I'm starting to think that lies to the self would be better if they were true. I lied to myself for months and now I'm mad that I did so.

My mother isn't there for me. I'm not there for my mother. It's difficult to put a lot of effort into a relationship with someone who sleeps for two weeks straight.

On the bus ride home I decided I'm an idealist. Life is only disappointing because I expect so much out of it. I am going to keep living this way. At least for a little while.

I like the State Fair a lot. I am too tired to type.

Right now my mind is saying, "You have lots of emotions right now, but I don't know what any of them are."

Interesting. None of them seem particularily unhappy though, so it's alright.

I should always have a job. This is my fourth day of not having one. So far I have:
1. Watched hours and hours of bad television.
2. Gone to Ikea.
3. Painted.
4. Ate tacos.
5. Went to my bosses house with some of my coworkers.
6. Saw District 9. Who knew alien movies could be so sad?
7. Watched more bad television before falling asleep.
8. Woke up and watched more bad television.
9. Finally decided to do my laundry after running out of underwear. I have atleast three weeks worth of underwear if not more.
Next I will
1. Go to Ikea again.
2. Go for coffee.
3. Inevitably watch more bad television.
4. Go to the State Fair and stuff my face.

Inaction kills me.

On shows about animals, the calming
yet authoratative voices like to tell us
about lack of language as if their words
can hold superiority over a bark or a growl.

I would rather be on a nature show.
Where they can tell me what my movements mean,
the significance of freckles on my face,
and the purpose of the stance of others
as they approach me.

I don't think I'd like to be a brand.

Once a very long time ago a boy told me that, "No boys will like me if I'm sad." I'm kind of sad right now. Not depressed sort of sad, not even a confused sort of sad (well sort of a confused sad). It's another feeling that is manifesting itself in sadness. I'm not a subtle person. When I am sad, it's obvious or it's obvious to me. But I feel like no one will like me when I'm sad. Not just boys, no one. I try to tell myself that I still like people when they are sad. Sometimes I like people more when they are sad, as awful as that sounds. This doesn't necessarily help though. I read "Catcher in the Rye" and say that I want to date Holden Caulfield. I assume other people don't work the sameway. I don't ask for what I need. I think I need to learn to give myself entirely what I need. It's just hard, when you need something, and someone says no and either you can't communicate how direly you need it or it doesn't matter. Like tonight, we were choosing music and I said "not classical." I said not classical because I wanted something to lift my mood and classical music doesn't. I argued and later got chastised for arguing, but I really wanted something that would make me happy. I want to be happy. I am trying hard to be happy. It's so frustrating, because I am feeling things that are natural, I keep telling myself they are natural, but I keep making myself feel bad for it. I need to stop making myself feel bad.

Sometimes I make the assumption that everyone in the world is sad. Sometimes I make the assumption that everyone in the world is happy. Right now I think everyone is in this weird floaty place that I am in.

The real sixth sense
comes from what is not there.

Yours is highly undeveloped.
I told you about this sense
and how you don't have it
and you said
Well atleast you're prepared.

It's like that hidden piece of pepper in a salad.
A taste more than anything.

What I lack in vision
I make up for
with the imaginary.

Taking the news metaphorically

Bill swept a girl off her feet
and into the ocean.
It has happened before.

Side note: It just doesn't make sense, my head. It's like being tickled. It feels the sensation and then before anything touches it, it overreacts.

Geeze.

Where do feelings come from?
The feeling stork.
Geeze.

I went to Ikea with my dad today. He was stressed out. I was excited to buy picture frames and whatever else would end up in my giant yellow bag. By the end of the trip I was stressed out for no reason. Except not really for no reason. It was mostly because my dad was stressed out. I wonder how many of my emotions come from me and how many come from the people around me. I feel freaked out. And okay. I feel okay because other people feel okay. The freaked out must be mine.

