I think I've come around
to this vacation,
I can't talk about the beach,
oh no no,
but I've put my little
spin on this week of
wilderness,
mountains
and 1970s.
Gatlinburg is really
still stuck in the 70s.
Which I am taking
as my cue to have a
National Lampoon vacation.
I want the tackiness,
I want the arcades
and "Native American"
curio shops.
The bad mini golf courses
and house of mirrors.
And,
they have multiple
pancake houses,
so I think I'll be ok.
In addition,
today I found out
I won a
gold medal.
It's like I've won the
olympics of poetry.
A gold medal,
for my poetry.
I am so happy,
how could I deserve something
so nice?
31.7.12
30.7.12
Springish
Sometimes I stop
and use the realist me
to try and figure out
what my life would be like
with you in it,
like I wish you were,
could be.
I wonder what you're
really like in like,
a human context.
In my dreams recently
you've been a real douche,
and it scares me a little.
But I want to know,
when you do dishes do
you prefer to wash or dry?
And do you like watching
the Olympics?
Could you handle
being with a girl that
likes the Red Hot Chili Peppers
as much as I do,
because I sense you aren't a fan.
And do you like cuddling?
A cosmo poll said that 51%
of guys like to cuddle.
I think I'd like that,
if you would cuddle.
You're much too gawky
for it though.
and use the realist me
to try and figure out
what my life would be like
with you in it,
like I wish you were,
could be.
I wonder what you're
really like in like,
a human context.
In my dreams recently
you've been a real douche,
and it scares me a little.
But I want to know,
when you do dishes do
you prefer to wash or dry?
And do you like watching
the Olympics?
Could you handle
being with a girl that
likes the Red Hot Chili Peppers
as much as I do,
because I sense you aren't a fan.
And do you like cuddling?
A cosmo poll said that 51%
of guys like to cuddle.
I think I'd like that,
if you would cuddle.
You're much too gawky
for it though.
29.7.12
A Brief Breath of Spring
As a note,
I have my computer back,
and so a torrent of blogging
may occur,
this is your warning for
when I attempt to
tell you in overt detail
about my life you all missed
out on for a week.
So,
my the blogging ensue.
I have my computer back,
and so a torrent of blogging
may occur,
this is your warning for
when I attempt to
tell you in overt detail
about my life you all missed
out on for a week.
So,
my the blogging ensue.
23.7.12
A Formal Introduction
DISCLAIMER: This is just going to be an unloading of really stupid angst, read at own risk.
I feel very strongly at times
that I am two people.
I want to be one, whole and complete person,
but my life won't allow it.
I'm forced to live in the future,
while still trying to remain in the present
and actually live my life.
One me is supposed to be very concerned
with college and my life and shit
that doesn't concernt he other me
because she is too sad to care,
because it's been like this for a long time.
And I thought once
that I couldn't do it anymore,
but now I realize what has happened-
the way I have split myself in two.
I don't ever think I'll be whole again,
because when one thing
ends another takes its place and so
life goes on.
And I'm not equipped to deal with that,
never will be.
And so I am crying while my dad
tells me to make my final list of colleges.
Because I'm so sick of it.
Sick of promise, and sick of my 'glorious' future.
I am only so disconcerted that
the Gypsies will not accpet me,
for maybe I could find peace somewhere.
But never here.
Never in my current body.
And in my tears,
somehow our impending vacation comes up.
My dad says we'll stay busy.
I tell him perhaps I jsut want to lie on the beach
for a week.
My mother tells me we are not going to the beach.
And I while I may be two people
both of the people are
locked in by the sea,
and so now my entire being
aches with this.
The waves languish in my bones,
roll over my ribcage and
want to to drown.
The tide is coming in too high.
I held out for three years
to see what I love
again, to see where I belong to,
and it has been in vain.
I will not see my beautiful home
this year,
I am not sure when.
And so my soul feels discontent
and gut-wrenching sadness.
My threads to the sea
don't make much sense to outsiders,
but if you cracked open
all my bones,
the salt water would flow out
and to its rightful place.
I cannot explain the feeling of my
connection in mere words,
but if I held you all close enough,
you'd hear the waves crashing in my
heartbeat, and you could then understand.
And so in my wandering
and sadness
I will instead find myself
in the Smoky mountains
for a week.
