I also want to wish you all a happy December. :D It's one of my favourite months, even though I hate winter.

If you walk away, walk away, I will follow.

My favourite song by U2. My father once told me a story about how he was at a U2 concert when he was younger. It was when U2 was just starting out. The crowd liked them so much that they were called out for an encore four times. Four times! That's awesome! Continuing on, they played this song because they had nothing left to play for them. This was their hit, and I love it.


Today, I stayed after school to work on my AP World homework and then later to study for my unit test tomorrow. It was actually very productive. A lot more productive as opposed to as if I was sitting at home distracted by my computer. My only problem was the lighting. The light about my cubicle desk was not white, but blue. I was fascinated by the different colours it was turning my belongings. Does everyone believe me now when I say I have an attention disorder now?


I also managed to finish Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. I will say it again, please, if you see a copy of it anywhere, pick it up and read it. In all my kindness, I will not be posting what I thought about the book until after my friend Ali reads it. 


In addition to today, I went into school at around 10:40 because I didn't feel well this morning. I couldn't participate in National Stay Home Because You're Well Day because, well, I'm not well. My mother offered to let me stay home for the rest of the day, but, I couldn't leave people hanging at lunch. (Yes, if you are wondering, I did go into school just to keep my friend Tracy company at lunch). 


I don't mind my classes towards the end of the day. I just hate science class. I kept telling myself last year that biology was going to be great, but that's because I wanted to be a pediatrician. Things have changed now, and now I want to be an English major. Maybe I could minor in music. I'm not sure yet. I feel like something that both involves the arts is kind of dangerous. Yes, I consider English an art. If you're creating a work of writing, it is your own. It's your creation, and it is art. 


I am now reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I was going to start reading it about twenty minutes ago, but there was a quote before the first chapter in French. Naturally, I was curious, so I spent the next five typing it out with correct accents and everything. I'm not sure if the meaning would change if I put it into Google Translate without them. Here's the quote:

"Les utopies apparaissent comme bien plus réalisables qu'on ne le croyait autrefois. Et nous nous trouvons actuellement devant une question bien autrement angoissante: Comment éviter leur réalisation définitive?...Les utopies sont réalisables. La vie marche vers les utopies. et peut-être un siècle nouveau commence-t-il, un siècle où les intellectuels et la classe cultivée rêveront aux moyens d'éviter les utopies et de retourner à une société non utopique, moins "parfaite" et plus libre." - Nicolas Berdiaeff.

Translation (I think the French language is really pretty, excluding the fact that it's horribly nasal).

"Utopias appear to be much more feasible than was once believed. And we are now faced with problems far more distressing: How to avoid their final completion? ... Utopias are realizable. Life marches towards utopias. and perhaps a new century begins there, a century when intellectuals and the educated class will dream how to avoid utopias and return to a non-utopian, less "perfect" and free." - Nicolas Berdiaeff.

I'm going to go into my literature nerd corner, now. Don't mind me. I feel so crunched for time right now. I don't want to start an entirely new subject if I feel that I can't finish it. I suppose I'll try. I've got a half an hour to make things happen. 

Liz came to lunch today, and it was exactly like any other fifth period lunch. She came in a little bit late, Tracy was sitting down, beginning to eat and Katarina sat with her books on the table, looking a little bit terrified. I was still on a high from just seeing Rob (Please, don't mind me, and please, for the love of God, don't think any less of me because of this) and getting ready to eat. The cafeteria was loud and I managed to block it out for a little bit. Liz sat down and her face was full of disdain. I simply said hello, and she began to talk about how Michael is stealing her best friend.

She realizes that they're drifting apart, but, she feels that because of him, they're drifting a lot faster than they should. What she doesn't know is that is how I exactly felt when she came into the picture. It settled itself, but, I can honestly say that I have been in her position more than once. I don't say anything. We (Being Tracy, Liz and I because Katarina has left for the library at this point) talk about how Michael doesn't really know how to balance his friends. It's the truth, and as much as it pains me to even talk about him behind his back, the only way I'm not going to have an end of the month social breakdown is if I talk about it. (It's not PMS, I swear).

