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atmosphere

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I remember screaming as loud as I could at the bottom of the pool.

Fighting with the water as it tried to send me up.

Floating on an expanse so dark you could lay and imagine space cradling you, ripe with stars and suns.
And the perfect teal sea in the morning, when I awoke in search of distraction.
I see us walking home.

Your hands, your shoes, the night you thought of me before we had ever spoken.
I hold you tightly in my memories, but you slipped through my fingers.

My fingers are quivering.
Not a full blown shake, but my chest holds no courts. Never waits for a reasonable answer. Just gasps at the thought of dialing and hearing something other than a sudden disconnect.
You don't know. According to the signals you receive, you havent received any. But I try and I quake in the grips of the word.
"I'm trying"
to forget.
to remember.
these few days that made me dependent on you. In chest
(In)dependent. In thought processes that I can control.
Even now I am convinced that it is nothing but sweet words in summer air,
Still I am forgetting your face, and the way you speak. Foreign accent in your native language rolling off my tongue as I pondered the things you'd say paying at the gas station. Funny looks from the cashier
at your mumbled words in my mouth, followed by unsuppressable laughter.
Tonight, paniced breathing when I can't hear it anymore, and I dial for a taste of what I'm pulled from.

You're coloured green like a healing bruise, never in full effect of the pain you harboured. Do you twist your thoughts out of reach purposely, or is this lack of emotion only drawn from the nature of a digital age?
I don't know, and wont until I grasp your soft hands, long limbed with fingers I've learned the habits of by now.
How long has it been sice I've held that hand? Less than 365 days and more than a life time. I count them three.two.one.
I am changed, but not concerned. You will love me, as you do, as you always have, and you will be the same, but different.
No longer swollen and plum with childish sorrow. You'll accept your jealousy.
Tune your anger to a fading, sickly green.

THINGS I MUST DO

1. Return Zombieland
2. Fix Banjo
3. Buy NMH record Sat.
4. Buy disposable camera
5. Take pictures of everyone
6. Clean out tank
7. Write more
8. Clean room

I was told by two different people on seperate occasions that I remind them of this character:

Clara

Clara is barely aware of the material world. She is most interested in communicating with spirits and only pays attention to mundane details such as domestic chores in times of extreme necessity. Clara is often described as floating through the world. At times, this refers to her literally levitating, at others it shows the way she is able to ignore much of what she does not want to deal with. Clara’s temper is extremely calm. She inspires great respect and devotion in all those who meet her, from Esteban to his sister Ferula to his foreman Pedro Segundo. Although she can see it in advance, Clara never fights her destiny. She is not, however, passive. When she faces a situation that she does not like, she proceeds to change it in quiet, subtle ways, such as adding little rooms to the big house on the corner bit by bit until, although it looks the same on the outside and is completely transformed. Clara’s character changes very little as she grows from a young girl to an old woman.

Cody

I think the best way I can describe how my brain works is to explain about the mental map of everything I keep inside my head.

I can remember every where I've ever been in incredible detail. I can tell you where the pens were on a hotel desk I saw once.

22:58Me

ok

22:58Cody

But that's not what's weird. A lot of people can do that. I can tell you what's behind that desk even though I never saw it. It's not what is factually back there, but my brain automatically fills in the blanks with what would make sense to be there.

So the entire planet is mapped out in my head even though I've never seen it. I can tell you what color the alarm clock is on the bedside of a banker in belgium. It won't be anywhere near right unless by luck, but I can tell you what it looks like in my head.

As I see more and more of the world it updates this map with what is really there.

But even as I walk down the street and look at the front wall of a house, I can already see what the inner layout looks like, what the people look like, how they act, etc. Just based on whatever visual or whatever clues I can get.

All this happens automatically.

23:01Me

so when you first see a person you automatically make up your mind about who they are

and they can change it with time

but initally you go into a conversation thinking you know them

because thats what i do, just with people though

23:01Cody

Well to an extent. I know a bit more than meets the normal eye but usually I don't start gathering data until we really talk.

Body language, slight voice inflections, eye movement, how they dress, how they act about how they dress, all this tells me information that I gather and corelate automatically.

23:02Me

so if i were to ask you to read me... what would you say?

23:04Cody

I'm not garunteeing anything. Only met you once but I'll try. You're very conscious of your surroundings in that you won't talk too loud if there is someone sitting nearby. You're loyal to your friends but also you are an individual and occasionally the two ideals conflict. Your purse is new, I think. It looks new and you didn't seem quite sure what to do with it due to the long shoulder strap. You're used to getting what you want but not in a spoiled or stubborn way, it's just a fact of life.