In a one-room, wood-paneled
cabin.
Doing things which involve humidity
and climbing and
chlorinated pools.
I'll have to pack tennis shoes
instead of flip flops,
anf only one bathing suit,
not three.
I now have to look forward to
a seven hour hell of a car trip
through Kentucky,
a horribly themed waterpark
courtesy of Dolly Parton,
and a cook-out by a creek.
Oh, and outlet malls-
which I don't like at all.
Where my parents went on their honeymoon,
how quaint, I agree.
But go by yuorselves,
leave me here,
because it is very much the same as there.
We have a mall close by,
a pool in town.
All we lack is the humidity.
And that's a good thing.
My bones are hurting,
and nobody will quite understand why.
I feel very strongly at times
that I am two people.
I want to be one, whole and complete person,
but my life won't allow it.
I'm forced to live in the future,
while still trying to remain in the present
and actually live my life.
One me is supposed to be very concerned
with college and my life and shit
that doesn't concernt he other me
because she is too sad to care,
because it's been like this for a long time.
And I thought once
that I couldn't do it anymore,
but now I realize what has happened-
the way I have split myself in two.
I don't ever think I'll be whole again,
because when one thing
ends another takes its place and so
life goes on.
And I'm not equipped to deal with that,
never will be.
And so I am crying while my dad
tells me to make my final list of colleges.
Because I'm so sick of it.
Sick of promise, and sick of my 'glorious' future.
I am only so disconcerted that
the Gypsies will not accpet me,
for maybe I could find peace somewhere.
But never here.
Never in my current body.
And in my tears,
somehow our impending vacation comes up.
My dad says we'll stay busy.
I tell him perhaps I jsut want to lie on the beach
for a week.
My mother tells me we are not going to the beach.
And I while I may be two people
both of the people are
locked in by the sea,
and so now my entire being
aches with this.
The waves languish in my bones,
roll over my ribcage and
want to to drown.
The tide is coming in too high.
I held out for three years
to see what I love
again, to see where I belong to,
and it has been in vain.
I will not see my beautiful home
this year,
I am not sure when.
And so my soul feels discontent
and gut-wrenching sadness.
My threads to the sea
don't make much sense to outsiders,
but if you cracked open
all my bones,
the salt water would flow out
and to its rightful place.
I cannot explain the feeling of my
connection in mere words,
but if I held you all close enough,
you'd hear the waves crashing in my
heartbeat, and you could then understand.
And so in my wandering
and sadness
I will instead find myself
in the Smoky mountains
for a week.
In a one-room, wood-paneled
cabin.
Doing things which involve humidity
and climbing and
chlorinated pools.
I'll have to pack tennis shoes
instead of flip flops,
anf only one bathing suit,
not three.
I now have to look forward to
a seven hour hell of a car trip
through Kentucky,
a horribly themed waterpark
courtesy of Dolly Parton,
and a cook-out by a creek.
Oh, and outlet malls-
which I don't like at all.
Where my parents went on their honeymoon,
how quaint, I agree.
But go by yuorselves,
leave me here,
because it is very much the same as there.
We have a mall close by,
a pool in town.
All we lack is the humidity.
And that's a good thing.
My bones are hurting,
and nobody will quite understand why.
20.7.12
Sea Legs
And then you remmeber that people can die of broken hearts.
They explode, or break open,
pale or wither away.
The heart ails and so
the body decides to give up.
So not unlike
Iron Man,
I've learned to keep
that fatal shrapnel
from getting to that spot
and killing me.
They explode, or break open,
pale or wither away.
The heart ails and so
the body decides to give up.
So not unlike
Iron Man,
I've learned to keep
that fatal shrapnel
from getting to that spot
and killing me.
Girl, Inform Me
Because even in summer,sometimes it gets cold.
Sometimes the body cannot
maintain itself, and its
roots grow crooked and impacted.
Often we are found lost
in the middle of our
home addresses,
and we cannot fit in the
mailbox.
And sometimes the ground
is dug up and the
holes lead you into caverns
you never knew were there.
Times when you are in white rooms
with a Persian man you don't
understand, waiting
for the right answers-
your mother.
other times it's the worry
of butterfly needles
or those hazy stories
of pain-pill addiction
that scare you
when you are told to take
those kinds.
