Stories I Only Tell My Friends

I feel you swallow my soul with your stare
And when your fingers of aspen trees slip over my face like time from my grip, 
I smile with everything i've got

but then my mind swells into flitting grey puffs
flashing and burning, I reach for you, for your lightning  
i sit down in the darkness and feel for you
i'm afraid
i wait for days
but I still can't find you

Then I see you
Your hair is wet
And your face is tye-dyed with strangeness

And it's not the same

I feel lost

Your indigo grass of today somehow grows on the ground of yesterday
I realize I must go back the way I came

I set you down and thank you, thanking you with all of my heart 

and I am thankful 

that that's the gift-wrapped end-feeling you receive from me 

Too Young to Burn

I'm high and I feel like tonight, well especially tonight, but overall happening over the course of a few weeks or maybe my whole lifetime, everyone is an illuminated, cartoonized statue. And statues don't move, so the people around me don't move, however, because I slowly orbit around their immobile, stoic bearings, it still seems like they can move. Andthis is where the cartoon part comes in ->>>Because cartoons are just a series of pictures manipulated by an artist to become a story, to become a character, to become something meaningful enough for it to seem real. 

That's how I was looking at people tonight. 

^That's what I wrote the other night around 4ishh o'clock in the morning. I wasn't going to publish it because it seemed to be just mary-jane jabber, but a good friend encouraged me to still do it. And so I publish the jabber, but with an attached note. 

I've always claimed that I know what people think of me, but I couldn't ever actually change myself just to change their minds. That still rings true. But lately, I've been realizing how much different of a person I am. And I know, I know, everyone thinks of themselves as "weird," and you know what? We all are weird. Really, ridiculously weird. But I'm talking different in the sense that I function differently than most people. I love people. I constantly need people, but I also like to be alone. I like to do my own thang. I don't like it when people own a piece of me, and so I fear commitment in any sense. Chances are, if you've met me, you would understand the meaning behind the term "KatieLand." (^TM) The people who choose to include me in their life (although sometimes it's not a choice) often drop-kick this saying whenever I'm supposed to be somewhere and I'm not. And that happens a lot. But people often mistag this tendency as "immature," "irresponsible," and (my favorite) "selfish." Believe me, 97% of the time, it's not because of those favorable traits. I'm simply not there because I'm not there. (God that sounds dumb). But it's what I believe to be true, childish, or not.

And how can we ask anyone to stray from what they know is true? 

And I know it well....

In what cases is the cause the best cure?

The Way to Love

SO. Tis that time of year again. And this year, a lot of things are ending. But I never thought that things would be like this....I feel fucking nostalgic, and for what reason? I'm only going to be a junior next year. I have time. But this year was different. 

I feel like I'm missing what everyone else is accepting as I sway in reminiscence. And that is the notion that I appreciate the beings I weld myself to much more than they appreciate me. So am I missing that paste- that gooey glue spooning two perfectly-cut graham crackers? Meh. Bad wording. But, seriously. Why is it that I love telling stories and constantly do impressions and make fucking movies of people? Why do I love my friends so much? Why do I incessantly reject the notion of tightening my already loose grip on reality? The answer, dear friend, I do not own. 

But I do own something. 

I read this book by Anthony deMello for a painful core class I took with a ton of lanyards (freshman). The class: sucked; the lanyards: neon "green." BUT, I did take something semi-substantial away from it because of da man deMello. Essentially, deMello theorizes that the people we love who we think we can’t live without, we actually are not attached to. At all. We are merely deluding ourselves into the belief that without these people, we will not be happy. HMM, deMello, hmm. 

So, technically, ga ga gag-ful, "swimming through maple syrup" greeting cards and cheese-encrusted, ANTI-climatic movie climaxes that use words such as, (but not limited to), "die," "without," "you," and/or "make," "me," "sandwich" are full of shit. Love is built up in society to be this un-popped bubble of wonder and elitism, so is that why our relationships with others is, basically, set up for failure? How can we not compare what our mother/signif othurr/best frann does juxtaposed to society's love slander? 

Although I am a big movie person and bookworm, I still feel like most people can identify with this: when someone nailed into your heart and happiness has declared some defining devotions towards you (or vice versa), instead of settling music swelling in the background (like in every movie) you find yourself, outside of yourself, wondering if you had heard that from an Austen novel (Yes, 'You pierce my soul' is not original) or from a t.v. soap series, because you're not happy like the movie characters, you don't embrace your devotee, you just feel "cliched" and unsettled. 

