il me dit que je suis belle

naked, at the window.
watching the Cold turn silver to grey like march to april,in the month of december.
i'm falling off my bed to eat the moist earth
to drink it up with honey.
keep your head, tay, keep your head a le matin.
my head to relics, because my heart had unprotected sex; because my heart senses more than air, more than words, more than breath caught in modesty, more than all the empty truths and lies you swallowed, more than eyes run in panic, so so much more than uncomfortable comfort. my world, it spins for him. i feel like a lightening bolt, striking myself to death with all the light i want to expose for him. to drown him in...my heart,mind, i want them bitten, by him they need his love lotion like the old door that makes a fracturing noise in the spell-silenced library. he tastes like sky. his voice makes my heart pulse in my chest and toes, inside i tickle and shiver. we belong together like Coldplay playing in a yellow BMW. like ripe tomato absorbing salt; we become one,as i close my eyelids, in the view behind them,we touch the sun. this need, zahir , is suffocating, like earth floating in a shell. i want to settle down, i can't find the right tongue to give you a visual of how uncomfortable i feel as moon and sun try to dictate my mind state..i'd let them if i could.

i can't self actualize.
i can't do many things.

Rest In Peace.

In my heart I believe in love
For you and me, I believe.
But you went,
You went away.
Now I try to make it through the day.
'Cause you know,
That my love remains
And I know that I can't hide the pain.
And so, I just want you to know;
I love you.

Oh darling,
You were my everything.
My all and dear.
What did I do to lose you?
Well I want you to know,
You were everything I did.
Now tell me, where did I go wrong all along with you?
'Cause I don't want to say goodbye
I love you

Sometimes skulls are thick. Sometimes hearts are vacant. Sometimes words don't work.

"Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. And the harm we do, we do to ourselves."



I'm tired of grudges. I'm tired of pretending I could care less friendships are diminishing. I'm tired of remembering I can't talk to you because we're "fighting". I'm tired of acting like my feelings are completely in tact. I'm tired of pride. I'm tired of being stubborn. I'm tired.



There is no point in holding grudges. Both sides can go on for days, months, years, not talking just because no one is willing to step down off his or her pedestal and say something.



Sure, a person can truly feel so infuriated that he or she feels as if he or she never wants to talk to the person on the other side ever again. But we, as people, get over it. It may not be a day, a month, or even a year, but it happens. We all make mistakes and we should forgive each other. Forgiveness is the key to happiness. This doesn't mean forget everything and act like everything is jolly ol' good in LaLaLand, but start to fixing the slightly bruised, or in some cases broken, relationship.



Hating or disliking someone is pointless. It doesnt bring any good emotions. It is a full-time commitment to hate someone; a waste of time.



We as people tend to take each other for granted. Who knows who is going to be here tomorrow and who is not? We should tell each other what we feel now. We need to live in the present, not the past and not the future.


"Only love can conquer hate."

Advice is a form of nostalgia.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now..

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind - you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded - but trust me, in 20 years time you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine. Don't worry about the future, or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindeside you at 4AM on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you. Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts.

Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.Floss. Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and in the end, it's only with yourself. Remember compliments you recieve. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements. Stretch. Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't. Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone. Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own. Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them. Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.

Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Respect your elders. Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out. Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen...

What's the point of living if life is always unfair?

They always say that there are other fish in the sea.
But what do you do when there are too many?

It seems like I can't be happy without hurting someone;
And I can't make someone happy without hurting myself.

I feel like the bomb has dropped a little too early;
And at this point flying solo seems like a better fit.

I guess to wait is all Ican do at the moment.

Genius, no doubt.

