Closer To The Heart

I have tried to write a post at least three times since my last one. I know it's at least three because of the little stumpy beginnings of posts on my drafts list. Since my last post, stuff has happened. Some of it pretty big. Some of it only seems that way. I'm always looking for moments, things I can stash away for later when I don't have adventures anymore (I hope that day never comes) so I can look back on it. I'm finally getting somewhere with that quest.

And if I had the choice,
Yeah, I'd always wanna be there.
Those were the best days of my life.

I drank a lot of ale one night. That was pretty fun. I may have met my match, alcoholically speaking. It's ale. I simply can't drink enough of it to get a solid buzz going, let alone further inebriation. It's the chosen drink of a few of my far-far-away friends, including Dose. The one with the band and the leather coat. The one who interrupted my cup of tea. Things were pretty awkward for a bit, though nowhere near as awkward as they might have been, nor for as long. By the time the ale was pouring, everything was alright again, and I was glad of it. Then he asked me why I'd felt like such a tool when I found out about Blondie. (They're always blonde, by the way.) I told him, he apologized, I apologized, and then he made a joke about Geddy Lee that only I got. It was a good night. A good last night with a lot of the far-far-away folks. Then Dose sent me home with the bassist. Let's review this quickly, and you'll see why one of the far-far-away folks was calling me a groupie. Three man band, I've gotten with two of them, and the guy who sometimes techs their sound. I'm okay with that, really. I'm the good time girl and I'm okay with that too. I'm not really ready to be anything else.

We bury our fears
In the drinks and these tears
For the days we believed we could fly.

So I ended it. I'm not sure if it hurts or not. As always, and I do mean every time, I wonder if I made a big mistake. I'm this way with most decisions. I'm a horrible waffler, even when I've made up my mind. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. It may be a long time before I'm actually comfortable with any given decision.

Some people, it's a pity,
They go all their lives and never know,
How to love, how to let love go.

That's why things got so different near the end of that overseas adventure. I finally felt like I was making choices because they were the choices I wanted to make. I didn't feel like someone was pulling my strings. I was free. And I was happy, chuffed to bits. Then I got surprised. I hadn't gone in with a plan, with any expectations at all. It was a whim, an impulse. Not a power play, not a negotiation, not a transaction. Just an event. Just a moment. A great moment, but just a moment. Oh, like that. Just like that. That simple. And then that thing I'd been looking for all year happened. Too late, yes, and I proved to be yet another disappointment to yet another person. But it's the thought that counts, right?

I got dosed by you,
Closer than most to you,
What am I supposed to do?
Take it away, I never had it anyway.

I finally did get the closure I was looking for. I'm not really sure how. I think it actually came from Dose, which was rather unexpected. Probably when we were sitting outside talking about what had turned out to be a big misunderstanding. When he said he didn't regret it. That was ridiculously important to me. All of a sudden, it was all okay again. Everybody wants to be worth the trouble, and I'd be a liar if I said I was any different. It's all well and good to say you refuse to regret anything, which is what I try for. But I don't always take into account other people's regrets, and the effects that they'll have on me.

When that foghorn blows,
I wanna hear it,
I don't wanna fear it.

I'm back in the castle, which is a little aggravating, but nothing I haven't lived through before. Who knows, maybe the king and queen will grow up a little bit. Three years later and once again, I want to nest. I'm still looking for home, trying to build my own space. Somewhere I can live. Rolling stones gather no moss though. A house is definitely a step up from moss. Being a free spirit is harder than it looks.

Never Quit Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Sleepy Jean

Gypsy soul? Check. Someone to rock it? erm...
More than you bargained for? Check. Someone to tell everything they want to hear? not really...
Sense of adventure? Check. Someone to hit the road with? well...
Dancing like a fool? Check. Someone to dance with me? erm...
Rock n roll heart? Check. Someone to promise the world to? you see...
Daydream Believer? Check. Homecoming queen? not so much...
Loving rock and roll? Check. Someone to say, "Can I take you home?" Disco.

Me being able to say, "That was fun, we should do that again sometime." No dice. I really should remember that thing I'm always telling Loud. KISS. Keep it simple, stupid. That was all I had to say. Instead, I asked if we were going to address the elephant in the room or if we were going to shove it into a corner. Oops. Apparently addressing the elephant in the room was not the best plan. I'm concerned that certain things, although being perfectly clear in my head, didn't quite get across. I'm trying really hard not to think all those unpleasant things I wrote about before. It's not good for me. I'm trying, once again, to be philosophical. He doesn't know what he's missing and all that. Going out on the town with Bear didn't necessarily help. I don't blame her, I really don't. It's the pheromones, I swear. She's not doing it on purpose, but it still hurts. I can't blame them. Here, at least, there's a clear answer. Novelty value.

