took a study break. enjoy!

Three Songs. Get Ready

from www.viddyou.com posted with vodpod

viddyou

Life has been too complicated to almost write about.

The life of an undergrad during finals, I guess.

I have a video blog account here

If you sign-up and I have had some form of contact with you (say, through RBJ for example), I’ll friend ya and you’ll be all caught up with the craziness…

post when I have time!

the ‘right’ time

sometimes you have to go for it. go for the opportunity and to hell with the consequences because if you constantly wait for the ‘right’ time, it will pass you by. It will be gone without you even recognizing it was there.
And this sense of impending freedom, impending endings is rather inevitable. I know it. He doesn’t. And it’s the most painful thought to ruminate on. Why is it all on me? Where is he in this equation that considers us both as variables? Empty. An empty wine bottle that was well-aged and drunk. Now hungover.

I compared it almost harshly to a mole that has been there all your life. My sister has one of these. It’s never caused her any harm. It hasn’t even looked that malignant, but the doctor is concerned with its size. He wants her to remove it, has for years. She hasn’t gone through the procedure yet, because it’s there, but not doing anything. Yet. Do I remove a seemingly harmless mole because of the potential it has to hurt me, because I can project that hurt into the future and see the possibility of a lifetime shelved with hidden resentment, or do I leave it because it has always been a part of me?

I was going over the hits from my visitor counter and here are countries and states that people have clicked on in from:

New Zealand, Australia, Philippines, Malaysia, Pakistan, Germany, France, Canada, US- New York, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Iowa, Colorado, Minnesota, and California.

Thank you, world.

dead betta

Did I kill his pet fish? I was dreaming the other night and there it was, swimming in one of those small carnival-sized bowls with slightly grungy water. Caesar, so named because he goes into convulsions / seizures like the Roman dictator supposedly did, was not in his larger bowl with the luxurious fake plant and translucent blue, flat marbles. My dead betta, Xavier, was there too, in an equally filthy bowl, although in life he had enjoyed a similar set-up in a gallon tank with red marbles and matching decor.

I remember muttering, “Ugh, if the water isn’t changed soon, these fish are going to die.” His fish was over three years old, but I still feel somehow responsible. I’m aware that my guilt is nonsense, but it’s still there.

M is for my

mind-soul mate, the man I talk to about everything. My confidante, who is planning to move across the country (why do those closest, those I love the most, always leap far over the opposite end of the Mississippi?) and how he smirks when I ask him a question or answer in response to one of his dead on. I have never been so enraptured by someone I was not romantically involved with. I have never felt so mutually understood.
We know each other very well. I will miss his presence on campus immensely, but sometimes these sacrifices, these instances of ‘growing up’ are needed. Their effects are unavoidable, and the changes wrought from them are not necessarily bad, but merely different.

working it out

the afternoon started out sunny, but it soon gave way to clouds and an overcast that emphasized the winds flowing in curling tunnels through the neighborhood. I was wearing the most comfortable outfit my closet held in its possession - a brown peasant top with cream-colored delicate patterns traced along the neckline, of billowing, thin, light material and an equally brown, equally billowing skirt adorned with gold sequins at the hem. As I walked downhill, the wind blew against me, affording me enough time to hold my skirt down as cars raced passed, one almost slowing to see if the wind would give the edge of it a lift and the perverse driver an unwarranted view, but luck was on my side and I remained clothed.

Something kept pervading my thoughts yesterday, something foreboding and downright depressing, but I could not recall it into clarity or understand it any more than this intruding feeling that preoccupied the mind and prevented action. The Internet died around 10 pm, and instead of carrying myself to the library, I avoided the dark alleyways in between, the horrible stench of the garbage in the back lot that was left for Monday morning and the eerie structures of the half-completed dormitory hall that would have cast shadows all over my wary frame. I lugged my laptop, poolstick, and poolball set down to the lonely, dim room, with its scent machine pumping out fragrant, factory-produced cinnamon every ten minutes in an audible “shhhhhish!”ing noise. I racked and broke at least ten games, opposing myself and winning, losing and resetting shots until I perfected strange angles and evaded striped obstacles. I created a playlist and twirled around the room with the stick as my partner, as my baton, in between shots and sang in what was undoubtedly an off-key, on-key melodious crooning similar to that of a mournful siren, beckoning, but hating itself for its victim’s answering plight.

I impressed myself with shots that looked planned, but weren’t. I cursed myself for shots that were planned, but missed, or were too easy to miss, but were not successful anyway. I played 9-ball to strengthen those mishaps. I wondered what the security guard was thinking, watching me play pool alone for three hours until 2 in the morning. I waved to residents outside through the translucent window and closed it to prevent the draft from making my hands shiver too much. I made eight shots in a row. I tried to jump the cue, but failed three times, and once caused it to careen off the table entirely. I played Iron Maiden, Trapt, SOAD, and Gym Class Heroes.

I bought a Three Musketeers bar when it was all over, my arm muscles aching, the junction between my left index finger and thumb blackened from the fiberglass cue stick, covered over in blue chalk to prevent excessive chafing, and froze it in my dorm freezer to eat in increments throughout the week when these thoughts will surely take over me once more.

astronomy blues

Been awhile since I’ve been alive, but these are some poems/rhymes that are in my notes from astronomy -

“I haven’t thought about this / in so long, a dream that has / no excuse or meaning / this poem makes no sense / but Astronomy sucks / It is as comprehensible as prof’s accent / I feel like a jerk / but I can’t understand him / *BOOM* / $1,800 wasted. / gone.

