Fifty/Fifty

I have run the consequences over and over in my head.

There are two:
yes
and
no.

Smallest Living Unit

This past week was nonsensical in the very best of ways. It was Homecoming week, so of course the atmosphere at school was casual anyway, but how strange to see teenagers--some already adults, some right on maturity's heels--dressed up in mullets and capes and shapeless whirlwind frocks and bathrobes and facepaint and rainbow colors. Dressed up in the silly, the deranged, the foolish, goofy, quixotic--and yet hard at work, disciplined studious idealities. It's a paradox, and a beautiful one. We linger on the edge of an entirely foreign life, and for most of us, we are ready for its arrival. We linger, but we grasp onto our imaginations and the very visions of our childhoods as if throwing ourselves into these outlandish caricatures is the best preservation of the past that we have.

I also came face to face with one of my largest fears on Saturday. For the Homecoming game, the Wind Ensemble traditionally dresses up as clowns. I hate clowns. Hate them. It all stems from the movie "Air Bud," with that horribly frightening red-haired clown man who tries to steal Buddy from the little boy. That movie ruined my chances of ever enjoying a circus. So I show up on Saturday and walk into the bandroom and some sixty-odd faces turn to look at me and I nearly freeze in place. Honestly, I wanted to bolt. The feeling inside me at that exact moment is akin, perhaps, to how you feel when you're five years old and you are grocery shopping with your mother and you look down for half a second and suddenly, upon glancing upward, your precious Mother is nowhere to be found. It's that feeling where your heart does not merely drop into the ravenous pits of your chest, but completely implodes; where your throat tightens in that way that makes you acutely aware you are one tiny tick away from completely bursting into tears; where you stop breathing because you forget to. That's how it felt. The face paint, the bright colors that didn't match, the large shoes and goony pants. At one point I started crying. Ultimately I toughed it out though. I would never want to do it again, but I am proud of myself for getting through it.

Last week I realized a wonderful truth. I know I mention "truths" all the time, but they are something I am deeply attuned to, and with each new discovery I add a tiny cell onto a larger picture of a more complete me that I am building all the time. Last week I realized a wonderful truth, and I hope my openness is acceptable:

Bryan, I have never felt more comfortable or happy around you than I do now, as friends and companions.

Just so you know. I hope that's okay.

On Having Decided I'm Not Afraid

"It is a risk to love.
What if it doesn't work out?
Ah, but what if it does."

--Peter McWilliams

Three-Hour Nap

My life seems better in my dreams lately.

Lots of Bones Here

Because I'm working at the EcoTarium now, my employee pass gets me into most of the museums in Massachusetts for free. A lot of them will let me take a guest too! I never expected for fortune to throw such an incredible gift at me. Culture.

In a lot of ways, I am in a wonderful place. School has me constantly working but at the moment I feel no stress. My entire family is getting along and there is currently peace and harmony (a rare but welcomed occurence!). I truly believe I have met the most sincere, genuine and loving people since I moved here. Better than that, I can call them friends.

In other ways, I am still confused. There are two people I need to talk to. One I physically can't, and every fiber in my being has me clawing to find some way to reach him. I've asked him to come visit in my dreams. I have faith in his eventual arrival.

The other, I struggle thinking about. It is this inability that inhibits me from picking up a phone and sharing my voice between us once more.

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

My old neighbors introduced me to Seth Glier two years ago. He is not very well known, but I loved his music then and I decided yesterday to return once more to it. It's been playing non-stop since, both out loud and in my head, in particular "Someone Else to Crown."

"Well I can’t cry or just let go when everybody tells me so
that you don’t smile like before, you won’t hum or even soar
...You were not one for divide."

Internal Battery

Today I accept an ugly truth.
I will never be content with the amount of Time I am given.
Stacking clocks one on top of the other will not alleviate its fleeting consistency.

Time is fickle,
perhaps not in uniformity
but in relation to me.

If I did commit some ruthless, unforgivable act in the past
that moved Time to spin its Hands
around
around
around
challenging me to a race I wish no part of,
forgive unto me, Time,
what precious minutes, seconds, ticks
You might spare,
for precious indeed they are.

If repentance be what You seek, Time,
allow me one spin
to uncover my transgression.
Permit me one spin more
that I may make amends.

When You are up,
deliver Judgement without affectation.
Freeze--
I will catch up.

If my penance
fails to earn back lost windings,
rotate once more
forward.

Soon Your springs will snap
and Hands will teeter perilously
above twelve, three, five, seven.
No number,
any number.