Sometimes I get shiny mad sad. It can be easier to hide than when I'm just plain old sad. This is the kind of mood I get into when I can't decide whether I'm the enemy or not. My world turns black and white. Us against them. I just have to figure out whether I'm included in "us" or not. I adopt the fierce, twisted glee of a soldier. A little feeling of Kamikaze and a need to go down kicking and screaming. Because I always feel like I'm going down with the ship.

I remember longing for numbness. Wishing to shut down so that it would all go away. I try not to feel that way anymore, I try to find reasons to invest, things to hold onto. And then when they go awry I'm left with the pain that made me want to go numb in the first place.

So what's it gonna take, silver shadow believer?

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Every Form of Refuge Has Its Price

Sooooo... three cheers for the overly-optimistic nut. I like to think I'm not too picky, really, I like things to be mostly upfront. I mean a little mystery now and then is lovely, but sweeping things under the rug just isn't my style.

Apparently, it doesn't have to be, because I'm the one getting swept under the rug. Dandy. There are many tiny moments that corroborated my opinions, made me think I had a chance. Like how they played my song, him and his band, when I asked them to. How comforting he always was. How, when we went out on a proper piss-up, then had to take one girl home, which killed the mood a little and made a couple of people call it a night, he stayed out with me because I didn't want my night to be over yet. The things he said to me and the way he properly listened to the things I said. There was something so delightfully genuine and organic about the whole thing. It was lovely. Sometimes it's not hard for me to smile, to be giddily joyful for no apparent reason. I thought I was out of the woods, I thought I was free and clear from when he told me to put down my cup of tea. If it is true, that thing that he couldn't say without sounding like a prick, and I didn't make him say out loud (maybe I should have) then why did he tell me to put that cup of tea down? Something changed. Likely, he sobered up, realized what had happened, and kicked himself for it. It wouldn't be the first time.

But I'm back to being let down. Broken down because I'm not a good idea. I'm not worth my past. Well, at least I'm not beige in this one. Because the stupid things I've done in the past and the hurts I've caused myself and other people have caused me aren't enough in and of themselves, they now get re-validated as the reasons for more hurts. Maybe it's because he's afraid.

I've had a lot of late nights and early mornings this week, which perhaps accounts for my slightly warlike stance by 3 am. I am not one to take things sitting down. And when the person I most want to confront is, for one reason or another, impossible to confront, I tend to go on the warpath against the person or people I find most connected to the problem. Yesterday was unusual because my target, unexpectedly, was myself. There was a little bit of railing against the people in my romantic past, particularly the past year, but for the most part I was my own victim. Sometimes I say the words I'm most afraid someone else will say just to lessen the blow of it if they ever do say them. As though if I've already said it out loud, already acknowledged it, they're just restating things I already know, and it won't hurt as much. I aired a huge number of my insecurities, well, mostly just a couple many many times in the form of jokes at my own expense. Not particularly well-thought out or funny jokes, but jokes nevertheless. I am the girl who, even wearing the shirt I had on last night, can't get a guy to buy her a drink in a bar. I am the girl who is so much more attractive when you're drunk, and who you regret kissing the next morning, if you even remember her face. Perhaps this honorary man business isn't all it's cracked up to be.

As tempted as I was, I didn't do it. I wanted to, fairly desperately, but for some reason last night the toxins just didn't happen. Could have been a lot of reasons. It could have been Bear's presence, it could have been the little white plastic thing. It could have been because hurting myself emotionally is getting to be enough for me, I don't need to fuck with my body too. I'm not sure which reasons in what concentrations are responsible, but I didn't wake up with that familiar stale taste in my mouth, and I'm glad. The war paint is back on with a vengeance though.