 

He smiles / and I burn / a deep searing / I do not wear / his collar / this tiger eye pendant / swiping across / my pulsepoint / with each / certain / step / towards the altar / of denial / a white veil / pristine lace / not yet there / covering the sinful / allure, / ’seductive’ hair / is crushed against / my flesh / I awake. / He smiles. / I burn / Deep.

He said his eyes are ’startling blue’  / people question him / asking, “Do you wear / colored contacts?” / The right corner / of his lips / crease into a lopsided / smile filled / with lies, / but his eyes / are natural.

He smiles lies at me / and I take them in. / No reflective light / about the way / He seems to sit so / close and my / body leans / like a strung bow / taut and similar / to the frame / of a harp / with a quickened / strumming / from plucking its sweet / voice / buried in its shape, / in my being. / Breathe in. / Breathe out. / Breathe easy / without being easy. / These suppressed / gasps of traitorous / lust crevasses / the waves of our silence / in a constant flailing. / This falling and spiking / dynamic / of curious want, / of straining need / is struck by my faithful / retreat.

 

“The moon is completely dead” / and somehow it seems lonely / to think no man is smiling / down on me, / but maybe that’s positive / to have something / fallible / stripped away from myth. / Why should he smile / a mortal expression, / this dead celestial body, / stuck on one course, / this endless rotation. / Spinning, / lapsing into phases / every “Now!” / and every “Then,” / a lunar eclipse may hit, / but don’t give me / yourself. / Do you realize, “You are much too far away / to provide anything else”?

 His leg brazenly traipses over mine / We sit in separate chairs, / but share footspace on the bed / and he stares - / It could be this easy / to make that jump / y’know / onto each other / into each other / with one another / No. / Let’s yawn together, / sit side-by-side / and share laughter / Let’s feel the full / weight of touching / shoulders / and fight fatigue / together. / Let’s play / platonic friends. / Dark begins to / ease to light / and he says, “Well, guess I’ll go home” / because I’m not offering the empty space / between my promises / and nearly married hand. / We stare while he ties / his shoelaces, / smiles dryly, / his mouth a stern line / of mingled disappointment, / but cradling / determination / like Johnny Cash / after each “No!” from June. / “You’ll see”, / speaks his smile / caresses his eyes / “Someday, / in some way, / you will be mine.” / I shudder / at this realization, / guilt creeping / snakes coiled / in my gut, / the only feeling / a woman has / when coveted / by a handsome neighbor.

 

 

Not bad for a 55 minute class.

news!

I recently got a clitoral piercing at this tattooist/piercing gig down in Greenwich Village. I was extremely nervous, but my boyfriend supported me through the entire thing, as jealous as he was at having someone manhandling me down there with a needle. I’ve asked around for awhile about this, as it’s been something my friends and I have always joked about doing, and many people seem to get sexual pleasure from having their nether bits pierced. However, it wasn’t quite as fun for me, but at least I didn’t flinch. Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed with stripping down for some burly guy with tattoos and piercings all over, but he didn’t gape too much, or all that noticeably. As soon as it heals up a bit more, I’ll post pictures (with a graphic content warning beforehand, of course).

phantom pain

went to the dentist. nothing is wrong with me. my tooth is fine. no cavities. well, one small one. on a wisdom tooth, but that doesn’t even count because i’m getting those taken out over the summer. fun stuff.

my sister wasn’t so lucky. she’s getting a tooth extracted. it can’t be saved. either that, or they’re going to file down three teeth and put a bridge. she’s too young. plus seven cavities. her mouth is falling apart, but it’s similar to the concept of not judging a book by its cover. her teeth are dazzling. white. stark white. think of the whitest white you’ve ever seen and imagine somehow bleaching it beyond that point. her teeth can blind the retinas of anyone who accidentally sees her smiling outside in the sun. y’know, it’d be fatal with the reflection and all, but seriously, i feel bad for her.

my problem is that this particular tooth is near my sinuses and when those get congested, which is pretty much a constant given my environment and allergies, i get tooth pain. i may have to see someone about it eventually, but until now i’m satisfied with playing pain killer roulette and switching it up between tylenol, bayer, and ibuprofen.

whee.

a blanket of stars

my boyfriend’s plane was delayed last night. he’s showering at his relative’s house now. i’m waiting for him to get ready so we can meet up with my cousin and his girlfriend for lunch. i’m broke, and by broke, i mean unwilling to tap into my savings.

it’s windy, and i’m wearing his oversized sweatshirt. and it smells vaguely of him, like some sort of cologne that is distinctly him. i’ve been storing it for months, hoping to retain some of it to last me until he gets home. he’ll have to wear it some more, burn himself into the fabric, because after this i won’t see him again until June. and part of me wants to kiss him, while the other urges me to get one quick slug in before i manage to restrain myself. this has been a bad year for us, but a wonderful year for me.

and i have to call back my internship. and let them know if i’ll be in tomorrow to volunteer an hour or so of my time to visit with kids. did i mention that at all? i’m going to work at a foster care agency. and i’m going to counsel children in their foster homes. and be on call 24/7 with a beeper, like an extension of my residence hall. i hope i can handle this. i need to prove to myself that i can handle it. my great-uncle passed away this week. and my mind is an existential mess of mortality.