I can not believe how much my life has changed, and I keep wondering if I am the only one who notices this. Am I just spinning in one place inside of myself or do others see that I am not stationary? I am in need of good literature and time to read it. I am in need of something longer, for sure, and tangible. I am in need of no worries and I life that I can live for everyone the same. I am in need of something that will let the words form beyond the recognition of my own brain and allow me to speak them to you in all honesty and freedom.

How do I know of turning points in my life? Should I accept such sweet invitations, or are they merely sugar coated? Is there more growing up to do? When do I recognize these things and if they are true and right? The biggest problem is knowing who to believe. Deciding who is the person to follow who will lead you to the straight path. Why must people insist on what you should do if they are only looking out for themselves? Does anyone really know someone well enought to be telling them how to live their lives?

I don't think it is wrong to make choices and sacrifices in your life to better the life of someone else. I believe it is admirable to give in order for others to recieve, to not be selfish and to think of others before yourself. What I want really holds no meaning in my life. Fulfilling my desires and dreams will not make me a better person.

What is desire? What is good desire and should it be sought/satisfied?

Do certain things have meaning if you yourself do not place meaning on them?

WHY CAN'T YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING????

Traits of creative people:
1. wonder and be curious
2. be open to new experiences
3. see the familiar from an unfamiliar point of view
4. take advantage of accidental events
5. make one thing out of another by shifting its function
6. generalize from particulars in order to see broad applications
7. synthesize, integrate, find order in disorder
8. be in touch with one’s unconscious, yet be intensely conscious
9. be able to analyze and evaluate
10. know oneself, have the courage to be oneself in the face of opposition
11. be willing to take risks
12. be persistent: to work for long periods-perhaps years-in pursuit of a goal

Why?

Because I saw a part of me in you,
I part of me that I wanted to
protect and understand.
Because I wanted to please you
in every way.
I wanted for (you) to be happy;
to not hurt anymore.
Because I wanted you to love me
completely,
and more.

Because it just didn't matter anymore.
Nothing really matters anymore.

Caroline's Spine: Unreal
for Jon

I've come to feel when you're constantly changing roads
it's hard to know which way is right.
It gets a bit colder when you're down ten feet below
with no conclusions
no end in sight.
So I hold this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here on your own.
And I know you are
the only one who can make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
You beg and you borrow
like some ordinary soul.
There's nothing to see here tonight.
Until tomorrow,
after all your cameos,
there's nothing to see here.
And I know this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here.
And I know you are
the only one who will make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
Life is so unreal.

Static

Black as rum, white on top,
tan for you, in a double shot.
A hammer for a fly,
a fox on the sly.
Stop, drop and roll,
red handle, waiting for you to pull.
Steel guitar, dead baby in a cradle,
comfort ma; tell her a fable.
Click, click, clack, snap,
popcorn for a midnight snack.
Junie B. Jones has no home,
E.T. must call, but has no phone.
Lipstick on a collar, wine on a cuff,
heart-shaped box holds no more love.
Bermuda triangle, a honeymoon dream,
early morning coffee, milk the cow for cream.
Bullitts in the fire,
shoulda shot higher.
Shine from a diamond, dull as a knife,
sacrifice all that glitters, for the golden life.

By Kate Gubert

http://mintypics.com/Hurt%2010-4-07.html

Today is the day you took her away
and hid her in a glass sphere.
Lavender and honey consumed
as you examined her willingness.
Tassels and pom-poms shredded,
the confetti falling to the sky.
Turkish ashes smolder on painted toes.
Enter her mind through your eyes.

by Kate Gubert

Compliments:

http://www.madsci.org/cgi-bin/cgiwrap/~lynn/jardin/SCG

Will my death be painless?

I wonder...

as I lie here in anguish,

twisting and writhing

in the most unexplainable emotional pain.

To believe that there will be no beginning.

Seduced by those eyes...

those piercing, honest eyes.

(Where did you learn to look at someone like that?)

And though I wish I could,

I know that I do not know what is behind those eyes.

I take solace in the knowledge that

I fell in love with your music first...

the lyrics that speak of my heart's desires

(though I am sure that I am not the only one.)

The vocals that never grow tiring,

that never cease to make me cry,

words that heal and break.

Yet I cannot stop listening.

