& we've shared some times, I wouldnt trade for the world

It has been awhile since I've sat down to write in here. Life has been pretty hectic, but not in a bad way.

With two weeks until my 18th birthday and less then five months until I graduate, I feel the need to recognize just a few of the people in my life currently. These people make me crazy and half the time I wonder why I'm stuck with them. But, the other half of the time, I couldnt possibly feel more blessed to be badgered by these lunatics I call my friends. These unusual people are the reason my life is what it is, and in spite of the difficulties, I wouldnt trade it in for any other.


Since, I'm fairly certain none of them read this, I have no problem recognizing them here. Whats the point you ask? Well, one day, years after I stop writing in this, I'll go back and read through these posts and remember the people in my life and why I kept them so close.

Well, the first person who stands out in my head is my "bestest enemy." Though we coined the term in sixth grade, it has never lost its validity. And, I doubt it ever will. Everything important that has happened to me over the past 7 years, she has been a part of in some twisted way or another. Every last stupid thing I've done, I've done with this moron. Every cut or bruise I've acquired has been her fault and if I get in trouble, she is standing right next to me getting yelled at too. We have done some of the stupidest stuff together and I'm sure one day it will be funny. Actually, its pretty damn funny now. We talk about the future all the time--about going to jail together, living in the bum house together, sitting on our front porch with shine and shotguns together. I know there is no guarantee that any of this will actually happen. (Mostly because I'll be shocked if we dont kill each other long before that.) Nonetheless, these past years have been...an adventure, to say the least. Whether we live to see ourselves old and crotchety or not, I'm sure we have many more dumb ideas ahead, if only to top the ones we've already got underway. So, Lishy Duh, raise an unexpected glass to Flo (and all of the "incidents"), all of our first times, all of our walks (even the one in the blizzard), New Zealand, photo shoots, and us; whatever we are. You are the one thing in my life that is allowed to not have a definition. Mostly, because Webster himself could not define this. (If you ever actually read this I'll have to kill myself...or you. Definitely you.)

Ah, boy. My dear pain in the ass. Never have I ever had a friend more frustrating than him. Of course, he may have a few redeeming qualities. (Though, none come to me at the moment!) In all seriousness, I love the fact that the two of us can just call each other and do nothing but rant, or sit at my kitchen table and plot out everyone's demise. We are better than everyone, it's quite the responsibility, we know, but we live with it. It's a blessing and a curse really. Philip, my love, raise an unexpected glass to cooking dinner, our exclusive and excellent parties in the bum house, Jeopardy, Cash Cab, hating Alicia (and on rare occasion loving Alicia), killing that ugly kid, and driving each other crazy...which we undoubtedly do at least once a day. And by the by, the front seat is mine whether you like it or not.

Whoever thought you and I would be friends? My freshman year we found each other...ready for it?....CANTANKEROUS! lol Four years later, I'm shoving you out my front door because we're disgusted at how similar our minds are....not to mention our childish sense of humor. We've bonded over some prettttty strange things, but, in the words of Brendan, "it's all good." Leah, please for the love of god, raise an unexpected glass to butt-fu, long sad car rides to nowhere, long happy car rides to...nowhere, the greatest writer of the twenty-first century, the disappearing horizon, the breathing ocean, the non-virgin pound it, and finally having friends who dont suck! lol, well at least a friend who doesnt suck.

You. I dont know what to say about you, but I know that you deserve to be recognized here. We are undefined. We are...inappropriate. I am horribly confused and befuddled by the whole situation, but somehow...I'm okay with that. This person and myself have known each other for quite a while, but only recently have we become this close. He is one of the most extraodinary people I have ever met and even though I try to convince myself that its all a bit of silliness, I know that I genuinely care about him. I've never met anyone who makes me smile more or feel less broken than he does. He is... surprisingly difficult to talk about here. I keep typing things and then deleting them. I think this is because my vocabulary can not possibly explain how amazing I think he is. If I can accomplish anything in my life, I want to help him realize how wonderful, impactful, and beautiful he really is. Raise an unexpected glass to questions and answers, boundaries...or not, to finding people who make things okay, to the promise of the bum house, and to the "L" word. The whole concept, of which, is kind of scary. But it's kind of exciting as well. =]

There are so many more people I can write about here. Lora, Emily, Android...hundreds more. But, I am kind of sleepy and will write about them another day, I'm sure.

"I've got some friends, some that I hardly know. But we've had sometimes, I wouldnt trade for the world. We chase these days down with talks of places where we will go."