It can be silence,
more often a drone.
Like sound screens
in half-lit rooms with sofas.
Or the many nights
when you lock the car and
take a long moment to see the stars
and the possibility of space.
When you answer,
"of course you can live in Sweden,
when you're older."
When you drink two milkshakes and play
the lottery because the cards are like
tarot to you, and that lingering time
makes the air smell better.
When you plan ten confessions
in your head,
can't decide how to say the words
in a year from now.
When you coordinate your every move.
Like chess.
Sometimes you're frightened
by far-off drug cartels,
and you can't understand
12 murders so strange
and close to you somehow.
Often there is a string
with beads we are threading
and it is beautiful and dangerous
and we were it in our death,
the ferry toll to another side.
And sometimes the river Styx
is the Nile, or Jordan, or
Mississippi.
Sometimes the body cannot
maintain itself, and its
roots grow crooked and impacted.
Often we are found lost
in the middle of our
home addresses,
and we cannot fit in the
mailbox.
And sometimes the ground
is dug up and the
holes lead you into caverns
you never knew were there.
Times when you are in white rooms
with a Persian man you don't
understand, waiting
for the right answers-
your mother.
other times it's the worry
of butterfly needles
or those hazy stories
of pain-pill addiction
that scare you
when you are told to take
those kinds.
It can be silence,
more often a drone.
Like sound screens
in half-lit rooms with sofas.
Or the many nights
when you lock the car and
take a long moment to see the stars
and the possibility of space.
When you answer,
"of course you can live in Sweden,
when you're older."
When you drink two milkshakes and play
the lottery because the cards are like
tarot to you, and that lingering time
makes the air smell better.
When you plan ten confessions
in your head,
can't decide how to say the words
in a year from now.
When you coordinate your every move.
Like chess.
Sometimes you're frightened
by far-off drug cartels,
and you can't understand
12 murders so strange
and close to you somehow.
Often there is a string
with beads we are threading
and it is beautiful and dangerous
and we were it in our death,
the ferry toll to another side.
And sometimes the river Styx
is the Nile, or Jordan, or
Mississippi.
16.7.12
Free Jazz Music
Last night I said
I was going to bed,
I even believed it.
But instead I ate
half a watermelon
in under three minutes.
Which I wasn't
sure was actually
physically possible.
I was going to bed,
I even believed it.
But instead I ate
half a watermelon
in under three minutes.
Which I wasn't
sure was actually
physically possible.
Jupiter the Blue
I forgot crying.
It's been happening
in my dreams quite often,
but I had forgotten
how to cry in real life.
And then I had an incident
of crying curled against
the kitchen counters,
and my eyes have
teared up all day long
at strange times.
In the car,
listening to Fleet Foxes,
at McDonald's,
on my bike.
Because I'm sad.
And I think I'm
just sad.
Nothing has made
me sad in particular,
it's just the universe, really.
I am sad in a way all its own,
and I remember the feeling
from months ago.
The day of the first hospital,
eating a chicken sandwich
afterwards,
and sitting in a silence.
The vague aching
I know roams my body,
and sometimes naps,
or takes long sleeps,
and then it stretches
its long limbs
and is here again.
Because I forgot the sad
for a long time,
and I am so afraid
so scared
of it still being here,
living inside me.
It comes on again
and it feels like it never left.
I forget things,
my memory omits
so many things,
such long stretches of time
are gone.
I lose my memory.
It's erased.
I am scared.
Maybe this is the
rest of my life,
and maybe
parts of it will
be spent curled
against kitchen sinks
and steering wheels
because I don't know
how to cope
with a universe
like this.
Maybe there won't ever
be any strong arms
to catch me in my
moment of descent,
when I sit on my bed
and stare
because I am too
conflicted to move.
Perhaps I will
be alone in some
large way
for the rest of
forever.
Maybe I will
have days where I eat
my feelings
and then regret it
and feel sick,
and maybe I'll
always imagine
the cars
hitting trees.
Because suddenly
it feels as though nothing changed
at all.
It's been happening
in my dreams quite often,
but I had forgotten
how to cry in real life.
And then I had an incident
of crying curled against
the kitchen counters,
and my eyes have
teared up all day long
at strange times.
In the car,
listening to Fleet Foxes,
at McDonald's,
on my bike.
