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THE TENDER PART OF THE HOLOGRAM
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 21st, 2012 * 12:01 am] |
this journal mostly gets fresh air, but if you're fresh eyes, speak up. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 8th, 2009 * 12:08 am] |
With each passing day I am putting my heart forward to be broken like it never has been before.
Oh well, right? This is me indifferent to the then, the now is too good.
Benevolent orchids expanding in my ventricles, hallowed be thy tender name...
I have a tummyache from eating too many dried apricots. ( Chomp ) |
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| I can't stop listening to Sleep by the Dandy Warhols |
[Jul. 19th, 2009 * 01:37 am] |
...but that is better than being thirteen and not being able to stop listening to Asleep by the Smiths.
"Fiona, you look like a New York Jew. You should go to New York with the Jews. ... Where'd she get that nose, Jill?"
Ily 2, Grandma.
If you have never heard this song! You need to hear this song! I haven't heard it on the radio yet, but I think it might actually be gettin' some radio play, which is good. I want Elvis to pay his bills. Just makes me sway and smile and my heart hurt in the kind of hurting you want your heart to be hurting in.
shampoo - elvis perkins
I just talked to my mother about my identity as a feminist and the abuse I experienced as a child and what effect that has on my life now and even almost sex and it feels like such a big deal. Opening gates. I've had to tiptoe around it all before. I'm not sure when I'll be able to tell her that I've kissed girls and lost my virginity at fifteen and done scary drugs, but it's a step.
I have so much more going on in my life and in my head than I ever, ever post about in here. I never talk about my relationships with my friends, or my teachers, or my mentors, or the people I've dated. I never talk about my involvements in communities or movements or my feelings about them (and that's something I actually want to talk about). Really, I never talk about anything specific... ever. I've had a Livejournal for over five years and you still can't find me in the pixels. I'm not sure whether I care or not. Ho-hum. In the next few months I will probably start regularly making the zine I've had in my head for years, and I feel like that will either make me stop using Livejournal or use it very differently.
Gahhh, I am so excited to finally make it. I need to pick a name. I keep changing my mind just when I think I've decided.
by Zoe G.
( These photos from Anna's birthday give me the warm fuzzies ) |
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| Never apologize for the warmth you give |
[Jul. 18th, 2009 * 01:48 am] |
I painted with watercolours yesterday for the first time since in elementary school. Watercolours and black ink. It soothed some part of me that I didn't know needed soothing. I'm beginning to realize how sad it is that I have so neglected the part of me that wants to create beautiful things with my little hands.
Listening to music made by people I have kissed and/or loved makes me feel very strange.
I have sand in my eyelashes (and everywhere else), a crush on someone I don't think cares for me, and a great love for everything in my life... summer nights watching the sunset on the beach, beautiful people to talk and laugh with. Simple and eternal molecules, sempiternal. We hold hands and tangle legs and forget that we are different beings. In the best of times it seems like we might as well not be.
My mom and I watched The Fiddler on the Roof when I came home, my head in her lap and her hand in my hair. We cry at the same places. Someday I will probably watch it when she's gone, and I don't know what I will feel then. I just know that I am grateful to have a mother who shows her love.
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| long, your hair looks nice underwater; short, it dries quickly |
[Jul. 16th, 2009 * 07:31 am] |
I made the conscious decision to be happy and it has worked. I realized that part of this only-believing-in-these-cells-getting-to-live-this-life once thing is that there's really no point to breathing unless I can find contentment and beauty, since this is all I got. Without a bright repository for your conscious self after death, why live if you don't get something out of living? With these cells I have to and want to do many other things beyond creating my happiness, but my own contentment (see: clear mind, not luxury) is the most important. And I have the capacity to be happy. So I am happy. I am happy when I breathe deeply and smile at passers-by and focus on all that makes warmth grow in my bones. I wake up happy, I go to sleep happy, and I'm still awkward and unsure sometimes and I pine sometimes but even in pining I'm happy. So there's that. And I am now making the conscious decision to be comfortable with the decisions I have made and the person that I think myself to be. See how that goes.
