to be good

things move despite your call for stillness. my writing is a labyrinth, confusing, circling, misunderstood and nervous...like me. but where does any of this go? or am i supposed to be content with the moment, to enjoy simply the following of one thing after another. my spine opens up and i feel bare backed. i don't feel very protected at all, rather, i feel very much split open, all manner of energies running into me and having their way with my body. there is so much to say and i say so much, so much, so much nothing. distractions are blissful in a way until the night comes and you realize that everything you thought disappeared, in fact, didn't go away. but perhaps that's how life is, you know, you think that things will resolve and leave you, except there is no tabla rasa. every mark is permenant. good and bad. every scar remains a scar. there is no disappearing, there is no getting rid of, there is only acceptance. the choice is to see some marks more accutely than others. the choice, the choice is to let some things remain, to take precedence, to be entire, and the choice is to banish others into corners. the power comes from knowing all these marks intimately, the scroll of your life, to know that you will never take another breath without them and that you are forever changed in every moment.

but this acceptabce doesn't come easily or quickly. you rub yourself raw trying to delete those things that you don't like. you will do it over and over again, knowing the whole time that you're as Sisyphus, forever pushing a rock up an ever growing hill. you go on this way because there is hope, the human's one flaw and fortune, hope. you hope this time will be different, this time the rock will stay and you'll crawl out of the pit, wipe the sweat from your brow and call it a day. we all want to be perfect and to borrow more characters, we want to live the idealic life of adam and eve. we don't want anything to mar our perfect world. we are hardwired to want perfection because it's this illusion that drives us, forever and ever. drives us to save us. to be good, to know the perfection of things, to be good, to live forever in such an ideal. to take every opportunity you were ever given and make the most of it, to be good, to be good.

rambling, mumbled morning thoughts

it's the day after the day of too much activity. i don't say the name; i'd rather not acknowledge it. already, things are different. i think about my life and all the stories i tell on a regular basis, stories i dish out with the same reverance and regularity as one would offer tea to a guest. i am always thinking, though, i'm always thinking that i should write these things down, write them down, bind them and try to make a place for myself in the writing world.

but i'm timid, afraid to start, afraid to pour everything out for fear that the source will not be replenished and i would have, very irresponsibly, dried out at the age of 23. the number, 23, doesn't even seem real. it's as if it is some belief lingering out in space, fluid and meaningless. i haven't felt 23 in all my months of being 23. i don't even know what that means.

i'm mumbling now. telling some story about the unbelievability of the number 23 and perhaps suggesting that we skip it all together. would anyone notice? what if i went from 22 to 26? ah, but this is the musings of a young girl, you say. no one past 40 would want to jump ahead. but that's not the point i'm making. i'm not even thinking of the years as real, i'm not attaching them to life and therefore the slow (0r not so slow, depending) coming of death. no, i'm just saying the look and sound and feel of 23 is confusing to me. i don't get it.

we spent last night (to resume a more linear tone) watching videos i made for my parents. they were films from kodiak and NH with a bit of my graduation thrown in. it was the strangest thing really. i felt like i was on the outside, looking into my life. i really liked the main character, this breana girl. she seemed really nice and she was having some pretty amazing adventures.

lately i've been feeling a little beaten down. not having a job of course makes things tough. but it's really difficult being around certain negative people (person) that makes you feel that you are of little worth. i just hope i don't start believing it. that would be the death of me. but as i was watching the videos, i saw just how cool my life truly has been. sure, it's tough right now, but i've endured some pretty difficult times. so, i'm looking forward to what life has in store for me...

for now, i'm going to keep writing, keep trying to take all these stories and put them down. most of my stories are really good, i believe this. they interest people and make them laugh, i just need to write it. i know this. i must discipline myself. it's always the hardest thing, making yourself write things but sometimes i wonder if anyone is going to care to read it. but the truth is i'll never know if someone will want to read it, if i never write it eh?

so now for a break...then i'll attempt to write SOMETHING

horizon meditation

the end of december is upon me like tight clothing. i am aware of every inch of myself as the days push against my skin and make me want to bolt for the horizon. but i do not know what they have there, on the horizon. i imagine one long table stretched out to inifinity, facing blankness, clouds spread like text on a page, but there is no top edge or bottom or left or right. the table is made of wood, but not an impressive kind. it actually looks fake. i am dressed in a tux, with jet black hair gelled into a mullet. i have the face of cheetah. one of my eyes has a large black ring around it. i sit down. i don't have a tail. my clawed feet scratch the cheap wood, my legs are too long to sit at this table. i seem to be alone at this table and yet, something moves in the distant fog to my left and right. if i hold my breath i can hear human voices. perhaps this table is longer than infinity, so long, one can sit completely out of sight of the next person, miles and miles away. i focus on the clouds. they don't move. they seem fake too, glued onto this scene to make it seem like there is depth where there is none. i am familar with this trick from my human life.