With thinking we may be beside ourselves in a sane sense. By a conscious effort of the mind we can stand aloof from actions and their consequences; and all things, good and bad, go by us like a torrent. We are not wholly involved in Nature. I may be either the driftwood in the stream, or Indra in the sky looking down on it. I may be affected by a theatrical exhibition; on the other hand, I may not be affected by an actual event which appears to concern me much more. I only know myself as a human entity; the scene, so to speak, of thoughts and affections; and am sensible of a certain doubleness by which I can stand as remote from myself as from another. However intense my experience, I am conscious of the presence and criticism of a part of me, which, as it were, is not a part of me, but spectator, sharing no experience, but taking note of it, and that is no more I than it is you. When the play, it may be the tragedy, of life is over, the spectator goes his way. It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination only, so far as he was concerned. This doubleness may easily make us poor neighbors and friends sometimes.
I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers. A man thinking or working is always alone, let him be where he will. Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows. The really diligent student in one of the crowded hives of Cambridge College is as solitary as a dervis in the desert. The farmer can work alone in the field or the woods all day, hoeing or chopping, and not feel lonesome, because he is employed; but when he comes home at night he cannot sit down in a room alone, at the mercy of his thoughts, but must be where he can "see the folks," and recreate, and, as he thinks, remunerate himself for his day's solitude; and hence he wonders how the student can sit alone in the house all night and most of the day without ennui and "the blues"; but he does not realize that the student, though in the house, is still at work in his field, and chopping in his woods, as the farmer in his, and in turn seeks the same recreation and society that the latter does, though it may be a more condensed form of it.
Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are. We have had to agree on a certain set of rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tolerable and that we need not come to open war. We meet at the post-office, and at the sociable, and about the fireside every night; we live thick and are in each other's way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another. Certainly less frequency would suffice for all important and hearty communications. Consider the girls in a factory- never alone, hardly in their dreams. It would be better if there were but one inhabitant to a square mile, as where I live. The value of a man is not in his skin, that we should touch him.
I have heard of a man lost in the woods and dying of famine and exhaustion at the foot of a tree, whose loneliness was relieved by the grotesque visions with which, owing to bodily weakness, his diseased imagination surrounded him, and which he believed to be real. So also, owing to bodily and mental health and strength, we may be continually cheered by a like but more normal and natural society, and come to know that we are never alone.

Broken Promises.

So, remember when I told you that you'd go back to your old ways?

Yeah.

Well take a quick glance at yourself now.
It disappoints me immensely.
You & I both know you can do better.

But why should I care, right?
I don't even have the tiniest place in your heart anymore.
Even though you still have a place in mine.

I'd like to believe that I'm lucky
Because I got to see who you really are inside
A person a rare few get to see
Tou just smother it with your hard-ass attitude
And your bottled up insecurities

And now you just do what you can for that temporary high
But what about the long run?

I just hope you can someday see through the beer and games
And start thinking with the head on your shoulders.

Synecdoche

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. What was once before you - an exciting, mysterious future - is now behind you. Lived; understood; disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone's experience. Every single one. The specifics hardly matter. Everyone's everyone. So you are him, her, they, us. You are them. All their meager sadnesses are yours; all their loneliness. It's yours. It is time for you to understand this.As the people who adore you stop adoring you; as they die; as they move on; as you shed them; as you shed your beauty; your youth; as the world forgets you; as you recognize your transience; as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one; as you learn there is no-one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving - not coming from any place; not arriving any place. Just driving, counting off time. Now you are here, at 7:18. Now you are here, at 7:19. Now you are..

We coexist until we don't exist.

I'm hoping that you'll come around.

Maybe you'll change your mind.

But until that day, which I doubt exists.

I guess we'll stick to kind.



There's nothing I can do to change it.

At least now I know your stance.

And I can't help but think if I were born different.

Then I would have had that fighting chance.



She just wanted to protect me.

But I stayed hard headed and young.

Her warnings weren't much of a shining amour.

Cause boy, those words, they stung.



It's this illness I am plauged with.

A disorder of the skin.

A layer of ugly dirt, and rotting mold.

That keeps you from looking in.



It was stupid to think you were perfect.

But that was before I knew.

I thought that we could be together.

Yeah... that was stupid too.



Here I sit, I write these words.

Black ink upon white sheets.

If paper could talk, it'd be crying out.

Because black it stains and reeks.



If i could momentarily relapse.

And bare my heart for you to see.

Maybe youd notice all the scar tissue.

And hear as it whisphers "pick me, pick me".



It's a harsh reality.

But this is life,

And I will not stop living.