"I walk quickly down rain-black streets, eager to put distance between us. Once I'm back weaving through the smouldering core of clubland, dodging bodies and fun and laughter, the anxious spacey pang in my head starts to lift. In its place, I feel foolish and embarassed at reacting like that - for seeming so brutally stung. For having misread her so badly. And for feeling so intensely jealous..." -Brass, Helen Walsh. My bible. My life.
*
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Convoluted Thoughts
My internet has been off all week. Piles of thoughts have accumulated in my mind – which reminds me of my latest trick. One of my favorite parts in Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar is when Esther’s in the hospital right after Suicide Attempt No. 1 and says “I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head”. It’s chilling and terrifying because it’s true. Most truths feel that way – chilling and terrifying. And I love hearing it and standing up for it – the truth. It sounds so noble and unblemished at first, until you remember it’s rarely what you want. But I’d kill for that moment – for being able to tell the truths from the untruths (not lies, because dreams are untruths but not lies).
Part of my life is filled with those untruths by the way. I’ve been given “stress pills” for it and was told to go to therapy – which reminds me of another book. Bridget, from Ann Brashares’ The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, is described by the school counselor, right before he tells her to get therapy, as “single-minded to the point of recklessness”. That’s exactly how I feel but in reverse, sort of. I feel like I’m a dreamer to the point of recklessness. And like The Beatles once said, “I feel fine”.
Okay, I should stop getting so deep into my mind because, like I said, “I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head”. I fear if I get too deep in my mind I’ll find out what’s wrong with it after... after last year, I guess. That’s when it all went wrong, and I do sound a lot like Willy Loman. I should stop trying to trace back to the moment it all went wrong and look forward. And so I will. Here are some things that have been flying around in my hazy mind all week:
-A certain person in kung-fu class – not the new instructor who’s only a couple years older that me, as most people would guess. Even his girlfriend knows it, it’s sad. He is waaay in over his head for me, though I hate to admit it. He keeps lingering and touching and talking and we both know how bad that is. But anyway, I’m talking about someone else. The person I’m talking about is not in any way available and that’s why I’m like this. Out of reach things feel better, I guess. And in this case, I might not be dreaming, as usual. I’ve noticed all the corresponded furtive glances, the shaky yet firm hand-shake, the stutters that flood both our speeches, and the undeniable coincidences that irrevocably link us together. More than that, there’s the delicious tension I haven’t felt since ages ago. Last year was all about exterior feeling; this one’s all about mind games and... tension. Hey, maybe that’s what lead me to stress pills! Anyway, I keep getting distracted. Well, for now there’s not much to say because we’re both aware of all the reasons not to give in and give it a try. And I do have a song to go with this situation, but if I said it’s name (or even singer) it’d be too obvious, and we all know obvious stinks. It’s all about coy and tense and dramatic and redeeming in the end.
-Pills. This one, that one, anyone. Think of all the different connotations and remember about that drug lecture I’ve got tomorrow (or maybe I’m just throwing you off, because could be not what you think). Think of Janis Joplin, my Extended Essay, China (KT Tunstall’s “Other Side of the World”), hands and other things, worried parents, and unwelcome conversations in the farm. Listen to The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields”.
-Helter Skelter and not thinking straight and not remembering and then remembering deliciously insane fragments of the “demented night” (Brass, Helen Walsh) and mixing intoxicantes budistas (see older blog entries) and falling and giving money to the poor and yelling in the street and coming home in a cab and almost not making it to bed (alone). “Yeah, you may be a lover but you ain’t no dancer” baby.
-Crushes that never were. Like a certain person who reminds me of that actor that played Wolverine. Billions of thoughts involving that one, love. Not a single thing came true, which was a big change and what I loved about it the most. Now even thinking about him feels strange because I’ve moved on. My thought linger in the previous three bullets.
-Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter. H-O-T and back from the dead pile of discarded images.
-Clouds. Aren’t clouds wonderful? I wonder who lives on them. I gotta lose weight fast if I wanna make it there. Hahah, it’s the meds, I tell you.
-Dreams – not daydreams. Especially one involving a falling plane and a certain person who could very well be an improved (and available) version of Bullet No. 1.
-That Gibson Dove guitar I crave so much and that Topshop scarf.
-Lessons. All kind of lessons, wink wink. Hahah, the meds speak again.
I better go before the meds spill too much. It’s so hard being subtle when I want so badly not to. The Beatles were right again... “Love is all you need” if you wanna go craaaazy. Love and meds and plenty of buddhist intoxicants. I wish George Harrison was alive. I’d be a groupie for sure. But hey, that’s what Steven Tyler’s for.
