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[09 May 2006|05:13pm] |
i think that if you spoke out loud
and told me all of the things on your mind
you'd realize that honesty is what makes you not okay,
and that
that is so okay.
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[27 Apr 2006|04:08am] |
love is largely differences when you think about.
there is so much beauty in that
that people overlook. and life is difficult
no matter how you try to perceive it, how you try
to swallow it. we are all longing for this never-ending
happiness. i do not mean that in the philosophical sense.
i mean it realistically.
we put these notions in our head that all we can be
and all we should be is 'happy' and that's not real.
when you are able to admit that life is hard
and it always has been, you just never let yourself believe it,
you will find all that's good in the world.
that's when things are beautiful.
or maybe that's just me.
there's an honesty about being real and admitting your flaws
and your flaws with a person, their flaws. there is something intriguing
about disagreement -when two people come together to voice their opinions
and share their distaste, and yell and cry- because in the end, you are
sharing yourself with another. the words and ideas that you feel
and why you think they're wrong. that is not bad.
it is vibrant and moving. why do we run from disagreement? from pain?
from the truth? by living in it, perhaps life is harder than it has to be,
but i'd rather be real, than run from it? and you could say
we'd all be happier if we lived like small children
and abandoned the afternoons too heavy for our shoulders to carry,
but do you want to breath that air? do you want to live knowing you are giving up?
giving in? because you could not face what is.
in confronting it, you gain so much that the fearful never experience.
no wonder life seems so linear
when some cannot open their eyes to see.
your eyes may be open, but that is not sight.
sharing in difference as opposed to indifferences.
and that is where people differ in life.
giving yourself, in any form, even if it is painful...
that is really so wonderful. it is something
we never say thank you for, and i wish we did.
we are so fortunate we can even have difficult lives with disagreements.
we're not numb. we are real feeling people. how could you overlook that?
that the way people release is not because they see life as being too hard
and that they cannot handle it, but their emotions, the ones they wear on their face
or the ones that stream from their eyes, are real. how can you say
that's making it too hard? harder than it is? do you really believe that?
why do we hide in corners and lock our fates into pasts? just because
they were easy and because they were real once.
life has shown itself to all of us
if we can accept it and see it, and hold onto it.
we have to accept that it's hard and that does not mean you can just escape it.
i like to believe there is no such thing as a coward. there are givers
and there are takers.
why would you take it only when you need it? and only when you needed it?
only when it was easy, and why would you overlook there is so much,
so much beauty and goodness and wonder in worth in letting yourself live through the hard?
there is no such thing as normal.
there is all that is.
once you accept who you are, instead of trying to mold yourself to a time,
to a concept you cannot hold, and you will never hold for that matter
because it is time and it will never be your own,
you will live. how can you live this way?
i do see life as being hard, but i think that's because i am realistic. i
was always
so idealistic
and i still am, but i admit i am not good when it's true. and my mouth and my
ears and my eyes reveal it to those who are in my life, stranger or lover,
for i am real to them. is it not better to be real? and who you are?
even if that's a bit much, just because you wanted to be treated
with such reality
and honesty by those you give yourself to?
what are we missing? and how can we tell others to live their lives
when we're missing the beauty that is so clear right in ours?
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[12 Apr 2006|02:16am] |
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i want everyone in my life to know how much i love them and why i do, and that i do. i want them all to know that just because i do not call, often, does not mean i am overwhelmingly inspired by who they are as people. i want you to know that there are times i am crying, but just because it happens does not mean i do not see the beautiful things about each day and about my life, and about who i am as a person. i have so much love that sometimes it does make me cry. maybe love is something not worth crying over. my parents were here two weekends ago and i was smiling and when they left, it made me so sad to see them go. someone i know asked me "why not be happy you had the time with them that you did?" and i was happy, but i still cried because it was my release. these months have just been release. it's hell. my brother told my mother "i wish i had not enlisted in the marines so i could have been there for anne more. it's my fault we're not as close." and it's not his fault, but i cried when he said that. knowing that another person, my older brother, has enough love for me, that much love for me, to blame himself and cry about the fact that he could not provide for me enough. who has that? and yes, i am fortunate to have that love, to have an individual who would do anything for me simply because there is so much love there. it does make me want to cry because that is a fucking wonderful thing that so many people never get to understand. there is so much love that so many people are missing and i cry because everyday, the world, in part and parts, is not able to experience the love that i feel. maybe it's bad. to cry because of love? but wow. when you see me crying, don't be so quick to think you know why. please don't just sit there and say how could she think about the sad things when there is so much good. as sick as it is, i've gotten the point where to deal with it, to accept all the good of the world, it's reflected upon my face. when i am crying. i think life is so beautiful and instead of going out and just doing it, i dwell on how poorly some people choose to live, and it saddens me that they waste it. i've wasted so much time by being sad. i know. i want to hug everyone i've ever met and thank them for being a part, whether large or minor. the woman who cleans the bathroom on my floor, my gay seminar teacher who held my hand yesterday and smiled at me saying "there are more of us out there," the nurse at the infirmary who made sure i was feeling better by calling me, my english professor who is so kind and laughs at me and makes fun of me and gives me shit for not participating enough and tells me she needs me to show other students more.a boy named albert in my creative writing workshop commented how much he valued my poetry and since then, we've formed a nice relationship where we exchange praise and thought. i am losing my mind right now. i just want everyone to see life for what it's worth and to know that crying is okay and that you should not numb yourselves by taking pills you think can make you happy because in the end, you are not living any sort of life. maybe you are. i just don't want to mask my emotions by being on medication, even if the world thinks i need it. i just want the world to be everything it can be and i'm troubled by how meaningless life is to so many. how can people just wake up and go through motions and grades and alcohol not realizing we have so much to learn from everything and everyone and every fucking breath?