As a result of this, I wrote a poem (Kind of) about the situation from Liz's point of view. She won't know. I mean, the first two verses are from her point of view. The rest kind of just developed from what I have been dealing within my mind for the past three years.


"I can't make myself believe.
In you,
or anybody.


You download yourself
and one becomes ten.
Ten becomes fifty.


My perception is skewed,
and I don't want to know,
anymore.


The only person I forget my moral,
on people,
the world.


Truth is,
hatred flows through my veins.
Dislike cannot come close."


I have no title for this, so, if you can come up with one, don't be afraid to comment. I have a bunch of untitled poems which I can't come up with a title for. Which, I meant to say, if you do follow my blog (in a stalker like way), please don't be afraid to comment. I'm up for criticism. 


Goodnight. 

 

Do you remember the first time?

I am so excited that Pulp got back together to tour. They might not be making a new album, but this is exciting! I mean, when they separated, I was only one year old, and now at fifteen, they are going on tour. Pulp is so absurd at times, but the meaning is genuine. (See: 'Babies' off their His 'N' Hers record). If you had to ask for a favourite of mine, it's definitely the title of this post: 'Do You Remember The First Time?', off the same exact record. I want to get a hard copy of it for Christmas.


On another note, I am about forty pages away from finishing Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. If you ever get the chance, pick it up at the bookstore, the library, whatever. It's really a fantastic book. Funny in some parts, gross in others. The meaning is also genuine. 


This has been a post about genuine meanings. In a previous post, I had been quoting the book, very formally, may I add. I caught some more today, and I would like to share them with you all. It doesn't give away the book, don't worry about that. 


I'm not lying about that.

"'Disaster is a natural part of my evolution.' Tyler whispered, 'toward tragedy and dissolution.'...'I'm breaking my attachment to physical power and possessions.' Tyler whispered, 'because only through destroying myself can I discover the greater power of my spirit.'" (110).

"'We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression.'" (149).

Seriously, just take the time to read the book. I guarantee, you will like it. I personally love it. My cousin Risa's favourite author is Chuck Palahniuk, and I think I'm starting to see why she likes him so much. I'm going to read more of his works, considering my mother made me put my Kurt Vonnegut book away for Christmas. Until then, I can read Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. 

I part thee with the idea of homework on the mind. 

 

Something in your smile was so exciting. Something in my heart told me I must have you.

I wrote this today in my school's literary magazine. I wrote it with a few people in mind, but towards the end, I ended up combining the two together. If you're reading this, it isn't about you, and Liz, it isn't about you, either. (I'm also definite that she doesn't have access to this blog).


'Anonymous'
29.11.10


"I hate you.
I want to hack away at your being.
Make you mine.


To embody what I hate.
Fear.
Everything I longed to be.


They crept in,
like the Midnight Man.
You are a puppet, your strings vulnerable.


A soldier of humanity,
replaced only by a ghost of have-beens.
A fraud.


A thousand persons,
crammed into one.
Who are you?"

You're a good soldier, choosing your battle. Pick yourself up and dust yourself off and get back in the saddle.

I wrote another poem. I've been on a writing streak recently, and it's rather refreshing as opposed to not being able to write at all. 


'Figure in the Mist: (Untitled 01)'


"Figure in the mist,
please come out.
We just want to help.
(I want to slice you open).


Figure in the mist,
We want to know your being,
your secrets.
(Peer into your soul).


Figure in the mist,
We mean you no harm.
Here, we protect our cherished.
(I'm lying).


Figure in the mist,
You are not human.
Pathetic. Insignificant.
(You're a liar, too).


Figure in the mist,
We want to destroy you.
Extract everything you are.
(I'll take everything you've ever wanted).


Figure in the mist,
We don't care about your true being.
Morality means nothing.
(Truth in humanity is scarce).


Figure in the mist,
We are all so misunderstood.
That doesn't make you an exception.
(But, I'll love you forever)."

I am with the West. I am fair-skinned, I deserve a bullet in my chest.