23:05

You've already let me go, why can't I do the same?

It's funny how you don't even realize the power you have over me, and even if you do, your unwillingness to grasp it is more painful than anything.

Daylight by mike bruno + the black magic band

Daylight by mike bruno + the black magic band

I loved you best in the summer,

hair unkempt and warnings unconsidered

the roads we wandered already bleached white with memory

Lost grip on realities I created

webs spun with promises of tomorrow

and the next day, and the day after that day, and the day after that

But they passed so quickly

regrets stunted with smoke to keep me coughing

I tried to fill my chest with anything but the absence of you.

I'm so happy

I wish you were.

Foreign Seas

I moaned your name before I knew it

And cried to darkened ceilings, searching

Twisted my toes in anticipation, but nothing ever came.

The tides were rising.

I found a floating pace and drifted

Let the seaweed twine around me, pulling

Sought out your boyish voice, and lost it to the current

The signs were apparent.

And I spoke your body before I learned it’s language

Your room should reflect your soul.

To Do (By Friday)

---------------------

-Study Ch. 7 Math

-Finish Timeline

-Write Narrative

-Finalize Background

-Finish Research

-Speech

To Do (By June 3rd)

------------------------

States Test-

Study for History Final-

Chapters 8,9,10,11,12 Math-

Math Final Notecard-

Math Missing Work-

Art Guitar-

Art Extra Credit 1,2-

Wednesday: Interview, Narrative

Thursday: Finalize Project

Sunday: LAZY

Monday: Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10

Tuesday: Ch 11, Ch 12, Review

Wednesday: Review Examples

Thursday: States Test Study

Sunday: History

Monday: History History Ballsack History

Tuesday: Finals are over, Party

Wednesday: PARTYYY WOOO

Thurs: PARTYYYYYYYYYYYY

Six months. That's right. This dream-like picture shows each phase of the sun over Bristol's Clifton Suspension Bridge taken during half a year.

The image was captured on a pin-hole camera made from an empty drinks can with a 0.25mm aperture and a single sheet of photographic paper.

Photographer Justin Quinnell strapped the camera to a telephone pole overlooking the Gorge, where it was left between December 19, 2007 and June 21, 2008--the Winter and Summer solstices. (That's a15,552,000 second exposure.)

'Solargraph' shows six months of the sun's luminescent trails and its subtle change of course caused by the earth's movement in orbit. The lowest arc being the first day of exposure on the Winter solstice, while the top curves were captured mid-Summer.

(Dotted lines of light are the result of overcast days when the sun struggled to penetrate the cloud.)

Quinnell, a renowned pin-hole camera artist, says the photograph took on a personal resonance after his father passed away on April 13--halfway through the exposure. He says the picture allows him to pinpoint the exact location of the sun in the sky at the moment of his father passing.

"Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Heres Tom with the Weather."
— Comedian : Bill Hicks

Rising tides of disappointment. You litter my seas.

Two Weeks.

I wonder why there is no valid explanation for such a traditional feeling. Dealt along the generations like an abused card deck, so any person can look down and feel their stomach drop, clench their ace of spades like a death sentence.

But it isn't one, and by this time you have already gone. The card is a haunting. A thin-papered ghost, slick from the fingertips that have dulled its shiny surface, smooth like a stone- long caressed by freezing waters.

And you hold it. Grip it. And you can only bear to think "Why have you given this to me?"

"What have I done to deserve it now?"

Mouth gaping, slow-dying fish on his deck, chest heaving dry sobs, as if salty tears will provide enough water to survive.

There is no rescue. Pass the card along as much as you will, and you will, but you have only cursed another. You still have the delicate shadows under your eyes; bruises from the long nights spent wringing your sheets around your arms, staining your pillowcases, only to change them each morning.

He always said your bed smelled so clean.

I can still remember the way your lips burned my skin, I've never felt a fire so desperate to consume.