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[13 Mar 2006|11:56am] |
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Beattyville
Blundered boulder rock I am sitting on somewhere deep
in the cracks of Kentucky
being silent with others twisting their tongues, tattering truths,
scribbling my thoughts down on this natural bridge
above the impoverished land capital
of the universe.
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[02 Mar 2006|09:14pm] |
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i am not incredibly depressed.
but it does really sadden me that nobody really knows who i am.
when reading that, i guess i could say i do not know myself, but that would be a lie, because i do.
i have a lot of questions and i know there are only few who read this, but if any of you can answer, do you feel as if you need to be comfortable in where you are to be happy? or do you need to be comfortable in who you are to then be comfortable where you are?
you see. is it the fact that when i am who i know, or who i used to be, that people laugh and say such things like "oh, how unusual you are today," instead of attempting to understand that being that is exactly where i left myself, where i loved myself.
i remember reading something that someone i know wrote. they were proving to others that they were incredibly happy by writing out the apparent facts that people could already read and see. does that mean they actually are happy? i want to ask this person if they are real.
i remember being real. i came here and thought i would just be myself here and grow in the fashion that i had been growing in, i guess, but i realized a lot more of my life is my surroundings. now i can figure these things out on my own if i sit with them long enough, maybe, but i am curious (please) if anyone else reading this has anything to say or any thoughts.
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| Christ, was I being too harsh? |
[07 Feb 2006|02:21pm] |
Before 1949
HISTORY LESSENS ITSELF IN EACH TALE
MIXED WITH NICOTINE AND SALTY, CAFFEINATED AIR.
I KNOW A STORY SO TRUE
IT MAKES THE DREAMS OF CHILDREN WEEP.
MY VEINS ARE THE CITY STREETS,
THE BRUISES FROM THE BOAT THAT TOOK THEM HERE,
THE LINES LEADING TO A PROMISED LAND.
MY STOMACH BARE AND MOTIONLESS,
SHOULDERS HANDS AND FEET,
THESE LIMBS THAT LEAD ME ASTRAY
IN IDLE DAYS SPENT WONDERING
ABOUT A PAST WHICH FED ME LIFE
EACH ARTERY, AN ANCESTOR OF TIME,
A PUZZLE IN THE PIECE,
EACH BONE A LEGION’S LINK TO VICTORY
HIS LEFT ARM USELESS AND BURNING OUT THE WINDOW,
WORN HANDS HAILING MY GRANDFATHER’S CAB BROUGHT MY MOTHER BREAD,
A TROUBLED ROOM, A CONFUSED YOUTH.
IDENTITY MUTED AND MALLEABLE,
HER EYES COULD CHOKE A NECK’S LAST BREATH AND YIELD IT DEAD,
SHORT BOY CHOPPED HAIR BEARING HER SWEET FOREHEAD’S WELCOME,
HER BODY JUST PIECES OF REALITY SEWN TOGETHER FOR AN IDEAL MOMENT.
FATHER’S WORDS ARE SWEEPING YOUNG DANCERS OFF THEIR TIRED FEET
WORN LETTERS, WRITING NOTEBOOK, WORDS OF LOVE,
SHE AND HIM,
THEY FELL INTO SOMETHING SOMEWHERE IN A CATHOLIC CHURCH.
ONE OF FOUR, HIS SISTERS, OLDER, THEY OPPOSED HIS SEX,
A CONVENT DRUG USE ISSUE TO BE KEPT UNDER PEWS,
THE TYPE OF CRUCIFIX-BEARING TATTERED POST-CARD GIRLS,
THEY DRESSED HIM UP IN WOMAN’S CLOTHES.