You will not Exist
once my belief stops propelling You.

9/22/09 -- 10:25 PM

Fields of Wonder

"...Love I wear
as open as a wound,
a mad mistake I know
but love, like Lent,
only comes to those of us
who still believe.

In loving
the only banner we can hoist
is love itself.

Excelsior!
I take this hill –
but with a white flag only.

You may tear my life
but not my flag."

--Rod McKuen

Out My Window, All I See Is Rain

It has been unbelievably gorgeous the past few days. Mother Nature is finally repenting for the irritable temper-tantrums that defined her this summer. How easily we forgive her oscillating disposition! It is a wonder and a question worth posing why we exonerate her past transgressions, so often severe, and at the same time refuse to forgive others for the pettiest of slights as if it is a human necessity that we bear such grudges.

We could stand to learn a few lessons from our more sensible selves.

You Run and You Run to Catch Up With the Sun

I finished the supplemental essay to my Amherst application today. To be honest, I dreaded writing it. College is the strongest love-hate relationship I have ever known.

I am happy with the outcome, though, in particular the latter-half of it.

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

"...For my thirteenth birthday, my friend gave me a small orange notebook, undoubtedly intended as a diary. A month later, it resembled more of a shrine to my inner-most middle-school thoughts than a daily account of preteen activity. I carried it with me wherever I went: to parties, on vacations, even to school itself. Anything and everything that inspired me or resonated with me went into that book. By the time I filled its last pages, the binding had cracked and its sheets were held in place with the help of a rubber band.

I have gone through five “orange notebooks” since then. Over time, my own work has become the predominant element among these pages. Somewhere along the line, poetry completely eradicated what remnants of short prose I had left in me. Every indescribable emotion that flickered inside of me, every phrase that rang in my ears long after its first utterance, every beautiful, beautiful word that made the corners of my mouth curl into a smile went into these books. Poetry is multidimensional. On the surface lay the denotations, the rough abstracts, perhaps even generalizations. But inside each poem lingers a meaning, a feeling far more significant than any summary could convey. Inside each poem hides a story, an exploration of human emotion and thought. Poetry has allowed me to express everything that I cannot, or do not wish to, communicate externally.

Two weeks ago, while cleaning out my room, I stumbled across the original orange notebook. For reasons I can’t explain, my heart beat faster than usual as I turned the pages and relived my early teenage years. Apparently, I had nine crushes alone in eighth grade, and knew a startling number of corny band jokes. Yet I also found poetry about my parents, and how afraid I was of divorce; about my body, and how truly uncomfortable middle school made me feel; about my future, and how uncertain it seemed at the time. How beautiful to know that, in those words, I had unknowingly preserved my own past.

What I write today will be my past preserved tomorrow.

This I know is the only weapon against time."

Is it wrong...

...for me to be wishing that a particular person drops dead from swine flu?


Because I do.

Driving Lessons

Last night I spent some time with someone I hadn't seen or talked to in months. It felt totally normal, but also really, really artificial. There we both were, at an equilibrium (point zero, refreshed, try again). I was comfortable. He was comfortable. Yet the energy seemed nervous and I left feeling as if, somehow, inexplicably, the night had felt stilted.

Perhaps the problem is that I can't decipher what he's feeling.

Our history is brief, but rough. Neither of us had any adequate grasp on what we were doing or whether we even wanted what we were heading toward. We came in sight of our destination, but hit a roadblock.

I know now it was for the best.

I am content with the way we stand in relation to each other at this moment. We are friends, but not close friends, and I am unsure if this is the way I want it to stay. Maybe, in the end, I feel so strange about last night because I'm afraid he wants to crawl over the roadblock and keep heading forward.

What's funny is that months ago, there was nothing I'd have wanted more.
Now, though, I don't.

I travelled onto a new road this summer.
I've pulled over into the shoulder of the road. Traffic passes by, and I watch others come and go. Their movement does not bother me, for I know eventually I'll resume my journey forward.

I'm just waiting for a voyager who is heading where I am.

Friday Musings

My younger sister had her best day of school ever today. As someone who, for some inexplicable reason, has had trouble making friends for most of her life, I could not be happier or prouder. Of all people, she truly deserves to be cut a break. I keep my fingers crossed that today is only the first of many wonderful days.

I wore a new pair of wide-leg trousers today. They are now the most comfortable pants in my wardrobe and I am in love with them.

