| Man, so I was thinking, and you guys are a lucky few, I don't friend just anyone |
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| Something's Not Right Here |
[01 Jan 2010|12:20am] |
Goodbye 2009. Hello 2010.
http://bonesforbedframes.blogspot.com/2009/12/goodbye-2009-hello-2010.html
"Sometimes, the past is something you just can't let go of. Sometimes, the past is something we'll do anything to forget. And sometimes, we learn something new about the past that changes everything we know about the present."
@ http://quotewhore.tumblr.com/
Usually, I don't talk to anybody about what's going on in my head. Because I'm afraid they might not be able to take it. But I finally found a website, whereby I could shamelessly portray myself - Flawed, Imperfect & Neuotric. With people, whom could actually relate your situation/feelings & not tell you to stfu. 2amtomorning feels like Home. |
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[31 Dec 2009|01:22am] |
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I don't get the hype. I'm not the type of person who needs an excuse to go out, to get high, to drink. I'll drink because it's a Tuesday, because Dr Who is on, because my tits are big and my eyes are blue and I drive a Corrolla. I don't care how or why, I'll drink, I'll smoke, I'll dye my hair. Who gives a fuck? I find New Years to be the most asinine holiday ever to be created. I don't even know why they call it a holiday. Most places are still open on New Years Day. And besides, time does not exist. It's a man-made phenomenon used for farming schedules during the times before Christ when they needed to know when winter was coming and how many days were left to harvest. Now it's used to let you know when to pay your cable bill and return your library books. I don't need to celebrate that. I don't fucking care what day of the week it is. Either does time. Whether it's 1910 or 2010, whether you're counting or not, it keeps going. You die, it forgets you, and it goes on, for infinity + infinity + infinity and that's that. There's nothing to celebrate. There's nothing new or old or anything to do-over. But everyone is going to go out and get trashed and pretend everything is going to be better and make a bunch of promises they don't intend to keep. I can do that any day I want. I practically do it every day - get drunk, break promises, make excuses, pass out, go to work.
Just a day in the life.
I don't know why, on December 31st, it's a requirement. Especially when there's no such thing as a "year". /rant
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[30 Dec 2009|09:40pm] |
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why do we feel as if we should always blame someone, even if it us ourselves?
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[30 Dec 2009|05:07pm] |
It's winter break, and I don't feel like engaging in drama with people I really don't know, so my other thing to do write now is play around on the interwebs.
Sometimes, when I'm really bored, I go on lyrics sites (or google) and look for lyrics with my name and different spellings of it in it.
Normally, they're cool, but don't make much sense for me. Like...
"and when the planet hit the sun, I saw the face of allison."
or
"allison, your secret toungue's not understood by anyone."
Anyway, I found a song that was basically written for me, awesome. I feel like I need to find someone who can sing to sing it to me, just for the hell of it.
Says she wants to move to New York City
And dance on the stage
On the crowded streets you look so pretty
Or in the pouring rain
Well I'll roll with her
So she won't get hurt
Here it is I'll lay it for you
Here it is I'm telling you the truth
Hey Ally, I'm falling faster all the time.
-Runner Runner
Are there songs with your name in them? Which do you like the best?
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[30 Dec 2009|10:41pm] |
So, one day about a year ago I'd woken up on a beautiful Tuesday morning to continue my then addiction of bunking school. I bought weed the night before, met up with my best friend at 3 minutes past 9am, and got on a bus to her boyfriends estate. I was dressed in my school uniform hidden underneath a grey cardigan I stole from my older sister, with a bright orange button on it with the slogan "Read More Books" imprinted on it.
We spent the day dwelling in alley ways smoking blunts, and stealing food from London market stalls. By 2pm the minutes were so short and our heads were full of smoke, everything not meaning anything 5 seconds after it was said. It was okay for us to go home now, as the school we didn't attend had finished it's day. We smoked a goodbye joint and wrapped our arms around each other in a fit of goodbyes, and before I realized I was on a bus full of oblivious people, swaying back and forth with a vacant stare.
The sounds of the bus were creating songs in my head, my vision was taking in not a single thing and my brain was trying to piece together the hazy day.
Suddenly, curiously, I heard a voice come from my left, and when I looked an old man with hair growing from his ears and a cane in his hand was talking at me. "Read More Books, aye?" he called. It took a minute to make sense in my brain. "I'm sorry?" I replied, while blinking sleepily. "Read More Books? On your cardigan there sweetie? You think I should read more books?" he said smiling, pointing, and as I looked down at my Grey Sweater I smiled too. "Oh, well, yes! of course! everybody should read more books!" I smiled, and a couple of other people looked at me, taken aback and bored.