And I cannot stop the thoughts of you,

the glance of your eyes and

the melody of your voice,

and how my words are not enough.

Is this the hope that will be lost?

lost before it has even begun?

To know that these pains mean nothing more than feelings,

that feelings are nothing more than emotion,

to somehow forget...

To know that your love will never be mine...

is my hurt.

Truth is...
I'm scared of making another hopeless attempt.
I'm afraid that I will fail, after investing all my strength.
I don't want an ending, so I will never begin.

Truth is...
I try not to be pessimistic,
and I can't be optimistic,
So I must be a realist, as it goes.
And I must be crazy too.

Truth is...
I can live without you.
I can do anything on my own,
But I really,
Really,

...

I found some places I'll have to check out. Turns out I coulda seen Hurt without driving to Flint. But oh well. I kinda miss that place. And it was cheaper for a ticket.

http://www.sectionlive.com/

http://www.orbitroom.com/

Maybe I should rephrase that... Who is John Galt to you?

To me, I know who he is even though I haven't finished the book (yet).

But I could (and will) just as easily ask: who is Tom Buchanan to you?

To me, he is careless, soul-less, bruteish, despicable, self-interested, and absolutly vital to the story (whether that story be the Great Gatsby or life).

I guess, do you really think of characters in books as real people or as representations of groups of people? people you know? you? depends on the book?

Who is your favorite character? why? are they representational of someone/something?

Or maybe it is just in the asking that our question is answered by a void of an answer. Maybe there is no John Galt to you. Maybe he does not mean anything to you. Just as asking why some people are the way they are. There is no answer that would be correct. Who are you, or I, to know who John Galt is. Even in a book where someone has created him, even she may not even know who he is entirely. Maybe it is best if we do not know. Maybe it is best if all we do is ask questions, even if we don't get answers.

I think the best questions are those without answers.

I feel like posting something. I don't really know what to say because I don't have my journal in front of me. Isn't that sad? I cannot think about my own thoughts unless I can read them from a book. Well, for one thing, school is going well. Classes are fun. Biology is my favorite, but math is ok (just kinda feels like high school), Government and Politics is good for me (yea! I read The Nation The National Review and U.S. N&WR), and Art is really fun. We made mobiles yesterday from sticks and coathangers and wire and nuts and bolts and cardboard. I am thinking about walking downtown, except I don't really know if I want to walk through those neighborhoods to get to it, or if it is too long of a walk. Maybe I can figure out the bus schedule. Words of Wisdom for the day: Steak & Shake does not know how to make malts. Other mile markers on my calender: I am going to the Machine Shop and I am going to Chicago and I am going to Maine. Oh yeah! And I need more chocolate. Don't ever get put in Hruby. I am in the dorm for mentally unstable, gay, and antisocial persons. And those are only the ones I've met. The world is a scary place inside this little jail. I need chocolate. Wait, I already said that. Ok, we're on a mission for chocolate...


Who is John Galt?


Should I dye my hair black?

Oh sweet cheese. Hurt is coming to the Shop!

"This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending it, or exercise their revolutionary right to overthrow it."
Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865)

A Sad Child

You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or a pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and ice cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favourite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

-Margaret Atwood

I'm listening to Janet Dailey on tape. What is the world coming to? I'm sure I'll be committed any day now. They will lock me in a little room and feed me little white pills and ask me if I was deprived as a child.

I am also consumed by Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. Ooo, I might have another favorite author. Is it bad that my "to read" list grows more than my "read" list? I hope not. I hope I can read a lot this fall.

I'm so lucky to have a dorm room to myself. I will get posters that put a smile on my face and I will bring my useless green lamp and rent a fridge that will keep my Ben and Jerry's cold just long enough. I will stock up on Slim Fast wanna be diet stuff and post pictures all over to remind myself that I still have a friend.

Maybe they won't lock me up after all.

