doubt.

i feel horrible.

Philadelphia

We took our turns around the swing. It was one of those old fashioned set ups they rarely incorporate in modern playgrounds. I can't help but always feel as if kids are getting gypped from probably the most diverting piece of brilliancy: the thing I can't even put a name to. What are those called? Merry-go-round swings? I guess that's the best I can assume. It was twilight; a time of day I find enlightening and disarming simultaneously. It's strange how you can gain inspiration from an entity entirely impossible. People accumulate inspiration from God. How is that possible? If it is, can I try it?

He snapped his fingers directly above my forehead; I felt as if I had just gotten out of a trance. A trance of the gears and levers churning inside my conscience, focusing on every bit of evidence and detail. I followed him to that cranny under the tree where she was waiting. The three of us laid supine and gazed. A breeze was creeping up on the hairs beneath my ears. The nape of my neck tingled with a peculiar itch. It felt as if a rain drop had stamped my neck. Bringing my finger pads to the spot of supposed contact, sure enough I felt dampness. There was no way for any rain drop to land on me. No dew covered the grass. I certainly was not sweating the least bit. No one had sneezed or coughed or even murmured a breath, for that matter. Still, though, I know what I felt.

I put the inquiry on hold. To my left, I cast my gaze on him, the slits of my eyes not revealing their point of location. He was always claiming to have a gift of the senses. He said his eyes, fingers, ears, tongue, and nose all had these supersonic attachments to them in which any bit of conversation could be heard (distance was not an issue) and he knew the feeling of every thread. Well, he most definitely didn't know the texture of my underwear, I thought adamantly. That was one territory he would never visit. She and I often wondered if his proclamations were phony. I suppose for the time being, they are. Because I have never seen him practice any of the elaborate gifts he spoke so highly of. Turning to my right, she was not looking at the sky as he was. Her eyes were closed. I knew she was only thinking one thing: how she wish I weren't here. I stayed out of any business between the two of them. We all knew he wanted me, and she wanted him. I took no part of any conflict or stage of affection. He used her, but for some reason, the three of us would never dare to leave each other's sides.

There will always be a difference, however, between the way certain people devote their thinking. First and forward, she spends her thoughts on fantasizing. She'll never be anything but ordinary. All her seemingly dull intentions will accomplish just that: a dull outcome. She'll always be second best to me, no matter what. He, on the other hand, will succeed. I'll have no part in it--I'll even try to stop him with all my capacity. Why will he bring fortune upon himself? He spends his time thinking about the aesthetics of everything. Every. Thing. He pays no attention to the petty, as she does. Petty including herself, unfortunately. In some ways I admire him, but I find him more despicable than anything.

When did my thoughts turn from present to past to present again?

I'll take a stab in the dark and say tonight she breaks her arm. On purpose. So he'll help her.

The drop on my neck was my own tear. Gravity found it executed on my neck. I wasn't aware I was crying.


/end fiction writing

mercury.

futile crimes

this blog seems like my little secret.

i have another blog, a tumblr, but i don't feel comfortable writing in it. odd, i know.

i'm currently in a washed up state of mind; my summer between first year and second year of college has probably been the most dull summer i've had yet. i'm waiting for this muggy cloud i'm in to release rain, but so far it's remaining very pigheaded. right now, the most exhilarating thing i'm doing is watching a lot of arbitrary movies. i've fiddled with my cello and i've made an imprint on my ink pens, so i suppose at least i'm doing something worth while. this is probably the most disconnected i've felt from myself in a while. i've adapted to a busy life and this summer is anything but busy. i feel like every minute not doing something for the better of myself or someone else is wasted. but my dad keeps reassuring me that one day i will wish i had this insouciant life because i will achieve substantial things. ahhh, such wisdom you speak, daddy rios.

i suppose i do obtain one worry: my financial aid for '10-'11 school yet. i know not what it consists of yet.

maxine is a joy. i've never had a puppy around (that i can tangibly remember) so it's a nice addition to my every day life.

this rain has been marvelous; exactly what i wanted! it's so soothing.

oh dear. i have a bit of a conundrum: i no longer have the urge to type.

well, because whatever i type next will be forced and i'll have had to think about what to type, it'll be garbage...so i'll stop now.

ta ta.

who knows.