Holy fuck, get my fingers away from the keyboard.
*
Part of my life is filled with those untruths by the way. I’ve been given “stress pills” for it and was told to go to therapy – which reminds me of another book. Bridget, from Ann Brashares’ The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, is described by the school counselor, right before he tells her to get therapy, as “single-minded to the point of recklessness”. That’s exactly how I feel but in reverse, sort of. I feel like I’m a dreamer to the point of recklessness. And like The Beatles once said, “I feel fine”.
Okay, I should stop getting so deep into my mind because, like I said, “I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head”. I fear if I get too deep in my mind I’ll find out what’s wrong with it after... after last year, I guess. That’s when it all went wrong, and I do sound a lot like Willy Loman. I should stop trying to trace back to the moment it all went wrong and look forward. And so I will. Here are some things that have been flying around in my hazy mind all week:
-A certain person in kung-fu class – not the new instructor who’s only a couple years older that me, as most people would guess. Even his girlfriend knows it, it’s sad. He is waaay in over his head for me, though I hate to admit it. He keeps lingering and touching and talking and we both know how bad that is. But anyway, I’m talking about someone else. The person I’m talking about is not in any way available and that’s why I’m like this. Out of reach things feel better, I guess. And in this case, I might not be dreaming, as usual. I’ve noticed all the corresponded furtive glances, the shaky yet firm hand-shake, the stutters that flood both our speeches, and the undeniable coincidences that irrevocably link us together. More than that, there’s the delicious tension I haven’t felt since ages ago. Last year was all about exterior feeling; this one’s all about mind games and... tension. Hey, maybe that’s what lead me to stress pills! Anyway, I keep getting distracted. Well, for now there’s not much to say because we’re both aware of all the reasons not to give in and give it a try. And I do have a song to go with this situation, but if I said it’s name (or even singer) it’d be too obvious, and we all know obvious stinks. It’s all about coy and tense and dramatic and redeeming in the end.
-Pills. This one, that one, anyone. Think of all the different connotations and remember about that drug lecture I’ve got tomorrow (or maybe I’m just throwing you off, because could be not what you think). Think of Janis Joplin, my Extended Essay, China (KT Tunstall’s “Other Side of the World”), hands and other things, worried parents, and unwelcome conversations in the farm. Listen to The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields”.
-Helter Skelter and not thinking straight and not remembering and then remembering deliciously insane fragments of the “demented night” (Brass, Helen Walsh) and mixing intoxicantes budistas (see older blog entries) and falling and giving money to the poor and yelling in the street and coming home in a cab and almost not making it to bed (alone). “Yeah, you may be a lover but you ain’t no dancer” baby.
-Crushes that never were. Like a certain person who reminds me of that actor that played Wolverine. Billions of thoughts involving that one, love. Not a single thing came true, which was a big change and what I loved about it the most. Now even thinking about him feels strange because I’ve moved on. My thought linger in the previous three bullets.
-Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter. H-O-T and back from the dead pile of discarded images.
-Clouds. Aren’t clouds wonderful? I wonder who lives on them. I gotta lose weight fast if I wanna make it there. Hahah, it’s the meds, I tell you.
-Dreams – not daydreams. Especially one involving a falling plane and a certain person who could very well be an improved (and available) version of Bullet No. 1.
-That Gibson Dove guitar I crave so much and that Topshop scarf.
-Lessons. All kind of lessons, wink wink. Hahah, the meds speak again.
I better go before the meds spill too much. It’s so hard being subtle when I want so badly not to. The Beatles were right again... “Love is all you need” if you wanna go craaaazy. Love and meds and plenty of buddhist intoxicants. I wish George Harrison was alive. I’d be a groupie for sure. But hey, that’s what Steven Tyler’s for.
Holy fuck, get my fingers away from the keyboard.
*
Friday, April 17, 2009
An excerpt of last year's (still untitled) novel.
1.8% of the story I wrote for Nanowrimo. Enjoy.
Scarlett
“Stian, that was the best!” I screamed, high on adrenaline, as we walked off stage. The manager waited for us there with a bottle of champagne, which he handed to me and I popped open, spraying everyone and anyone close by. Then we poured out several glasses and clinked them with each other and the staff.
The manager expressed his thanks extensively over the still audible shouts and claps of the audience. I gave him an apologetic look and ran back onstage.
The crowd made more noise and I shuddered with pleasure, from head to toe. I smiled and slipped on my guitar. Stian came after me and picked his guitar up too, with a funny smile on his face. He was smiling at me.
