The eyes are not here

i wonder what the romans thought about love and commitment

one day, we will sweep open the door to this old house (mind the broken floorboard) to gaze upon what was and what shall be.
and we will sit together, Indian-style, and share our stories.
our bitterness new as broken glass and stitched together with hope.
that if we keep talking we'll meet somewhere, and emerge different.
and better somehow.
mistakes forgiven by alcohol and shared regret.

shaking our heads, we'll admit
'it's hard not to see everyone through who I've known before.'

and we'll sleep.
and tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow

a place of infinite possibility beckons.

you know what's weird?
I've found that people only care about you when you have something going on.
When you're caught up in what you're doing, venturing off into exciting things, that's when "friends" come out of the woodwork and suddenly "miss you."

It's like, 'where were you when my life was falling apart?'

Whatevs.
it's some of my fault too.
I've got a degree in burning bridges, and the fire has consumed everything.

maybe I should hold people closer sometimes.

"a novelty seeker prone to discontent."

so I cast off those who would have been loyal to me for flashier folks.
ones who all eventually let me down.

this is the turning point.

i have to disown the shallow, selfish aspect of myself in order to emerge anew.
focus on others, instead of being the self-indulgent introvert of recent years.

I have much work to do.

-don't talk badly of anyone (publicly)
-eliminate "mhmm" "uh uh" and other garbage words/noises from vocabulary
-continue to cultivate fabulous new look
-never act unsure of yourself, always project self-assurance
-when weird guys at work make passes at you, shut them down directly but in a classy way
-pick your battles (no more temper tantrums)
-make eye contact often
-pay attention to your surroundings (don't be a ditz)
-don't take anything personally (it's never really about you anyway)
-continue getting over ex, try and cultivate faith in men/humanity
-never show intimidation
-research further about teaching english overseas
-get driver's license before birthday
-try to be ~fierce~ but approachable
-swear less
-try and avoid slipping into stoner speak

also, THIS x million

"i don’t know about you girls- but i wanna live a VERY full life, have lots of sex, make a lot of money (so i’m never at anyone elses whim), be happy, make a positive contribution to the world, surround myself with people i love and respect; who love and respect me- people who make me laugh/inspire me, and have friendships that are MUTUALLY rewarding emotionally! i want a boyfriend who makes me feel safe, encourages me in everything i do, is my best friend/sidekick, super sexy, and great in bed. no routines!

i have an image in my head of this fierce lithe girl creature.
bold with colorful rags for clothes and a mission.

what sort of mission?

i couldn't tell you, and she probably never would.
(she has better sense than I to go blabbing her secrets to strangers.)

there's no one with her, and she covers more distance on her own.
she knows this, and seeks no companions.

so, it is odd i stumbled across this, for it it exactly how I pictured her.
and i'm sure the person whose head she holds had it coming.

she's not unhinged, just conscious of her power.
and she will not tolerate defilement.

hope and bitterness push each other back and forth like competetive siblings.
mama can't take much more.

i think i need a _startover.

that light bouncing off the tops of the trees?

i'm running after it

some wish for perspective; I just want my own POV back.
(did I ever have one?)
i'm sick of (in every situation) being the dual participant and security camera to my actions.

that's what's up.

It feels like someone has scraped out my brains and is using my skull as a cereal bowl.

new years was memorable, for far too many reasons.
in the overpass with lizzz and zach and others.
stoned, making fun of dick clark on tv.
chinese food.
not in that order.

haha i'm going surfing this summer.
I am the most un-beach bum looking person ever.

I really should be reading the 1-14 chapters of the Grapes of Wrath that's due in 9 hours.

oh well.

tomorrow I get to see my ginger kid of choice, so I'm pretty complacent.
and soon...high on amphetamines, the moon is a lightbulb breaking


I think I romanticize my bullshit so it'll feel less lame in retrospect.
I'm sorry, but you probably do it too.