Oh what can it mean?
Daydream Believer

Chomp the Spy

I didn't mean to read it, honest. But there they were, the words from the deep dark place, laid out in blue ink on paper. It gave me a good shake, enough to make my lips come loose and confess my fears. Sooner or later the smoke cleared. Cleverer and callous, once everything seemed sorted suddenly it all went sordid didn't you hear?
I would be the worst of liars if I said I wasn't concerned. I am. But for a change I'm not sure why. As usual, I don't know what I want. There's some spite there that I'm not quite sure what I want to do about. It would be nice to get a couple of choice words in, but now that things are heading in a square-one-wardly direction, I'm not sure I mean them anymore. If I ever meant them in the first place. Now that chomp the spy is cleared out, who knows what's next. I can't believe it was a coincidence, the timing was just too clean-cut. But there could be a number of reasons for that. Most of them having to do with power. That moment of what if isn't this interesting testing the water waiting wishing wondering daring challenge me again. Another game. Do I want to play? Are the takes going to be the same as last time? If it's just another instant replay, I'll pass. But if we are a little older and wiser, smarter and tougher, and more mature to boot, this could just be a very pleasant game. There's precedent.
Once burned...
Daydream Believer

Poison

Destructive behaviour is a funny thing. Funny peculiar, usually, although I have been laughing an awful lot lately. A means to an end. I wonder where the end will be. I know what will likely happen if I continue. I've seen the pictures. It isn't that I like it, it isn't that I need it. But oddly, it makes it all feel better. The willing intake of so many toxins, it makes me feel better, strangely. Like bringing the turmoil from the inside into something concrete, something of which I am the commander. Something that's between me and that little burning tube. Someone made the hypothesis that in order to do this kind of thing, one must hate oneself. I freely admit that I hate myself from time to time, but it is not at those times that I crave the toxins, not usually. Something to focus on, something to bring myself out of myself, something to make the rest of the world real again. Art on the edge, going not quite to the point where you lose control, but close.

And it makes it easier. Easier to forget. I already have that foul taste in my mouth, it lets me ignore it. Easier to act, not to think, not to wonder, not to compare. Easier to keep the secret. I once felt relief, a strange, twisted kind of relief that all I needed to trigger a sensory memory of that strangely comforting time was to smoke a couple of cigarettes and drink a case of cheap beer. It was that easy, and the taste in my mouth when I woke up the next morning was exactly the same. And here I am drawing parallels with that time again. Much as I say it's the same, it isn't. Fundamentally, it has this major, gigantic difference which I can only see being totally honest with myself. I won't call this a game, even if there is some play involved. I toy with the idea of opening up, of telling tales. If I did, the inherent betrayals aside, would it change the act, force me to change the qualities or quantities of it in the telling, in the reactions? Adjust the past in my memory based on the reactions of someone who wasn't there? Colour the experience with the eyes of the present? Force me to qualify and quantify my own reactions? I don't know. You have to be honest about what you want, and I don't know why that has always been so hard for me. But now I am honest about what I want. Both in the short term and the long term. At least to myself. At least as far as I can figure out what I want. That's all I can ask of myself.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried. I'm reasonably sure it's not a motorcycle accident, since it's supposed to be packed up for the winter by now, but I'm still a bit sketched out. It's unusual for it to be like this. Some people, you don't worry if they don't pick up the phone, some people, you do. With him, I do. I'm worried, I'm afraid. Not just about now. About later. About whens and wheres and what ifs. I'm pretty good at being realistic, but what happens when the thing you've tried to be most practical about becomes the thing which not only can, but must, defy rationality, the thing that makes everything else take a back seat, the thing everyone's looking for whether they think they are or not. The thing I thought I couldn't have, and so petulantly declared I didn't want. Maybe I still can't have it. That would be poetic, wouldn't it?

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Lucid

In order to grasp true lucidity, one must rely on their own perceptions, unfettered by the constraints of common thought. It is only once we go a little bit mad that we experience the clarity of sanity.

Maybe we all sound as crazy to him as he sounds to us.

One of the most beautiful, confident, self-assured women I have ever met felt threatened by my presence (read: hopeless girlish crush on her boyfriend) when I felt myself to be a socially and physically awkward 15 year old. Maybe there's something to this. I'm not sure whether her perception or mine was closer to the truth. Either I came off a lot better than I felt, or she was a lot less confident on the inside than on that cucumber-cool exterior.

Oh promised land, what a wicked ground.
Build a dream, watch it all come down.

People squirm when I smile at them on the bus. At first I was doing it to be friendly, now, I'll admit, I'm kinda doing it to see them squirm. And to see if I can find someone who doesn't.

Oh god, he looks exactly the same. He still won't talk to me, but now I can't hope to walk past him without knowing he's there. Hell in a handbasket.

If you want games, I'll play. Games are fun, but don't do me any favours. I don't want your pity.

Bloody hell if you'd just eat a few more vegetables! I know that it's more complicated than that, but part of me just wants my good old friend back. I want to be the more damaged one again, but it's only partially so you won't have to be. How silly a hat do I have to wear before you'll notice me again?

But the half-finished bottles of inspiration lie like ghosts in my room.

