art is hard.my_blacklungJune 19 2005, 21:39:15 UTC
last night i put on a guitar and voice album in my bedroom and burned nag champa incense and drew pictures in the smoke and they spoke to me, and told me what i am supposed to be doing. i saw mountains and landscapes and it was so clear that i can't ignore it. this is why i love my life.
i'm not going to do a word count, God bless.thefineartsJune 19 2005, 23:19:30 UTC
everynight before my eyes hit slumber, i pray to my God and say thank you. thank you for everything i have and i do have everything. my brain, ribcage, bag of skin. the fact that he is My God and not a God I am pushing on anyone else. the fact that sometimes when i'm quiet in the car, i want it to stay quiet because i want to pass the trees and let them grown and not critize anyone with any of the words the english dictionary has to offer. the people close to me are not always the one's physically close to me. honesty, honestly, honest. truth telling and conversation that happens between two human beings (or more) different personalities create different dialouge and it's just. so fucking amazing. interaction. interference. inter-twining. the dna of a person fits so well when combined with another person. romantically and not. romantically vs not. i love living because i love the human mind, to be quite honest.
There are a lot of things that I love about my life, and it is scary sometimes and I don’t really know how to deal with a lot of the feelings that I have about myself and my friends, but I can’t help that I feel it, but when it all comes down to it, I am learning and loving and most importantly I am breathing, people gush to me, “you’re so amazing!” and I want to believe the words that they are saying except I don’t know how. Because, I know when I get down on myself people are thinking that just maybe I am fishing for compliments, but to be honest I really am not, I argue that I am not a good writer, and that I am not a good lover or photographer, because I do not know any better, and when people yell at me in such reassuring tones “it’s natural talent!”, I believe it for a split second. I believe that it is in the colours, and the contrast and composition. It is in looking all natural and the most beautiful things I can create are photographs of my friends, smoking or drinking or looking away from the camera, because this is when
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when they don’t know what is going to happen, that a flash is coming. But I am not the person making these photos, they are. They are my art, and they mould my brain until I can’t handle living in my own skin, because I don’t think that I deserve to have such beautiful friends, and that I don’t deserve to absorb all of this, and I hate living in my own skin sometimes but they ease my pain and this is what makes me so fucking cliché. I am just a girl, a tall girl, a tall shy girl who lets people in and pushes people away, for whatever reasons: but mostly, that they are too good, and I am not good enough, and maybe sometimes I am ashamed of it or my actions, and I realize things, and a short haired drunk girl in a plaid dress can explain to me, after a certain amount of group hugs &cheek kisses, “you put up with a lot of stuff and I respect you for that.” &it’s true, and in the words of Zoë trope, “I have a lot of love to give and for this reason I will always be alone.” I believe her, because her voice is cutting into me And maybe it’s
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I may not graduate high school because there have been so many days where I did not want to wake up and I have over 30 absences, and maybe not even a month ago my dad pushed me up against a wall, and yelled at me for being fucking worthless and hit me, while my uncle stood in the next room, and I am living in a place where I feel completely unaccepted and when me and two of my friends are walking down the street. Myself in a cardigan, her in a red hoodie, and him in a neon orange and green shirt, a car full of other teenagers yell, “FREAKS!” at us, and it has absolutely no affect on me, and maybe it frightens me to say that we are all growing together, as their hands are entwined, I can say I fell in love with a boy that tells me some of the most beautiful things in the entire world, and always surprises me because everything we do is so here &there, and he shows up at random points in time with a bottle of vanilla coke in his hand, and hands me a huge stack of papers which consist of a hell of a lot of poetry and photos he has drawn
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