Because I'm sad.
And I think I'm
just sad.
Nothing has made
me sad in particular,
it's just the universe, really.
I am sad in a way all its own,
and I remember the feeling
from months ago.
The day of the first hospital,
eating a chicken sandwich
afterwards,
and sitting in a silence.
The vague aching
I know roams my body,
and sometimes naps,
or takes long sleeps,
and then it stretches
its long limbs
and is here again.
Because I forgot the sad
for a long time,
and I am so afraid
so scared
of it still being here,
living inside me.
It comes on again
and it feels like it never left.
I forget things,
my memory omits
so many things,
such long stretches of time
are gone.
I lose my memory.
It's erased.
I am scared.
Maybe this is the
rest of my life,
and maybe
parts of it will
be spent curled
against kitchen sinks
and steering wheels
because I don't know
how to cope
with a universe
like this.
Maybe there won't ever
be any strong arms
to catch me in my
moment of descent,
when I sit on my bed
and stare
because I am too
conflicted to move.
Perhaps I will
be alone in some
large way
for the rest of
forever.
Maybe I will
have days where I eat
my feelings
and then regret it
and feel sick,
and maybe I'll
always imagine
the cars
hitting trees.
Because suddenly
it feels as though nothing changed
at all.
14.7.12
Val Jester
Oh, and in the same dream
stuck somewhere obscure
I found I had a large
and faded Spiderman
tattoo on my chest.
It was hideous.
stuck somewhere obscure
I found I had a large
and faded Spiderman
tattoo on my chest.
It was hideous.
Mr. November
This blog is becoming
a dream journal as well
as anything else. It seems
beneficial to me to keep
note of the very good
and very bad dreams.
And last night happened
to bring a pretty awful dream.
I was at a party,
with so many people
I did not know,
and ended up in a ball
on their kitchen floor
having an anxiety attack.
Somebody picked me up
and tried to get me
to play some really dumb game
and then I yelled at them for a
long time, until I ran outside.
But upon my running stint
one of my friends
stands up from this stranger's
dining room table
and yells at me across the house
"You're ruining my life!! I hate you!
Get out!"
Which hurt, in the dream,
and outside of it.
But I run and stumble
outside and none other
than the guy I love
is seen walking down
the sidewalk out of
the party with his
girlfriend-figure
practically draped across him,
and he holds her and they laugh.
As I am crying in the bushes
across the street.
And then we are all elsewhere,
at a lake in a parking lot,
and I have lost something
very important to somebody else,
a baby something.
And then his girlfriend is trying to
help me find it
and I'm still bawling
and she's so nice
and beautiful.
The two of them find it,
not me.
And nobody ever asks
me why I'm crying
for the entire dream.
It was torturous.
And things like
this linger with me
because they're
so goddamn true.
a dream journal as well
as anything else. It seems
beneficial to me to keep
note of the very good
and very bad dreams.
And last night happened
to bring a pretty awful dream.
I was at a party,
with so many people
I did not know,
and ended up in a ball
on their kitchen floor
having an anxiety attack.
Somebody picked me up
and tried to get me
to play some really dumb game
and then I yelled at them for a
long time, until I ran outside.
But upon my running stint
one of my friends
stands up from this stranger's
dining room table
and yells at me across the house
"You're ruining my life!! I hate you!
Get out!"
Which hurt, in the dream,
and outside of it.
But I run and stumble
outside and none other
than the guy I love
is seen walking down
the sidewalk out of
the party with his
girlfriend-figure
practically draped across him,
and he holds her and they laugh.
As I am crying in the bushes
across the street.
And then we are all elsewhere,
at a lake in a parking lot,
and I have lost something
very important to somebody else,
a baby something.
And then his girlfriend is trying to
help me find it
and I'm still bawling
and she's so nice
and beautiful.
The two of them find it,
not me.
And nobody ever asks
me why I'm crying
for the entire dream.
It was torturous.
And things like
this linger with me
because they're
so goddamn true.
12.7.12
Under the Sea
Lately the mantra
"When was the last time
you did something
for the first time?"
has been haunting me
and making me feel
very bad about myself.
But at this exact moment
I have defied it, for now.
And what have I done new
today?
Skinny-dipped
for 5 seconds.
But swam topless
for quite a bit.
