this is fucking huuuuugee
i think english is a beautiful language to write in. it's in the adjectives, i love the english adjectives.
listening to banshee beat by animal collective always brings me back to this past february to april, it always gives me a feeling that i enjoy even though i was pretty sad and hurting a lot. it was about four months, the last semester of high school. one of my more fucked up semesters. four months of this circle of making repairs and tearing them down and then making them again and tearing them down.
it reminds me of grass: grass at parks, grass at golf courses, grass in the greenbelt.
it reminds me of martin, matt and patrick.
it reminds me of rachel, phil, micaela, carson, myles and jordan.
it reminds me of nights, not days. long nights, epic nights. it reminds me of camping, of weird clothes, of contemporary issues, of my one act, of driving.
it reminds me of the words nostalgia, apathy and fuck. remember those words? words of 2008, spring semester.
it reminds me of wanting to use my body sexually, i guess because i was feeling empty and i figured that consuming other people's thoughts would be a good way to fix this. it was a confusing time. i idolized sexy french film stars from the 60s, and i searched and searched for film stills from their movies in order to learn from them. i studied their faces, how the wore their makeup, what they did with their hands and hair, how cigarettes hung from their mouths and how their arms were delicately sculpted, always so strong yet feminine. i had boys i didn't care about and teased on purpose and i had boys i cared about and teased by accident.
i was taking on every assignment that came my way. i realized i was lost, i realized that if i was left alone to think i'd go crazy with who i was, so i tried not to give myself the time to think. regardless, the thoughts came. i realized that i was: terrified, ashamed, confident, passionate, loathing, lovesick, impulsive, eager, dense, apathetic, and therefore extremely dangerous. i hated school, i hated my class, and france was such a dream to me. i got confident with my holier-than-thou attitude. i tried to tell it like it was, be a real hard ass, be real hilarious and smart and pissed off at the world (the world at the time was james bowie high school) because i felt like i was one of the few people that could see the world around me for the bullshit it was. i tried to wear my problems on my sleeves, on my forearms, hands, thighs and stomach. ...was that it? i still don't really know why i did it. did i do it for the same reason i write, to remember? were they supposed to a warning to others? i dont know, i have a feeling they'll serve as marks of my generation, i'll see other adults with them too when i'm 45 and i'll know what kind of teenagers they were and we'll make eye contact and nod and share an knowing smile that kind of looks like a grimace.
i don't care how awful those months were. it was a revolution, it was the year 1970, it was a peak of some sort. it was some sort of morbid, angsty peak. i love getting transported back to this time. anything that happened affected me so much, and i was sharing it with presque ne personne. i was overreacting. i was discovering things for myself, and i was all alone in my depression or whatever. that is exciting, that is something thrilling, can you understand that? it could be that i love remembering this time because i when i do i can see progress. i feel a lot better now than i did then.
i've been feeling a lot older these days. maybe because for the first time ever, i'm older than everyone in my class instead of younger. maybe because i'm a woman now in anatomical terms, maybe because i read the new york times and get pissed off, and because i voted, and because i'm becoming bilingual. because i'm thinking about careers. because i'm taking a philosophy class (the fact that i can't understand it means nothing). because i believe in god now. no one in america knows that i have feelings for another boy besides the people who read my elgay and jake. this is the first time i haven't told my parents about a boy and this makes me feel old. i haven't told my parents, or more importantly, my mother, about my fledgling faith and this makes me feel old. i don't know what my mom will say when she finds out i'm starting to have a self-driven relationship with god and that the next boy i'm going to be with comes from a family so catholic that one of his middle names is 'marie'. i know she'll still love me. ensuite, keeping secrets from my parents makes me feel older. i'm the oldest i've ever been and i'm the wisest i've ever been.
i'm feeling ready. i'm feeling the most ready i've ever felt with you. i try not to belittle you in my mind, but considering your lack of experience in relationships i'm surprised that you can understand why i want to wait. actually maybe you don't understand, but it's that you want to wait too but for different reasons. so far it's working and you're the sweetest thing i've ever seen, but i can't help but be cautious and cynical because it's part of my nature. but i should change this because caution and cynicism takes up about 50% of my personality. i want to hope for us, i want to hope for beauty that reaches beyond the kind that is found in coyness and be open to love.
i'm daring to hope. i'm daring to hope for a politician, for barack obama. i'm going to pray for him to save my country. i'm going to pray for him and for my family and friends. i'm daring to hope for the world because she's sick. i'm going to hope for africa and india, and for china and israel. i'm going to pray for soldiers. i'm going to hope for gavin. i'm going to hope he understands me soon. i'm going to pray for his heart, i'm going to hope he doesn't hate me. i'm going to pray that i'm not going to be one of those people who's fucked him over because i hate those people. i'm going to hope that the pretty locket he gave me won't be forever tainted because we ended up crashing.
everyday i learn new words, i am such a child. "i've been feeling a lot older these days"... who am i kidding. i am still very much a child. i am a child in this country, i am a child when i speak in this language here and when i write in this language here. i am a child in god and i am a child in love. i am a child when i sleep and i am a child when i dream. i am a child when i close my eyes in class and think about kissing you behind my house or how you look when you write music for your saxaphone.
