“I believe now

April 5, 2011

that we are greater
than the sum of our parts.”
-JOHN GREEN

“-time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough”
-ee cummings

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you
because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.
Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”
-Ronald Dahl [Author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory]

“You don’t want no one to see you like this?
 Maybe you don’t recognize it
but this is your home, this is where your life lives.”
-Atmosphere

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December 1, 2010

“The depths of hell and the heights of heaven exist within a single mind.”

I wrote this when I was 11.

October 31, 2010

Hello stranger,
you’re just in time.
I’ve missed you for quite a while.
I know we’ve met,
but where?
And you look so different and act so polite.
But you hardly seem strange,
now that I’ve seen your face.

Shantih-

September 21, 2010

the Peace which passeth understanding.

Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms

I love T. S. Eliot. Love. Love. LOVE.

Wonderful.

July 13, 2010

The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

A.A. MILNE.

June 28, 2010

 

They all said “Hallo” and felt awkward and unhappy suddenly, because it was sort of a goodbye they were saying, and they didn’t want to think about it. So they stood around and waited for someone else to speak, and they nudged each other, and said “Go on.”

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.

Legal.

April 27, 2010

I feel a lot different today. I’m legally able to do more stuff that I probably wouldn’t do anyway.
Every expectation I had today was crushed. I went from a fantastic time at school to being a crying, pathetic heap of a mess in front of Devin because I had to wait a week for my tattoos. As you can guess, it really isn’t about the tattoos. It’s about how I’m about to lose two friends that don’t really seem to care, and how I can no longer attend my own senior prom that I’ve dreamed about since I was a little girl, after not being able to go last year, either. It’s about how bored I am at school. It’s about how much I miss some people and how much I want to build up a wall to keep others from missing me when I’m gone. It’s about how people can get so sick and tired of being sick and tired and how I’ve reached my limit with some things as much as I don’t want to be there. It’s about how Brandon is shipping out sooner than later and my brother might be, too. I can’t even think about how much I’ll miss them right now. More than anything it’s about how frustrated I am over my current situations that are even too personal in my opinion for this attempt-to-open-myself-up blog. But regardless of everything that happened and everything coming, I’m happy still. I wrote my mom a note about how sorry I am for not knowing how to vocally express my gratitude for her and that I’m going to need to do the things I want to do regardless of how she feels about them because I’m trying to be an adult and she needs to respect that. She loves sentimental junk so I think she’ll appreciate it.
My tattoo WILL be happening on Saturday, and I will enjoy myself and have a lovely time even though I will not be at prom. I had a wonderful time at dinner last night and for the majority of today. I won’t let anybody ruin this for me. Keepin’ it posi+++.

“The cessation of desire meant the cessation of suffering.”

You’ve read that I’ll be gone.
Bit if you call my name just know that I’ll come running, for one more night to spare with you.