Humans live in a perpetually undignified state.
We shit, puke, flake off, decay, die.
So we enjoy beauty because it seems to defy these laws of nature.
Poreless, sublime faces stare accusingly from every magazine.
A memento mori for the 21st century.
While Photoshopping becomes a yesteryear aesthete's best friend.

This vision. This intangible concept that makes its home in your skull is given form.
Which is why we love gawking at supermodels.
Because, through them, we catch a furtive glance of God.
maybe God is the wrong word. semantics, so forth.
Through them we molest the metaphysical.

We're uplifted.
however, reflecting further, one starts to feel dissatisfied.
and this image becomes empty of its erstwhile meaning.
I propose this feeling comes as a natural consequence of the previously mentioned high.
This comedown could be summarized as "God is dead and so am I."
the realization that "yes, I enjoy staring at these idealized images but they are as finite as myself."
And I am kind of saying supermodels are the new gods.
if you listen to the Christian Right, they'll bitch on about secular society's fixation on sex (but we've always been obsessed, we've just never been this blatant at any other point in history).
Therefore: God(Symbol of immortality)=Beauty
Beauty=Sex Sex=Reproduction Reproduction=shitty form of immortality
immortality=God
The realization that seeming perfection can't overcome death=bummer?
along with the epiphany:
male:(most likely) never impregnating a supermodel
female: will never look like a supermodel
both: denied their shoddy immortality?



Hence, along with the fondling of the metaphysical, one gets excited about beauty because one wants to couple with it (and through subsequent offspring) become immortal.
Because beauty is attractive and the sole reason for this attractability is to find a mate,
and reproduction with this mate is a human being's only tangible way to become immortal.
To pass your genes and its defects off to another generation.
it's like inanimate reincarnation.
Granted, one can achieve a kind of immortality by making a name for themself while alive but that immortality is dependent upon persons living and inherently dodgy nostalgia.
if no one remembers you, you never existed sort of thing.
then again, your offspring could be looked upon as finite as peoples' memories so this could really go either way.

hopefully that made sense.
if not, I give you scenario.

*teacher reads my paper*
TEACHER: I know what you mean but you write schizophrenically.


in a few years, they'll call me avant-garde.
and they would be wrong, I'm just nonsensical.

you know the day's going be awesome when you start it off dancing awkwardly to the violent femmes.

so I fucking dazzled aforementioned in last entry boy, gosh.

there was: witty banter, jabs about promiscuous drug use, and anecdotes about hijinks with dime bags in AP English class.

he's so brilliant, it blows me away.

(and perhaps I'm more impressive than I thought.)

I wish he would have shown up to open mike, but he had alluded earlier to some "activities", he was probably going to be engaged in.

haha "Come high! It'll probably add to the ambiance".

I'm getting better I think.

on the academic front, if I start to slip, I have a prescription for Adderall to fall back on.

yessss.

everything's falling into place. I FUCKING LOVE IT.

is it a battle...or is it a dance?

I can't wait for the week to start.
work drags you down but I have my own red-haired buoy. (not techinically mine yet, but i jump the trigger all a-twitter)
a philisophical surfer boy (though he's not an archetype, oh no)

haha "if you didn't catch that, it was a parody of If you give a mouse a cookie".
precioussss, sooooo precious.

i still can't speak too much but if it really matters, i'll say it.
with a perspective painted in nihilism, nothing matters.
lololololololololololololololololololololololololololololol.

(oh jeez, I know)

Q:you know what's vaguely depressing?
A:the only way I can muster up the motivation to do my schoolwork is by downing copious amounts of stimulants

at least i'm not desperate enough to snort them.

another development, I find myself pretty disinterested in punk rock nowadays.
this is like new-chapter-in-my-life-warranting.
punk rock has been mainstay since 7th grade.
and now i'm sick of it?
weird.