Watching bad tv and eating worse foods

She is falling into a pile of women
Desperate this lot,
with their painted lips and french nails,
they take men on lunch dates like it's dinner.

They are sensible, you see.
They understand the world
with an open legged logic of love
that cannot be beaten
by her irrational sense
of feeling.

Upon looking in the mirror
she suddenly discovers
that she is an entirely
different person from what
she thought.

It occurs to her
that she is missing other
things as well.

I think I've posted about this before, but I'm going to post about it again. I have really vivid dreams almost every night. A lot of the time they are nightmares. I have two types of nightmares. I have scary-movie nightmares and real-life nightmares. Scary movie nightmares are usually where I'm being chased by something or the world is ending and I generally wake up slightly disturbed. A lot of these are reoccurring. I have lots of zombie dreams. Real life nightmares are when something happens that could happen in real life. It's usually something I'm afraid of happening. Waking up from these is awful, because I feel terrible the whole day. Part of me gets scared that it's real, even though it's illogical.

The worst dream I ever had happened years ago. I was on a boat with all of my friends and they all decided to kill themselves by jumping into the water. The captain said it was my fault and I had to go into an ocean full of bodies picking the right ones out.

That being said, I had a dream that I ate taco bell last night and now my stomach hurts.

I've been thinking about fate a lot lately, mostly because it keeps coming up. Maybe it's fate that fate makes a reoccurring appearance in my life. I've never really believed in fate. I'm a strong believer in free will and the human ability to make mistakes and the knowledge that not all mistakes are meant to happen. But this spring a lot of bad things happened. Bad things happened to the point where I couldn't take it anymore and just shut down emotionally. Then this summer things turned around completely. There are times that I've been upset, but I've only been upset because I'm emotionally awake and I am not one to do things subtly. When I do feel things, I really feel them. I can't help but think that if the spring had turned out differently, this summer wouldn't have been the way it was and I really liked the way it was. It made me change in ways that were necessary.

Last weekend I saw a movie. I really liked it. I said it was perfect. But it wasn't perfect. There were things I didn't like about it, things I disagreed with, but it was perfect, because at the time I felt so good about the movie. But if I had seen it at a different time with a different person, I probably wouldn't have liked it much.

This goes back to a prior post I wrote about the flow. What is the flow exactly? Is it fate? To go with the flow, a person has to let go of any preconceived notions of the future and just let things happen and trust that it will be okay. If I trust that does that mean that I believe in fate?

Here it gets really complicated because if I believe in fate, I would have to think about where fate comes from and I don't have the time to write/think/talk about it now.

Passion

As a boy in Italy
Fabio was sent to the neighbors
to borrow some olive oil,
but he couldn't even wait to return
and swallowed it clean on the walk.

This, Fabio explains,
is passion.

Like that one night
after fermenting
we drank each other down.

You have made me
lose my language.
The gift that the others gave
when they left.
I don't have them,
but I had words
and that useful set of pondering.

I pondered everywhere.
Each sidewalk more pondered then the next.
Don't mention the bar- I pondered there
until I got home and lay in the mush
of pondering that the air turned into.
I could feel the thoughts on my lips,
sticky like maple syrup
and I could breathe them out like onion.

Once in elementary school we measured
how long a whale would be
if we put it in the gym and it stretched
from outside one door to outside of the other
and this is how large it would be
if it had a shape.
But a shape is too much for something
that doesn't even have a language.

We tried measuring with our fingers
what it is.
First there were two fingers together
and then several inches between us
where you could see the wire table
our feet on the ground
our legs touching.
Then there were two fingers closer
and you couldn't see anything,
but it was there again.
My teeth clenched from the weight of it.

We need a new language.
We're more like bats than whales.

Disclaimer

I have not been writing good poetry lately.

I've been writing "I have things in my head that want to leave" poetry.

All I can think in, is abstraction. In a good way. But good abstraction is even more difficult to figure out than bad abstraction.