I don't know how it's so easy for them. These things don't come easily to me.

Today's what, the 14th? I miscounted, it's coming up on nine weeks now. Hell.

Hyenas laugh when they're agitated.

Maybe a little rampage is what I need...

Another Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody,
I got some money 'cause I just got paid.
How I wish I had someone to talk to, I'm in an awful way.

Why do I already know everything I read in Cosmo this month? Well, except for that trick with the... never mind. But how come I'm so much more sure of what I already know because now I've read it in Cosmo?

Poor brokenhearted baby. I'm having a hard time mustering sympathy and stifling I-told-you-so's. I'm lonely too, I've been lonely longer, and you weren't going to do a damn thing about it, so why should I?

Good night and good luck.
Don't worry, you can have mine. I'm sure not using it.
Daydream Believer

Summer Sunshine

And the scary thing is, I think I'm okay. My usual gnawing worries have been drastically reduced, and most of the temporary concerns are alleviated. It could just be the drugs, but I'm feeling pretty good right now. My most concerning worries are behind me, and now I can focus on what's ahead of me.

Still working on that whole "no more beige" thing, but making progress. Still working on going after what I want, which is so much easier knowing I can have it. Maybe. On that note, I have to work on suppressing that ugly green thing that likes to rear its head at any and all mention of her name. It doesn't have to be him, it might be, but could easily be someone else.

I finally have so much that I want. Freedom, opportunity. And I'm happy this way. I finally feel like I can.

I'm pretty sure it was a Red Hot Chili Peppers song, and I don't remember the exact lyrics, but they were something like I could take you away and then everything would be great. Everything seems profound and memorable at 4 am.

Heavily drugged and very mellow,
Daydream Believer

Visitation

I refuse to get my hopes up. I'll believe he's coming when he shows up on my doorstep. Probably just as well, my hopes are so bloody high about everything else lately, and here I am pretending they're not. Well, not really pretending, just highlighting the part that's not so hopeful. Aggravating and emphasizing the parts of me that are sad, stressed, scared, and hurt. Maybe that's the reason for all the tears, the longing looks at those little pill bottles in the drug stores. Suppression isn't really so healthy. Which is why I'm not so sure that not getting my hopes up about this is a good thing. I don't even know what to expect, really. If he shows up (he'll show up, when it's important, he's a good guy). I don't know what will happen (and will I want it to? Am I really as important to him as he says I am?). Maybe (hopefully?) he'll be as out of place here as he wasn't there. Two different worlds I live in, shouting across the divide. This is my world, and this one isn't his. Maybe he'll have no control here, it'll be my turn with some power. A shit disturber, what'll he pull this time? And what will it mean in a month's time? And was this maybe the worst idea yet?


I don't want him to arrive, but once he's here, I don't want him to leave. Be careful what you wish for much? He's upset, I'm upset, and I feel like I'm in a holding pattern, like I'm waiting to land, to actually get on with my journey. Sometimes I wish it didn't hurt so much to hurt him. I could've made this like ripping a band-aid off, but I didn't. I thought I did it for him, but maybe I really did it for me. Is this easier? I don't even know. I probably couldn't have done it anyways, I'm a terrible liar. Yesterday was so fantastic, but maybe that kind of thing is just making the whole thing worse. He wishes, I wish. We all scream for ice cream.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Baby Write This Down

This post is completely unabridged and uncensored. Kanpai is Japanese for cheers.

So here I am, writing it down. Because somebody said I should. A parable? Maybe.

I once knew this woman, a university professor, who had all sorts of things to say, about all kinds of things. Art, theatre, liminality, juxtaposition, the importance of the live event. Every word out of her mouth was profound, a revelation, brilliance. She knew so much about these topics, and had so much to say about them, that she began to sound like a broken record. The repetition of themes, words, and phrases grew so distinct that someone made a bingo card out of them. All of a sudden, rather than quotable, she was mockable. Did she get less brilliant? Did we get more jaded? Does why it happened matter? Maybe if she hadn't had to get us through a set of exams and projects, she could have branched out a little more, brought in more new ideas, given us more profundity. Or maybe that's all there was, she was so specialized that she'd said her profound piece, and that's all there was to it.

It was profound to you, but I got it out of an Amanda Marshall song. I said everybody wants to believe that they're special, God's chosen people. She said "every soldier in the war's got God on his side, and that's why we can't stop the slaughter".