As simple , and as barbaric those lyrics are, I really like them. They don't mean an awful lot to me, but, it does summarize how I do feel towards America in general. Of course, since they are a band from Oxford in England, they could be talking about Western Europe. For me, an American female, I refer to the West as North America. 


I am currently reading Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. The book is interesting. I mean, I really like it. I'm not going to sit down and analyze why I like it. I'm not that much of an English nerd. The language within it the book is capturing my attention. Tyler is really interesting, and Marla I just plain don't like. She's so pathetic, much like Billy Pilgrim from Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. The only thing that's bothering me is that the narrator doesn't have a name. That always puts me on edge. 


It's been only two days and I've read eight-seven pages of the novel. If you could imagine, I noted the parts of the book that really struck my attention. So far, this is what has.

"Now, according to the ancient Chinese custom we all learned from television, Tyler is responsible for Marla, forever, because Tyler saved Marla's life." (60).

"Me, with my punched out eyes and dried blood in big black crusty stains on my pants, I'm saying HELLO to everyone at work. HELLO! Look at me. HELLO! I am so ZEN. This is BLOOD. This is NOTHING. Hello. Everything is nothing, and it's so cool to be ENLIGHTENED. Like me." (64).

"'You know, the condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away. The condom, I mean. Not the stranger.'" (66).

All condensed into six pages, so far. Riveting, I know.

 

 

You've gone stabbing yourself in the neck.

I am back from volunteering at Winthrop. It could have gone better. There weren't a lot of patients on my floor today, so, I spent most of the time sitting around in the break room. Surprisingly, I wasn't starving, nor was I exhausted, which is a really nice change of pace. I just feel sometimes that when I go there and there are a lack of patients, they're looking for things for me to do. I know I'm a volunteer and all, but, if you don't need it done, don't go pulling things out of your ass for me to do. I got lost today, and getting lost in a hospital is a bit nerve wracking. I always feel that I'll never figure out how to get back out. I always do, obviously.


What I realized yesterday is that I never followed up with a post upon the football game that I promised that I would. (I do read my old entries. I feel like my life is zooming by, honestly). I need to get this experience out of my mind, just so I don't have to think about it much longer. It was my most enjoyable football game experience. Don't ask me why, it just was.


I mean, just hanging out with my friends makes me happy. I'm disappointed that I won't be able to see them today. Although, I don't mind hanging out with my cousins, either. It's rather conflicting. So, when I arrived with my father, I made sure that he had a safe spot. I feel like I've already started to take care of my parents, now. It's that whole Chinese culture thing coming up again. My father is much like me, he's very stubborn, and he's always pushing himself past his limits. I had to watch that and hang out with my friends. All in all, it turned out fine. The only thing that I found out recently is that when he got home, he fell asleep for the next three hours. So, now I feel like I did a half assed job on it. But, he said he had fun. So, I'm glad.


I sat with my friends Ali and Michael in the front row. I'm ashamed to look the band director in the eyes. If there's anything I will always do, it's looking people in the eye. I can't do it with him without feeling nervous, anxious or scared. (Nervous and anxious are the same thing, aren't they?). There's 'Funeral March' for the flutes, which is just four measures of rest. I'm not sure why that strikes me as so funny, it just does. I won't question it. Honestly, I'm glad I got a last chance to see them march in the last song 'Cantus / Song of Aeolus'. Excluding the fact that their band visual makes me fall out of my chair laughing, I like to watch them march. I just can't handle it when they all start to dance. It's too ridiculous.


By third quarter, Rob came over to say hi to me. We got to talk as long as it was until he had to go play 'Poker Face' by Lady Gaga. I don't know how long that was. It involved a poke war and something about trumpets being awesome. (I did like the trumpet prior to meeting him, mind you). I later got bored and began to undo his shoe laces because really, I am cooler than all of you, and you can't even handle it. I managed to break his record of shoe tying, so, I think I win. As I'm untying his shoes, he makes some comment about it being a bit early to be ripping off his clothes. 