I think i have brain damage of some sort.
my collusion with the bathroom floor at the age of four and the subsequent cracking of my skull
and what-like.
You know what area I smashed?
The parietal lobe.
what does the parietal lobe control?
spatial and mathematical thinking.

and the dark flickered while the match was struck.

at least it wasn't bad enough to give me the math form of dyslexia.
just enough for a fog to settle in when I see numbers.

oh dearr. psych project I should be completing and ap history stuff I should get out of the way.

nah. i think i'll just continue reading slash.

there's gotta be some well-thought out philsophy that says,
the actions that give you the most pleasure are the ones that should be undertook.
oh righttt, hedonism.

nevermind.

tell me why i'm switching out of the 1 class out of two that I actually have friends in.
ridiculous.
i'm also too stupid to learn russian but i can pretend otherwise.

i think there's some kind of invisible force field between me and people.
I can't talk anymore.
which is why "where I end and you begin" is ever so poignant.
not even with romantic shit either.
ALL THE TIME.

woot to getting my little brother to vacuum my room for me and not paying him.
serves the little bastard right for not requesting funds up front.

damn my ambitions of grandeur.
i'm an extracurricular whore.
and my name's in the school planner and i didn't even know it.
but i don't remember/even want to be publicity chair for ring dance.
i hate dances. and i hate talking to people.
ms.cole is an idiot.
as I said
"I'm not really leadership material so if you can make me a secretary or something, that would be great."

douche.....bag. (i don't know who i'm referring to, let's just say me for the sake of familiarity.)

i'm so responsible. i do my work and i raise my hand and i stare at my desk.

i've downgraded from being a weirdo to a socially-awkward dork.
weirdo made a good mask.

then again, this is all my perspective and everyone says I have no grip on reality so i'm like,
totally spinning out mannnn.

p.s. I love sarcastic wit. especially in fellows. it keeps me from going asexual.

i think i may have ruined things a bit. but it is ok because i no longer care.

driving back from the x/rollins band show

me: why did you invite jake if you wanted to hang out with me?
him: aw, is dannielle sad that i didn't hang out with her?
me: if you weren't driving, i would punch you in the face
me: you're lucky i have such good self-control, you condescending asshole

ha. and now he's mad at me, I think.
good thing my feelings for him have dissipated or else I would feel regretful.

that whole affair put unnecessary stress on my life anyway.
the inadequacy I would constantly feel because I wasn't worth breaking up with his girlfriend over.
all gone.
hopefully we can still be friends.

I need someone who can take me down. ha "i'm purity, hit me again." yes.

oh well, school starts on the 5th.
let's hope I meet a new shithead.

the only one who doesn't care is the only one who talks to me.
weirddddd. of course i'm judging caring by willingness to break up with girlfriends.
so he lacks in anycase.

when school comes, I'm going to paint my eyelids and stalk the halls in a trenchcoat.
not those lame ubergoff ones. we're talking russian secret agent here.


school's going to be so lame without friends.
now i'll be alone. i resent isolation.
maybe with meds and proper help i'll be less nervous.
cause i'm always nervous.
i mean i'm already a weirdo. but i can't even be a candid one.
too nervous to talk.
i'm too polite to scream, so i seethe.

hahaha "go fuck until your eyes bleed."
i crack myself up.

i miss physical affection in general. it's been 2 years. biting was the besttttttt.

goddamn that boy, goddamn him to at least purgatory.

where i shall be waiting, with a dull pike.

i figured out what's wrong. avoidant personality disorder.

i've gone to a shrink for 4 years and she couldn't tell me this?
BS excuses as to why in our last meeting.
new shrink, effective meds maybe.

i just wanna calm down.

It's funny, I always thought this was the universal feeling and that happy people were just kidding themselves.

hilarity insued today.
my mom bitchslapped me verbally and I went off to calculate how much percocet it would take to shut me up. maybe forever.

this is just too much.

oh me, oh my emaciation.
i pray at the altar of kate moss.
except maybe a few inches taller.

it's all I ever wanted really.

boys dance circles around me, mockingly.
he doesn't want to break up with her.
he doesn't want me.

that's ok. i'm fine. I don't need anything.

i love lankyness so much.
like that fellow says "don't dream it, be it."
I've got 3 weeks.
GO.