Why?
Why not.
In warm lake-y water,
a funny green
and very murky.
But lovely all the same.
I felt a lot like I think
mermaids feel.
Which is great.
So I can now say
I have done something new,
something fun
and sketchy.
Swam topless.
Check that off the
list.
11.7.12
Long Division
I am done here,
I'll pack up my
pie plate and
mis-matched glassware
and drive into
somewhere else
and then somewhere
different after that.
Because I'm not
sure what to do,
I just want to drive
until I hit sea,
and then park my
car and sleep in the
sand.
I am wayward
or wayfaring,
never sure which.
But the yearning
to leave rarely goes
away.
I am conflicted
at the very center
of my being.
All I know is
I want to dive,
I want the salty sea
air, the swells and tides.
And a very good traveling
partner in the passenger seat
to sing with.
I know who I want
to be there,
which makes everything
so much worse.
I'll pack up my
pie plate and
mis-matched glassware
and drive into
somewhere else
and then somewhere
different after that.
Because I'm not
sure what to do,
I just want to drive
until I hit sea,
and then park my
car and sleep in the
sand.
I am wayward
or wayfaring,
never sure which.
But the yearning
to leave rarely goes
away.
I am conflicted
at the very center
of my being.
All I know is
I want to dive,
I want the salty sea
air, the swells and tides.
And a very good traveling
partner in the passenger seat
to sing with.
I know who I want
to be there,
which makes everything
so much worse.
10.7.12
I'm Just a Girl
So much, so much has happened
in the recent past in which
I haven't posted.
I just checked my first ever
lottery ticket.
Only one number,
no money.
Better luck next time.
I fear I'll get addicted to
the cheap gambling.
I just went swimming
with good people I love
in a warm pool with stars.
It was really lovely,
I enjoy nights like these.
I swam, went shopping.
Rode about with the windows
down, how great.
And yesterday was my birthday,
ew. Meh.
I do not like my birthday.
I never will, I think.
I don't like endings/beginnings.
It made me really sad
and sort of irritable yesterday.
After my family went out to
dinner together
I sat in the car and wanted to
cry.
I had a good party, a lovely
party with the people
I love all there.
We talked beneath lanterns
and stars and greenery.
It went well, I was not paranoid
during it, just a little bit afterwards,
that night.
But it was successful.
But the sadness comes back
a little when I'm alone.
I don't want to be 18.
I'm trying to talk it up
so I think it's a good thing.
But it isn't.
I don't like it.
A huge part of my life
is gone.
All of my childhood is
behind me.
And so you'd think I could start
being an adult.
No,
I'm still in high school.
I hate that,
I'm a legal adult in high school,
stuck at this essential crossroads of my
life and unable to do anything
because I am in high school,
still.
I fear my life
is over,
without having ever begun.
I am so scared
because I feel so much
of my life has been a waste.
I need to make changes,
do new things, go new places,
get lost.
Get really, really lost.
I want to do things
I should do at 18.
I want to be an adult.
But not at all.
I am not ready at all,
I'm just confused.
It's a number,
and I am not in line
with that number's stigma.
I am not reckless,
I won't go party
and have sex.
I won't do anything new.
Because I am me.
A boring girl.
Not a womanly adult.
But really, a girl.
I am 18
and have never
even held a boy's hand.
I am 18
and unlike everyone
else on the planet,
I've never even had a
sip of alcohol.
I am 18
and far more mature than
that number says.
I am 18 and stuck
and scared and feeling
hopeless.
I want to be younger,
I want to do things.
All I want right now though
is for somebody to
lie in bed
with me while I cry
about this dumb shit.
It makes me so sad
and confused,
I don't know what to do,
how to live my life
anymore.
I've come to an impasse,
nothing is moving,
and it should because
I am different now.
I have new rights.
But I'm still just a scared
little girl.
in the recent past in which
I haven't posted.
I just checked my first ever
lottery ticket.
Only one number,
no money.
Better luck next time.
I fear I'll get addicted to
the cheap gambling.
I just went swimming
with good people I love
in a warm pool with stars.
It was really lovely,
I enjoy nights like these.
I swam, went shopping.
Rode about with the windows
down, how great.
And yesterday was my birthday,
ew. Meh.
I do not like my birthday.
I never will, I think.