Oh, I died. I really did. But, I mean, of course. As I go to grab my bag from the bleacher row below, I sit up to him smirking saying, "Purple?"


It basically went like this.


Rob: "Purple?"
Caroline: "Purple."
Rob: "Purple."
Caroline: "You're an asshole."


I had to be wearing my snazziest underwear I had in my drawer (DON'T ASK WHY). If you bathe at one in the morning the night prior, all you want to do is get into bed and go to sleep. So, er, I put on my rainbow zebra striped ones that happen to have a purple elastic band. Yeah. If I had enough mental capacity to realize that I was going to marching band in a couple of hours, I would not have worn...those.


Rob is set on trying to offend me, and he hasn't done it yet. I told him I was a person that was really difficult to offend, just don't call me a chink, and we won't have problems. In total, I'm aware of where he was looking. I mean, it's not that hard to derive. I find it funny because I'm say that my rear is Grade A, but sarcastically. (If you really think that I sit around in awe of it, then you might have serious problems). 


That's all I have to say for now.

I will be chasing a starlight.

It's late at night and real quiet. I figured it would be the most ideal settings for a blog entry. Whether this will be long or short, I won't know. I'm going to keep it surprise.


I'm sitting down at my desk with my chai, a little bit of sugar in it so I can write this up. I plan my teas accordingly so that I have enough energy to finish whatever I want to do in a forty minute time bracket, then, the sugar wears off and I am on a sugar crash. Then, I can sleep soundly with a warm belly.


If I can't have something like a fireplace in my room, might as well find other ways to re-create the core of warmth of the body. 


Today, I celebrated what I call a half-done Record Store Day with my good friends Tracy and Jenna. We went out to Looney Tunes in West Babylon and I got the limited edition A Jolly Christmas with Frank Sinatra on vinyl, twelve inches. I'm throughly pleased. Along with that purchase (Which was twenty dollars. A regular price. I can't complain), I got two pins of Morrissey and one of my favourite bands, Anberlin for a dollar each. I put them on my bag, and now I have a place for my Franz Ferdinand pins.


Later, we went to Borders and had a quick look around and then we went back to her house for a Post-Thanksgiving dinner (Leftovers). Then, we watched Hullabaloo, and it was great. Although, I couldn't help but think as I was watching it about how much I missed Franz Ferdinand. I know that they're making a new record, but, I'm getting anxious. I want to watch something new and funny by them, that's all.


I want to go to the bookstore tomorrow. I need more books to read. I also want to get a new bookshelf so that I can load it up with books that I really like. I want to always have them on hand and in a very accessible place. When I'm older, I want to have a built-in bookshelf. That would be so awesome.


I really should be getting to sleep soon. I don't really want tomorrow to come, though. I don't feel like volunteering, and I don't want to miss the last marching band meet. I'll say it again, I really like the marching band atmosphere. Can you blame me? Anyone who has seen one together can't help but feel some sort of jealously towards them. At least, for me, anyway.


I like being able to hang out with my friends at a football game. I mean, there is a brutal and barbaric game going on right before our eyes, and the noises some band instruments can do are really funny. It adds to the experience. It's nothing like watching a football game on television. I don't mind watching football in person, honestly.


On another note, it was snowing in Pennsylvania and all the cold air was being directed in our direction (It was really freezing today). I'm hoping that it snows tomorrow. It was all cloudy and everything, it might as well have. I love snow and I hate snow. It's so beautiful and so destructive. Waking up before they've cleared the snow away on a snow day is really one of the most gorgeous images I have in my mind. Sure, you're stuck in the house, but it's a great thing. It gives you an excuse to remain comfortable in your house and not be yelled at. 


The sugar is beginning to wear off, and I need just a tad more energy to make it upstairs and brush my teeth. Goodnight, my lovelies.

I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck, or did I last time I checked.

It's Thanksgiving and I feel stupid. Like, really stupid. 


Part of me wishes that I went to a private school (No, not the local Catholic schools), but one in the city. Therefore, I would have never have met you and if I did, conversation wouldn't be so forced. 


