Between the Bars

Sometimes you do things

that make my heart flutter

and make me smile,

though they mean so little.

Though they probably have no

real meaning.

I just tack these things to

these small events.

I like to pretend they

mean something.

Even if it is only just that,

pretend.

But yes,

sometimes these things

make me happy.

Such is the case with

the library book.

"I was at the library and I found this..."

"Oh, yeah, I saw that earlier."

"I didn't get it for me... it's for you"

And so now it sits,

and I'm hoping it's alright,

hoping it's a good read.

Being glad you got it.

Though it means so little

(or nothing at all).

And then we proceeded to

ramble at each other.

With each other.

Both, for sometimes

we monologued,

but often it was conversation.

And you:

"there was something else that

had reminded me of you

that I wanted to tell you about."

It means nothing,

I know,

but it's so good to know,

we're on the same level

of existence.

We're on the same plane,

and we're both humans

and we're getting along.

To the point where we can

easily ramble,

to the point where this is ok.

It doesn't mean a thing,

but I am certainly happy

about it.

Lessons Learned

How many nine year-olds

can you claim to know

that sing

"Video Killed the Radio Star"

in the shower?

Only the cool kids,

and in particular

the really rad one named

"Qwon".

This kid also watches the music video

for said song on the first hour of Mtv

ever aired. Everyday.

I'm guessing you're impressed,

because guess what?

You should be.

In the nine years he's been on this planet

(who knows where he was before that,

probably rocking out with past legends.)

I have come to basically love this

scrawny white kid I am proud to call

my relative. It's rad to have a brother this rad.

No joke.

I mean really,

we rock out to

Matt and Kim

in the car,

we play tennis together

and have picnics.

We dance like we're having seizures

and invent new games

with koosh balls and pizza boxes.

We also become transformers sometimes.

No lie.

And I can honestly say,

that there's nobody else in the world

I'd rather do these things with,

and seriously,

who else does these things?

I like to think we are a

super-sibling duo,

like,

fighting crime,

being a family band,

saving the world,

all that jazz.

All while pretending the floor

is hot lava.

And not only is he just plain cool,

he's actually a nice kid.

Genuinely nice.

He buys me jewelry for Christmas

with hearts on them,

and writes me letters when they

do those at school.

So this is for my brother,

who I don't think gets enough credit

for his awesomeness.

Because dude,

you're rad!

I like my brother.

We're pretty good friends,

and I think that means a lot.

Ode to a Sailor

In the Lost and Found (Honky Bach)

I think I've forgotten how to

write about him

without sounding:

A) Outstandingly stupid

or

B) Amusingly teenage

I mean, I always have something to say

on the matter of his existence in the world,

especially in proximity to my own existence.

It's nice to know we can coincide in one

sphere of existence, somewhere.

That somewhere in living,

we've overlapped.

Two human beings who communicate.

That, at least, is reassuring.

I'm sure I've said so many

Dumb Things about him,

stupidly naive and teenage things;

I don't doubt that I have bored you all

with my rambling on his behalf.

But for good measure I go forth,

in saying that he is a most lovely

human being.

(He is not a Tralfamadorian. That is a hint.)

He is so silly... this is good,

for a serious man all the time would be

devastating.

I love his laugh,

this is impossible to get over somehow,

that his laugh is a

really great one.

It's weird like everyone else's,

but it's a good weird,

that people can handle and generally like.

His laugh

and his hands

and his silliness.

He's so strange,

and sometimes I get a little

mad at him.

This happens, we deal and move on.

It doesn't make me think any less of him.

I love that he plays guitar,

knows lots of things,

can be genuinely thoughtful

and then absolutely ridiculous.

Once, a long time ago,

(Ok, like a year ago or something)

after reading a poem,

"So what do you think love is? Like, define it."

He was like.

I'd never been asked to define the complexities of love

before, especially not on the spot.

And so after I think and think, he goes

"I think it means wanting the best for someone,

no matter what."

And I have since then added this to my

definition of love.

There's that part of him,

and then there's the part of him

that sings

"Springtime for Hitler" dramatically

and dances around going

"Ling ling!"

I mean,

honestly,

that's kind of rad.

I'll Take Us Home

This'll be a two-post night,

I'm sure.

So here's the first.

I have this small picture

in my mind,

and I'm so fond of it,

it makes me so happy.

I am nostalgic for winter,

which I hate,

but this thought

makes me hopeful.

I am imagining

my friends and I,

at the brick house of

one of my friend's,

and we are stepping out of the door,

wrapped in scarves and mittens and things,

wearing party dresses and tights

and staggering through the snow

to our cars,

laughing,

and laughing

and it's snowing,

like, this is December,

and we are celebrating Christmas together.

We're all going to leave,

but we're so happy.

