Lies and ladybugs

When I was younger, about six or seven, I remember wishing on my first star. A long time ago I shared a room with my little brother, who's a rough two years younger than I. And even though I told him what to do all the time, as we had our far share of fights, he was like my little default of a best friend. So before we fell asleep every night, I remember having these half-whispered giggly conversations with him, getting yelled at, then dropping unconscious. Well anyways, one night he happened to fall asleep sooner than me, and for some reason I couldn't get to bed.
Staring out the window, I eventually spotted a single star in the sky. For some reason, even though I'm sure that I had seen stars before that day, I had never remembered the rule about wishing on them. I don't know, maybe the Disney movies hadn't quite penetrated my skull just yet. Seeing this star, I literally freaked and felt soooooo proud that I found one. I wished. Except here's the funneh part, I didn't just make one wish. I guess that I had somehow figured that a star comes only once in a blue moon or something, and that I should make as many wishes as possible because I didn't know how long it would be until I saw another one.
So I continued to stay up for another hour, (which felt like the whole night had gone by to me) just making wishes on this one dull star.
And, I don't exactly remember what I wished for, but I'm pretty sure none of it came true. That might be super-negative or emo, but it's true. Wishes on stars don't come true. I mean, if you wish on a star that you'll wake up tomorrow and brush your teeth, then yeah, duh. However, stars have never really worked for me. Maybe that one night of hyped up wishes from a 7-year-old wasted all of my chances forever more, but who knows. If I wanna wish on something, I wish on ladybugs. Yeah, that's right, I go for ladybugs. Try it, it'll come true, for anything red and spotted is bound to be magical.

Messily stacked apon this shelf
All the thoughts
I shudda kept to myself

Horror of the purblind picayune pectoral.

Stupid. Completely lethargic. Fucking stupid. I'm stupid, this is stupid. Asinine, bovine, and foolish. No matter how many beautiful sounding words you stick in it's place, it will always remain the same. Stupid. Plain witless. Fruck.
So yeah, I'm feeling like a torpid piece of shit right now, as to the fact that I just saw an ex at the commons. Don't get the story wrong, it's not like those idiotic stories where boy breaks girl's heart and now she hates seeing him because of her own insecurities. No, absolutely not. And, it's not like he was some big asshole of all time, you know, always making me feel like shit or something, and now seeing him is hell on earth. That's way off. You couldn't have the story any more wrong.
You see, being unique, I have to have the most trifling tale of all time, the type that when you read about it in a book or something, you always end up hating the main character, which in this case would be me; and you spend the whole fucking time you're reading the book just bitching about her in your head. Like, a commentary on this main character's choices would go like this:
"Ugh, what the hell, this girl is a total screwup. I mean, she has this guy that's amazing, and she's finally got hold of him, then lets it all go all because of some summer night in july. Jeezus, why do I READ books like these anyway? It's all so overrated and cliched, that bitch got what she deserves."
Seriously. You would say that. Trust me, even if you don't spend hours doing book commentaries in your head, I'm absolutely sure that's the main reaction collected from fans.
Anyway, I mess up in love. A lot. So after I had gotten together with a guy that I had desired for some time, It was like god had finally paid me for all of the wonderful deeds I'd done. Or had thought about doing in the time spaced between now, and whenever I die. So this guy is unbelievably cool. The type of person where you'll say "Damn, they're awesome, that'd never happen." Plus, he's frucking sweet. Just really great, not so stupid like other bfs, and idk, good to me? I actually have no idea how to say that without sounding fake, but yeah. Eventually, I went and questioned a bunch of things, feeling that it was probably a little shallower than I'd like it to be. Adding up with all of this other summer stuff, I broke up with him. During the pursuit of all this, I only had the same feelings he probably suffered thrown back my way, being a kick in the arse.
Here's another thing: school's starting soon, and I'm trying to come up with how to act and say where this bridge has not been burned and he's on my mind. Can duck tape fix a broken heart?

I feel amazing
Utterly devine
I’ve found that life
Without a heart
Is a life truly refined.

Crisp to clear

My mood is functioning much like the song Parasites, by Ugly Casanova. You start in on a solid strumming chord, crisp in it's clarity, hooking you on. Next these chanting voices tune in, vividly telling you that you're mind's been taken over, meanwhile, an enchanting and somewhat haunting horn spins around behind it. But my mind seems to be manipulating the curling cycle and shifting notes drifting on an upward curve, then diving lower into a mellow-to-almost-silence riff, melodically tugging me along, almost in a sleep. Summed up, it's a vibrant mixture of nostalgia, melancholy, soft exuberance, contentment, electric-energy, and vexation.
Out of all these, where'd the vexation come from you might ask? Well, as I was typing up this post, I had a pleasant phone conversation with my Mother. Love the leaves, love the music, and...love my Mom.