THE MAN IN HIM, NOT ENOUGH.
HIS FATHER BEAT HIS POLITICS INTO HIS HEAD, WITH HIS BRUTAL HANDS.
MY FATHER’S FATHER BEAT THE LATINO,
THE BLACKS, THE WHITES IN A LAWRENCE PRISON CELL,
THE WIFE IN A LAWRENCE BEDROOM,
WITH HIS BRUTAL HANDS.
A FEAR OF GOD ATE HIS SKIN,
AND SUNDAY AFTERNOONS
THE MAN THAT GAVE ME NOW,
HIS NINTH BEER SCREAMS NOT TO BE FINISHED
EXHALES LOUDLY, REACHING FOR A MOMENT TO BE LOST,
THE COUCH IS DRUNKEN WITH MY FATHER’S BODY,
TOO OLD FOR GOOD USE, TOO YOUNG TO DIE.
MY MOTHER’S TURNING IN THEIR PATCHWORK BED,
WONDERING WHERE HIS LIFE WENT, AND IF HOPE IS DEAD.
THEY WERE FREE,
FROM STORYBOOK BACKGROUNDS, FELL IN LOVE WITH TEAR STRUCK EYES,
THEY WERE THE REVOLUTION
WHICH IS NOW JUST LIFE TO DIE.
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[09 Oct 2005|08:49pm] |
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unrest: "can't sit still" |
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so college and i are fist-fighting and dying and rolling around and
it's not sexual, it's just brutal. the academia is actually the easiest
part. i have lovely grades and they are basically my best companions,
because i can read them easily and they respond to me in a solid
manner, as opposed to some i've been meeting. you know, like people and
alcohols and gatherings that aren't parties even though y're incredibly
stoned or intoxicated. it seems the good times i have may be because i
can't remember or may be they are good, but i am just too confused/so
far outside my element to tell right now.
i've enjoyed visiting BU basically more than anything and smoking
cigarettes in the lonely, tall, rainy city and feeling like i know
myself there because i am inadvertently forced to be on my own and
smile at homeless men and wealthy men and children and T stops and
receptionists and the time they carry in their feet, but here, there's
carbon-filled-copies roaming and in between there's certain kindness
that is still so hard to read blurred with kids who mean nothing they
say; i don't know where i stand.
i'm learning to be okay on my own and my music is still with me and by me and i just hope this all works out.
for now, here are some photographs.
i hope this works. if not, i will figure it out and try again later.
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| house of the burning tongue: eternal |
[19 Sep 2005|08:52pm] |
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music |
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lose my breath - my bloody valentine |
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hey.
so my first week of college, i saw sufjan stevens play.
in one time span of 7 consecutive days, i saw 4 shows:
-sufjan stevens (read two lines above)
-of montreal
-sigur ros
...cake, but that doesn't count so much. 4 just rolls off yr tongue more easily than 3.
sufjan played somerville theatre over in davis square and played most of illinois with a touch of greetings from MICHIGAN and it was good stuff.
in college, i say good stuff a lot. i am also very tempted to say wicked. finally, i say mad and crazy before other adjectives to mollify my wicked temptation.
of montreal was the sweatiest sex i've ever had. everyone was touching and singing and dancing and it was energy embodied and bottled in human beings in a basement in cambridge. it was the same feeling you get when making out with a 12 yr old in a closet. sure? they played most sunlandic twins and more and wore paint and leaders lacking shirts and just so much dancing and metropolis.
college is frozen yogurt and late night dining halls. and for "the color of the leather handbag is navy, not blue!" conversations.
sigur ros
by far the most beautiful show i have ever been to. auditory sense. visual sense. i was absolutely moved. i mean that in the least pretentious sounding way when using absolutely like that. ah! holy shit. i can't even talk about it. i had the chills and cried because i've never felt anything that moving before within me. individual songs have made me cry before, but i've never cried when seeing a live performance. not even for radiohead two years ago. the boston opera house is so elegant. grandeur. and i sat there feeling so drowned and drunk in the wealth and riches i gained that night.
and cake was playing a free show so i got drunk. ... and went to the show.
there will be some post about college and friends and all that sometime soon. and it will slightly refer to how i don't sleep much, but it's cool and how my mated room girl is awkward and how i have aboot one friend, but she's good stuff and we have this network in which we only let eachother know how glad we are that we found the other one when we're drunk... and i am planning on doing some radiostation and literary/art magazine goods. it will be good times.
coffee, yogurt, cereal, and sleep to you.
tell me who and how you are and about yr times high or low.
i don't miss home, but somet things are missing here.
gently,
anne
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[17 Aug 2005|03:31pm] |
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this is to sweet summers, religion, family, friends, strangers, and everything we normally attach.
