And I know you’ve been abandoned,
but don’t abandon ship on me.
Just know like a winter white snow
you’ve been forgiven.
Come back to me.
I know right now that don’t mean anything.

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until lambs become lions.” 

New tattoo idea. I got it from Robin Hood, ha. Nerd. 🙂 Whether or not I do it will depend, because I’m definitely getting my feet before anything and I probably won’t get any more before August, when I’m supposed to leave. AmeriCorps hasn’t contacted me yet. I’m getting nervous. I’m accepted but my health information was supposed to have arrived awile ago. On the plus side of adulthood, I’ve been blowing through my money that was for my cell phone thanks to the world of debit cards. I pre-ordered American Slang, bought a dress for graduation, Subway, flip flops, went to a movie with Tyler and Logan, and will need money from the ATM for the week. All things I don’t completely need, but decided I wanted enough anyway. Sooo I have maybe $40 in my bank account? Sweet. =,=  Ah well, I get paid this week. For the most part I’ve practiced self-control with it. Assuming I don’t get fired anytime soon, I should be able to cut my losses. Being an adult makes me feel guilty for my spending habits. Perhaps I will change them. This blog is a lot longer than I intended it to be. Seriously, I’m getting carried away babbling and I should be writing a final paper right now. BAIII.

 
 

 

The blood was dry, it was sober.
The feeling of audible cracks.
And I could tell it was over
from the curtains that hung from your neck.
And I realized that then, you were perfect
with my teeth ripping out of my head.
And it looked like a painting I once knew
back when my thoughts were not the leak intact.

 

Basically.

May 20, 2010

I had a really good day. I’m nearing exhaustion, but I’m even closer to the end. I hope I never stop loving interracting with people. I enjoy my job a lot.

DONE.

May 16, 2010

Collegiate Semi 2007: Sucked.
Collegiate Semi 2008: Sucked.
SV Prom 2009: Couldn’t go.
Collegiate Prom 2009: Got kicked out after 5 minutes.
SV Homecoming 2010: Sucked, got ditched.
SV Prom 2010: Date cancelled the week before.
McDowell Prom 2010: Missed over half of it.

Last night was probably the worst night I’ve had in at least 6 years. The service at Aoyama was so bad, we waited two and a half hours with a reservation to get food. We watched tables that arrived an hour after us get served first, and they forgot half of our appetizers, and my entire meal. We only stayed that late because we were all starving. Not that it mattered, I didn’t get food. I have never been treated with such ignorance by a GROWN MAN that calls himself “a manager.” We showed up at prom at 10 when it ended at 11. I sat at a table by myself the entire hour because no one could find me because I don’t have a cell phone. I cried all night, including when I was there. I’m seriously done. My entire dream since I was a little kid was to feel like a princess at prom, be prom queen, have the best experience to end high school.  That isn’t difficult. Everyone else gets it. But no, me? I get denied every chance I get to have an enjoyable experience. Yeah, WAH WAH, big deal right? No, it’s not me being whiny. This was all I wanted and all I had and it sucked for everyone. It doesn’t help that my mom’s being a retard about it. She tried to blame it on Ali and say it has nothing to do with me not having a phone, when I didn’t even bring that up. I hate everyone that told me I “SHOULD HAVE HAD FUN” with that remaining hour. Because after three hours of complete garbage, THAT’S REALLY EASY TO GO TO A RANDOM SCHOOL’S PROM AND ENJOY IT. Because when you lose your group of people and you see no one you know, there’s more to do than walk around like an idiot looking for them and sit alone. This has happened too many times for me to ignore it this time, and it was only not a waste because I did meet some funny kids at the beginning of the night, and because I was with people I never see. I kind of hate everything right now. And I never hate anything. I’m allowed to have an emo blog occasionally, okay? I miss Joshua, and Liv. I dropped off the face of the earth to them. I want it all back.

THE CESSATION OF DESIRE MEANT THE CESSATION OF SUFFERING.

Don’t worry, Tim,

May 9, 2010

I obviously didn’t forget a picture of you and the boys even though the last post was all about how much I wanna meet you. It just didn’t cooperate in fitting in the same post with Brian. I don’t know, maybe you guys have some band war I never knew about. Lord of the fries? You’re all so silly.

“Real revolution begins at learning. If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.”
-From the jacket of Rise Against’s The Sufferer and the Witness

Take a load off.

May 9, 2010

I feel like they’re really amazing people. I could be wrong, of course. But something tells me they’re all just these amazing, fun, grounded guys. My goal in life used to be to meet Ryan Sheckler, simply for the shallow reason that he’s adorable. It’s now to meet Brian Fallon and Tim McIlrath. Actually I’d be content with even coming within a mile radius of any members of their bands, but I’d feel guilty because I have a thing for lead singers. Rise Against has ONE performance in the U.S. before they’re back to Europe at the end of this month. I’m trying my butt off to get there.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t look so deeply into everything, but I do. I can’t do small talk – I never talk to people about the weather or what I’ve seen on TV. I’m much happier writing about bigger topics, heavier stuff, because that is where the communication is. That’s where you can talk to others and discover: I’m broken and so are you.”
-Brian Fallon 

 

 

T.S. Eliot!

May 6, 2010

S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

 
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats         
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …         
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
 
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
 
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,         
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,         
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
 
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;         
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,  
And time for all the works and days of hands  
That lift and drop a question on your plate;         
Time for you and time for me,  
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
 
In the room the women come and go        
Talking of Michelangelo.
 
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—         
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare         
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
 
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,         
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
  So how should I presume?
 
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—        
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?         
  And how should I presume?
 
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress         
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
  And should I then presume?
  And how should I begin?
      .      .      .      .      .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets        
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
 
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
      .      .      .      .      .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!        
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?         
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,        
And in short, I was afraid.
 
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,        
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—         
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
  Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
  That is not it, at all.”
 
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,         
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:         
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
  “That is not it at all,
  That is not what I meant, at all.”
      .      .      .      .      .
        
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,         
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
 
I grow old … I grow old …         
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
 
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
 
I do not think that they will sing to me.         
 
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
 
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown       
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

SUPP WIT IT VANILLA FACE.