It's entirely possible that in every relationship, romantic, friendly, platonic, adversarial, you run out of things to talk about. Eventually you know what they think about religion, politics, themself, you, the future, the way the world works and whatever else is important to the both of you. And unless something drastic changes with one of you, there's no more to say. Maybe that's simply a symptom of growing apart, or maybe it just happens to everyone.

Somewhere there's a line between wanting to see them every day and seeing them every day out of habit. Usually just this side of that line there's another one, the line between seeing someone because you have something to do with them and seeing someone because you have nothing to do with anyone else. The line where the default option changes from "alone" to "with them". The line where you become their appendage, or they become yours. Where the world is small and insular, and every decision has them as a factor. You enjoy that for awhile, and then you hit another line, the one where you begin to resent all of the above.

A flutter somewhere around the solar plexus, a flock of thousand-pound butterflies, a flush, a slight sheen of sweat, a stammer, and standing there saying to yourself "Did I seriously just say that?" That place where a "Hi" can have you on a high all day, where anything is possible and it's absolutely brilliant and you swear they'll hear your heart thudding in your chest if you don't faint from the blood rushing to your head first.

Maybe I'm crazy to miss that. I know a lot of people who have said "Yeah, all that stuff is great, but I'd never in a million years trade it for what I've got." Maybe when I'm sitting here thinking that maybe I would, that's the beginning of the end. At the very least, it's probably the way I know that the decision I've already made is the right one. Not the only way, I guess, but at least one. Someone once told me that there's no such thing as a wrong choice, it's just the ones we make, and the ones we don't. That has made all the difference, according to Frost.

Sometimes I think I'm asking for too much. Maybe it is too much to ask for a job that doesn't make me cry before or after nearly every shift I work. Maybe it's too much to ask for freedom. Maybe the truth is too much to ask for in Kindergarten, when they tell you it doesn't matter what you look like, only what you do. Maybe a dual-axis spectrum is too much to ask for. Maybe a spectrum at all is too much to ask for, a middle ground. Maybe there can be no compromise. Maybe a secret is too much to ask for. Maybe being alone is too much to ask for.

Be careful what you wish for, I suppose.

A List Update:
Know/understand all the references in the musical Rent, particularly those in the song La Vie Boheme.
Sontag, Sondheim, Maya Angelou, Ginsberg, Dylan, Cunningham, Cage, Lenny Bruce, Langston Hughes, Uta, Buddha, Pablo Neruda, Pee Wee Herman, Gertrude Stein, Antonioni, Burtolucci, Kurosawa, Carmina Burana, Vaclav Havel, The Sex Pistols, 8BC, Musetta's Waltz, Heidegger.

Stay tuned for my discoveries.

Dream On.
Daydream Believer

Friends With Complications

Her: "So, uh, are you two, uh...?"
Me: Nervous laughter
Him: Nervous laughter
Me: "No, we're, uh, friends..."
Her: Raised eyebrows "With benefits?"
Him: "Um..."
Me: "More like complications."

An old conversation. Out of date by several months. but leave it to me to remember the random things, some good memories, some bad, a few regrets wrapped up in the scent of Old Spice and Irish Spring, flowers, swamp goo, and the not-quite-clean of a boy/man's apartment. We had our share of complications, mostly my fault, but I asked the questions and he answered honestly. It wasn't really his fault, although I blame him for it sometimes. A lot of the time. I wished for him to do things, say things, and now I wish I could remember them, so I could do them or say them, to make this better. But I can't. "Why do you have to be so attractive?" If I only had a nickel for every time I said that to someone. Right along with "What does she have that I don't?" and the inevitable answer of "tits". But in all seriousness, powerlessness just sucks, in all its forms, no matter which side of the equation you're on. Which kinda makes me wonder where the power in these situations is. I was so sure he had it, but now in a different position, maybe I was wrong about that. Maybe I was wrong about a lot. I guess it's complicated.

I'm surprised I'm not grinning like an idiot. I love hearing that people think well of me. No surprise, who doesn't? But it's best when it's completely brutally honest, and still favourable. I like to hear the brutally honest, no-holds-barred, I-swear-I-didn't-know-you-were-listening opinions people have of me. It's probably narcissistic, and it's probably not very good for me, especially because it's not always a glowing review. But I can't help it, something in me wants to know how I appear to the outside world, because everything looks different depending on the eyes you're using. And every now and then, what people think of you has an effect. Sometimes you can teach yourself to see what they see.
I love the sound of the words she wrote as they roll around in my skull, staving off, at least for a couple of hours, that irritating voice full of derision and foul mood. Lit from within, all red lipstick and dark eyes, young and powerful, something dark, delicious, and alive.