I don't like endings/beginnings.
It made me really sad
and sort of irritable yesterday.
After my family went out to
dinner together
I sat in the car and wanted to
cry.
I had a good party, a lovely
party with the people
I love all there.
We talked beneath lanterns
and stars and greenery.
It went well, I was not paranoid
during it, just a little bit afterwards,
that night.
But it was successful.
But the sadness comes back
a little when I'm alone.
I don't want to be 18.
I'm trying to talk it up
so I think it's a good thing.
But it isn't.
I don't like it.
A huge part of my life
is gone.
All of my childhood is
behind me.
And so you'd think I could start
being an adult.
No,
I'm still in high school.
I hate that,
I'm a legal adult in high school,
stuck at this essential crossroads of my
life and unable to do anything
because I am in high school,
still.
I fear my life
is over,
without having ever begun.
I am so scared
because I feel so much
of my life has been a waste.
I need to make changes,
do new things, go new places,
get lost.
Get really, really lost.
I want to do things
I should do at 18.
I want to be an adult.
But not at all.
I am not ready at all,
I'm just confused.
It's a number,
and I am not in line
with that number's stigma.
I am not reckless,
I won't go party
and have sex.
I won't do anything new.
Because I am me.
A boring girl.
Not a womanly adult.
But really, a girl.
I am 18
and have never
even held a boy's hand.
I am 18
and unlike everyone
else on the planet,
I've never even had a
sip of alcohol.
I am 18
and far more mature than
that number says.
I am 18 and stuck
and scared and feeling
hopeless.
I want to be younger,
I want to do things.
All I want right now though
is for somebody to
lie in bed
with me while I cry
about this dumb shit.
It makes me so sad
and confused,
I don't know what to do,
how to live my life
anymore.
I've come to an impasse,
nothing is moving,
and it should because
I am different now.
I have new rights.
But I'm still just a scared
little girl.
8.7.12
City Middle
Those times
with my brother
where we're both
being good
are the best.
We watched two
of the Avengers movies
tonight, Thor and
The Incredible Hulk.
And they were both
super, duper rad.
(no lie, I love me
some superhero action.)
And we would get all
excited,
and go "Oh snap!"
When awesome things happened.
We were geeking out together,
which is probably the best
bonding
anyone, anywhere can get.
When you can geek out
full-on with somebody,
you know you're cool
with them.
And we geeked hardcore.
Because Thor
is fucking amazing
no matter who you are.
And the Hulk, he's a
badass.
It's one of the greatest things,
we'll sit on the sofa
and watch movies.
He's one of the few
people (like, 3)
I can watch action-y movies
with.
We dig superheroes.
And I dig my brother
at times like these.
with my brother
where we're both
being good
are the best.
We watched two
of the Avengers movies
tonight, Thor and
The Incredible Hulk.
And they were both
super, duper rad.
(no lie, I love me
some superhero action.)
And we would get all
excited,
and go "Oh snap!"
When awesome things happened.
We were geeking out together,
which is probably the best
bonding
anyone, anywhere can get.
When you can geek out
full-on with somebody,
you know you're cool
with them.
And we geeked hardcore.
Because Thor
is fucking amazing
no matter who you are.
And the Hulk, he's a
badass.
It's one of the greatest things,
we'll sit on the sofa
and watch movies.
He's one of the few
people (like, 3)
I can watch action-y movies
with.
We dig superheroes.
And I dig my brother
at times like these.
7.7.12
Baby, We'll Be Fine
My quest for a typewriter
is over.
While adventuring in the
treasure trove which
is my grandparents' basement,
I found a lovely, electric
Olivetti typewriter.
Full working order,
still inked up,
clacking along quite
beautifully.
I'm in love with it,
really. It's perfect,
and my birthday present to
myself, as my grandmother
was quick to be rid
of the machine,
she didn't mind my taking it
at all.
And the exploring was thick
and wonderful and amazing.
Among the most intriguing finds:
- A WWII German helmet.
- A perfectly intact copy of Chairman Mao quotes.
-A picturesque bundle of love letters from my
grandfather to my grandmother while he was away at college.
-A fan from the LA Chinatown in the 1960s, along with
-Old incense sticks in original, unfaded 60s packaging from India
both of which my grandmother acquired on her cross-country journey at
the age of 16.