I sat down on the edge of the stage and began playing The Beatles’ “Blackbird”, my favorite song of all time. This show and the others had consisted of mostly my own songs and “Flower”, of course. It felt good to play “Blackbird” again.
Some enthusiastic people up front touched my legs and bare feet (I had gotten rid of my shoes halfway through the show) and I didn’t feel like leaving. I could stay there forever.
“’You were only waiting for this moment to be free…’” I finished, my voice full of real, almost tangible emotion. People stood up and made noise.
Stian handed me what was left of the flowers and I took them and jumped down into the pulsing crowd to give them away. I hugged and was hugged, feeling so full of this warm, dizzy feeling that I thought I’d explode.
Stian came after me and took my hand, his face and his heart mirroring mine. We made our ways back on stage and off stage after we were done with the all the flowers except one (which I’d keep as a memory), and headed to the dressing room. Stian closed the door behind him and both of us closed our eyes, tasting the perfectness of that moment. We started packing, in silence, relishing every second of this.
We took a cab back to the hotel, silent all the way. That was one of the things I loved about us, Stian and I. Silence was rarely awkward and both of us enjoyed it. There was rarely that pressing necessity to break it by saying useless things, like with regular people.
We entered the room and set our things down. Stian closed the door behind him and we walked a little further into the room. Then we paused, our cheeks hurting from the incessant grinning, and stood right in front of each other. Our grins faded a little, or rather morphed into another kind of smile.
Then the world stopped for us.
Stian
The room spun around us as I looked into her eyes properly for the first time. The show had been one of the best so far and as we struggled to leave the crowd and get back onstage, after she jumped in, I followed her, staring into the back of her bouncy head thinking thoughts I had avoided before.
Why had I been unhappy all my life until the very moment I discovered her guitar, back on the deck of my father’s boat? Why had I never taken any risks until I read her diary and was swallowed whole by Scarlett’s story? And why had I been killing myself holding myself back all this time? Because I had been thinking and living with reason. All of the pivotal moments that had made me change so abruptly had been geared by emotions, not reason, I concluded at that moment.
And now the room spun rapidly and slowly at the same time for me, and all I could see was her. She had saved my life, now that I thought about it. She hadn’t allowed me to go on living under the strict rules of reason. She had shown me happiness and insanity through the intensity of her emotions.
I let it all flood me for the first time. All my emotions came in one monumental wave, all at once. I took a step forward, closer to where she stood.
She waited there for something to happen, but not impatiently. For the first time, she stood completely still, silently telling me she’d wait forever if she had to.
I reached down and took her hand, feeling the impossible softness of it bring happy tears to my eyes. I touched her cheek with my free hand, covering a good part of her face. She opened up a Scarlett-smile and laughed a little, placing her own hand over mine on her face. She looked up at me, her eyes tearful as well, hopelessly happy and blissful. She closed her eyes and I bent down a little, to get my face closer. I had to get closer.
She closed her eyes and kept her smile and I finally went for it. My lips touched hers softly at first, and then she wrapped her arms around me and made more pressure. I parted my lips hungrily and she did the same. It felt warm and wonderful as I had expected. Yet at the same time, it was nothing like I had expected.
I wanted more and more and so did she. I felt as if she was sucking away all the air in my lungs and felt so dizzy I could fall. I shuddered with absolute happiness and held her the tightest I could. I wanted her with me forever and always, bound to my body for all eternity.
We did not stop for air. It seemed unnecessary at the moment. Her warm, tiny fingers ran down my shirt until it found a breach, a passage to what laid underneath. I mimicked her movements without letting go of her, ripping away unnecessary pieces of cloth. And as the world came to a stop, we did not.
Scarlett
“Stian, that was the best!” I screamed, high on adrenaline, as we walked off stage. The manager waited for us there with a bottle of champagne, which he handed to me and I popped open, spraying everyone and anyone close by. Then we poured out several glasses and clinked them with each other and the staff.
The manager expressed his thanks extensively over the still audible shouts and claps of the audience. I gave him an apologetic look and ran back onstage.
The crowd made more noise and I shuddered with pleasure, from head to toe. I smiled and slipped on my guitar. Stian came after me and picked his guitar up too, with a funny smile on his face. He was smiling at me.
I sat down on the edge of the stage and began playing The Beatles’ “Blackbird”, my favorite song of all time. This show and the others had consisted of mostly my own songs and “Flower”, of course. It felt good to play “Blackbird” again.
Some enthusiastic people up front touched my legs and bare feet (I had gotten rid of my shoes halfway through the show) and I didn’t feel like leaving. I could stay there forever.