"Have you got any recommendations for me?" he asked honestly, while fiddling with his cane. "Hmm... Through the looking glass... Maybe Oliver twist?" I said smiling, finding interest in this conversation. The old man chuckled, "You know darling, the only book I've ever read is Moby Dick.", he said. "Was it a good read?" I inquired, and he paused for a moment, staring down at his cane.
"Well, my wife made me read it, she... she said it'd teach me a lesson or two." And as he started to laugh, coughing and wheezing, his grin so large - I stared at him with a smirk. And it was finally then I realized, that oh it is such a wonderful world.
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[30 Dec 2009|01:40pm] |
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Whatre your new years resolutions?
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[30 Dec 2009|04:30pm] |
My school term ended two months ago and truthfully-it was such a huge relief because it left me with some 'me' time. But over the weeks I've been turning almost agoraphobic-I wake up at 2, watch a rented movie or two and just can't seem to drag my ass out of the house. I've had a pretty tough year. Two people I cared about died before me, I realized my friends pretend that they give a shit about me and I'm tired of pretending that they do care. Grades are merely letters, no boy is ever going to love me properly and maybe I don't care. And after all that, I look back and 2009 was just one huge dump I had crawled out of.
I think about starting school again and that huge pile of projects I have yet to finish and being alone in a full table during lunch break-and I just start to cry. 26 movies, 9 books, 0% life experience gained later and my life's still pathetic.
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[29 Dec 2009|08:53pm] |
Just tell me yes or no:
Are you depressed?
You can expand if you'd wish.
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[30 Dec 2009|03:32am] |
He leaves and I cry. I wonder what I did wrong; why I'm not enough of a reason to stay.
This time I understand. I called his cab because he needed to be there. I couldn't be angry because I just wanted him to be okay. The words he spoke were soft and meant. He held my hand and this time, I knew the reason behind him going. It didn't make it any easier saying goodbye. It still hurts and crushes my chest. I was brave. They told me I had to be and I was.
His hair smelt of apples and that last kiss tasted of Jack Daniels. I was always a sucker for a whiskey boy. He lingered too long and it made me feel briefly uncomfortable. This was the closest we'd ever been and we weren't touching.
"I'm not important."
Oh darling. To me you're the most important. Can't you feel in the way I kiss you. Don't you hear in the words I whisper; words I've never whispered to anyone in the dark.
You're the most important.
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[29 Dec 2009|12:37pm] |
I got kicked out.
Well, fuck
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[30 Dec 2009|01:34am] |
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Ask/Tell/Confess?
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| but i won't believe you baby. |
[29 Dec 2009|05:14pm] |
She was not laughing on the second night that I stayed awake. She came downstairs at around four in the morning. I hadn’t been doing much of anything. The TV was off, I had no book with me. Occasionally I would look out the window if it started to rain or if I heard a car in the street outside but mostly I looked at the floor. It was wooden, and there were cracks and patterns in it. For each of these, I had been trying to think of one thing I had done in my life that I loved. It went well for a while, but it is always easier to find things in the ceiling that you wish you had done, than to find things in the floor that you are fond of.
Standing in the doorway, she looked at me for a time. I did not look up; I did not need to. Her grey eyes were burnt into my mind. She was clever that way. Some days they were metallic, dull and lifeless. You knew better than to get too close, but you didn’t know why you felt that way. Some days her eyes were empty. But some days they were silver, more precious than gold but sharper than knives and still, still you were afraid to get too close. On days like that, she came to you.
I knew that right now they were metallic. I did not have to look. I knew from the shadow her body cast upon the floor and the subtleness of her breathing.
I looked down at the floor and remembered being seven years old and having a brother who was five. He liked me a lot, he trusted me with his life and back then, I was a fiercely protective person. In those days my blood thrummed in my veins instead of feeling like treacle. I was not passive, I lived. Of course, I was seven and I didn’t think about anything like that. I just knew that I was happy and that I loved my brother.
She shifted against the doorframe. I didn’t know what she wanted.
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| Long Live The Scene |
[28 Dec 2009|07:51pm] |
That pretty shade of red, its your blood and it matches the one on your lips, live forever in your make up bags.
Live forever in mirrors, so vain, live forever in lipstick caps dropped in the bathroom where you smudged the sweet chalk of your lips.
Live forever mocking the eyes and the hips and legs and thighs of the late night...seen...is what you wanted, you faded it out.
Snuffed like candles, capped like eyeliner, washed away in the dirt, in the rain, in the stains of black sweat down your face.
Let it be known you can't kill the scene, kill the kid, kill the fashion, kill the walk ways, the runways.
Back alley memories, stained dreams, night beams of light from the cars, from your eyes, from the time in the back of the stage.
