You made me hurt in a way I didn't think was possible. Going back, rereading even the first lines of what you wrote, the knots work themselves back through my chest and throat, climbing and coiling, and then they just sit: a reminder.
I pride(d) myself on detachment. I warned you, saying I wasn't ready or willing to commit, unwilling to give the romantic gestures you so obviously craved. After the first time, I didn't see you for four months, and except on the lonelier of many cold nights, I wasn't sorry. You weren't worth my time, and for that I'm truly sorry. I know now that I hurt you, more than I meant to, more than I ever intended. I never intended.
You did warn me, before you sent me the link. "It'll hurt," you said. I didn't listen. I put too much faith in my flimsy walls, sure you couldn't wield power over my emotions. Wrong. Sucker punch to the gut, beating down my heart, curl up in a ball and absorb the blows that just keep coming. I deserved every single one of them.
Every so often, I go back. Click the link, start reading, and then just... stop. I can't do it. You impacted my world in perhaps exactly the way you intended. I'm vulnerable now. Each admission of my faults, written in your lyrical and devastatingly accurate prose, broke me down further. I haven't made it through a second time, and for that, I thank you. You made a difference on the first try: more than I could ever do for you.
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Interior
Slowly, ever so
Slowly I'm
Learning, infinitesimally, to
Take an interest, even
Care a little talk a little stay a little longer
Branch a little fail a little fall a little more
Each
Time
Until
I resemble
Humanity
No longer boxed up
Caged in
Bottled and stoppered feelings mixing colors until they're just
Dark
Murky
Brown.
Slowly I'm
Learning, infinitesimally, to
Take an interest, even
Care a little talk a little stay a little longer
Branch a little fail a little fall a little more
Each
Time
Until
I resemble
Humanity
No longer boxed up
Caged in
Bottled and stoppered feelings mixing colors until they're just
Dark
Murky
Brown.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Night Drizzle
Outside the library, a stiff wind blows and the rain drizzles down your neck. The flag on the flagpole shivers along with you as you hurry towards your destination. Cars drift by, each its own little world of warmth and dryness. A few late stragglers huddle together at the bus stop across the street, and you silently commiserate as you wait for the crossing signal. Instinctively, you hunch your shoulders and turn up your collar, thankful for the black wool of your jacket keeping the wet off. Eerie neon flashing spurs your movements, and you hurry across the street, head down against the wind and rain. Your feet take you away from the glowing lights of restaurants and stores and direct you downhill. You skirt a series of metal grates, thankful your boots grip the slick surfaces. Preoccupied as you are with keeping your footing, glancing at the perpetually parked delivery truck as you cross an alley, you almost forget to look up.
You've been travelling downhill, but it's unclear how high up you actually are, until you look. Directly in front of you, framed by strands of electrical wires and the mishmash weaving of trees, lights, and buildings, the lights of a city appear. In this rain, they appear ghostly and misted over, slowly rising from the cloudy depths of time and space. Even in this weather, the view stops your feet, letting your eyes feel even as your neck shivers and your teeth click together from cold. You've seen this view a hundred times, but here, in this cold rain, it looks especially beautiful. Plumes of fog flow through the streets, and the wind flashes the rain faster. As the cold begins to soak through your hair, your body takes over and your feet continue downward.
When you look up again, the city is gone. In its place, misty trees and the odd under-glow of rainy streetlights blend into dark gray clouds tinted pinkish by city lights. You continue on, boots clump-slapping on the wet pavement, dodging more sidewalk grates and slippery grass. As you near your destination, you realize you can actually hear the rain and wind, but no cars. The world is silent. Looking both ways, you step out into the middle of the street and let your hearing spread out. No cars, no dogs, no city noises. In the distance, a loose street sign clonks against its metal pole, but the wind soon shifts and the rain-sound returns. Complete and utter stillness, in the middle of a city.
