if you don‘t stop the bleeding soon enough. You look at it in shock because there you are, no longer whole. A piece of you collided with the sidewalk and is no longer there. It’s fucking frightening as hell. You know you have to cry, you have to start screaming your little lungs out there, just to start a commotion. You just do. It’s natural for you to do so. But before you do, you reach down and touch the blood, simultaneously sickened and fascinated with it’s presence. You’re five years old, realizing how much you can hurt from something you did to yourself.
This memory suddenly strikes you with hidden meanings, you psychologically tear it apart into an explanation for the way you are now. It all makes sense. There’s something in this restless, sweat soaked sheets kind of night that metamorphosis’s everything into having more meaning. Suddenly you’ve thought yourself into so many damn situations that even the hypochondriac is falling asleep within you. The dramatics are over. You’re asleep. For that period of time, you’ve escaped. You’re ignorant, innocent, and safe from the reality that was deteriorating your brain cells, if only for a while. It’s the morning that hurts like fuck. You wake up, still caught in the sticky web of the groggy dreams you were hiding in. You only get approximately one minute until it’s over, and you don’t recover.
I have hangovers even on the gradually dwindling amount of morning that I’m not actually pulling myself out of an alcohol induced stupor. Waking up is the most difficult part of my day. Getting out of bed somehow loses its attraction when all the reasons you put yourself there to begin with start piling up. I can’t convince myself it’s worth it. Transitions are what ruin me. There’s something in that, something I haven’t quite derived into actual reasoning yet.
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[21 Aug 2007|09:08am] |
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It's the end of the world
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[12 Aug 2007|01:55pm] |
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Ostriches bury their heads in the ground, probably because they are fed up with their surroundings. I wonder if I could pull that off.
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[01 Aug 2007|02:37pm] |
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I like to think that my pets have a much greater knowledge then they feel like letting us become aware of. One day my cat will look at me and say, “you piece of shit.” I can see it all in their faces. They know, but they would rather stay silent and aware while we stupidly repeat our mistakes and scream and break our hearts right in front of them.
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[20 Jul 2007|10:57am] |
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There are thirteen definitions of the word "promise," and none of them include anything about being optional or have the choice of being taken back.
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[04 Jul 2007|12:01pm] |
I saw fireworks from the plane and thought about how funny it is that fireworks seem so big and majestic to us when we're sitting in grass, but from a plane they look like little sparks from a tiny explosion. I wish I was a firefly.
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[25 Jun 2007|08:44pm] |
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Birds have it so easy, they just pick up their wings and fly.
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[22 Jun 2007|03:38am] |
It’s 3:42 in the morning and this is weighing on me so much I feel like I will never sleep again. I’m scared because sometimes when my pen moves and my hands think I’m writing, I feel myself lose it completely. I choke myself on the same metaphors, the same stupid bullshit, the same I really don’t know how to write at all, but something somehow made me think I once could.
I have always been envious of people who try to be positive, they make a continuous effort to always be happy and ok and nice. They really have that ability, to be happy 80% of the time. Some call it docility, I call it serenity. I want that and I want to not think anymore. Thinking is a function that should be able to be turned on and off. I think and think until I dig myself into a hole that has no way out except one that is much too steep and difficult to even try to escape.
Maybe there’s a point hidden in the fact that whenever I reread something I write I hate it and throw it away. My brain and heart have lost connection.
The numbers on the microwave clock waver and tremble, but never change.
It’s just so hard living life wondering if you’re doing something right. Some people think that’s the essence of life, to me it keeps me up all night and whispers in my deaf ears that it's time to give up.
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[01 Jun 2007|01:11am] |
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Nobody's family is going to change.
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[05 May 2007|02:32am] |
Word up to the 7-eleven on Boylston Street where shootings happen on Friday, May 5th and people named Hannah Neale and David Itri get to hang out at and drive through it at one in the morning.
Word up to the cab drivers who are always on their phones and yelling things in what really doesn't sound like Spanish but you know it has to be.
Word up to the Asians that you will ALWAYS see in Harvard taking pictures.
Word up to the fucking faggots who flock outside of Newbury Comics so they can feel self actualized and confirmed.
Congratulations, America, you have once again failed to see the deeper elements of everything and that sometimes, although it may be hard to see it with your narrow vision and politically correct eyes, there is more than just one side to everything.
Peter Parker and Harry Osbourne must be gay because they are such good friends. HOMOS. (If you don't point out that they are SO GAY then you will seem like you might be gay also, so make sure you point this out when you go see it.)
Definitely don't forget to laugh at Peter when he cries, as his best friend lays dying in his arms, just because his face looks funny. I bet you look good when you cry. I bet you wouldn't cry when your best friend died, either. YOU MIGHT BE A PUSSY.
If you don't read Spiderman comics, you will not like Spiderman 3. There will be nothing that interests you and all you will get is that Peter and Harry are coming out of the closet together and can't admit it to MJ and that Peter is a big pussy. SPIDERMAN IS TURNING INTO A PUSSY. And why are there more then one "bad dudes" in this movie?? This sand guy is like so lame.