It's Chaos, Clocks and Watermelons

About a year ago I watched “I’m Not There,” a movie inspired by Bob Dylan’s music and in many ways his life. At the end of the movie the people I was with got up, exclaimed “good movie” and that was that. I sat there…and I just cried. Someone asked me why I was crying and I didn’t really have an answer. Up until that point I was only vaguely familiar with Dylan. I knew some of his songs and the basics of his life but I had yet to really experience Dylan.
After watching, though, what choice did I have? I really got into his music after that. He’s been my favorite singer ever since. But its amazing how we forget the way things start, isn’t it? We just forget the way things are born and never really remember until they die or are reborn. Tonight I watched the movie again. The last two scenes were the scenes that made me cry the first time…and the same two made me cry this time. This time, I knew why. “It’s chaos, clocks and watermelons…it’s everything.”
The way I experienced Dylan was to experience my own life. Of course, I have no way of knowing what his message really is because even if I got the chance to ask him he wouldn’t answer me. Maybe that’s because he doesn’t know…or maybe he does and just doesn’t think I deserve to know unless I can figure it the fuck out on my own. Anyway, what my own life has taught me and what Dylan’s music reminds me is that we can fight things or accept them--we can stand up or back down…it doesn’t really matter as long as you’re aware. For an aware person life can really blow. Its easy to meander through life, brainless, thoughtless…you’ll never be alone, but you’ll never be aware either. To be aware, frequently means to be alone. But it also means to reap everything out of life. The flowers blossom differently when you are aware. The snow ceases to fall gently when you are aware. Colors are even more vibrant. Its this insane ecstasy, to be aware…just as beautiful and just as addictive. The Aware taste and crave more and more of this cognizant life and turn to things like drugs and poetry. Drugs and poetry are nothing more or less than the embodiment of artificial life. But when life isn’t enough or when being aware seems to lose its high, than what choice do you have but to turn to art and hallucinogens?
Artists go mad, philosophers kill themselves. Is this a lack of life? Or an overdose? How do we maintain life without over or under indulging? …Is that even possible?!
“If you’re missing me one place, search another.” Well, I’m sure one day I’ll wind up where the rest of them are. I’ll be just as old, just as tired and just as burned out. But, is it not, after all, better to burn out than to fade away?
I guess all things end…at the beginning.

Render a guess: Our need to create

I've recently discovered Oliver Sachs. About a month ago my physics teacher told me what with my love for reading and my secret passion for neuroscience I should pick up a book by Oliver Sachs. Well a lack of money prevented me from buying a book. However, in psych our teacher had us watch Awakenings, an adaptation of one his books. This movie was remarkable. Well, I went back to talk to Mr. Dempsey, my physics teacher, about it and he told me about a man who after undergoing some trauma had an intense need to paint. Now that is what he does...all of the time. He paints, he creates. Well, by some freak coincidence I went home and turned on the Science Channel to The Secret Life of the Brain which was an episode on that very same guy. Well, I've always had a secret passion for neuroscience but now its even more prominent.

So, why am I writing about it? Because I want to write about people and their scientific need to create. Cool, huh? I'm not sure what form this writing will take. A poem, a short story...maybe even one day a novel, but I will write about it.

Maslows Hieracrchy of Human Needs says that our first needs are our physicological needs. Feed ourselves, hyrdate ourselves. After that we move on to safety; this is why we have shelter. Beyond that is our sense of belonging. For this, we make friends and have families. Then comes our esteem, this is how we fit in our lives according to ourselves and other. Lastly, when all of these other requirements are met, we create. But when our brains are altered by some outside force our needs, our requirements are reordered. Lighting, injury, surgery all influence our priorities. And the best part? Scientists dont even know why.
...but artists can guess.

Best foot forward

This weekend has been pretty awful. At one point, I escaped from my house in attempt to find some peaceful solitude. I was going to write, but decided I didnt want to taint my notebook with negativity. So instead, I just sat by the creek and cried. I felt much better afterwards, but then I had to go home. That was a mistake. *sigh* I never thought I would look forward to a Monday! Nevertheless, I can't wait...
There is no point in this ramble today other than I just wanted to type something. I could explain away my weekend, but I've been trying not to reflect too hard on all that...badness. I know who I am. Thats good enough for me. So, best foot forward!

A bedtime story...

So I was talking to a friend who requested a bedtime story. The guidelines were simple. It had to involve the consumption of glue. I kind of liked what I came up with and wanted to put it someplace I wouldn't lose it. So I'll display it here for all the world to see! (Please keep in mind that it is a rough, informal draft that was really only intended as a joke and sent via AIM. ...There aren't even paragraphs! lol)