Maybe I can put on a mask long enough so that they will never know...

i wonder if anyone really notices or are the ideas and fantasies in my consciousness are merely my own i wounder if anyone really knows that i love them or that i have the ability to love them but my own fear is the only thing that holds me back i wonder if i will ever be able to let go of this fear and let the world break my heart i wonder if i ever will fly to the top of the world or if i was never destined to do so i wonder if somehow i missed my opportunity the opportunity to die the opportunity to love the opportunity to be the kind of person worth love the person that i want to be and that i imagine everyone else wants me to be I SAW YOUR SOUL LAST NIGHT ILLUMINATED BY THE MOONLIGHT AND CAUGHT IN A WATER BOTTLE HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL WHEN YOU WERE SEEN IN SUCH A LOW PLACE DO YOU FEEL LIKE ME DO YOU WANT TO DIE BEFORE ME WOULD YOU LET ME LOVE YOU WOULD YOU MAKE ME DISAPPEAR

Chris Isaak/ Frequency 54: Wicked Game

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I knew somebody like you.

No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and,

I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you no,

No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I... (This world is only gonna break your heart)
(This world is only gonna break your heart)

Nobody loves no one.

It's sad how true this is; THIS WORLD WILL ONLY BREAK YOUR HEART.
I know I want to fall in love.
I know I don't want to fall in love.
Do I have control over that?
It' crazy what foolish people do.
It's amazing how many foolish people there are.

UPO: Godless

I'm checking into leaving, yeah I'm folding
I'm tired of breaking down
And shaking this life around
I'm tired of praying, yeah I'm tired of trying myself
I'm tired of being taken all the way

And I don't need to be godless, but I am
I don't need my head keeping all my problems
And I don't need your hand of god, yeah
I don't need to say I'm godless
With nowhere to fall, yeah I'm all ready to fall

Day by day I'm like a paper puppet
And I'm stumbling 'round
I'm aching on my brain
And I'm in, big trouble, big trouble
I still gotta breathe, oh yeah
Like my shame this will all go down
God damned me that's for sure and I believe
I believe I don't belong here

And I don't need to get my head kicked in
And I don't need to be another lost soul
Who can't find home
And I don't need to get my face dragged down in the muddy water
And I don't need to say I'm godless anymore, yeah, not anymore

Still I'm gone
Still I'm on the run
Still I'm on the break of the edge
Still I'm, still I'm feeling dead

And I don't need to be godless, but I am
And I don't need to be another lost soul
Who can't find home
And I don't need your hand of god, yeah
And I don't need say I'm godless anymore, anymore yeah

Wisdom

You spoke to me.
You spoke words reflecting the wisdom of your heart.
Your wisdom preached of good and fulsome aspirations.
I spread my cracked and feeble wings in a vain attempt at flight. The desire to flee the cage of promises veiled the dangers beyond. I walked from your inadequate words of comfort. I closed my eyes to your invisible existence. Your wisdom fell in fragments. They broke out of context as they fell to the concrete. Meaning abandoned them and heedance fled with me. I hesitated, before I stepped into the sky, wondering if I should turn to apologize. You were crying as you gathered the syllables and attempted to throw them after me. But I didn't look back.
Your words held no recompense for your imprecation.

Kate Caretto

Red: Breathe Into Me

And this is how it feels when I ignore the words you spoke to me
And this is where I lose myself when I keep running away from you
And this is who I am when, when I don't know myself anymore
And this is what I choose when it's all left up to me

Breathe your life into me
I can feel you
I'm falling, falling faster
Breathe your life into me
I still need you
I'm falling, falling
Breathe into me
Breathe into me

And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge
And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground
And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain
And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away

It really should be easier to take a steady picture.

Why do we hold up our heroes only to watch them fall again and a again with tears running down our chins?
We continue to grasp for someone to hold onto and we only succeed in pulling them down with us.

This kind of thinking (could do us in)

There must be something special about people who like blue ink. Are we blue in our moods too? Are we more philosophical? Educated? Intuitive? Or are we merely in denial of our human tendency towards black ink? And about those people who use gel pens, and pens of different colors. What about those multicolored pens that have receded to the dusty racks in souvenir shops? I have pity, also, for the forgotten pencil. It really does stick around longer in the ending. It can be erased at will; conformed to the changing mind of the artist. Oh, and paintbrushes, for those painters. But I will continue to ignore the fact that painters exist. They can do what I can not-to draw an emotion and a feeling and a world and convey it perfectly-or imperfectly-on a flat surface. I bow to you, dear artists of the colors and shapes. I am infidel to you, as one who can only form the same letters and words and sentences over and over again. I work in vain. This could do me in.

Oblivion.

I want oblivion.

Straylight Run: Existentialism on...