At the intersection, the stoplights silently change from green to red to yellow and back, an endless cycle uncaring. In this light, the colors mutes to shades of gray. The whole world reduced to monochrome and senses, where your boots stick to wet asphalt and your turned up collar almost but-not-quite keeps the cold off your neck, where the sound of rain-wind-silence melds with the eye-speak of trees-lights-mist. Even as the cold seeps through your body and trickles down your neck, even as your breath adds to the fog and your breathing ghosts into the silence, the world spreads out, bigger than you can hear-taste-touch-smell-see. Even up here, surrounded by houses and wires and signs-dogs-cars-underglow of city pollution, the mist still rolls down and engulfs, softening edges. And under your feet, the world turns.
You've been travelling downhill, but it's unclear how high up you actually are, until you look. Directly in front of you, framed by strands of electrical wires and the mishmash weaving of trees, lights, and buildings, the lights of a city appear. In this rain, they appear ghostly and misted over, slowly rising from the cloudy depths of time and space. Even in this weather, the view stops your feet, letting your eyes feel even as your neck shivers and your teeth click together from cold. You've seen this view a hundred times, but here, in this cold rain, it looks especially beautiful. Plumes of fog flow through the streets, and the wind flashes the rain faster. As the cold begins to soak through your hair, your body takes over and your feet continue downward.
When you look up again, the city is gone. In its place, misty trees and the odd under-glow of rainy streetlights blend into dark gray clouds tinted pinkish by city lights. You continue on, boots clump-slapping on the wet pavement, dodging more sidewalk grates and slippery grass. As you near your destination, you realize you can actually hear the rain and wind, but no cars. The world is silent. Looking both ways, you step out into the middle of the street and let your hearing spread out. No cars, no dogs, no city noises. In the distance, a loose street sign clonks against its metal pole, but the wind soon shifts and the rain-sound returns. Complete and utter stillness, in the middle of a city.
At the intersection, the stoplights silently change from green to red to yellow and back, an endless cycle uncaring. In this light, the colors mutes to shades of gray. The whole world reduced to monochrome and senses, where your boots stick to wet asphalt and your turned up collar almost but-not-quite keeps the cold off your neck, where the sound of rain-wind-silence melds with the eye-speak of trees-lights-mist. Even as the cold seeps through your body and trickles down your neck, even as your breath adds to the fog and your breathing ghosts into the silence, the world spreads out, bigger than you can hear-taste-touch-smell-see. Even up here, surrounded by houses and wires and signs-dogs-cars-underglow of city pollution, the mist still rolls down and engulfs, softening edges. And under your feet, the world turns.
Friday, January 4, 2013
The Knitter!
I love The Knitter. I love that the internet came up with the idea of a knitting supervillain. I love that suddenly, knitting is cool. Knitting is hip. Knitting is something anyone can do. It can be a force for good (charity! warm fuzzy socks!) or evil (robbing banks ala The Knitter), beautification (yarn bombing!) or vandalism (also yarn bombing, but from a different perspective).
For me, knitting is a stress buster. I knit to keep myself sane. It's a procrastination technique, but it's also soothing. The repetitive motion of stitch after stitch, row after row, one needle to the other, lets me think. With a simple pattern, my mind can sort itself out. I think in song lyrics, or about my day, or about any amount of work I have to do, or planning for a zombie apocalypse. When I have a more complicated pattern, I can't help but concentrate on it, and my worries sink for a little bit. It's lovely. As an added plus, I get cozy warm and hopefully awesome items out of the deal.
I think everyone should learn to knit, for all of the above reasons (except the robbing banks one). Yarn bombing can free the artist in you, as well as the rebel and that inner ninja. Knitting for others unlocks compassion, as well as an appreciation for the work and love that go into making something unique and custom. And knitting for yourself is the ultimate win-win situation: wearable items, and distraction. Perfect!