I can't shake the guilt though. I'm not mad, not at her, though I don't think she believes it. It's the guilt that was bound to come back ever since I said "I wish I was a little more like him". Well, now I am a little bit, and I wish I wasn't. He revels in this, having the means to manipulate, to hurt. I just want to make all the hurt go away, and I don't know how.

The older I get, the shakier the foundations of my friendships seem, the old as well as the new. My closest oldest friend I didn't meet all that long ago. Next on the list is the one who I can barely quantify any more, all magnetism, memories, and Irish Spring. Most of the rest don't even seem like my friends, more like friends once removed, I wonder how many of them would still be around if I wasn't around him. I've never had good luck with making friends, I'm a little on the beige side, people don't tend to remember me. At least as far as I know. Every now and then the tables turn, the tide shifts, and I get to deal with the fallout. Sometimes it's more fun than others. Sometimes complications are my only real friends.

Maybe I can widen that circle a little bit.
Dream On
Daydream Believer

Wonder

I'm getting sick of wondering. I want to stop thinking, "Is this how it's supposed to be?" I need to learn it doesn't matter how it's supposed to be, because that has no effect on how it is. And as long as how it is is how I want it, I'm in a good place.

That said, I still want to know things. I want to know why after barely talking for nearly two years all of a sudden not talking to someone for two days makes me feel like I've hardly got a grip on the world anymore. All so I can lie. Why I have to keep reminding myself that it was his idea, what he wanted. Why that matters, and why I forget it. Why I made this my problem. Why I don't crave the kiss I should. Why I still crave the kiss I shouldn't. Why I felt so liberated in the knowledge that someone who claims my friendship will hurt me so willingly, again and again, and I can't change it at all. Why I sat down at my computer nearly every day since my last blog post trying to write another one and haven't succeeded yet. Why words echo in my head until I can barely remember the voice that goes with them. Why I freaked out at an oddly familiar whiff of cologne. Why I don't feel any different. Why I don't know if I want to.

But then again, maybe I'm afraid to really ask.

Maybe I'm progressing, and the reason I suddenly don't want what I have is something like why while it's the only fit food for a teething toddler, you'd be hard pressed to find an adult who wanted to eat puréed jarred baby food. The same way I realized I'd moved on from what I wanted less than a year ago, and got a few months later. Maybe I'm just always after the chase.

Ever get caught in a daydream? Someone asks you for something, and you realize that you were a million miles away. Sometimes a little less than that in physical distance. It takes a moment to get your bearings, and you can't go back quite the same way, even though you might try.

I wrote this awhile ago, never actually posted it and I'm not sure why. I just don't remember. So I'm giving it the light of cyberspace, and let's see what happens.

Break in, break up,
Break out, break down.
Fade in, fade out,
Watch it fade away.

Fall in, fall out,
Fall down, fuck up.
Fear, freedom,
Fly away.

Run out, run in,
Run for it, run away.
Make a bet, take a chance,
Screw the rules, play.

Roxanne never put the dress on,
Cecilia won't come back.
Beth's getting sick of waiting around,
And Lucy fell out of the sky.

Dani California grew up rich,
Chantilly Lace wouldn't show her face.
And now Mustang Sally's got a ticket to ride.


Lost in a dream,
Daydream Believer

Weak

Something about tonight leaves me cold, if you'll pardon the pun. Eyes downcast. Demure, or furious. I don't know why. I can't see your eyes, which I hate. You can't see mine either, which is my last line of defense. Maybe I'll say something I regret. Maybe I'll regret it right away. Maybe it'll take a few days. Maybe I'll change your mind. World's biggest hypocrite, maybe my worst idea ever. Would I change a moment of it? For nothing short of world peace. Do I regret? Absolutely. But I'll work on that. It's over now. I have lots of regrets, I'm slowly rubbing them out, letting them fade into the background. You wanted this to do good, not bad. You should know by now that you're a force of evil in my life, in all its variable forms. You haven't called me pretty lady since we started this. I don't know why I miss it. I hated it when you said it. I only exaggerated slightly about not wanting to go home. I knew I'd have to face it if I came in. And it was better to stew out there than in here. There was the chance that you'd find a way to fix it. You usually do. You sometimes humour me. That same hug. The same as he had. You hate being compared to him, but you're so much the same. In action, in word, in memory. Maybe one day I'll be able to relegate you too. Say with confidence, "I don't need you anymore." I could say it now, and it would be a lie. Maybe I should brush up on my lying. Might be less painful for both of us. Every time, it always feels like there was something left unsaid. One final line that would tie together the loose ends.
Maybe it's goodbye...