oh la. oh la la.
well anyway i'm feeling pretty content these days.
listening to banshee beat by animal collective always brings me back to this past february to april, it always gives me a feeling that i enjoy even though i was pretty sad and hurting a lot. it was about four months, the last semester of high school. one of my more fucked up semesters. four months of this circle of making repairs and tearing them down and then making them again and tearing them down.
it reminds me of grass: grass at parks, grass at golf courses, grass in the greenbelt.
it reminds me of martin, matt and patrick.
it reminds me of rachel, phil, micaela, carson, myles and jordan.
it reminds me of nights, not days. long nights, epic nights. it reminds me of camping, of weird clothes, of contemporary issues, of my one act, of driving.
it reminds me of the words nostalgia, apathy and fuck. remember those words? words of 2008, spring semester.
it reminds me of wanting to use my body sexually, i guess because i was feeling empty and i figured that consuming other people's thoughts would be a good way to fix this. it was a confusing time. i idolized sexy french film stars from the 60s, and i searched and searched for film stills from their movies in order to learn from them. i studied their faces, how the wore their makeup, what they did with their hands and hair, how cigarettes hung from their mouths and how their arms were delicately sculpted, always so strong yet feminine. i had boys i didn't care about and teased on purpose and i had boys i cared about and teased by accident.
i was taking on every assignment that came my way. i realized i was lost, i realized that if i was left alone to think i'd go crazy with who i was, so i tried not to give myself the time to think. regardless, the thoughts came. i realized that i was: terrified, ashamed, confident, passionate, loathing, lovesick, impulsive, eager, dense, apathetic, and therefore extremely dangerous. i hated school, i hated my class, and france was such a dream to me. i got confident with my holier-than-thou attitude. i tried to tell it like it was, be a real hard ass, be real hilarious and smart and pissed off at the world (the world at the time was james bowie high school) because i felt like i was one of the few people that could see the world around me for the bullshit it was. i tried to wear my problems on my sleeves, on my forearms, hands, thighs and stomach. ...was that it? i still don't really know why i did it. did i do it for the same reason i write, to remember? were they supposed to a warning to others? i dont know, i have a feeling they'll serve as marks of my generation, i'll see other adults with them too when i'm 45 and i'll know what kind of teenagers they were and we'll make eye contact and nod and share an knowing smile that kind of looks like a grimace.
i don't care how awful those months were. it was a revolution, it was the year 1970, it was a peak of some sort. it was some sort of morbid, angsty peak. i love getting transported back to this time. anything that happened affected me so much, and i was sharing it with presque ne personne. i was overreacting. i was discovering things for myself, and i was all alone in my depression or whatever. that is exciting, that is something thrilling, can you understand that? it could be that i love remembering this time because i when i do i can see progress. i feel a lot better now than i did then.
i've been feeling a lot older these days. maybe because for the first time ever, i'm older than everyone in my class instead of younger. maybe because i'm a woman now in anatomical terms, maybe because i read the new york times and get pissed off, and because i voted, and because i'm becoming bilingual. because i'm thinking about careers. because i'm taking a philosophy class (the fact that i can't understand it means nothing). because i believe in god now. no one in america knows that i have feelings for another boy besides the people who read my elgay and jake. this is the first time i haven't told my parents about a boy and this makes me feel old. i haven't told my parents, or more importantly, my mother, about my fledgling faith and this makes me feel old. i don't know what my mom will say when she finds out i'm starting to have a self-driven relationship with god and that the next boy i'm going to be with comes from a family so catholic that one of his middle names is 'marie'. i know she'll still love me. ensuite, keeping secrets from my parents makes me feel older. i'm the oldest i've ever been and i'm the wisest i've ever been.
i'm feeling ready. i'm feeling the most ready i've ever felt with you. i try not to belittle you in my mind, but considering your lack of experience in relationships i'm surprised that you can understand why i want to wait. actually maybe you don't understand, but it's that you want to wait too but for different reasons. so far it's working and you're the sweetest thing i've ever seen, but i can't help but be cautious and cynical because it's part of my nature. but i should change this because caution and cynicism takes up about 50% of my personality. i want to hope for us, i want to hope for beauty that reaches beyond the kind that is found in coyness and be open to love.
i'm daring to hope. i'm daring to hope for a politician, for barack obama. i'm going to pray for him to save my country. i'm going to pray for him and for my family and friends. i'm daring to hope for the world because she's sick. i'm going to hope for africa and india, and for china and israel. i'm going to pray for soldiers. i'm going to hope for gavin. i'm going to hope he understands me soon. i'm going to pray for his heart, i'm going to hope he doesn't hate me. i'm going to pray that i'm not going to be one of those people who's fucked him over because i hate those people. i'm going to hope that the pretty locket he gave me won't be forever tainted because we ended up crashing.
everyday i learn new words, i am such a child. "i've been feeling a lot older these days"... who am i kidding. i am still very much a child. i am a child in this country, i am a child when i speak in this language here and when i write in this language here. i am a child in god and i am a child in love. i am a child when i sleep and i am a child when i dream. i am a child when i close my eyes in class and think about kissing you behind my house or how you look when you write music for your saxaphone.
oh la. oh la la.
well anyway i'm feeling pretty content these days.