And the light floods out of the house

and casts beautiful long shadows

on the perfectly white lawn,

and it sparkles,

and the streets are slushy

as we walk and trip

and laugh our way

to the cars parked in a line

on the road.

As we trip and stagger we

clutch each other's arms

and laugh more.

We are ruddy-cheeked

and starry-eyed

and so happy.

This picture keeps

me sane,

I love this image so much.

I love the thought

of snow,

and of ringing laughter

and maybe singing

with these

wonderful people.

It is so perfect.

I love it

so much.

Lightspeed

"I wondered how fast is lightspeed?

would life stop or just follow me?"

"Telephone poles keep the time,

a rhythmic metronome of kinds,

it's the same beat as this song,

and might just last a lifetime long."

(Matt and Kim)

Yeah,

we're ok.

We're all alright.

It's a good feeling,

to know,

that in the midst of things

sucking (hardcore)

you've got anchors.

All around.

It's so good,

to hear your friends laugh.

It's great to know they're

there.

The eleventh grade isn't the problem,

I figured.

It's being in new classes

where people don't care, and fall asleep.

It's new teachers who lost all faith

in the teenage masses,

and forgot that some of us are intelligent.

But there are such good aspects to this part of life.

I'm still here,

still fiercely determined to

prove these idiots wrong.

I'm still breathing my share of the air here,

trying to earn it,

trying to live like I am meant to.

We're all working for our dreams,

and nothing keeps you motivated

like those aspirations.

I am forever grateful

for my anchors;

for the good things

worth living with this now

for;

my friends, namely.

Poetry.

Dreams.

My idiotic love for a guy.

I am most certainly ok with

all of the above.

And yes,

I have begun a new school,

and yes,

I am still a little more

starry-eyed than I am

fully comfortable with

for this boy.

I mean,

somedays it's a problem,

others,

it makes me happy.

Regardless of the reality of life,

I like to think that sometime,

somewhere,

(an alternate universe or what-have-you)

there's a little chance.

We're all ok.

And yes,

I can honestly say,

no matter how shitty this gets,

we're going to come out of it

doing just fine, and then some.

Alameda

My friend just wrote a great and

endearing post about her brother,

so I feel sort of bad taking the

immoral low-road

(Is that the opposite of "moral high-road"?)

and I'm going to complain about school,

because nothing else in my life

is half as interesting.

let's be honest and brief, shall we?

It was, in the simplest terms,

Shitty.

I mean sure,

I like some of the people

in my classes,

and I like some of my teachers.

But "some" is never the majority.

And when I tell my mother "I hate half my class"

she tells me:

"Great. Maybe they don't like you either!"

Thanks mom,

your moral support is unfailing.

It made me feel like a bad human being.

This year and I are going to have problems.

This year I'm in classes with people

I don't like.

And I know, it happens,

you work through it,

but come on...

how can there be this many people

I despise?

How on earth could my education go from:

"LEARN THIS. DO THIS. OR DIE."

To:

"NOBODY CARES. HA."

In a matter of one school day?

Where did the all the smart kids go?

And despite these setbacks in the

intellect department,

I am no less determined to kick ass this year.

Yes, kick ass.

Because no matter what class it is,

who's teaching it,

or who else is in it,

I'm going to try damn hard

and do my best.

Cheesy?

Totally.

Worth saying?

I think so.

I miss my tough AP class,

I miss my smart kids.

It's going to be one

humdinger of a year,

am I right?

40 Day Dream

We've had a good run.

I'll admit, there were definitely

bad times,

but the good times outweigh the bad

ten-fold.

We've laughed and danced

and sang,

taken little escape routes away from here,

had our share of adventures.

Oh, we had it all.

Staying up all night,

sneaking out,

taking spontaneous trips

in the night to see sights.

We did a lot.

We ran around the state park

in the heat,

pulled off our shirts in the car

and laughed and laughed

and basked in the air conditioning.

We cleaned and painted and decorated

a room,

all by ourselves.

It's the manifestation of our friendships,

because even when we got

all weird and sleep-deprived we

were still having a good time.

We drove with the windows down

and it was great.

The last three months (nearly)

have been some of the best of my life.

Because even when we were

sitting around doing nothing

(which was often)

it was still ok,

because hey, we were together

as one group of rad people.

I owe this entire summer

to my friends.

And I'm letting go of the bad times,

the missed opportunities,

and the psychotic moments

I know I had.

I'm letting it all go,

all those days babysitting

that made me feel like dying,

all the wasted hours,

All the sleeping.

I'm giving up on that,

and remembering only the

amazing times,

which are numerous,

I'm letting all the good feelings

soak in, so I can go to sleep tonight

knowing that it was good.

Because it was.

Here's to the summer of 2011,

best of my life.

And the best part is,

it really doesn't end here,

because we've still got

all the Friday nights together,

all the crazy parties to come,

all the good times waiting.

I'm excited.

I'm looking forward to this.

That's saying a lot.