Friday, March 25, 2011
Reflections on New York City
The past two days I've been in NYC. It's... different. I don't live there, and I don't think I'd ever want to. It's too big, too crowded, and too dirty, but it is fun. There's just so much to do. That, I think, is the main charm of New York City. There's something for everyone. It's a giant melting pot and collision of cultures. You can walk down any random street and see at least three stores advertising items in different languages, and hear said languages being spoken. It's hard not to follow your nose when you pass a restaurant with delicious smells emanating through the door. In the press of people on the street you're sure to see someone wearing a weird, wacky, tacky, or just plain cool item of clothing. (For the record, I saw a TON of Doc Martens!) Stores overflow with amazing merchandise, and if you go to the right places, you'll be sure to find something unique.
On the other hand, NYC is dirty, plain and simple. For whatever reason, it seems like everyone smokes. It's impossible to move more than a few feet without getting a whiff of cigarette smoke. Nasty stuff, to say the least. The city is also incredibly crowded, and crowds create trash, cigarette stubs, and seemingly mountainous piles of gum on the sidewalks. Grime is everywhere. Then again, New York is an old city, and the older things become, the dirtier they seem.
One thing that bothers me about NYC every time I go there is the lack of natural light. In some neighborhoods, no matter how sunny it is, there seems to be a general cessation of light, which intrigues me. It's probably because the buildings are so tall, but I have a theory that it's actually the lack of trees. Even in a forest when the sun is shining, the light is alive, if muted. In New York, the sunlight seems almost dead. In Times Square at night, with the neon and huge lights cranked up, it seems almost like day. The key word here is "almost"- it's not the real thing. Real light needs to be living, and to be reflected off of living things. Without light, life can't really exist. New York is definitely a living city, but the light lives in a different way than the light where I live. It's a change, certainly.
On the other hand, NYC is dirty, plain and simple. For whatever reason, it seems like everyone smokes. It's impossible to move more than a few feet without getting a whiff of cigarette smoke. Nasty stuff, to say the least. The city is also incredibly crowded, and crowds create trash, cigarette stubs, and seemingly mountainous piles of gum on the sidewalks. Grime is everywhere. Then again, New York is an old city, and the older things become, the dirtier they seem.
One thing that bothers me about NYC every time I go there is the lack of natural light. In some neighborhoods, no matter how sunny it is, there seems to be a general cessation of light, which intrigues me. It's probably because the buildings are so tall, but I have a theory that it's actually the lack of trees. Even in a forest when the sun is shining, the light is alive, if muted. In New York, the sunlight seems almost dead. In Times Square at night, with the neon and huge lights cranked up, it seems almost like day. The key word here is "almost"- it's not the real thing. Real light needs to be living, and to be reflected off of living things. Without light, life can't really exist. New York is definitely a living city, but the light lives in a different way than the light where I live. It's a change, certainly.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Happenstance
"Sometimes things just happen." One of the most generic quotes ever to be spoken by a member of the human race. It's a multi-layered phrase with so many meanings it's impossible to make perfect sense out of it. For example, what's your definition of "sometimes"? In this particular situation, do things just "happen"? Or always? Is it karma, fate, destiny, or any deity of your choice controlling the "happen"?
I don't necessarily believe in God, but I do believe in karma and fate. I have a sort of mish-mosh of spirituality rolling around in my head. I know it sounds silly, but most of my thoughts on religion and spiritualistic ideas thereof come from reading Terry Pratchett. His ideas just... make sense. I love the idea of many gods, and then one Creator who sat back and let the world run, ala the Deists during the Enlightenment. I especially love the idea of many parallel universes that influence each other, many worlds spinning through space, the Trousers of Time, and the idea that magic exists everywhere. You just have to find it.
Perhaps if there was more magic in the world, the world would become an easier, softer, more peaceful place. I'm not talking magic in the Harry Potter sense, though that would be awesome. I'm more interested in magic as in the kind of wonder and respect you have for the world when you're looking at a super tall mountain range, or an exquisite sunset, or an untouched swathe of ancient forest. If we felt like that for each and every human being, and respected them as something as unique and fleeting as a sunset, as a completely real and individual person, then maybe we could learn peace. Instead of viewing other people's ideas and feelings as barriers, we should see them as a springboard for a mixing and collaboration of ideals to further a common goal.