I mean, I am a fan of talking on the Internet, text and all, but, I'd rather talk to you in person. I'm like that with a lot of people. I make exceptions, though.


Part of me wishes that I was going to the Stony Brook game this Saturday, but, I  know I can't. It's impossible for me to get there. If those are the brief moments I do get to chill with you, then, that's what I want to do. I wish it wasn't an hour away, and I didn't volunteer that day, either.


I can't say I miss the work that came with joining my school's marching band. I think I miss the experience with everyone. There's a strange energy that fluxes throughout the members, I wish I was still part of that. But, I couldn't do it. I do greatly and sincerely regret quitting. Now, I have to talk to the director and see how I can make this work next year. 


And I mean, another thing, I could get a guy to help me with my bass, right? Jesus Christ. My bass teacher fucked me over. I refuse to go back to him because he did this. I really needed help with the music, and nobody could offer it to me. 

I am so ashamed of what I have become.

I wanted to write a full page before I posted anything, anywhere. This is my untitled short piece. I'm not really sure where I am going with it, yet.


By: Caroline
November 25th, 2010.
First portion completed: 1:27 AM. 


For those who do follow me: PLEASE DO NOT TAKE AND PASS OFF AS YOUR OWN WORK.


"...on terms of breaking Truth A through E, including Doctrine 172, Caranavaugh, Taryn, along with her partner, Illegalite Reygadré, Thomas, is hereby guilty upon charges against The Magistrate. Punishment in regards to such atrocities are as followed. Caranavaugh will..."


Jestrau was interrupted by Thomas who loudly shook his cage bars like an animal. He screamed as if he believed that noise could save them from their inevitable fate. Like everyone, he knew that once The Magistrate located them, it was all over.


Taryn stared over at him for the first time during the interrogation. The whites of her eyes were gone, the skin of her cheeks shimmering with tears.


Strangely, she was at peace. No longer would they live like fugitives. Their secret was out. A massive weight both lifted off their shoulders.


Jestrau cleared his throat, and in essence, the sound waves of the glass cube, "We will first clean the taint from your skin, then your mind. All of which will remain a secret, just like you have done. A slim reminder of your errors in your past. Whether The Magistrate has chosen to forgive you, is still a question."


Thomas stared at Jestrau, his eyes emotionless and cold. Jestrau's lips curled into a smile as he approached Taryn with three of The Magistrate's Royal Guards. As they released the bonds holding her down, she began to sob uncontrollably again. She fell onto her knees, crying and begging. The Guards dragged her out through a long, grey hallway. Taryn never looked back.


Thomas rattled the cage bars again, "Oi! Jestrau! If you harm her, even once, there will be hell to pay."


Jestrau scoffed, "Really ,my boy?" he said approaching the cage, "It appears that you are locked in a cage, miles away from Caranavaugh."


"I'm not a boy, and it's Taryn." he articulated, "Let me out of this --"


Jestrau laughed, "I don't believe so. You will wait until you are transported to the outskirts of the city. You hereby are exiled, Reygadré."


"You say it like it's a bad thing."


"Without Caranavaugh."

I'll be dead before you put a gun to my brother's head.

I don't have a brother, just saying. I was in a half asleep daze yesterday in Studio Art 2 (I have it first thing in the morning. Classes start at 7:40 AM), and then this song came on. I'm a sucker for acoustic songs (I will get into later), and I couldn't bring myself to hit the shuffle button. Generally in the morning, I'm fickle to what I want to listen to, so, I continuously hit the shuffle button until I hit something that I get over-emotional too. Don't ask me why. That's what wakes me up in the morning. 


The song is 'Brothers' by Brand New, by the way. I read this over and realized that I didn't even mention the song itself. That was dumb.


Tonight, I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One again with my best friends (Ali, Michael and Liz). I can't get over how great of a series that is. I really can't. (As I continue to write this, I keep realizing that I write just like how Holden Caulfield speaks in The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger). I, personally, still cannot get over that the whole series is almost over. It's been with me for essentially my entire life. I don't think anybody really understands why I'm so sad to see this whole movie saga ending. I'm afraid that once it ends, the series will be forgotten and disregarded by younger generations. This is why my children will have full access to my bookshelf.