“’You were only waiting for this moment to be free…’” I finished, my voice full of real, almost tangible emotion. People stood up and made noise.
Stian handed me what was left of the flowers and I took them and jumped down into the pulsing crowd to give them away. I hugged and was hugged, feeling so full of this warm, dizzy feeling that I thought I’d explode.
Stian came after me and took my hand, his face and his heart mirroring mine. We made our ways back on stage and off stage after we were done with the all the flowers except one (which I’d keep as a memory), and headed to the dressing room. Stian closed the door behind him and both of us closed our eyes, tasting the perfectness of that moment. We started packing, in silence, relishing every second of this.
We took a cab back to the hotel, silent all the way. That was one of the things I loved about us, Stian and I. Silence was rarely awkward and both of us enjoyed it. There was rarely that pressing necessity to break it by saying useless things, like with regular people.
We entered the room and set our things down. Stian closed the door behind him and we walked a little further into the room. Then we paused, our cheeks hurting from the incessant grinning, and stood right in front of each other. Our grins faded a little, or rather morphed into another kind of smile.
Then the world stopped for us.
Stian
The room spun around us as I looked into her eyes properly for the first time. The show had been one of the best so far and as we struggled to leave the crowd and get back onstage, after she jumped in, I followed her, staring into the back of her bouncy head thinking thoughts I had avoided before.
Why had I been unhappy all my life until the very moment I discovered her guitar, back on the deck of my father’s boat? Why had I never taken any risks until I read her diary and was swallowed whole by Scarlett’s story? And why had I been killing myself holding myself back all this time? Because I had been thinking and living with reason. All of the pivotal moments that had made me change so abruptly had been geared by emotions, not reason, I concluded at that moment.
And now the room spun rapidly and slowly at the same time for me, and all I could see was her. She had saved my life, now that I thought about it. She hadn’t allowed me to go on living under the strict rules of reason. She had shown me happiness and insanity through the intensity of her emotions.
I let it all flood me for the first time. All my emotions came in one monumental wave, all at once. I took a step forward, closer to where she stood.
She waited there for something to happen, but not impatiently. For the first time, she stood completely still, silently telling me she’d wait forever if she had to.
I reached down and took her hand, feeling the impossible softness of it bring happy tears to my eyes. I touched her cheek with my free hand, covering a good part of her face. She opened up a Scarlett-smile and laughed a little, placing her own hand over mine on her face. She looked up at me, her eyes tearful as well, hopelessly happy and blissful. She closed her eyes and I bent down a little, to get my face closer. I had to get closer.
She closed her eyes and kept her smile and I finally went for it. My lips touched hers softly at first, and then she wrapped her arms around me and made more pressure. I parted my lips hungrily and she did the same. It felt warm and wonderful as I had expected. Yet at the same time, it was nothing like I had expected.
I wanted more and more and so did she. I felt as if she was sucking away all the air in my lungs and felt so dizzy I could fall. I shuddered with absolute happiness and held her the tightest I could. I wanted her with me forever and always, bound to my body for all eternity.
We did not stop for air. It seemed unnecessary at the moment. Her warm, tiny fingers ran down my shirt until it found a breach, a passage to what laid underneath. I mimicked her movements without letting go of her, ripping away unnecessary pieces of cloth. And as the world came to a stop, we did not.
Anyways.
This week's racket is all about my redeeming autobiographical novel to get rid of bad memories I can't bring myself to regret. Fun. Flirty. Heart-breaking. Or soul-shredding, suit yourself. What is it about? you ask. Here's what I'll say: it's about wanting everything all at once; about having an excruciating thirst for life; about having the soul shredded and unconsciously fighting to mend it; basically, it's about being young and wanting to fly.
I probably won't ever finish it, as usual. I feel I haven't lived it all yet; I'm still stuck with un-lived feelings that do exist in theory but not yet in... well, the real world. Ah, it all comes back to the real world in the end of the day.
Sometimes I wish what's in my head was the real world. I wish it all the time, to tell you the truth. Why can't it be that way? Why do I live in my world/mind so much? Why is what's real so boring and why does that have to be what's real? Why can't my mind be what's real?
My god, I have so many questions! Like all the un-lived emotions, almost. I know I make excuses for everything in my mind, just like in The Beatles' Come Together: "got to be good looking 'cause he's so hard to see". Am I that hard to see?