Lily awoke to the sound of someone crying. Though she was merely five, she was brave and ventured off to her mommys room in spite of any monsters that could be curiously lurking in the dark. "Mama?" She whispered. In response all she heard was the gentle snoring of her mother. Befuddled by what she thought she heard, she sleepily sauntered back to her room. Just as she was about to crawl into her big girl bed, she heard it again. She glared around the room, but saw no one. Even the bold Lilly was becoming frightened. Tap, tap! The sound came from her window, but when she went over to check, no one was there. She opened the window and cried out, "helloooo?" There was silence for a moment and then, "It appears a star is broken." Lily could not see the speaker and was just about to run to her mother when she heard the voice again, " I didn't mean to frighten you. See, the star is wayyyyyy up in the sky and asked me to ask you for help." Lily stared out the window. "But you're a tree!" She said, "And trees dont talk!" The tree was offended. "Little girl, not only do we talk but we compose music, write poetry! We are a most sophisticated lot!" Lily did not know what sophisticated meant, but she did know what music and poetry were, and she was rather certain she had never read a poem written by a tree. "Trees dont write poems!" "Oh they dont?" The tree snarled, "Ahem! 'I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree!' Who, but a tree, would write such a thing, hm?" "Oh," Lily said. She went on, "what's wrong with the star?" The tree remembering why he got the girls attention in the first place said, "Oh yes! I nearly forgot. You see there is a star up in the sky--right over there--she's broken a point and needs help fixing it. You dont suppose you could help?" Lily pondered deeply. What could she possibly do? "I know!" She exclaimed, "I'll be right back! Dont you move a....twig." Moments later Lily returned with a bottle of Elmers glitter glue she had used on a project for Kindergarten. "Will you lift me up to the sky, Mr. Maple?" The tree outstretched his long branches into the girls window and she cautiously climbed on. In no time, the tree lifted Lily up through the sky all the way to the still sobbing star. "He--llo" Lily said timidly. Afterall, she had never spoken to a star. "Will you help me?" was the stars only response. "Oh of course! Now open wide. I've got some medicine for you." The star obeyed and opened its mouth and let Lily pour in the glue. She then wiggled the star around until its point went back into place. "Better?" she asked. The star was over-joyed. "Oh yes, much better!" With that, the star leaned in and kissed little Lily. "You looked out for me and now I'll always look after you." The tree brought back little Lily to her room, where she dose off into a sound sleep.
As the years went by she soon forgot that night, but whenever she stared out her window there was always one star, shining brighter and more perfectly than the rest right above her.

Foreign (ugly) feelings

I have so many thoughts I want to write down, but not sure I can post them. Typically, I'd type away and thoughtlessly post. However, something, for some reason or another, is stopping me. I only hope that this isnt a sign that I'm growing up. If this is a sign--if my attaining some sort of fear of what people think is a sign--than I dont want to grow up. I'd much rather be a child, willing to lend myself to the world, not caring if I am accepted or rejected.
Today I feel uncertain of myself. This isnt something I typically feel. I dont like it one bit and hope this foreign feeling isnt here to stay.

**update later on**
It was only a moment. In fact, in the end I wound up feeling better than I did to start with. Isnt life strange sometimes?

I am borrowed for the sky

"It'll go by quick," Mr. Rosen said to us on our first day of ninth grade. I remember not believing him. I remember sitting there thinking to myself I want out of high school and I want out now.
A year after, I sat in Mr. Gozick's tenth grade honors English and listened to him say,"Dont spend your days waiting for other days." Though I thought this was a beautiful thing to say, I dont think I fully understood it's value.
Four years later, I begrudgingly admit, that they were both correct.
Today, Oct 27th of my senior year, I was sitting in my lab assistant class with Mr. Gozick. I listened to this man lecture his tenth grade comp class. He said essentially the same thing to them that he did to me years ago. Then he said, "You probably don't understand this now, but you will. Experience allows for appreciation."

My senior year. I'll be eighteen in a few months, and graduating high school only a few short months after that. I've been waiting and waiting for that day ever since fifth grade. I'm closer than I've ever been and I could not possibly be more excited. However, looking back, I'm doing something I haven't done up until this point. I'm appreciating everything I've experienced these past almost-four years.
I would not describe my high school adventure as easy, nor difficult. The years have been divided into categories of good and bad, and though some were difficult at the time, in retrospect each year and each experience aided me in ways I could not begin to understand back then. High school, or rather life in general, has offered me beauty without expecting anything in return. My life has led me to incredible people who have taught me ideas I will carry with me forever. My life has led me to understanding and accepting things that are different from myself. Because of this and so much more, I regret not a single day of my life or even my dreaded high school episode.
I owe all of what I've become to the people I've met along the way. Teachers, the man in the bookstore, and friends--true friends, I am forever indebted to you. Though most of you will never read this, or even really know it exists, I feel the need to thank you publicly. I offer my greatest appreciation to you someplace where everyone may see just what you have done for me. Thank you. My love to you all.


My Word Sketch
The other day, I was speaking with a friend. He said (though this is out of context), "the act of reaching the sky." I realized there was no single English word for this and was saddened by the thought. I then went on to think of what reaching the sky would feel like exactly. This is what I came up with:

Ascension feels like...

Tempest-tossed tummies
striding up stairs.
Crescendo past the stars
into the cloud bazaar.
Blood, bones, body stay in place.
Your skin waits to be filled.
Breathe in someone else's body.
The earth releases you; You
are borrowed for the sky.

I think this year, I've managed to reach the sky.

The photo is of me. Flying in New Zealand.