I'm waiting for you to grow into your shoes

one minute poetry

Tell me your thoughts
Spilt from the wine you keep balanced
Delicately on the edge of a table
Sanded from the trees in a forest up north

The same wood you use to fill the holes
In the walls you put up
That you just can’t help but peer out of
Pretending there’s a lock

Step through,
You are not a man
You are a splinter in your own universe
A crack in the bottle of every wineglass you’ve balanced
Begging it not to fall.

i conquered my own childhood silence and now the world is my lit confessional marquee,
but it'd take a busload of high school soccer girls to wash those hospitals off me

oh, am i clean?
nineteen.

they said sex will keep you young and make you older at the same time,
they said sex will have left you aged normally,
and so i guess it's sorta like smoking and walking at the same time
in that it will have left you aged normally

oh, am i clean?
lord, please, why me?

i wish i could feel close to somebody but i don't feel nothing.
now they say i need to quit doing all this random ffff-
now i think my upstairs neighbor hears me masturbating,
and there's other one's peeping through the slits in my curtains
and i never got a name for my shady compulsion
'cause i messed up and kissed my shrink in a jersey city hotel room..
and i know saying all this in public should make me feel funny,
but ya gotta yell something out you'd never tell nobody.

we found the dead fox, and a dozen matchbox cars, when we cut back the hedges on cortelyou place,
how many got lost left so long they grew moss 'cause they recoiled into the shadows of my embrace?
we found the dead fox, and a dozen matchbox cars, when we cut back the hedges on cortelyou place,
how many got lost left so long they grew moss 'cause they recoiled into the shadows of my embrace?

oh, am i clean?
lord, please, why me? 

-Yoni Wolf

M: I don't recall any sparkles in your room

A: well, there are now.

M:bullshit

A: hahaha

A: theyre all over my face too!

M: You just made me choke on my water

M: Congratulations, you have officially won life

A: HAHAHHA

What deranged creatures fester here

underneath your skin

you are a strange breed

translucent in the sunlight

arteries pulsing with promises of love

unkept hair in the morning

already slicked with grease 

of your fingers

of your lips 

of your words

do you live on this planet?

or dwell in some separate earth

where everyone speaks formally

and dresses as they please

where it is natural for hopes and dreams and fears and heartaches

to murmur lightly from your chest

where each heartbeat does not thrum

but whispers:

I'm sorry

When I met you 
most closely 
in the folding slow blink of a rose 
in the quiet of February’s locker 
in the winter 
I heard you in every crackle of the window glass as it tightened under the weight of water 
you are not a loud person, you are soft and gentle like spoonfulls of snowfall and sugar 
you are an angel spun from under nights 
I am bright, sun-clumbsy loving through fumbling thumbs 
I am all heavy 
you are above me

Back before we loved like knife wounds we were eggs awaiting the breaking an unborn sunrise

limbs winter-thin, simply skeletons in wind, we were open, holding nothing, only prayer

and In the springtime 
you are the heat unclasping the valley from the shroud of death 
you are the perennial, the broken lock on the chest of rebirth 
you are a thousand swollen bellies, aching to burst 
you are love in the face of darkness, life dancing in the jaws of dragons

the first night I 
let myself love you 
hell’s cellar cracked behind my eyes

you were beautiful… long haired sunbeam

I could smell the burning flesh 
the gasping breaths 
of suffocated lovers

setting fires in the spider’s nest you pound on 
a twin-legged bonfire taking arms against the midnight

I do not know 
if I can commit 
to this suicide

IN THE SUMMER you are colors drunken, children running away from home, you are the sun broken open watermelon, I am chin-deep, guilty mouth,

we stay waking, days stretching out their arms 
until collapsing

I know what the hottest part of you feels like and have been nearly eaten by your warmth 
have been made slick by your embrace 
swam in the grease of your insides 
I have known your tongue and pulled from this poem it’s ink 

I am still whole 
in places 
I never thought I could be 
still me  
even though my skin 
still smells  
from where she melted into me 
I carry him 
in my hips 

I  remember 
everything  
I have lost 
the earth purges things 
like bones 
that resurface 
again 
and again 
and again 

I am standing here 
wondering 
how he looks, 
now 
with me  
still smeared 
all over him 
I can imagine 
when the sun sets  
red 
and the city fades away 
and you begins to feel earthen again 
that roses grow out  
from the places 
I rested 
on you

IN AUTUMN, with everything leaning towards it’s ending 
we miss each other from under our ribs 
we breathe like cellos 
we open our necks

how dare we destroy each other this way 
how dare we 
so ungrateful 
tear each other apart 
when we didn’t make 
any of these muscles 
none of our fingers could tie 
so divinely 
the fibers of the apexes of stars 
and wind them 
so divinely 
around the most honorable of bones 
holding us up 
No 
it is not our mouths’ power 
to diminish each other’s spirits 
shadow the suns 
blasting out our chests

stars fall 
we hit  
like flint 
somewhere on the way down

The sun itself will dip down to you

Bake your clay just to weave it’s fingers through her hair

Hotter than he is

The fire will search out ice water when he leaves her.