The Ecotarium called me back. They've officially hired me as a Birthday Host (!), which means I'll learn how to handle turtles, chinchillas, starfish, lizards....cool.

After school Leanne and I went shopping for Spirit Week.

I spent $4.50 on a package of boys' tightie-whities.

Tuesday is Superhero/Villian Day.

And I'm going as Quailman.

Last, and yet most important. Paul, it's been exactly one year today. It's hollowing to think that I've gone without you for three-hundred and sixty-five days. I promise to come visit soon. I miss you, and my love for you only grows stronger with every beat my heart makes.

Confusion

Right now I'm a little frazzled.

It would be nice to clear my mind.

At the same time, I like getting lost in the fog.

Literate

"Let your freckles be periods and my scars the alphabet.
Our skin together is the most beautiful thing I have ever read."



I have freckles. You had scars.

You Go Your Way, And I'll Go Mine

When I woke up this morning my eyes were swollen shut.
That was cool.

I fumbled around for a good ten minutes before I could really open them up all the way, and even then my eyelids felt unbelievably heavy. It wasn't until around lunchtime that they finally simmah'ed down. Weird.

-----
 
I'm having trouble understanding how I feel at this very moment. I should be exceedingly happy right now, and I am, I think. Yet at the same time I feel....odd. The majority of me is "with it," but there is this tiny part of me that feels detached, stretched, dragged, elongated past its limit. It wants to follow in directions completely opposite of the one toward which I'm heading. I tell myself to snatch it back, reel it in, because of course I can't scatter myself in more than one place.
 
I'm not omnipotent. (Bummer.)
 
But then I ask myself: why can't I allow that miniscule fraction of me to wander? What is the harm in spreading all of me about, in being a little flighty? Surely there can't be anything wrong with that, especially since the attraction and allure of this opposite path stems from an unspoken invitation.
 
Something beckons that sliver of me toward it, knowing full well that with its minute size, resistance would be futile.
 
I think for now I'll let it fall captive.
I guess we'll see.

It's 10:57.

Why am I still waiting up?

Way Back When

 

Last night I went to my very first Sterling Fair.

It was ridiculously fun. I haven't been to a carnival in years and years. All of it brought back so many memories. Not specific ones, but just reminders of the way it feels to be a kid. When your stomach drops because the ride you're on comes swooshing toward the ground at 80 miles per hour; when you're thrown into the air and your bum lifts off your seat and you start screaming because even though you're completely safe, that illogical, irrational part of your brain still thinks you're going to die; when you pay $4.00 for a glob of fried dough and smother it in cinnamon and powdered sugar, simply because when else do you ever eat fried dough?; when you reach the top of the ferris wheel and can see for what seems like miles; all of it.

I'd forgotten what it felt like, that incredible, unadulterated joy.

It was nice to rediscover it.

Vertigo

Mind led body
to the edge of the precipice.
They stared in desire
at the naked abyss.
If you love me, said mind,
take that step into silence.
If you love me, said body,
turn and exist.

-Anne Stevenson

I miss you.

I do.

Kerosene

Certain persons
grace our lives
often unexpectedly
but never
without
a reason.

Their tenure
is sizeable
or less so
or fleeting.

They always leave too soon.

Surely they would find
comfort
in knowing the profound impact
they leave behind
before they
sneak away.

Such assuagement
is not available
on a
two-way street.

I walk down mine,
my hand
outstretched,
fingers elongated
amd prepared to curl
between yours
at a moment's notice.

The streetlights here flicker.

If I stand
under this post
and wait
will familiar skin
brush the grooves
of my hand?

I do not think
you would take much comfort
in knowing
the sacrifces I have made
to keep this
streetlight
burning.

9/9/09 -- 11:32 PM

Yellow Cardigan

Today reminded me how much I truly love my life.

Nothing especially fantastic happened. I actually had a test long-block that made me a little ball of nerves for the entire morning. I worry too much. I've also felt bogged down lately. School has me stressed already, and at times tensions in my family run high.

I am missing certain people immensely.

But there was something about today that just made me happy. Katie and I were talking yesterday, and I told her how moving to Holden, in retrospect, is one of the best things to ever have happened to me. I've met people here who I feel, in the deepest and most real of ways, are genuine friends. I can't even explain it--I just feel very safe here. Very content.

Yesterday my physics teacher said, "Just remember, half of life is being there."

Today was a celebration of that truth. Being around people felt wonderful. I laughed. I smiled in that rare way, where you can almost feel the creases of your lips reach up and touch your eyelashes. I could feel my eyes sparkle. There was an energy running through me, surrounding me that made me happy to be alive.

