life's not a dress rehearsal.

i wish i could just take out my brain and my heart and put them in a bowl and pull them apart and sift through until it makes sense so i can have some words to write for these things to say and finally slap something on the page that feels worth it.

that being said, things are pretty great.

writer’s block just pisses me off.

first, dive

i came here with the intent of writing something. i haven’t in a while. it struck me as strange that i’ve journaled the least in what has been possibly the most notable (in a good way, for once) period of my life to date, but i assumed it was because for once, i didn’t have anything to say.

i think now it’s probably the opposite. for one, i never have nothing to say. i think perhaps it is that i have too much to say… i just can’t process it into words. and as per usual, i am now too tired to try. so. here’s a poem. i might as well have an e.e. cummings blog at this point, but i don’t mind it. if someone says it better than you, you go with it. and i concede to your superiority, sir. thanks for the words.

hopefully i’ll have some of my own soon.

dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind) 
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward) 
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at the wedding) 
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth) 
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since Doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds 
-before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were. 

silently if, out of not knowable 

silently if, out of not knowable 
night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess 
(only which is this world)more my life does 
not leap than with the mystery your smile sings 
or if(spiralling as luminous 
they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams, 
less into heaven certainly earth swims 
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss 
losing through you what seemed myself,i find 
selves unimaginably mine;beyond 
sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears 
yours is the light by which my spirit's born: 
yours is the darkness of my soul's return 
-you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars 

(btw, i am completely unashamed that i found this particular poem through charlie st. cloud. there is no wrong way to love e.e. and certainly not when it involves zac efron. say what you may filmically, but i am never against a movie that introduces me to a new poem, a shirtless boy, and inspires the idyllic fantasy future of living on the water with good books, good wine, and good zefron-y sex.)

too many thoughts. not enough words. want. sleep. peace. BAH

things that are great:

-that perfectly done french fry

-when your nailpolish doesn’t chip

-buildings full of books and comfy chairs

-sunshine & a breeze

-good stuff on sale

-a really satisfying poop

-when part of a performance is so good you have to go back and rewatch it multiple times, everytime, and then make sure everyone else does the same

-an unexpected token of appreciation

-someone playing with your hair

-warm swimming water, cold drinking water

-flowers

-friendly old people

-getting what you deserve when you work hard

-kisses

-the part of the sleepover when you’ve decided to go to bed but end up talking in the dark for a couple more hours until you’re not tired anymore

-pre-road trip gas station snack runs

-short lines at the store/coffee shop/amusement park

-the feeling of extra-clean teeth

-writing that reaches you on another level

-swingsets

-when everything happens for a reason

-a comfy bed

——————> edit as of 6/2/10, 2:28 am: boulevard diner grilled cheese.

i am obsessed with life right now.