Of course, years later. Russian authors are complex, but, their humour is great. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov makes me laugh out loud. It's so absurd, that it's fantastic. I think I might re-read it. I don't generally re-read books, but, Harry Potter and The Master and Margarita are the exception. Maybe even 1984 by George Orwell.


I really like literature. I'll go over into the corner now.


There is this one particular line I really like at the end of the song 'Citizen Erased' by Muse. I mean, it's rather cliché, but, it's epic, really. For something so short at the end of a song, they both equal each other in the weight of epic in the end. Here's the story though:


I was sitting in gym class during meditation. My mind tends to wander a lot while meditation. It's exactly like getting ready to sleep, and that's when I do all my thinking. I was listening to 'Citizen Erased' prior to going to class and I heard the last line. I don't know what moved me so much. But, I got inspiration from the lines to write something. It's like the ending to a long book. Hopefully, it'll work just as a short story. If I like it enough, I might submit it to my school's literary magazine.


The lyrics are:

"Wash me away. Clean your body of me. Erase all the memories, they will only bring us pain. And I've seen all I'll ever need."

Really simple, I know. I'll post what I have later. I want to copy what I wrote down in science into my writing notebook. I don't know why I stopped carrying it around with me. 

Now, why I am so obsessed with acoustic songs. I can't really explain why to a definitive point. I feel like a little more effort is put into playing acoustic songs because songs are a bit more exposed when recorded as opposed to an electric, hard song. You can cover up a lot of mistakes by just playing louder, but, even with that, you have to do that right, or it just sounds like horribly done punk rock. 


I claim that you first sang to me on November 11th, 2010. (I'm not actually that creepy. I just remembered that because it's Veteran's Day and the day before my father went in for a triple bypass surgery). Let's face it. I left for a moment, and you stopped singing. Then I came back and you started again. Even though if it was for a little bit, it still made me swoon. (I really hate being a girl right now). Acoustic songs are that much more moving, and now I have that memory to associate them with.


I hope you never give me a reason why to hate your guts. I honestly don't want to hate acoustic songs. Not that I think that the possibility of your memory could ever tarnish them. 


Since, this is a 'diary' (I use this term lightly), I figured I have rights in posting this here. I will use no names. If names are mentioned in here, ever, then they meant a lot to me. Right, future me? I have a feeling I will be using this once I go to college. God, that's a scary thought.


Sometimes, I want to believe that you're acting this way because you now know for sure who I like. You don't know why, but I shouldn't have to give you a reason. You should accept it and move on. Which you have, and I'm thankful that you haven't asked any questions why. I mean, once you checked Livejournal (The main reason this blog was started), I got paranoid. You then started to act differently towards me. You started video chatting me a lot more (At least once per day) and messaging me. 


In addition, on my Livejournal, I mentioned that I really like how Rob sang to me. Now, you're taking vocal lessons over the summer. Knowing me, I am definitely over thinking this. But, I can't honestly help but make connections at this point. 


In comparison to weeks prior, you're paying a lot more attention to me. Yes, I notice these things. 


That's all I have to say about tonight and a couple days before. This has been a post. 

And he's half in love with Elizabeth, and he's half in love with you.

The Mystery Jets are a really good bad, those who read this, should listen to them. They're an awesome breed of British men. 


I feel like 'Half in Love with Elizabeth' is relating more to my life than it should. I never thought it would. It was just one  of those songs when you say, "Wow. This song is really catchy. I really enjoy it.", but you don't know why. You can sing along to it really well, and they are one of the bands that I really want to see live. (These guys and One Night Only). Kanye West doesn't really count for a 'band'. If you count him and his ego, it's more like twenty bands to see live. 


Looking back to what I said about the song, it only occurred to me that my English teacher said that yesterday. You don't know why you really like something until you analyze it, then you're able to pick out what you really enjoy about it. There's your answer. 