And nothing amazing happened.
That's the amazing thing about it.

3:43

In gym class yesterday, Coach Jackson mentioned that removing jewelry prior to Self-Defense class might protect us from unwanted bodily harm.

I'm pretty sure he was talking to me.

Absent

I am glad today is over.

I'm not particularly sure why I'm so relieved. Nothing terrible happened. I actually had a relatively nice day of school. After school let out we had a brief meeting for the Drama officers, which culminated in an hour-long quest to find the floor of the Theater Tech Room. I sat in the loft sorting through dusty suitcases and crates, making an inventory list of all the random props we never knew we had.

Weirdest finds: pig nose mask, 13 pairs of suspenders, bag of used make-up pads (ew), half-eaten Reese's cup (disgusting).

It wasn't until I had begun my journey into the abyss of theater crap that I started to feel weird. I can't really explain it, but suddenly I was tired. I felt physically exhausted, but emotionally, too. Sitting in the loft--I was alone up there--left me with ample time to let my mind wander. I thought about a lot of things, often without truly realizing what I was thinking about. Sometimes mindless thought processes are the most draining. You don't feel their toll until they've long deserted your brain, and all you're left with is a muddled consciousness.

I've been victim to a lot of absent thinking lately.
Each time, I'm left feeling emptied.

Sleep can't alleviate the fatigue I suffer from.
I'm not sure what will.

Solitude

I finally got around to seeing "Up" today. I cried. It occurred to me while I was sitting in my seat, shoes on the floor, feet tucked up under my legs, that I feel no shame crying while surrounded by strangers. Dark though the theater was, I was flanked by unfamiliars on both sides. Yet the gates opened and out flowed each radiant, pure tear. Maybe it's the thought that this moment is merely an encounter, brief and fleeting, that comforts me and allows me to let go. Maybe, instead, there is a peculiar trust that forms. We all have this second of time in common. "Up" was stunning--beautifully done and a poignant reminder of life's uncertainties--but the two hours I spent inside that theater were incredibly cleansing.

Later in the film, Russell says, "Sometimes, it's the boring stuff I remember most."

He's right.
As time goes on, I find myself drawing equal, if not more, pleasure from the little, everyday memories. The seemingly unimportant things build up. Sitting in a peaceful silence in the company of a friend has become as meaningful to me as any party.

Maybe I'm just growing older.

Hourglass

I watch presently
as all
my hopes
and wishes
of past days
finally
manifest themselves
in front of me.

I am less surprised
than I ought to be
to discover
that
their fruition
brings little satisfaction
to my weary face.

Do we hit a certain point
where dreams
stop collecting dust
and instead
join it?

Do wishes carry
invisible
expiration dates,
stealthy in
their impermanence,
quick to dissolve
into
mockeries
of juvenile yearning?

I scold myself
for my lack of emotion--
You should be happier.

Instead
I ask
how long I have
until
my dream of you
becomes
another
dusty him.

9/7/09 -- 12:22 AM

Physics

Yesterday my physics teacher gave a speech about the beauty of science. The beautiful thing, to me, was how his eyes lit up and his lips curled into a genuine side-smile as soon as he mentioned his wife.

It's nice to know, sometimes, that love in its most simple form still exists.

Experience

We meet each heartache
head-on
always swearing
to ourselves
to never again
become
a lovely tragedy.

Why is it, then, that we
still give away our hearts,
whole
or whatever remnants of whole
we have left?

Do we love sooner
because we have
loved before?
Or do we recognize love
as every thing
the past was not?

Love is a constant feeling
within us
but its external appearance
is constant in its
change.

Is it possible to love
the same way
                      twice?

Already I tell my reflection
that tomorrow we
begin anew.

Already I will love again, but
I am keeping
my love with you
safe,
if ever you choose
to come back.

9/5/09 -- 11:38 PM

Pass Start

I'm no longer afraid to share.

But today, someone else wins---


July 5
Once I wrote a song
almost.
Sixteen lines that walked
up from my belly to my head.

As I stood waiting for the light to change
and making up a melody,
a yellow bus passed by - slowly.
Looking up I lost the lines I thought I’d learned
and several more that never came
all because a bus passed by
and someone smiled from out a yellow window.

Buses pass by seldom
and horsemen not at all
I could not crib or fake your shoulders
if I once forgot the feel of them
and so each time I hold you
I test myself again.

-Rod McKuen