A brief little poem

I am not the melody or the lyrics.
I am not the voice singing,
Nor am I the poet writing
Or the musician strumming away.
I'm the page the song is written on
And I'm crumbling.

I've got gunk in my hair and a face pack on my skin...

And realized that I miss being able to look into the eyes of the man I love and actually tell him that I love him. There is something so magnificently comforting about having someone who will put his arms around you and tell you that no matter how much your life sucks, he still loves you. That's really all I want at the moment. For Castle to show up and throw his arms around me and say "It'll all work out. I love you."

I get emo when I do beauty treatments.

A letter to the same man wearing a different meat suit

Dear Fucktard,

You make me want to walk into every single one of your "events" dressed up as Brandon Lee circa the Crow, except far less understated. You are nothing and no one to me except a pierced tattooed little freak who thinks that everyone loves him. Let me tell you something: you are not unique. You are not interesting. You are nothing to no one who matters.

In MY world you're a fucking shallow, pathetic THING that isn't worth the ink on your arm or the steal in your ears. And you make me fucking stupider by direct association.

Do us all a favor and go straight to hell. Do not pass go. Do not collect 300 dollars.

Updates and such

In an attempt to sort my life out, I've decided that my two nastiest habits: smoking and drinking excess amounts of caffeine, need to no longer be a part of my daily repertoire. I celebrated this decision with a cigarette and a blue Rockstar. I can't help but wonder if my unhealthy lifestyle is a direct reflection of how uninspired my life has been of late.

Where once I looked to people to inspire me, I find them all insipid and boring. Worse yet, I get the feeling that Harvey and I speak entirely different languages. Sometimes he looks at me like I'm speaking Latin, and no one speaks Latin. You can read Latin, you can write Latin, but no one speaks it because we have no idea how it's really supposed to sound. (Interestingly enough, this is probably why the TARDIS didn't translate the Latin Donna spoke in the Fires of Pompeii [series4episode2] of Doctor Who.... yup, I did just drop some serious nerd knowledge on the unsuspecting public.)

Oh, that's right, it just now occurs to me that no one is aware of my latest romantic endeavor. I am currently dating a young man code named Harvey. There is a very specific reason why I named him this, but its so obscure I doubt that anyone will get it. I only say that because I hate when people use obscure pseudonyms for people without at least making the audience aware of their intentions. Long story short, it all makes sense when explained contextually.

Anyway, he's lovely and probably treats me better than any guy I've attempted to maintain a romantic endeavor with in the past. My complaints with him are the same complaints I have with everyone else: No one communicates the truth of anything. They're too used to having to edit themselves in order to create some false sense of intimacy. The reason why relationships fall apart after about a year or so isn't that people change or even because of the oxytocin . (Follow the link to find out what that is if you don't already know.)

Relationships fall apart because most people just over edit themselves and, in many cases, lie about who they are in an attempt to be more attractive to the significant other in question. I don't do that, which is probably why I fail at casual relationships. My current relationship is probably more serious than it ought to be considering we've only been seeing each other for 3 months, however that isn't my problem either. I have no real difficulty with intimacy, especially in a romantic setting. I suppose that's one thing I do very well: I'm an excellent girlfriend. My problem is that through him I've become surrounded by a group of people who are incredibly cellular (that is to say, they're all part of one specific social group and rarely break apart from that social group) and I don't feel like I'm communicating with any of them. I'm more frank and more open with complete strangers than I am with my proposed new social circle, and that bothers me more than I think it ought.

To make matters worse I'm concerned about my vocabulary. It's become incredibly... ordinary, and I've been relying too heavily upon people "knowing what I mean" and God-damn-it I've become one of those girls who punctuates her sentences with "Ah...um..." and the worst of all of them "like." Like should only be used to describe something that you enjoy, or to make use of an effective synonym. Using it as anything else is tiresome and makes you sound ridiculous. What's worse is that I feel as though these crutches in my vocabulary exist entirely because if I spoke the way I thought I'd spend hours explaining everything constantly. I already do that as it is. I've been told I live in mortal fear of being misunderstood.

That's definitely true... only because I'm really used to being misunderstood.

Fairy Tales

Today I worked on the fairy tale I've been writing. It keeps changing to suit the Aesop I'm trying to evoke in that particular instant, but at the end of the day it always comes back to the overall erosion of society's morality. It saddens me to think that people are more familiar with Millie Cyrus and Harry Potter (two entities in modern media that really ought to be erased from memory) than they are with anything the Grimm Brothers collected is a testimony to our own idiocracy. Yes, I did just make that reference.

What it comes down to is that everyone between the ages 13-33 wants to be the shining glamorous hero, but doesn't want to embrace any of the morality necessary to be that hero. They want to be strong and vibrant and beautiful, but they neglect kindness and understanding and empathy. Cynicism and cruelty have become more fashionable than ever before, and now when someone smiles at you, you've got to check twice for the forked tongue and fangs. Sweetness and innocence are only fashionable aesthetically.

I'm distracted... perhaps more thoughts on this later.

Of the Shakespearean/Byronian School, except less good.

Oh, my pale and inconstant heart!
Whose depths are subsets of its shallowness
That we should ever meet to part,
And exist beyond our petty callowness


I'm in a rather interesting mood today. Yes, noble readers who no longer read this, I definitely still hate poetry, but at least I'm making an effort to grow artistically... kinda. Don't judge me, I only said I was a poet, I never said I was a good poet. :P