'It was hot and time was sticking to my skin.
We're all the punch line to a joke that they won't let us in on.'
{Parasites, Ugly Casanova}

Song for all of you

Here's a something that I wrote...Originally supposed to be a song, which you can see with that repeating, but it's in a stranger style than I tend to lean towards. A bit more poetic, and not as "Vague" or "Cryptic" as Laura would say. In my opinion, my songs can be mildly cryptic, but not straight-out vague. It's not my fault if she doesn't fully understand what I pen to paper. Heh, I'm being silly. Anyways, here's the Song/Poem, enjoy everybody.

He paused
Running over the cracked thoughts in his mind
Screaming out to the silence
His heart in a bind.

‘There’s no hope for me!’
Rang out over the sighs
Struggling to break free

I’ve been tired of lies
I’ve been tired of lies

Conclusions made
Emotions wrapped in neat bundles
Heart stored, and saved
‘This will be quite a tumble’
I’m sure to succeed, from doing this deed.

I’ve been tired (of lies)
I’ve been tired (of lies)

Stepping up to duty
He must break her heart
Something light and delicate
Forever they’ll part

Open lips
Blur stained speech
Observe her eyes
She’s growing weak
She’s growing weak…

Taped with sighs, and awkward hug
Glass tears rolled down cheeks
His eyes pools of sorrow
Her trails angry streams

Both soon reached
The chin of an ending
And both took that hazardous leap
That drop.

He was tired of lies
Tired of lies
Tired of lies
Tired of lies.

No more neverminds

Alright, I WAS planning to have a really awesome post tonight about the spontaneous expedition that I bravely ventured on today. I was gonna have some pictures, some descriptions, a few embellishments of literature, all prolly carefully put away in this pocket of knowledge that proves to the stupid just how amazing I am. Or can be. But instead my mind is feeling a little screwed out of it's bowl lately, and all of my words keep coming out as dripping nonsense, eventually making disgusting puddles on the carpeted floors.
Maybe it's just me, and I'm hoping it's not, but every now and then my mind will turn into this bucket of soup, and I start to get more poetic than usual. Well, I'm guessing in normal conversations anyways. And, maybe it's not that bad or whatever, but sometimes it can really suck when you're with a group of overly-peppy girls, perhaps a guy, and instead of something funny, cute, and normal to say...I sorta vomit up this supposed-to-be insightful, jointed phrase of speech. Either that or I'll still talk pretty normal, but it will be a bit romantic, definitely metaphorical, and somewhat lyrical.
Doesn't sound so bad to you? Well hey, for me, things like that are embarrassing. I mean, I'm not ashamed that I tend to write stuff like that, but some of the friends that don't know me so well won't think of me as the kind of person to say that sorta thing. Or go mushy on them. So, I guess when I word-vomit up these sentences, it's unexpected, and sounds dumb. Making the person I'm talking to be like, "What?" which results in me going, "Nevermind." Do you have any IDEA how many times I've said 'Nevermind' in my lifetime? In this year alone? A hell of a lot. But hey, It's all mumbling to anybody else anyway. And, then again, what would be a life without things unsaid?
I guess that as long as we mumble we're bound to survive.

I don't care where you're going
As long as you think I think
I know everything.

We're the ones that do it all

I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills,
I love the flowers, I love the daffodils,
I love the fireside when all the lights are dim.

Boom-de-ada, boom-de-ada, ...

We're the ones that do it all.

Pie, plaid, and the unevitable monsters.

Pie = Making dutch apple pie in the middle of the night, or, into the early morning.

Info - After doing absolutely nothing and everything at the same time, we realized that it would be a while until Laura's mother was completely unconscious. Planning to go skinny dipping, (or, as I would like to call it, chunky dumping,) in her rich ass neighbor's pond, we needed to wait. Suddenly remembering that one of our goals of the evening was to make pie, we summoned all of our hidden culinary skillz.

1. Pie making started at 3:10 (AM)
   
2. Apple guts finished && sweet at 3 something (AM)
   
3. Discovered that pie crust takes 50 minutes to defrost, all grumbled angrily
   
4. Somewhere wedged in between 3:50 and 4:30, I fell into blissful sleep on Laura's lap from pie exhaustion.
   
5. 4:30, happily inserted apple guts into it's pasty skin. Time for the oven. :)
   
6. Somewhere between 4:45 and 5:22, slipped into a cat nap while companions talked about faces. Or people. Or lines. Or whatever the hell they were talking about.
   
7. 5:33, ATE PIE!
   

Plaid = Plaid undergarments bring much confidence.

Info - After going to the mall and having a horrific sweatshirt scavenger hunt, whilst faithful companions looked at colored underpants, found love in humble plaid bra. It was astonishing. And, I'm sorry that I don't have an amazing timeline yet again, but all I do know is that it was sometime between 3:15 PM and EXACTLY 6 o'clock.