-A ukulele banjo, which is a real thing, I promise.
-My grandfather's 50s/60s boyscout hat, looking fresh as ever.
-My grandmother's wedding dress.
And numerous photographs, indian arrowheads, yearbooks, etc etc.
This is why I love old stuff, it tells so many stories, and they are all wonderful.
The journeys and adventures behind the objects fascinate me.
I want to live in these things.
And everything I found was in perfect condition, clean, uncreased, unfaded,
mint.
The issue of LIFE magazine from the first moon landing.
Incredible.
Aside from this euphoria of old stuff and nostalgia,
I had a dream which has stuck with me,
a great dream, and the dreams are vivid
these days, for reasons.
I remember them all, they have details like
nutrition facts on Thousand Island salad dressing.
Or how I hate how my voice sounds when I yell.
But this dream was the first of these
new-style dreams to have this boy I like
featured in a positive light,
a way I can be happy about, and not wake up sad over.
We were brushing our teeth
in front of the bathroom mirror,
in our pajamas,
which for him consisted of underwear
(details you don't need to care for).
I had short-shorts.
We were quiet, but then he touched my hip
in a way I can't even quite grasp except in dreaming.
He said quiet things about how he liked
how I looked, but then noted my
ribcage was off-kilter, a little bit unsymmetrical.
Which was bizarre in itself,
but he touched my ribcage
on the left.
It was uneven.
His fingers grazed the patches
of bone, and the way it lilted.
And then it was dark and
I was whispering in his ear
on my tiptoes to stay, stay
and sleep over.
He told me quietly he had work,
he couldn't stay,
but stayed anyway
and slept beside me
as the big spoon.
This dream
makes me so sad,
why can't my life
be like that?
Why won't this work?
is over.
While adventuring in the
treasure trove which
is my grandparents' basement,
I found a lovely, electric
Olivetti typewriter.
Full working order,
still inked up,
clacking along quite
beautifully.
I'm in love with it,
really. It's perfect,
and my birthday present to
myself, as my grandmother
was quick to be rid
of the machine,
she didn't mind my taking it
at all.
And the exploring was thick
and wonderful and amazing.
Among the most intriguing finds:
- A WWII German helmet.
- A perfectly intact copy of Chairman Mao quotes.
-A picturesque bundle of love letters from my
grandfather to my grandmother while he was away at college.
-A fan from the LA Chinatown in the 1960s, along with
-Old incense sticks in original, unfaded 60s packaging from India
both of which my grandmother acquired on her cross-country journey at
the age of 16.
-A ukulele banjo, which is a real thing, I promise.
-My grandfather's 50s/60s boyscout hat, looking fresh as ever.
-My grandmother's wedding dress.
And numerous photographs, indian arrowheads, yearbooks, etc etc.
This is why I love old stuff, it tells so many stories, and they are all wonderful.
The journeys and adventures behind the objects fascinate me.
I want to live in these things.
And everything I found was in perfect condition, clean, uncreased, unfaded,
mint.
The issue of LIFE magazine from the first moon landing.
Incredible.
Aside from this euphoria of old stuff and nostalgia,
I had a dream which has stuck with me,
a great dream, and the dreams are vivid
these days, for reasons.
I remember them all, they have details like
nutrition facts on Thousand Island salad dressing.
Or how I hate how my voice sounds when I yell.
But this dream was the first of these
new-style dreams to have this boy I like
featured in a positive light,
a way I can be happy about, and not wake up sad over.
We were brushing our teeth
in front of the bathroom mirror,
in our pajamas,
which for him consisted of underwear
(details you don't need to care for).
I had short-shorts.
We were quiet, but then he touched my hip
in a way I can't even quite grasp except in dreaming.
He said quiet things about how he liked
how I looked, but then noted my
ribcage was off-kilter, a little bit unsymmetrical.
Which was bizarre in itself,
but he touched my ribcage
on the left.
It was uneven.
His fingers grazed the patches
of bone, and the way it lilted.
And then it was dark and
I was whispering in his ear
on my tiptoes to stay, stay
and sleep over.
He told me quietly he had work,
he couldn't stay,
but stayed anyway
and slept beside me
as the big spoon.
This dream
makes me so sad,
why can't my life
be like that?
Why won't this work?
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