By Kate Gubert

"When the sun came up, we were sleeping in,
sunk inside of blankets, sprawled across the bed."

When the sun came up, you were sleeping with your arm flung across my sunken belly. I was cold and kept awake by the stench of vomit.

"And we were dreaming. There are moments when I know it. And the world revolves around us."

The dream somehow escaped me; and knowledge and feeling rose from me as an essence from my being. I revolved around you and hid my bruises.

"And we're keeping it, keeping it all going.. this delicate balance. Vulnerable. All knowing."

Somewhere between when I pushed you away and when I called you back you misunderstood my apology. You tore down the walls of my Almighty and sucked my remains through a straw.

"(Sing like you think no one's listening.)"

You opened the curtains and let the light of a thousand eyes burn through my parched skin. You laughed at my appearance...and went back to sleep.

"We're glad for what we've got.
Done with what we've lost.
Our whole lives laid out right in front of..."

You were satisfied with what you had taken from me: what I offered to you. Another soft drop on your lips as I looked at you; so sad and delicate.

"Sing me anything."

The Evolution of Pain

I want to show you.
I wanted to have you see me
exposed and without disclaimers.

I wanted you to understand,
to look at me with pellucid eyes;
offering your protection.

I wanted to explain my imperfections:
this one- anger
this one-fear
this one-abandon.

I wanted you to tell me
it was ok to be angry,
that you could calm my fear,
that you would never leave,
but you were already gone.

I never had the chance to show you-

this one I call pain.

by: Kate Gubert

Earshot: Someone

And if you could make up
For every single time you lied
I'd probably whisper this
Hello, goodbye
And so it begins again
Harder each and every time
I start to reminisce
I never seem to ever find

[chorus]
Someone I can trust
Someone I believe
Someone who will never try
To bring me to my knees
Someday I will find again
Someone just like me
Someone who will take the time
In understanding me

And if I could make up
For every single tear you cried
I'd probably never miss
Your hand in mine
I never could understand
Mistakes I repeat again
I've been through this so many times
I never seem to ever find

And I've stopped searching
To take my time
And to really clear my head
And I believe it was meant to be
And I feel it's time to go

And if you could make up
For every single time you lied
I'd probably whisper this
I never seem to ever find

The famous linguist was J.R.R. Tolkien.

Well hello out there to everyone who is not listening...
I am tired and stressed and only halfway through the day. I do have a good book to read; The Thirteenth Tale. I have forgotten who the author is, but I like her book all the same. Cds are trying to copy at this moment and, although I hate our home computer, I am writing this now because I am helpless to do anything else and I can not access my blog at school. I got a 100 on my research paper! I am so excited that I am telling everyone. I stayed up till 5:30 am Monday morning to finish that stupid thing. Very interesting stuff though; I enjoyed it very much. I am officially an adult. Seems hard to believe huh? How does it happen that we enter the world of responsibility and decisions and independence overnight? I guess it's now supposed to be that way in theory, just in government. And we all know the driving force and logic of our government.. or we think we do. I have found two of my philosophical theories in the notes from my religion class. I have wondered these things before, but not actually known that they exist outside my own steel trap, or much less in a world religion. First, the idea that everything we see, everything we experience, every distinction we perceive in our "reality" is merely maya, or illusion. I have often entertained the idea, on cold lonely, unfortunately memorable days, that this is all just a dream. Apparently Hindu belief is in this concept. I think that I like my romanticized version better. Buddhists believe that suffering is a way of life, and that all suffering results from desire. Therefore, you must not desire. I have a similar concoction in my head that we should not love, for all love eventually leads to pain. A very unavoidable thing it seems; love. I can very easily refrain from starting a new connection of love, but extinguishing the old is hard. People are easier than things, though. Quite possibly from the American lens of materialism that clouds my perception. I love my car more than I think I should. I know that I am setting myself up for heartbreak, but think about it- People can change, but you never know exactly why or how or a way to bring the old person back. Eventually, you can identify a cause for change in a vehicle, and with the right amount of capitol, it can be repaired. Ahhh, but Nirvana sounds like such a wonderful state to become.

...I have drawn a blank...
...I want to repeat ellipses forever...
...There is a relentless clutching in my chest...

I love baths.

I hate moucus blobs in my eyes.