Because unless you were (lucky enough) to live in the truly rural outbacks of the earth and have no mainstream media influence on your life, how can you claim your Mother's Day card and sentiments weren't fake? Grab your balls. They're fake. 

Yeah, fuck. Does this mean that every sentimental love epic of your life was actually just a cheap rip-off of a Lifetime Original or (dear god) a "should really be in the adult section 'artsy' movie"? The answer, again, I do not own. Because, guess what, those could be rip-offs too.   

Things

Let's talk about things.

"Of course there's always love. WHAT? What! Stop it what are you thinking?!....Love is lovely. Yes, it is. Well, you should know, so should I, because we're in love. THE ONLY THING IS- we haven't met you. It's inevitable that we shall meet, it's just the method that needs to be settled upon. So, so I decide what I'm going to do to meet you is I'm going to sit and wait for you to walk by! (Because of course you're going to walk by). And so I do and so I sit and I wait, and I wait, and I wait, and I wait, and I wait....and I wait. And of course you don't walk by, and of course it starts to rain, and of course I don't have a change of clothes. So I have to sit in the laundromat in my underwear and wait for my clothes to dry. And as fate would have it YOU WALK IN. 

AND OF COURSE YOU DON'T LOOK AT ME BECAUSE YOU'RE TRAINED NOT TO LOOK AT PEOPLE IN LAUNDROMATS IN THEIR UNDERWEAR- but i look at you....And not only do i look at you, but i see you. And i see your overbite, and your chewed-up pencil, and that cute- stupid- look on your face when your sock hits the ground and i think that it just might be. And your reaction when the hot zipper hits your forearm-GOD!- and i think that it is God. 

This is God."

They Built Their Homes, They Built Their Tombs

Dear Elitist Hipster--

You are painfully cool. Your rose-tinted self perception is glowing in the nonconformist dark. You grind your neon teeth with thoughts of mainstream.  You review and condemn and glorify music, movies, arts, people, people, people, especially people. You walk to class, shrugging your shoulders of your fellow collegiate streetwalkers: unworthy, illegit individuals who don't possess a goddamn artistic taste bud. You don't believe anyone can reach your level, even your fools of friends. You think you're funny, a good writer, and ironic. And you are, believe me, you are.  Thank you for bestowing upon us your oxymoronic-flavored judgement. It tastes good. 

.

But what have you done?  

.

You haven't done any good. 

.

And you're not going to change the world. 

.

So how about you stop spitting on the creation those individuals have composed, and start chewing on your own golden tongue? Stop accessorizing your judgement with Ray-Banned sighs. 

Only then will your mind truly romp with the mind of God. Only then will you suck on the pap of life, gulping down the incomparable milk of wonder. 

That was the most fun i've had without laughing

"Too casual and independent; doesn't do relationships." Gag me- that sounds like a bad e-harmony "before-i-was-single-and-it-was-horrible-and-now-i-met-this-person-online-and-now-look!-we're-smiling-and-laughing-in-a-commercial." Nnnnnnnnno. 

Ironically, it's hard for me to find the words for something that I've woven into so many posts. LO-VE. (And, don't worry, this is not me coming out of a "bloget" or anything, dear friend). For the better part of last year, I was consciously lonely (and alone). Now, it's not like that at all. Somewhere between getting some in '09 and getting some maturity in 2K10, I realized that settling is never the answer. 

So there's this guy who likes me. And it's one of those eyes locked, music taste synched, laugh at every funny/non-funny joke kind of thing. I wasn't sure if I liked him or not (alcohol was the third party member the times we had hung out). But then we went and saw Alice in Wonderland in 3D. I wasn't sure how the night would unfold.  The possibility of trying shrooms for (I think) the first time was not balancing on my relationship-tester scale. That night was supposed to be the "okay, we're not inebriated (for once), could this actually go anywhere?" Or, the painful "okay, we're not inebriated, do we actually have ANYTHING in common?!" No matter what, it's going to be awkward. Probably 97.6% of the time, that BudLightLoveyLove hiccups itself out- or purges itself, unmercifully, regrettably, out of your somber systems.

But there are those immortalizing times where you finally feel "something" with someone- and that something is everything. It's in the way you hear their holy laugh over everyone else's. How the imperishable mold of your committed hands in theirs is a work of art. How your heart runs marathons at night, drunk with thoughts of them.  And so you have to take that sober leap, no matter how excruciating that night and the English class you have together will be for the next 6 weeks. You have to, because if you don't, you die. 

i love phoenix. 

"Acres 

Visible horizon 

Right where it starts and ends 

When did we start the end? 

Acres 

Visible illusion 

Where it starts it ends 

Love like a sunset"