Daydream Believer

P.S. Give me a week, once I've gone back to motown. I ought to be back to normal. Well, normal for me.

Burn

Just to recap, yeah, the vampire thing is pretty hot.

So I'm playing with fire, but maybe that little burn is just what I need. A distraction. What might happen if it wasn't a distraction is dangerous territory, as is what might happen if the distraction grows to overshadow that which it is supposed to distract me from.

Somebody's gonna hurt someone before the night is through,
Somebody's gonna come undone, there's nothing we can do.
Everybody wants to touch somebody, if it takes all night.
Everybody wants to take a little chance, make it come out right.
There's gonna be a heartache tonight.

I'm hoping I've gotten through the first part of the heartache, and now I'm free and clear for awhile. I gotta say, one hell of a distraction. I'm working on this whole "no regrets" thing, I am. Trust, limits, history, geography, friendship, lust, fear, curiosity, human nature, hope, longing, self control, joy, pain, there's a lot here. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't enjoying it. I weave complicated webs, and do so willingly. It makes life more interesting. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I can play at both Valerian and Mandrake. There are many ways to be intoxicated, I suppose, and this is a particularly finicky one. But I've still got a smile on my face, and for once the adorable side is up.

Funny, isn't it? The way things shake out. Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

To Sweet Beginnings...

It's right, in a lot of ways, that I spent New Years Eve with Gold, with Loud, and with Sphinx. The year has come full circle, and aside from being a lot of fun, the evening felt full of poetic justice and the tying of loose ends... or the dripping of wax onto already-tied knots, in some cases.

All lives are made in these small hours,
These little wonders,
These twisting turns of fate.
Time falls away, but these small hours,
These small hours still remain.

The girl who attended last years' party at Loud's would have been completely confused, befuddled, and more than a little distressed by the current state of events, and guess what? I'm not. Because I'm not her, and probably never will be her again. (Side note, brilliant book about identity: The Third Woman, by Mark Burnell, but it won't make much sense without reading the first three, The Rhythm Section, Chameleon, and Gemini, but they also deal with identity, so it still works.) And guess what? I'm okay with that, despite feeling no particular animosity towards her. And that, my friends, is this year's big step, not feeling animosity towards who I have been while pursuing who I will be, and at the same time not ignoring who I am at the moment.

To sweet beginnings and bitter endings,
In coffee city, we borrowed heaven,
Don't give it back, winter is coming,
And I need to stay warm.

Anyways, I'm looking down the barrel of a cannon full of possibilities, which makes me happy, since none of them look really unfriendly. While it'sgood to be home, I'll be glad to be back South.

We found a map to buried treasure,
And even if we come home empty handed,
We'll still have our stories, battle scars,
Pirate ships and wounded hearts,
Broken bones, and all the best of friendships.
And when this hourglass
Has filtered out its final grain of sand,
I'll raise my glass to the memories we had.

Yes, I made some resolutions. And yes, I'd be glad to hear yours, and here's hoping they're more original than "Quit spending money and lose 10 pounds". Not that they aren't worthy goals, but come up with something interesting for New Years. Here's a few that I read or heard various places:

Laugh more.
Drink less coffee.
Sit down and look at the stars/clouds for at least 20 minutes at least once a month.
Do something every day that scares you.
Strike up a conversation with a stranger on public transit or in a grocery store.
Walk or bike somewhere you'd normally drive once a week. (Maybe this one just in the summer for those of us living somewhere very very cold.)
Skip stones. Even if you don't know how.
Smile wider.
Arbitrarily break your routine.
Randomly break into song/dance at least once. (No, DDR does not count)

Alrighty, so there's some interesting New Years Resolutions I've seen. Anyways, that basically covers it in the "things I meant to say when I got to a computer" department, at least, I think it does... if not, there's always tomorrow.


So here's to sweet beginnings, bitter endings or not.
Happy New Year, Keep Dreaming in 2008.
Daydream Believer

Sleep Tight

Corporal and Rad, what the hell am I going to do? I don't know, but I know that Ginger is right. Those butterflies don't happen all that often, so I'm damn well going to enjoy them. No matter where this goes, no matter how it ends. Goodness knows its kind of good the let someone else make decisions and do the work for awhile. And I'm going to get all this shit done. Tomorrow I get to pretend to kick the crap out of someone. In the meantime, the words are flowing like cold corn syrup, but that's still better than before, so I'm going to try to heat stuff up.