(pause)
I'll let the question linger in midair for a while. When (and if) I finish my new novel I'll answer it. Or maybe not, maybe I'll let it go. But I'll definitely take it down from where it hangs like a hangman's corpse, still and bloated and purplish blue - haunting and totally disturbing. By then my un-lived emotions will lose its annoyingly stubborn prefix and I'll be okay again (which reminds me of a Dickinson poem - the one about hope I keep in my wallet for good luck on dates). Time will help, I think and hope. Love will too. Maybe more questions will be raised and hung and left to linger creepily. By then, with a little luck, I won't have to make excuses anymore and all "buts" will be banned and I won't ever be that hard to see.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Reckless Abandon
I've told the people that matter that boredom, breaks, and free time often lead to trouble (or terrible parties). Those people agreed but didn't make a big deal out of it. I wouldn't have cared either, in their shoes. But they should have listened.
My reckless abandon has gotten me into loads of trouble (and terrible parties). I've tried most aspects of it and am now in the middle of experiencing another one. Who knows what will happen.
Something's going on. I can't quite tell what. Yet.
I need to get it all out before time runs out, but I have no idea when that will be. I should know, but what if that's not the actual end? What if it's all in my head again? I can never tell where reality starts or ends - things inside my mind are so intense at times that I have to constantly hold a wall between me and others not to sound like a lunatic. Because most things were real. They're just twisted now, that's all.
Ugh, I feel the need for more arms and legs and eyes and ears. I want it all here and now. I'm the least patient person in the world and this restlessness has only led me to places people would never picture me in so far.
When they ask me about my tattoo this is what I'd like to say: I chose a bird because its heart beats faster than any other living creature's... just like mine. It beats so fast and so intensely that it hurts at times. But I crave it; I love it - living on the verge of a heart attack, on the verge of a hyperventilation, on the verge of a breakdown, is the best thing. So yes - forget about the Things That Matter because you'll eventually find out they don't. School? College? Living up to people's expectations? Keeping people you should like around just for the sake of seeming normal? Pff, none of that matters. Don't strive to be normal and don't worry so much about anything. Nothing is worth the worries. The one thing we should all do is live until our hearts explode from the effort to keep beating. Do it with no caution, but with all the reckless abandon in the universe.
My reckless abandon has gotten me into loads of trouble (and terrible parties). I've tried most aspects of it and am now in the middle of experiencing another one. Who knows what will happen.
Something's going on. I can't quite tell what. Yet.
I need to get it all out before time runs out, but I have no idea when that will be. I should know, but what if that's not the actual end? What if it's all in my head again? I can never tell where reality starts or ends - things inside my mind are so intense at times that I have to constantly hold a wall between me and others not to sound like a lunatic. Because most things were real. They're just twisted now, that's all.
Ugh, I feel the need for more arms and legs and eyes and ears. I want it all here and now. I'm the least patient person in the world and this restlessness has only led me to places people would never picture me in so far.
When they ask me about my tattoo this is what I'd like to say: I chose a bird because its heart beats faster than any other living creature's... just like mine. It beats so fast and so intensely that it hurts at times. But I crave it; I love it - living on the verge of a heart attack, on the verge of a hyperventilation, on the verge of a breakdown, is the best thing. So yes - forget about the Things That Matter because you'll eventually find out they don't. School? College? Living up to people's expectations? Keeping people you should like around just for the sake of seeming normal? Pff, none of that matters. Don't strive to be normal and don't worry so much about anything. Nothing is worth the worries. The one thing we should all do is live until our hearts explode from the effort to keep beating. Do it with no caution, but with all the reckless abandon in the universe.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
And... I sound stoned.
Sometimes it's better to push certain things out of my mind because if they don't happen... well, I don't know. I might switch back to how I was last year or I might colapse and get sent to a madhouse.
But sometimes it's nice to let them come, to let it all come at once. That's why I love sleeping. When I dream I can't help it, things just... come. And knowing that in a while there's a good chance I'll be living it just makes everything a billion times better.
And the doubt and the not knowing for sure and the "mights" and the "maybes" just make me feel alive, like the little sparrow flying by my ankle, and I love it, I do! I fucking love being alive despite all the drama, because it's the drama that makes me feel alive!
Now excuse me (while I kiss the sky hahah) because there's a life to be lived.
*
But sometimes it's nice to let them come, to let it all come at once. That's why I love sleeping. When I dream I can't help it, things just... come. And knowing that in a while there's a good chance I'll be living it just makes everything a billion times better.
And the doubt and the not knowing for sure and the "mights" and the "maybes" just make me feel alive, like the little sparrow flying by my ankle, and I love it, I do! I fucking love being alive despite all the drama, because it's the drama that makes me feel alive!
Now excuse me (while I kiss the sky hahah) because there's a life to be lived.
*
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