Think even bigger: what if we thought of our world as a tiny particle in a giant universe? What if we respected it as a unique individual, indispensably part of our lives, the source of our life itself? Imagine a world, but not a round, spherical one. Imagine a flat world, on the back of four elephants on the back of a giant turtle. Wouldn't it be amazing if a place like that coexisted with our own reality? If we open our minds to the possibilities, anything is possible.
I don't necessarily believe in God, but I do believe in karma and fate. I have a sort of mish-mosh of spirituality rolling around in my head. I know it sounds silly, but most of my thoughts on religion and spiritualistic ideas thereof come from reading Terry Pratchett. His ideas just... make sense. I love the idea of many gods, and then one Creator who sat back and let the world run, ala the Deists during the Enlightenment. I especially love the idea of many parallel universes that influence each other, many worlds spinning through space, the Trousers of Time, and the idea that magic exists everywhere. You just have to find it.
Perhaps if there was more magic in the world, the world would become an easier, softer, more peaceful place. I'm not talking magic in the Harry Potter sense, though that would be awesome. I'm more interested in magic as in the kind of wonder and respect you have for the world when you're looking at a super tall mountain range, or an exquisite sunset, or an untouched swathe of ancient forest. If we felt like that for each and every human being, and respected them as something as unique and fleeting as a sunset, as a completely real and individual person, then maybe we could learn peace. Instead of viewing other people's ideas and feelings as barriers, we should see them as a springboard for a mixing and collaboration of ideals to further a common goal.
Think even bigger: what if we thought of our world as a tiny particle in a giant universe? What if we respected it as a unique individual, indispensably part of our lives, the source of our life itself? Imagine a world, but not a round, spherical one. Imagine a flat world, on the back of four elephants on the back of a giant turtle. Wouldn't it be amazing if a place like that coexisted with our own reality? If we open our minds to the possibilities, anything is possible.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Can't Stop Thinking...
... about last night. It's kind of a problem, because I really have no cause for said thinking.
Last night I went over to a friend's house to watch the original Tron movie (from 1983!) because we're both total nerds and I really wanted to see it. (For the record, it was a very cool movie- old style video game graphics as special effects!) I had a good time, and that was fine. My friend is a guy, and that is fine as well. I've know this guy since I was three, and I consider him my brother and I'm like a sister to him. There's nothing "romantic" between us at all... we both acknowledge that would be extremely weird and awkward.
So why did we end up curled up on the couch together? It's a dilemma... I'm not sure I want to ruin it though, because it was super comfortable and not awkward at all. No kissing or anything, just kind of being there. In a completely non-romantic way. Thus the dilemma. Just what I need.
Last night I went over to a friend's house to watch the original Tron movie (from 1983!) because we're both total nerds and I really wanted to see it. (For the record, it was a very cool movie- old style video game graphics as special effects!) I had a good time, and that was fine. My friend is a guy, and that is fine as well. I've know this guy since I was three, and I consider him my brother and I'm like a sister to him. There's nothing "romantic" between us at all... we both acknowledge that would be extremely weird and awkward.
So why did we end up curled up on the couch together? It's a dilemma... I'm not sure I want to ruin it though, because it was super comfortable and not awkward at all. No kissing or anything, just kind of being there. In a completely non-romantic way. Thus the dilemma. Just what I need.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
When Everyone Around You is Happy...
... It's hard not to feel jealous. Especially when people are pairing off and you're a third wheel. Even more so when it's girls that are pairing off and you wish you could too. Last night was a major turning point for more than a few people. I'm so incredibly happy for them all, and I know they couldn't be happier, but at the same time I can't help but think "When is that going to be me?" It's hard knowing other people are out in the open doing what they want and I'm stuck in, because I'm too afraid of what might happen if I told the truth. I know that most people wouldn't have an issue, but I know (and they know) I've always been a follower and they might think I'm hopping on the bandwagon, so to speak. It's incredibly frustrating, to say the least. I'm sure I'll snap out of this funk, but for now, I feel like an incredibly lonely person who isn't part of anything.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Music
Music's a funny thing. Some days you feel like a certain type of music, and some days only one song will do. Each song has a unique ability to hold a particular memory or emotion, at least for me. Situations each come with their own song in my memories. Other times the lyrics or chords will play in my head, or I'll hear a snippet of a song and suddenly be back to a certain time or place that somehow became connected to that music. I have no idea why my memory works like that, but work it does.