Ah, music. I really like Eric Clapton, and I didn't even know it. Yay reminiscing. If only I knew then what I know now, eh? I went to almost every one of my middle school dances, but was always too shy to dance. Oh well, hindsight. Dancing is more fun when you don't have chaperones checking to make sure you're not dancing too close anyways.

Maybe the problem is trying to separate heart, head, and gut. You need all three to get anywhere, really. Maybe we should just relax, stop trying to put the boundaries around each, and let them handle things for a while. Your subconscious and unconscious are there for a reason, let them do their job.

I said a lot of things out loud today that I've been thinking for awhile. Oh well. Had to come out in the open sometime, and I kinda felt like I was going to explode. So now I get to sit on this stuff for three days until everyone's in the same place geographically, so that I can get to the same place non-geographically.

Don't let the bedbugs bite.
Daydream Believer

La Bohème

Love is an angel disguised as lust,
Here in our bed until the morning comes.

Apparently critical volume for getting Daydream Believer most of the way out of her shell is 6 shots of rye in half an hour. Apparently barely post adolescent boys are more or less the same everywhere, which I guess doesn't surprise me. Interesting, I don't quite know how to feel just now. Even though I'm a lot smaller than them, and wasn't quite all there co-ordination wise, I still felt like I was in control. Of my actions, of my words, even of their actions. At the same time, would I have said and done the things I said and did 6 shots earlier? I don't know for sure, but my money's on no. Who am I kidding, I live inside a massive shell... or perhaps a tiny glass box. You can see me in there, but I'm still a step removed. Last night, I removed the obstacles. It was liberating, it was fun, and I wasn't scared. But I can't help but wonder if the people I encountered would appreciate me in all my shell-less glory when they're sober. People, myself included, are a lot more accepting when they're drunk. I'm not going to lie, I'm terrified, but damn it, I'm going to get out of this shell. I had a taste of a new kind of freedom, and I liked it too much to let it slip away so easily.

Looks like that's the "foreign ass-grab" skirt. Funny thing was, I wasn't scared, hurt, disappointed, disgusted, or annoyed. Nobody was measuring my reaction either. I wonder if those two things are connected.

All of a sudden, I feel powerful, in control. Stop the presses, I think I've got feminine wiles after all. Shame about the directionality though. I think maybe, things could have happened yesterday, I could have made things happen yesterday. It's an interesting feeling. Sometimes it's alright to be silly. And yes, Ginger, you were right about the good Corporal and probably about Rad as well. As you said, fuck him. Ok, bad choice of words, but I'm sure the idea gets across. If I can stick to that idea, well, hopefully good things will happen. Bloody hell, as soon as I twist my brain around, things get fucked up again. Could be worse though.

Daydream Believer

Cupid, Stupid, and a Crossbow

Some ducks have all the luck. All this talk of chainsaws and dice-rolling, happiness, hedonism, and everybody's favourite four-letter-word. No, I'm not talking about fuck. Much as many might suggest that that's in fact their favourite four-letter-word. It's certainly a versatile word, especially where anger, indignation, or otherwise upset-ness is concerned. And now I have to be quiet because my roommate's going to try to sleep. Oh good.

Here it is Monday again, and as per usual, my world is packed into a handbasket and on its way. How many times can I be told to get out of my shell in one weekend? By how many different people? Maybe they should think twice about trying to release my inner bitch. She's an inner bitch for a reason, and I work hard to keep her that way.

It's a little tricky when the line between joking around and telling the truth gets blurred. And when I say a little, I mean a lot. Lines between morality and legality, and how much you can get away with. This is what we like to call an "Oh shit" moment. Two hours I've been sitting here in front of my computer. I can't tell when I stopped pondering and started moping. But I definitely feel a sulk coming on. I need to find a way to make it go away. I kinda wonder what a shrink would say about me at this point.

I think I may have met the younger version of the character I wrote based on someone I met once. Wow, was that ever convoluted. The simpler way of putting it: I think I figured out what's so intriguing about the person I just met.

Perhaps, like so many other things, it just isn't in the stars. I have to wonder about the accuracy of those things though, despite the testimonials I've heard. Maybe it's just my imagination, all in my head. Sometimes you can't tell the dreams from the nightmares. Which is worse, not talking at all, or a conversation that's like pulling teeth?

We are lonesome animals. We spend all our lives trying to be less lonesome.--John Steinbeck

Once again, I'm restless, because all of a sudden, I have this lovely daydream that I wish could be real. But at the same time, for the first time in a long time, I get the feeling that, when all is said and done, it's just that. Just a daydream. And I'm not quite sure if I can believe it anymore.

Daydream Believer