Fleming, I love you and I hate you, but you make so much sense all the time. You're not a bullshit teacher like my other ones are. You're almost like Gullotta, but, more liberal. Gullotta is just an all around asshole. That's all I can say. 


A substitute teacher whom I've had in the past recognized me again for my poetry that I published last year. I mean, he still thinks I'm the younger sister of myself, which doesn't make any sense. I explained this last time. I kind of find it interesting that he remembers me from last year. I like to think of it that my poetry actually made some form of an impact on someone, so, that's why it stuck with them.


I can dream, can't I?

Wait. They don't love you like I love you.

In all seriousness, I thought I would manage to just be friends with you. But, that was a complete failure. I guess I'm not as strong when I make decisions for myself. Because this song is playing (Maps by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs), I'm thinking of you again. I really shouldn't be, and I know this. It's quite unhealthy, and my mind has other uses than just thinking of people.


I'm aware that I severely over think things, but, I can't help that either.


Can you sing to me again? I liked that.

NYC.

I really like Interpol. They're one of my favourite groups right now. If you haven't noticed yet, the title of my posts are what I am listening to. The more you know.


I promised my other poem. So, here it is. There isn't a title for this one, either. But, it's not all about him, this time.


"(I plead, that one hears me out).


A ring of blue,
In comparison, the most iridescent brown.


I shattered,
all two hundred and six, dust,
irrelevant.
My sanity, gone.


But, I refused to let you go.


I danced like a puppet for you.
Fulfilling your every whim.
Everything you asked for.
I found myself more alienated than ever.


I find myself, 
more times than none,
into this infinite loop.
Physically sickened.


And I thought you'd be the one."

They heard me singing, and they told me to stop.

As I said from the beginning, I am an angst-ridden, teenage girl. I am the worst of my kind. I fit the stereotypes all too well. 


I also said that I am a writer. (Well, I assume I did. If I didn't, I am a writer). Problem solved.


I wrote several poems on you guessed it. Yep. Rob. Well, I mean, this one is probably the most in reference to him. You don't have to read this. It's in my writing journal, and since I call this my diary, I can only feel that it's appropriate to post here. It's hidden from various eyes, and this is exactly what I need. 


I haven't titled it yet. 


"I never thought
that those songs in the hundreds,
would ever be in reference to me.


My stomach drops seventeen feet.
Time and distance forever separate you,
from me.


My world is a shade of grey.
Those sheer three seconds.
An explosion of colour.


And I'm taken aback. 


Things fade to black.
I beg for a way out.
It doesn't feel possible.


The late hours crawling back,
tossing and sobbing.
My whole body is a danger zone.


The epicenter of all m problems.
And it's been so short."


It's not the best I've written. I'll post another after dinner. I'm really hungry. Afterwards I must part with the Internet to re-type my research paper on The Things They Carried. You all know about that, and I'm sure.

Tonight, we can be as one, tonight.

I am going to tell the story of one of my re-occurring nightmares, in hopes that I won't have it again if I have it down on paper, pixels, etc. 


I wake up in a field of dead grass, and I'm staring at the sky. Everything appears to be normal, it's just a real nice day. I'm not sure where I am, but, I know that I'm in my town, despite the fact that there's a thick forest to my left. I think nothing of it after I conclude that I'm at the other elementary school.


I walk into the school, and that's when things start to get bad. Outside, it starts to get really dark, and as I walk up the staircase, I begin to hear a lot of shouting and explosions. Gunshots and loud footsteps coming up the stairs. They're all speaking in something foreign, and I can't decipher it. Flight or flight comes into play, and I decide to sprint down the hallway to get away from whatever is down the stairs, looking for something.


As I start to run, they begin to chase after me, but, I'm able to lose them for a bit. I hide in the opposite stairwell and I begin to sob uncontrollably. I pull out my phone to call for help, but they're at the stop of the stairs, and that's when I realize that they're Nazis. They sprint down the stairs as I flee for the outside, only to find that it's in worse of a shape  than on the inside.