I also seem to have my own private radio in my head, that plays music and lyrics from the countless songs I've listened to over the years... from Elton John and the Spice Girls (my two favorite artists when I was about 4-6), going through the Beatles, Queen (the first record I ever heard on vinyl), the Rolling Stones, Destiny's Child, a brief stint in R&B/ hip-hop, moving on to Top 40 pop, tangent-ing into Good Charlotte and MCR, migrating to Green Day, Nirvana, the Ramones, and the Strokes, hopping over a little to Streetlight Manifesto, taking the plunge with Black Sabbath, Seether, and Metallica, riding the wave to Smashing Pumpkins, the Sex Pistols, and Pearl Jam, surfacing for some Zac Brown Band, Miranda Lambert, and Trace Adkins, and finally landing (for the moment) with Avalanche City, the B-52's, Sons of Admirals, Eddplant, and Tom Milsom. Each of these artists have affected me differently, given me a little bit of them, their music, and their culture. The beauty of music is that the artists give only themselves and their music, and we, the listeners, take so much. On that level music is completely pure.
I remember the first time I heard Black Sabbath. I was in study hall, trying to do some homework, with my headphones in and my Pandora radio on. Suddenly there was a science, and then a single drum, pounding, pounding, and then that chord. That single power chord, building, building, rising up, and then the riff. I was floored. I'd never heard anything even close to that type of raw, heavy POWER. I literally stopped what I was doing, sat back in my chair, and just listened. I think I actually felt my heart beat in time with that riff. Going back and listening to it again, it still has that sense of pounding, inevitable, incredible power to it. Admittedly, there's not that first impression of starkness and "wow", but there's still something that resonates. I guess it's one of those things that will stay with me for a long time, simply for the impact it had at that one moment in time. Music's like that. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
I also seem to have my own private radio in my head, that plays music and lyrics from the countless songs I've listened to over the years... from Elton John and the Spice Girls (my two favorite artists when I was about 4-6), going through the Beatles, Queen (the first record I ever heard on vinyl), the Rolling Stones, Destiny's Child, a brief stint in R&B/ hip-hop, moving on to Top 40 pop, tangent-ing into Good Charlotte and MCR, migrating to Green Day, Nirvana, the Ramones, and the Strokes, hopping over a little to Streetlight Manifesto, taking the plunge with Black Sabbath, Seether, and Metallica, riding the wave to Smashing Pumpkins, the Sex Pistols, and Pearl Jam, surfacing for some Zac Brown Band, Miranda Lambert, and Trace Adkins, and finally landing (for the moment) with Avalanche City, the B-52's, Sons of Admirals, Eddplant, and Tom Milsom. Each of these artists have affected me differently, given me a little bit of them, their music, and their culture. The beauty of music is that the artists give only themselves and their music, and we, the listeners, take so much. On that level music is completely pure.
I remember the first time I heard Black Sabbath. I was in study hall, trying to do some homework, with my headphones in and my Pandora radio on. Suddenly there was a science, and then a single drum, pounding, pounding, and then that chord. That single power chord, building, building, rising up, and then the riff. I was floored. I'd never heard anything even close to that type of raw, heavy POWER. I literally stopped what I was doing, sat back in my chair, and just listened. I think I actually felt my heart beat in time with that riff. Going back and listening to it again, it still has that sense of pounding, inevitable, incredible power to it. Admittedly, there's not that first impression of starkness and "wow", but there's still something that resonates. I guess it's one of those things that will stay with me for a long time, simply for the impact it had at that one moment in time. Music's like that. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
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