No one understands this. If you do for whatever reason, congratulations.
I admit that the scenes with hardcore sXe badass Peter dancing around and playing piano in a jazz bar are a little overdone, the ending didn't do it justice, and it needed more Venom.
BUT COME ON. PETER IS BATTLING THE DUAL NATURE OF HIS SOUL. HARRY IS TORN BETWEEN AVENGING HIS DEAD FATHER AND HIS MIXED FEELINGS OF HATRED AND LOYALTY TOWARDS HIS BEST FRIEND. MARY JANE...HAS A NICE RACK.
And Bruce Campbell and Stan Lee?
Whatever though. What is symbolism to the movie watchers of America?
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[30 Apr 2007|03:09pm] |
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The thing that occurred is that you were ice cold and my body was too warm. I stuck myself to you and our skin fused. By fused I don't mean anything nice or pretty. Little by little I've been peeling myself away. This is too painful. Jesus Christ this is so painful. Remember when you were little and you'd stick your tongue to an ice cube in the freezer and it would hurt like hell to pull it off? I have to grow new skin now. Thanks. I hate you for that. My old skin was nice and smooth and this new skin is patchy wounds and aching bones that poke through and give me away. I'm almost whole again but your eyes and half smile are like the repercussions of this sickness and they sneak back into my system. The worst is your voice. Your voice absolutely tears me down and even as the tallest person in the world I am suddenly two feet tall. We are friends only as enemies can be. I hope you read this and think I'm trying desperately to make you feel something when what I want when I write like this is to desperately feel nothing. You are the protagonist and I am the antagonist. This is a tragedy we are acting in. I spew metaphors and clumsy personifications. I hate that you inspire me like this. I am so motivated to write and write and write these words that flow more through me than my blood does, like a capillary hint of humanity left in me. Are we human? Are you? My pen. My paper. We wage this war between us.
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[12 Apr 2007|11:09am] |
I need to quit my job. I need to quit my job. I need to quit my job.
All this is doing is making me realize is that school is more important right now because I don't EVER WANT TO BECOME like these people who have to go to this job and whose lives depend on it and there is nothing else for them. Blockbuster is number 2 in the district!!! YEAH! You do realize it's Blockbuster, right? A movie store?
Would you like to sign up for our online membership? It's free for two weeks and then you can cancel it free of charge. Would you? Would you? Would you? Also just to let you know you can sign up for our Rewards program for just 5 extra dollars and get free movies with any new releases. Oh and soda is two for 2 dollars.
I can never ever have a job like this again. This is the lowest I've sunk and my classes are being affected because of it. Wake up, Hannah.
I'd rather be dirt poor than live like this.
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[12 Apr 2007|01:18am] |
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The cure for homelessness is clearly to go outside and sleep on our campus. That should really wake people up to the reality that homeless people face daily. A bunch of college kids laying underneath a tarp with sleeping bags to promote awareness of homelessness. I'll tell you what promotes awareness. When I'm walking home from work on the coldest nights of the year thinking about how I want to be in my room and I see people sleeping on the sidewalk. Or when I have a conversation with a homeless person and actually realize how nice they are. NOT a bunch of shitheads who will be trashed at this time tomorrow night sleeping on my campus with a bathroom and food two feet away from them, trying to get extra credit. I'm embarrassed to be a part of my school.
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[04 Apr 2007|12:37am] |
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I really don't know how this happened but I have some kind of weird date with AJ Edwards this weekend. I'm pretty cool I guess, but he like, has a cd out. I don't know if I'm excited or just extremely pessimistic.
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| NH Appreciation Post |
[18 Mar 2007|11:37pm] |
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I cried really hard last night and it felt really good. Today I drove across new hampshire with the people who mean the most to me and laughed so hard my stomach muscles hurt. It was a perfect vacation.
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[20 Feb 2007|12:15pm] |
I have this dream where I'm not in college anymore and I live in an apartment with cats and a warm bed and a big window looking over the city and I wake up and write all day long. I have a job but my real job is getting everything out of my head and onto paper. My bed is queen sized with lots of blankets and it's on the floor next to the window and my refrigerator has lots of odwalla juice in it and letter magnets on the outside of it that I change everyday. And I have a piano and I practice it as often as I want and whenever my want. My mom doesn't know about it. I have a drawer full of RSVP Pentel pens and the kind of notebooks that don't rip before you tear the pages out. And glow in the dark stars on my ceiling that form actual constellations in the real sky. A big fish tank with fish as diverse as the people in the city. And a fuzzy rug next to my bed so when I get up the floor isn't so cold on my feet that I get back into bed. And I want to get up and make french vanilla coffee and heart shaped pancakes and write and play piano and watch as many movies as possible all night.
And somehow I know in the real world it's not that simple.
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[18 Feb 2007|05:19pm] |
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Somehow I just survived an eight hour shift with three hours of sleep or maybe less than that, who knows. My feet hurt and my back hurts and I just want to disappear. It's all made up for by last night though. I miss you already.
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