A moon full of stars and astral cars
and all the things I used to see

i'm physically tired but my mind won't be quiet. so, the cure must be to blather on about it on livejournal, yes?

lately, there's been a boy. who has a girlfriend (makings of a greek tragedy.)
and I like him.
and he likes me. but he feels he'd be too wracked with guilt if he broke up with her.
seeing as she comes from a rather troubled background and has a few extra personalities to show for it.
He inadvertently loves her as well. what's a compulsive wit with a penchant for self-loathing to do?
win his metaphorical heart, that's what. or stab out hers (I kid of course, mostly.)

whatever, I need to concentrate on practical matters. like getting a job.
which means I have to talk to people.
Which makes me wish I had some tranquilizers.
except there might be a drug test in order to get said hypothetical job.
then I would be screwed.

we sway side by side and fall
one by one
these flatlands absorb our weight as if,
we were balls of dust
And so we are

He's coming over today. Which kind of makes me want to cry.
It's rather dumb too.
I never have a romantic interest. at least not one that reciprocates said interest.
I can't play this part.
I was fine before. I was just miserable. Now, i'm miserable with hope.
Which is worse. that's not a question.

ohmy deviation . which way to go? the fuckup route or professionality.
decisions, decisions.
mediocrity makes its own fate, i'm afraid.



it's weird. i have to keep checking the mirror to see if i'm still here.

I decided i don't need it. I wanted something/someone to pull me out it and make existence tangible but not no more.
how completely odd. dead-end cynicism coupled with a sense of the abstract.
it's like being compelled to want to believe in the impossible but having your own nature crush your dreams.

it's fucking funny, you know?

I wanna rot from view blahblahblahblah
lame i know but,
it's easier to dismiss problems when they're someone else's.

being petty over time becomes grating. but it signifies at least a half-ass vested interest in matters.

so much misfortune and i perpetuate their suffering.
because it's all one big hamster wheel and it doesn't even matter if the hamster dies.
the wheel creaks on, inevitably. like this insect on my screen,that i'm too lazy/vegan to crush.

When I’m alone”—the words tripped off his tongue

As if to be alone were nothing strange.

“When I was young,” he said; “when I was young….”

just overcome by it all.
investment in the trivial is ingrained but chip away my masterpiece and there's nothing left to loathe.

this is going to sound nauseatingly melodramatic in a few years, i can tell.

and i want to away but we know where those thoughts have led to in recent years.

i keep having companion dreams, it's torturous.
like quiet lanky fellows dancing in my head. stop it.


it's funny how comforting screaming your lungs out is.
and the lack of places to do so explains everything.

it's not fair you know. there's no one to talk to. it's always awkward. always. whether because i word things abstractly or others' separate ideologies/disorders. they always go away.

i think everyone deserves at least one person you know?
damn sense of human entitlement, i know.

it's been a rough week as well. lack of sleep and food. absence of physical affection something.

and on friday i have my only ap test which i will likely do incredibly mediocre on and thus will have wasted the past year in taking the course.

hey look! it's me: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Depersonalization
throw in a few, nothing ever truly changes, there's no truth,and no universal set of beliefs ideas and it is me inside that nutshell.

yeah.
i'd hate to be all emotionally vulnerable and shite but all i really want right now is a boy who cares about me.
I realise and i know there's no hope. and comfort in someone's arms would be preferable.
"as i fall into your arms' tracks and watch beneath my eyelids every passing dot." ahahaha

instead, we self-medicate and skip from frame to frame. the joy de vivre in illicit substances.

kidding of course, kidding.
but...
"To be shaken out of the ruts of ordinary perception, to be shown for a few timeless hours the outer and inner world, not as they appear to an animal obsessed with survival or to a human being obsessed with words and notions, but as they are apprehended, directly and unconditionally, by Mind at Large— this is an experience of inestimable value to everyone and especially to the intellectual."

Because I is somebody else.