This afternoon and evening I harvested sweet peas, sat in the sun that makes my Scottish skin rosy, climbed the old climbing tree on the other side of the lake, wore black corduroys that made me miserable in the heat and talked to an old friend who seems to be much more sure of all of his decisions than I am. It gives me hope for myself that I can feel strong divisions between me and another and love them still.
I care about being healthy. I care about making sure that other people are healthy and helping them get there in little ways, if I can. I care about people having good food in their bellies and peace in their hearts. I care about my mother. I care about my father. I care about the bees we keep. I care about living the life I dream about, turning it from dream to daily life. I care about the friends I don't think of nearly enough. I care about watching and tasting and learning and stretching and dancing slow dances and dancing fast dances and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and the loud songs you can scream in a basement and the boys and girls I know with dirt on their faces and dirt in their nails and notebooks crammed in the jeans they've worn for years and the kindest wild in their eyes and words to help you get by and working my childhood into words that make it make more sense and trying to let you in always trying to let you in and breathing deep and deeper still and the bats my papa says brushed his hair outside and looking up at the stars on warm nights and feeling like nothing needs a conclusion, like anything could happen and it will all be okay and it will all be enough
because how could it not be, it is, it is, it is
like you are, you are, you are
of course
and I know that it is what I do with this caring that is important.
by angelhead on flickr
( O Ecclesia ) |
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| All her best years spent distracted |
[Jun. 25th, 2009 * 01:26 pm] |
Highly realistic dreams last night involved fighting about french fries with my ex-boyfriend in a greasy spoon on 65th that doesn't actually exist.
I just want to be a waitress in a little diner with pie and coffee and regulars and old folks' gossip. I wish I worked at the robin's egg blue one in Chimacum. Fuck Seattle's fancy restaurants. (Although admittedly those honey sea salt eggplant fries at Poppy were divine. I think on them often. Thank you, Paul's mom.)
I have this little family of beautiful friends that's becoming more important to me than just about anything. Summer is lookin' good. I'm still scared of turning on the news. But you know, I'm happy in a simple glowing way. I'm going to go drink some orange mango juice, make some toast and beans, stop daydreaming about pretty boys and be productive... scrubbing floors and poster design and letter writing.
It is okay to be happy even if you can't fix everything.
by jamesisjames on flickr
Don't Watch Me Dancing, Little Joy. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 22nd, 2009 * 02:49 am] |
"Pure logic is the ruin of the spirit."
— Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Last night I had a dream about jazz musicians, a misplaced tip boot, and a very dreary Vancouver.
Today my father cautiously admitted that he sometimes talks too much. I sulked, wore my tweed skirt and had Thai food for the second day in a row, bit my nails over newscasts and decided to distract myself.
I went to see Sunshine Cleaning because I wanted something mindless and sweet. While the movie theater was still mostly empty it was very quiet and behind me I heard a couple talking. The woman had been to the cemetery that morning and had heard an old man reading aloud. She investigated. He comes to the cemetery every Sunday morning to read to his brother and best friend who died in the war.
I want to learn what love is |
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| diamond at the bottom of the drain |
[Jun. 15th, 2009 * 12:34 am] |
I can feel the beauty of the oncoming months swallowing my cynicism
I am so lucky to have the people in my life that I do
Being seventeen, it's not so unnatural for me to need a little approval now and then, right? I just wish when I stop hating myself I could do it for longer than a week at a time, but that's not much to complain about.
oh PS — I am too attracted to mildly arrogant surrealism, don't abuse it |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 10th, 2009 * 04:37 pm] |
I am tired of wearing red, she said. Just like sometimes I want to fly so fast as to escape my sex and have distance between me and the possible birth inside me, the life that is not my own that I know in my instinct and tenderness I would give my own life for, if it ever existed. I want to fly away from my great round tenderness, but I do not want to be man. In fact, I do not know what I want to be. Shrieking wind or cool water maybe, but I would not run from this beautiful burden to be man. I know man has been protrayed as creator, he who creates, but man does not create, he instigates. Woman molds the clay. These shimmering weeping cells could never settle to be lender once they have known what it is to be creator. So don't act like I am shaking swords I should never hold when I am telling you that this burden is loved and hated by me, because it is this burden that makes me know a kind of strength and fury and kindness that you never will. And I will not apologize |
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