( the 17th of august it appears )
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[01 Aug 2005|01:02pm] |
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mood |
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i like typing, i think. |
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yo la tengo |
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dear july,
you're done.
sadly,
( august )
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[22 Jul 2005|08:36pm] |
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so i went swimming in this sea of maroon and gold, not yellow, gold and it was no mellow gold so to speak. it was the kind of smack you in the face! gold this is yr future gold!
there was screaming and chanting and clapping with boys and girls i know so much nothing about.
i think it's best to say that awkward happens when you throw 300plus kids into a zone where no one knows anyone's no one and you eat at eachother's phrases for common speech and similar tastes.
every now and then you take walks with boys who you've talked to from a lofty internet sight and feel like you know eachother because it's 3 am on a college campus, and this intimate veil modifies and mollifies yr nerves because no one else is out. no one else, but that's not what college is. when college comes, there's going to be kids kissing books kissing boys and kissing chants and beer bottled cans because that's what the future holds // so i walked around this campus, this absolutely beautiful campus with my breath in my hands because i wasn't intentionally trying to hold it, it just stuck still because i was overwhelmed // at first's first, i thought i may sit there and corner myself in squares i wanted to be sucked out of, but there were no such shapes. vast circles kept forming and deforming into beautiful happenings, beat, as we drove on our histories in the early hours of the am. we stayed up all night and day, and the next, because we were free to do so.
i'm really looking forward to the fall.
and i am finally confident in this decision.
more importantly, i am comfortable.
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[08 Jul 2005|12:22pm] |
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give me yr name and i guess i'll:
1one: write something I like about you
2two. tell what song reminds me of you
3three:apply an o'clock to you and tell you what it would be
4four. TRY to name a single word that best describes you (might not be able to here, foolery)
5five: tell you the most memorable moment I've had with you
6six. tell ye that color color color you remind me of
7seven: then tell you something that i may have wondered about you
8eight > i guess ye can put this in yr journal, if fancied - and really any other cute verbs like fancy can be used. . |
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many words to say and be said. i think i may do that tonight.
i leave tomorrow.
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[29 Jun 2005|01:28pm] |
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There are these types of hallways. It’s this type of hallway where you step between the gray and gray, the ceiling gray and floor gray, and yr sides are encased by white, streaked-dirt white from bored hands rubbing their fingers across the pallid walls. Making marks to match their footsteps on the somber carpet, they’re all lonely forty-somes. They’re all just now attempting to make money so they listen to these men too tall men stuck in their girth and deep voices telling them to "go get ‘em!" and they jump up out of their seats throwing fists and chanting "damn right I’ll go sell that house!" Every now and then, there are the little ones - the tiny men with their heads sinking into their necks and drowning between their shoulder blades. They’re the ones that speak mild-soft for the bulk of their sermons, but then, they’ll tangle up another thought and scream it out to prove they share the same philosophy as the big man, big-time seller, and they can all be the same. They can all make the A+ grade in that projected classroom desk scene like childhood, but minus the cubbies. The cubbies were always the best part. Maybe that’s why it feels different for them.
The women seem to be predominantly single, African-American women in their thirties attempting to find their soul mates over real estate coaching camps and chicken-salad, cigarette, aspartame lunch breaks. Restrooms hear these test scores and jealous scorns when the older white woman isn’t able to pull off the 86% like the thin doe of a female striping on all sorts of lip balm, gloss, glass, wax. Floozies flossing their time and teeth between sullen inspiration sequences all succumbing to nothing but the trip home to the supermarket, gym, or television to figure out we’re still not what we want to be. |
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( ... )
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[20 Jun 2005|02:23am] |
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sometimes, in the summer, i sleep in my long underwear.
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[11 Jun 2005|05:00pm] |
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from/for gabby:
6 songs [not current favorites as much as general favorites] and in no particular order
1. tv on the radio "young liars"
2. the jesus & mary chain "almost gold"
3. sonic youth "karen revisited"
4. the arcade fire "une annee sans lumiere"
5. smart went crazy "holds up her hand, blocks out the sun"
6. of montreal "wraith pinned to the mist and other games"
last cd purchased: of montreal - sunlandic twins
current song - the unicorns "the clap"
five songs i listen to often:
broken social scene "kc accidental"
can "one more night"
dismemberment plan "a life of possibilities"
television "marquee moon"
elliott smith "rose parade"
i'd go forth proudly(!!) and tag others, but i lack the energy to search for the untag-g-ed, so feel free to respond in yr own journal, or below in mine with yr "current songs."
adieu.
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