There are tanks everywhere, shooting at nothing. Guns are beginning to point at me and bullets are flying past my head. I sprint in the other direction, hiding behind the brick wall for a brief moment. I notice that there are vans driving in and out of the area, and the tanks not recognizing their presence. Other vehicles, such as tanks to them, are shot at. I run back inside the school and head for the roof, noting that there are no planes or helicopters in the area.


Once I make it to the roof, I send a call to my mother, begging for her to pick me up, explaining what was going on. She doesn't believe me. She thinks I've gone crazy. I start screaming, saying, "Can't you hear the guns?! The explosions!? I'm not lying to you! Help me for God's sake!". She hangs up on me, and I try the police. They don't believe me either. I'm out of luck. There's no one else here, only me. I'm the only one in the school, and they're looking for me.


I contemplate jumping off the roof. It might be less painful than being shot multiple times. So I think. They might shoot me, they might douse me in gasoline and ignite me. They might stab me. They might cut up my arteries and let me bleed out.


I decide not to, but try to escape by running. The Nazis are at the door, and they grab my wrists and throw me to the ground. I begin to uncontrollably sob again. They're shouting at me in German, and I don't know what they're telling me to do. They kick me hard in the back, but I can't feel it. I'm grateful, until they set me on my knees and tie my hands and feet together. 


Then, I feel cold metal at the back of my head.


I wake up at this point. 

I'm going back to 505.

I am very tired right now to begin with, so, if this post begins to ramble or not make any sense at all, please excuse this. I want to go to sleep soon, but, I'm awake with the stress of writing my research paper on the novel The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. I had to come up with my own topic for the paper, and I've never done that before. I'm stressing over it more than I should be. I mean, my English teacher snipped off a good portion of my thesis statement, and I feel like the loss of innocence throughout the novel is more prevalent than the emotional baggage carried throughout and after the war. Just a personal opinion. If I had both, I'd have a strong paper.


Today, I saw Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part One with my friends Tracy, Ali and Jenna. I cried when Hedwig and Dobby died. It was really bad. I shouted 'No!' at the scene when he died, and the whole theatre laughed. You're not supposed to laugh at something like that! (Yes, I know they weren't laughing at Dobby dying, but at me. I couldn't help myself). 


Before the movie and for one message within the film, Rob texted me. The contents of our conversation are:


Rob: :( im so pissed right now....i just got stuck in my house instead of seeing friends
Me: Aww. D: Sneak out, yo. I'm seeing Harry Potter soon.
Rob: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck damn it
Me: I just sprinted full speed to the theatre. I'll text throughout the film.
Rob: Cool cool....im so sorry that i didnt give you a good bye hug....and i kinda need a hug right now so just expect that
Me: It's okay. I shall give you one Monday. I would have stayed the full length but my dad was going to leave without me.
Rob: Ok.....:( i really wish i could hug you right now
Me: Sneak out to the movie theatres. I will be here for the next couple of hours (I ended up sitting in front of my sister unintentionally, we came separately) FFUU!
Rob: I cant sneak out im grounded. its just gonna make things worse....ugh neeeeeed toooo huggggg yooooouuuuuu!!!
Me: You must survive one day. YOU CAN DOOO IIITTTT!
Rob: Ugh but i like hugging you so much!!! :(
Me: Make a surprise gathering and then I shall be in your presence.


Now, that I think of it. That was a really long conversation. But, he really needs to make up his mind. I can't decide whether he has yet. But, I would also like to point out the differences between the look of our sentences. I used proper punctuation and well, he didn't. It doesn't bother me, some people are much worse than he is. 


I will be going to bed after this post, for the record. I have sort of a new idea for a tattoo on my wrist. I spurred it from three hexagons on another girl's wrist on tumblr, inspired from The Resistance's album artwork (Muse).


See:

It's really cool. From that, I want to make a hexagon out of those, but I don't know how that would look yet. 


Correction: I just did, and it looks silly. So, scratch that idea.


Essentially, that was my day. I'm going to make a post about the football game/marching band suffering hour tomorrow. Suffering for them, me, I was having a bit of fun.


Goodnight.