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.

When we walked up the stairs and through the heavy white doors, down the carpeted hall to the low-ceilinged room, sat in the back row on temporary green chairs, and focused on the final frozen form of his father, it took a minute to notice that he had not followed.

The end now written;
laid down in stone.
Come by
by cumbersome ways.

Take me back
to where he broke
the glass he shattered
the bullets he spoke
the wrong that seemed to matter.

Put back the rifle
the black from which
no death wish ever returns.

Weave back the blood
to draining veins
replace the cries
and shouts
and silence
to lungs that breathe no more.

Lay little heads
back to bed
to rest and keep
their innocence.

-Kate Caretto

Tell me a happy story.

Cellar Door


DONNIE
What's "Cellar Door"?

MS. POMEROY
(spaced out)
A famous linguist once said... that of all
the phrases in the English language, of
all the endless combinations of words in
all of history... that "Cellar Door" is
the most beautiful.