Hurt: House Carpenter

Our mistake was the love we made
I didn't deliberate
But I never meant you wrong
No I didn't mean it
If you've ever lost a loved one
I pray for you, I really do
If you've ever lost a loved one
I pray for you...
'Cause there s a sad and lonely comfort
In the hollow of your eyes
But don't you let it take you over
'Cause it will eat you up inside
I heard you're married to a house carpenter
And your love will never be mine...
If you're not breathing why am I
Left alone in this ship
If you're not breathing
Why am I left alone?
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But don't you let it take me under
'Cause it will eat me up inside
I'm sure you're married to your house carpenter
And your love will never be mine ...
All the pain and the way it was
All of the shame and the hate, because
I was in love with the way it was
All that I do I do for you
If you're not breathing
Why am I? left alone in this shit.
If you're not breathing
Why am I left alone?
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But won't let it take me over
'Cause it will eat me up inside
I'm sure you're buried with your house carpenter
And your face I'll never see no more
Your face I'll never see no more
Your face
Your face
Your face
Your face...
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But I won't let it take me under
'Cause it will eat me up inside
Yeah I heard your married to a house carpenter
And your love will never me mine
No, your love will never be mine...

(I love you so much...)

I love chili. And the snow melting from the shingles that is dripping off of the roof and creating shadows through the window onto the screen. I love the sun on my back.

I hate not being able to go to the Caroline's Spine show.

The snow is beautiful! And I am so glad that the temperature no longer feels like -10F. I suppose I will go out soon and shovel snow. That's funny, isn't it? Going outside to get warm. It's pretty cold in this room.
I didn't go to school today. I wanted to, but my parents stressed the possibility of "getting in a wreck." My Dad sat with his Frango minty instant coffee, paper in hand, and told me about the dangers of the roads: they were covered in snow, with ice beneath, it was still snowing, and there was a possibility of freezing rain later. My Mom sat with her SuDoKu (that horrible little test rat game) and her coffee from Tim Horton's grounds and a French press and told me how half the students wouldn't be there anyway.
I hate missing school.
I hate it like I hate missing church. I feel like crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head until it is hard to breathe. My bed will be warm now after three hours and the sun will be shining in the window. But I want to do something to escape the time that should be spent in class.
I want to play Solitaire on the computer so I can say that I have no friends to play card games with. No one calling me because I turned my phone off while I had lacrimal fluid running down the sides of my nose and from the inside of my nose. I want to drink espresso every morning and not eat anything and become skinny and snotty and wasted. And stay drunk on Friday nights so I can repent on Saturday.
I feel like nothing I could do would make up a good alternative for missing class. I should have been sitting in the last row in the third chair in HL115 at 11:50 and the first chair of the third row in RAC220 at 1:15. Instead, the teachers are bending over steaming lunches in the cafeteria and laughing at the possible punishments for students who skip class because of frozen flakes of water. For students who are not dedicated; who do not stick to their word and come to class every day. It only meets two times a week, for heaven's sake. "You can't do better than that?"
I want control. I want to have the control to take my car out in the middle of a blizzard and run into a DTE pole and the control to make myself run six miles without stopping and the control to make my headaches come and go as I need them to. I want the control to eat frozen peas and cinnamon rolls with melted sugar for dinner and get on a plane to go to Georgia and take a road trip to Cali. I want to get A's on all my tests and wear designer jeans that fit me perfectly while I sit at Bravo and drink Bellinnis or stand in line at the Machine Shop to see Caroline's Spine or skank by teeny boppers into the Metropolis. I want to smoke Camel wides with Ben Blevins and walk away without telling him who I am. I want to walk away form a lot of people. But oh God, I want to hang on to them.

Jewel: Hands

If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair

It was one final attempt, in the pouring rain, to keep her. To not let her walk away with tears on her cheeks. He took her trembling jaw in his hands.
"I love you," he started. "I think you are beautiful, gorgeous inside and out. I hate you because I want to be like you and I can't. I want to be closer to you and I know I have no right to be. I want to do so much for you and live my life purely for you. I think you are smart and funny. You are so humble... I'll never know how you can be like that. You're gentle, kind and understanding. You always give everything and everyone a fair shot, a fair chance. You've given me too many chances, and I can't believe I'm asking for one more."

Oh, sappy wonderfulness! I could write romance novels. Somehow this doesn't peak my interest.