The Things That I Don't Understand Are What Keep Me Going

i don't know what the fuck is going on through my head. i really hate these intense mood shifts from giddy as fuck to i don't want to talk to anyone. it's seriously like crossing over a barbed wire fence in two seconds, if that makes any sense. i came home this weekend for a small visit; it was nice, but it really didn't do anything for me. my dad said to me: "i'm sorry you didn't have the best visit possible." meanwhile my mother kept telling me she was trying to maintain a sort of homeostasis within her moods--perpetual content.

it's hard looking at your sister in the eye and telling her there are reasons the two of you are treated differently. i love her so much, so that's one reason it tears me apart to know that sometimes she can't stand to be around me because of something that's out of my hands. it's kinda like having a friend or sibling from your dad and your dad's mistress--you guys get along so well, but you can't get over the fact that they're from another mother. i guess that's kind of how it is, just on a smaller scale. i must say, my favorite time of this trip was when it was just the two of us, going about san antonio in my cruddy car, hydroplaning on the wet roads, and trying to navigate our way.

i didn't get to do what i really wanted to do. drive around like i used to. go to mud creek and listen to music like i used to. oh well. i guess there's time for that. it's hard getting time to myself living on campus and being surrounded by thousands of fuckwads.

completely off topic, but there's something about my pet bird that brings a sadness to me. i love her so much-i guess there exists some sort of guilt in me with her. i've had her for over ten years now, the second longest since chile, and maybe because she's so with it--so aware of her emotions, because she can recognize people, i don't know... i don't know what it is about her. if and when i lose her, i'll be crushed. but i won't think about that. she's got a lot of life to her. about 15 more years.

this wave of emotion i'm experiencing right now. i love it. even though i can't put my finger on it. it reminds me of how i was a few years back. i was so depressed (there's got to be a better term for that than depressed--so heavily overused). for some, the act of depression represents a numbness where they can't feel anything in them, for me-it lets me know that i can hurt. i don't know. i can't explain it. when i've tried before, people just reach the generalization that i like to be sad. which is way too broad, and way too inaccurate.

i want to cry my eyes out right now.

but i'm not going to.

the weather is perfect-rainy and cold. i'm playing cocteau twins in the house very loudly. i know my mother isn't too fond of it, but she's not complaining. i love this feeling. early in the morning, rainy, shoegaze, and my cup o' tea.

now i'm off to go get my drivers license renewed. and then to see my g-ma. and to come home and eat my mom's pesto. then to see herbie. and off to the airport.

i feel much better now.

refreshed.

this is what i needed.

I wanna be your love
I wanna make you cry
And sweep you off your feet

I wanna hurt your pride
I wanna slap your face
I wanna paint your nails
I wanna make you scream
I wanna braid your hair
I wanna kiss your friends
I wanna make you laugh
I wanna dress the same
I wanna defend you
I wanna squeeze your thighs
I wanna kiss your eyelids
And corrupt your dreams

I wanna crash your car
I wanna scratch your cheeks
I wanna make you sick
I wanna sell you out
Want to expose your flaws

I wanna steal your things
I wanna show you off
I wanna tell you lies
I wanna write you books
I wanna turn you on
I wanna make you come
200 times a day

I wanna dry your tears
Every time you're sad
I wanna be what's happening
I wanna be your only friend
I only go all the way

This time I'm not pretending
I can't take the trash
Your trashy friends are spreading about us
They got like fifty personalities
Oh girl, that's so messed up
You see that sculpture on the hill
That's where she queered me out
Forever
They're monitoring my self conscious massacres, I know
Bringing it closer to the surface so it's easily pervertable

I want to be a beast
I want to make you proud
And play with your head
I want to take you out
Make you feel adored
And buy you everything
I want to hurt you bad
Make you paranoid
And say the sweetest things
I want to help you grow
And for eternity
I want to be your what's happening
What's happening


gallery piece - of montreal

yay!

143! 143! 143!

ugh.

i will murder this swedish boy who plays euro and house until the wee hours of the morning.

1. snookered - dan deacon
2. tine - villa
3. orange appled - cocteau twins
4. silver trembling hands - the flaming lips
5. ce matin la - air
6. down in the park - gary numan
7. daniel - bat for lashes
8. dot - gonzalez
9. seeds may fall - portland cello project

i honestly don't like shoegaze as much as it appears, it's just easy to fall asleep to.

i've change my clothes so much everyday.

i like mail (HINT.)

i daydream now.

i like 50 minute classes.

i get to see munch.

* * *

joy.

"rob a bank" by the butterflies of love.