Long live The Scene.
__________________________________________
I got really pissed off because I heard some chick, decked in her neon jacket, paint splattered hair and heavy, heavy eyeliner, say, "The Scene is dead" and it just...it ticked me off because of how many people went out of their way to be the scenest thing in the word, with their piercings and their tattoos and painful to look at hair styles. It pissed me off because I walked into a show one night, seeing all the kids decked out in these fucking ridiculous to fucking cool things and I saw, truthfully, who the true kid of the scene were and who were there to compare who's pants were tighter. Long live the kids who stand at the base of every stage staring up at the bright eyes and glosses of the guitarist and singer standing in front of you and making that night last forever. Long live the kids who have stayed home, listening to cds over and over again and pretending like they were crowd surfing because they couldn't go see their favourtie band. Long live those kids who were living it before everyone else even knew what it looked like. Long live those kids, long live the music, long live the eyeliner, long live the rip in the new jean you bought because you just couldn't help but throw your cares away in the pit and bashed the shit outta that kid and hugged him later on that night.
Love. Live. The Scene.
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[28 Dec 2009|07:01pm] |
tell me a secret.
recommend me a song. describe in detail what you did today. tell me a joke (i find nothing offensive). ask me a question. quote your favorite movie/book/etc. ask for advice on something going on in your life. tell me anything. i'm listening.
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[28 Dec 2009|04:51pm] |
It took me until last night to realize no matter how many times I tell you that I love you, you will never say it back. I don't know whether to push you away or embrace you the way I always have. Being your friend hurts me more than it does to be rejected by you, whether you're doing it on purpose or not.
We accept the love we think we deserve. And I will no longer accept the love you give me, no matter how little you seem to show me.
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| "you're a baby." |
[28 Dec 2009|02:26pm] |
last christmas we went to the theater. the world was closed and we made a palace out of our home, setting up the vcr and not the dvd player. we watched "it's a wonderful life" on a big screen the size of a small cardboard box. the film felt hollow with black and white movie magic; the strange lacking of color, of unimportance ( and though you object, very much like myself ). we made a nest out of the tiny exaggerated spaces we knew too well. snow fell. your arms took mine and held them, then squeezed them, then held them again, then squeezed them again. we were twenty minutes into the film and two bottles of spiked cider down when you said, your voice sounding like it never sounded at all, so quiet it scared me, "leland i'm sorry."
of all the terrible things that have happened on past holidays, of all the broken bones and warm moments like fleece, the car rides and quiet early morning hours with just arms and legs, this year was the worst. you still exist but where?
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[27 Dec 2009|11:47pm] |
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so woohoo after a huge fight last night, i dont know who i am anymore.
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[27 Dec 2009|11:16pm] |
He was afraid that he had told me he loved me while he was barely conscious.
And I wanted to ask, "do you love me?"
I know he'd say no, no matter what. I think the Army taught him how to lie.
He kept thanking me for talking to him, for being his past love interest, and most of all for being his "therapist".
As much as I try to play off the hurt, and as ridiculous as I feel for it being four months later, I still love this boy.
Who do you still love, but feel you shouldn't?
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| things you won't read part 1 |
[27 Dec 2009|10:54pm] |
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you were right, and I was wrong to ask you to stay. I guess I thought we could fix this, because every time we set it down, wait a minute and come back to it, we both have these new ideas about how we are going to nurture it better, love each other more honestly, show each other more fully. I guess, I always knew but never acknowledge that at the end of the day we are both always still exactly the same people. I am going to miss you, every day, every time the big hand reaches back around at 12, and the small hand shifts to whatever hour the sun says it is. I will think of you. I will constantly have traces of what I said goodbye to, or more accurately couldn't say goodbye to. I will always remember our potential. Maybe that's why this hurts so bad, because I keep waiting for our hour to come. When I'll zap to your continent, or you to mine. I'd watch the sun rise from your plane, drink coffee from your favorite cup. We always said we'd shine one day, I am still waiting. I will still wait. This has become like a tide that I keep expecting to reach the shore, but it never does. They say that it's the moon that does these things, pulls water to the shore. It isn't fair, that this is my goodbye. It isn't fair that you don't get to use your thumb to wipe the tear from my eye. It isn't fair that you can't look at my face and tell me you love me back. Or that you don't love me anymore. It isn't fair that I don't even get to watch you walk away. Don't I fucking deserve that? Am I the only one still crying for this? is there someone somewhere half a world away, crying for the exact same reasons? Are you crying for the same reasons? Would you cry for me? Would you pound your fist into cement, and beg every holy figure to bring me back? would you scream at the moon to pull me closer?
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