This will fall on your land like a lone flicker of sunshine in 3AM darkness

White light arteries in the midnight’s arm.

in the end

we were

as long as we formed the words

voweled mouths and rounded time

matched lacerations

another toughened tree ring

the ephemera of a pulsing center

honey poured in the gears of a pocketwatch

a wound in the face of the earth

the sundering of a root system

the rythym of twin chests set by a metronome

the requiem of human percussion

Eden Connelly & Brian Omni Dillon

You lean in to kiss me.

You jump off buildings.

You drag through streets

Drunk, holding a python,

Chewing holes in cheek.

His name means happy,

But I’ve caught him sewing

Sorrow through his soulless shoes

Into fallow fields of memory

And he looked at me

Straight to the bone.

I told him, if you jump into the void

Take me with you. I miss traveling.

I don’t know where you go

But I can’t stand looking at you,

Trying to see you clearly, naked

And you just aren’t there.

-Zev Gottdiener

4
the first day we met,
I told you I missed you
already. I still do.
5 
you kissed me so hard
my lips bruised. I still look for 
you in the mirror.

6
If I wrote you a 
love poem, it would smell like ash.
I have burned many.

Colour 

Contrast

“I never fall apart because I never fall together.”

“People sometimes say that the way things happen in the movies is unreal, but actually it's the way things happen to you in life that's unreal. The movies make emotions look so strong and real, whereas when things really do happen to you, it's like watching television -- you don't feel anything.”

I am a fraction of what you want, I could be everything you need.

I've got to lay low, 

drain your memory from my head 

and clear your name from my phone

.

I'm off to do some drowning, g o o d n i g h t.

Do you remember what made you fall?

And does it matter to you at all?

I'm not going to leave you, but I'm not going to love you either.

Decisions, decisions. I hope this only hurts tonight.

Panda

“She glides so much it seems like she floats and these folks
decide to crush her wings until they’re permanently broke.
She’d ride gusts of wind just by the way she spoke.
She cries, but loves to sing songs of freedom and hope.”

Go ahead. Keep saying you miss them.

Things I need to do:

-Study history

-History terms

-Playlist for Tyce

-Sew romper

-ADs and acticle

-English 110 make- up quiz

-Get notebook from Harry

Things I want to do:

Finish stick module-

Record new song-

Type/ organize poems-

Buy film-

Photo collage for Nik-

Almost all work finished and time to be creative. I want to paint and sew and write long into the dark hours. Send letters to everyone I love and apologize to them. 

I find myself able to open my heart fully

And love my friends

And love my family

And love the strangers who drop in and out of this plane. 

These are tangent lines; 

If we've intersected, I'd already die for you.

A Side Note: This is one thing I have never understood: The phrase "I would die for you."

I've heard it so many times and have come to recognize it as a symbol of affection, but it always made me curious. You see, I would jump in front of a bullet for anyone I've ever spoken to. Not because I hate my life, but because it holds no value in my opinion.

As twisted and cold as I may be sometimes, I see everyone's existence as greater than mine. 

Now, "I would kill for you" is a different story entirely. I have met only two people to which this applies, and have heard it only from my parents' mouths.

It is an interesting way to think, I think. 

Consider it family values.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD

Oh, and that's fine, but just so you know: I'm not good at waiting.

You've got me tapping my fingers and picking at my scabs.

I'm not interested in love; I've done all I can to purge it.

And now I want to forget you.

It makes you so much more interesting.

"In london, where the sirens yelp like a helpless dog with his paws stepped on

And the rain comes down in late july
And the record labels call you Why?"

If I could walk out of this house, down the road, and into yours, I would.

What a sad, sad way to think. And already the thought of you is overused- like my preference of commas over any other punctuation. Insignificant, small, curved, dainty.

If I were a symbol, I'd be a comma. Never quite finishing my trail of thought; never quite finishing anything.

I've got so much to do and already Spring's heat is getting to me. When did I ever long for warmth? The sun only swells my skin more, so when I look in the mirror I see nothing but an orb. I want to step out and look at myself objectively, Hide behind my parents'worry lines and just watch.

But I run and I run trapped in my own head, wondering why the numbers never match the view.

I've always known my eyes were broken, now I wonder if theirs are too.

I must finish what I've started.I must finish what I've started.I must finish what I've started.I must finish what I've started. And so, but then...