there is no silverware or plates set at the table, nothing even to fiddle with. you would think that a spot on the horizon would be a little more full than this. i stretch out my cat feet and reach my arms across the table. i try to feel for the edge on the other side, but the table keeps receeding futher and further away from me. my arms grow unbelievably and yet believably long. i still cannot reach the edge. perhaps there are no edges out here and trying to reach for them is silly.

what to do out here? i tap my claws together. i look over my shoulder and everything is black. i look under me and all is black. i let my feet dangle, they push into the black beyond the legs of the chair on which i am sitting. i expect to fall at any moment. i look in front of me again. the sky, or at least, what i think is the sky is pink orange and the clouds are in the exact places i left them. i tap my claws together again then lift myself lightly from my chair. i tense my muscles, ready to spring. i lunge at the pink and orange sky. there is a flash and i'm sitting in a black chair at a table. it seems to be the same one and yet, the clouds look different. i lunge again, across the table, there is a flash and i'm sitting in my original seat. i twitch my whiskers. i don't understand. i lunge again, this time my head feels light and i get dizzy. what is this horizon? where does it go? or does it go?

too much, too much

too much too much is much too much
sometimes.
i stay away from staying away
much too much
on somedays.
my mind's a fray, a fray, a fray
on sundays
and everyother day
add, minus, add the ones in between
the lines of the weeks
i thawed out but forgot to cook.

too much too much is much too much
stuffed and stuffed with puffy stuff
that doesn't fill the fill
and everyother day
full of nothing stuff
puff, puff, imaginary much too much
stuff.

too much too much is much too much
how can that be?
how can i have too much too much
but not enough?
how can there be too much sound
too much light, too much smell?
and still not enough
touch?

this is all too much too much
my mind's astray, astray, a stray
on sundays
and everyother day
add, minus, add the ones in between
the lines of thoughts
i thawed out but forgot to cook.

rocks

if a rock is any indication of the ore of the individual, then we are as different as ying from yang. of course, this metaphor is purposefully used because there is no ying without yang and vise versa; two forces seemingly opposing one another and yet hugging the other in desperate need to survive wholly. i'm not saying you make me whole, so you can rest your lofty ideals, i'm just saying that we're different, very different and yet somehow it works.

now rocks have energy and depending upon the person, time and circumstance a rock can comfort you or make you feel uneasy, it can intrigue you or bore you and you may or may not notice it. a rock may seem stationary and yet depending upon its size, it can be easy to move and easy carry, but if a rock is not feeling you, it finds ways to roll out of your life. rocks and people have alot in common. rocks are not indestructable and in fact, should you strike the right spot (a "fault line"--is such terminology coincidence?) it could find itself in pieces. once a rock is broken it will never return to being exactly the rock it was, however, it remains a rock and eventually it breaks down even more sometimes to spread out amoung the earth, becoming part of something even bigger.

not all rocks are created equal. that is to say, rocks are made of many different minerals, they have different shapes and colors and densities and different purposes. some rocks are tools others form structures, some are used for decorative purposes and still others are used for healing.

you know what i like about rocks? this is a way that people should learn, rocks are unassuming. a rock is a rock is a rock and like almost everything in nature, it is content being a rock. it may have some energy to share and some wisdoms too, and if you're lucky enough to have a rock open up to you, they make the best friends, i'm serious, what's more reliable than a rock? but a rock does it's own thing. it moves to nature, the wind, the ocean and rivers, the soil, as it must, it is balanced, ready to recieve both ying and yang equally. a rock does not plead for you to pick it up, though it may whisper softly, and if you miss it, well, then it must be better that way, or perhaps there is something you must learn from another rock.

this wasn't supposed to be about rocks entirely. i wanted to write about you and i and how our rocks differed. but come to think of it, the only differences were in appearance. both our rocks gave something to us. my rock, i found in the trails of new hampshire, heavy, oblong, opaque white and smooth and yours you found in a manucured garden in LA, small, light, black almost perfectly round and smooth. the new hampshire rock i gave to you to hold, you brought it here and left it on the beach by mistake. but i think it wanted it that way. i saw it sitting on another rock right before we left but i didn't say anything. if it was meant to return to you it would. but that rock had long lost its vibrant connection with me. i'll always be thankful to it, but it was time i moved on and i did. and something about the way this white rock looked on the black lava rock, told me it was ready to return as well. i can imagine it now, rolling in the sand feeling the warm sun heating it to the core. i smile, this thought makes me very happy.

as for your rock. i've been holding onto it for sometime, but i feel you in it. i really, really do. and so i stopped taking it around with me. it wasn't for me. i slipped it in your pack before you left. you're going back east, then to CA. i have no idea what's in store for you or the rock, either way i think you'll both be happy. i remember the first time i felt that rock, before i knew it was yours, i could have sworn there was a human heart in there. thank you for letting me carry your heart for a while, but one must always know that a heart can be shared but never completely given away. so i wish you well, and safe journey.