Unevitable Monsters = Well, there's no need explaining. There EVERYWHERE! Dun dun duunnnnn....
My monsters of today:

1. Men in plain orange shirts
   
2. Jeans with the absence of back pockets
   
3. Anything that has Hannah Montana's face on it
   
4. Erotic Axe from Target
   
5. Any living specimen within 2 feet of Zummies
   

'Outside, Inside,
This is the moon without a tide,
We'll build a fire in your eyes,
We'll build a fire when the cover's getting brighter,
Cold desire makes the moon without a tide'
{Gold Lion, Yeah Yeah Yeahs}

As we all grow withered

Such a blissful day...My mother's birthday, and for once I've stopped being a spoiled prick long enough to make her a nice gift. I decided to water color a semi-realistic based portrait of a young woman crying, (hope that doesn't send the wrong message) And along with that I carefully put together a playlist of 17 songs, all based on Indie/Alternative female singers. Yeah, my Mumma's music taste isn't too bad, both of my parents grew up listening to legends like The Who, Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Talking Heads, Smashing Pumpkins...etc. And even though my Mom also has a secret love for more female-pop related music, and my dad...well, he has a W I D E sense of music genres that he enjoys.^^
In fact, music-wise, I'm probably really lucky that I'm growing up with parents that actually aren't total dinkuses when it comes to rock. Even though my tastes tend to have branched off in different directions, I still find myself coming across bands that my dad has in his H U G E CD collection. For example, conversations have started to end up like this:
"Hey dad, have you heard of the Pixies?"
"Pixies? Yeah! I have a few of their albums"
"Oh really? Do you think I'd be able to put some on my iPod?"
"Yarra, you're not cool enough to be listening to the Pixies."
"Wa?"
"I mean, my coolest friends that are musicians all LOVE the Pixies. You're just not cool enough, sorry..."
"What the hell?" *Chuckles*
"Where'd you hear about the Pixies?"
"Well I've got some friends that listen to them, and I just stumbled across some awesome songs on the radio/Internet."
"Oh really? Like who?"
"Uh," *pauses, lists a few people* "...and Gaelen."
"Gaelen Bates? I've seen his haircut Yarra, he doesn't like the Pixies. Poser."
So anyways, every now and then I stumble upon conversations like this that make me, for a brief, shining nanosecond, think my parents could be cool. Then, they do something that makes me swiftly change my mind. :P

The curling of lips
Spin that frown into twists
Your grin no longer resembling sad crescent moons

Song for me?

Could this possibly mean...that love...is possible...for even the rusty-metal-beings, such as I? *GASP* Hope shines through...

Her kisses are metallic and her touch is firm but cold.
And I don't thinks she sleeps at night, but plugs into the wall.
And we have a great relationship,
based on things that can't be said.
And she has a great relationship with our television set.

And, yeah, I'm in love with an android, but so what?
Stranger things have happened,
stranger things have been loved.

The neighbors are an odd bunch and they're too inquisitive.
They don't like heavy metal,
or the type she shacks up with.
But I swore I'm done with humans
and I like to keep my word.
And she beeps for me every time it's time to go water the fern.

And, yeah, I'm in love with an android, but so what?
Stranger things have happened,
stranger things have been loved.

And, yeah, I'm in love with an android, but so what?
Stranger things have happened,
stranger things have been loved.

A robot love...for me?

Metaphors and purple ink

I've thought to many things, I've read to many things, I've seen to many things, I've heard, certainly, to many things. When will I stop? Is this a fault that I possess? Honestly, I'm starting to wonder. If I take a pill, trust my life in a little white capsule, will my brain go away? And right along with it, the hours and hours of swirling, frustratingly clustered thoughts that bounce around my pityingly empty shell of a skull? Will I stop making these extra-long sentences, packed to the brim of metaphors? What even IS a proper metaphor?
I imagine the original purpose of one to be beautiful, almost alive. Carefully placed together bit by bit in the simplest of phrases, which would often be found in the most graceful of poetry. Ah, those proud, clever little metaphors. They'd be read aloud in someone's parlor room, probably by a cute girl, lovesick and swooning over the letters she'd been sent. Or, some metaphors probably would be used in a play, by Shakespeare or something, giggling in joy every time they were belted out in rehearsals.
As for now? Well, it's almost sad to see what some metaphors have become of now. Now they're found in the stupidest of all commercials, usually about some prescription for prostate medication, or PMS problems. Please tell me, if you were a delicate little poetic metaphor, wouldn't you cry knowing that you were being used in a prostate commercial? Ah, dear things. I mean, I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've been scolded for using to many metaphors. "You're too vague!" my desperate friends shout. It's like, I gotten so many nicknames from Leah just because of my prose online. And, it's all really silly, I know. The fact that I'm even bothering to talk about this kind of stuff in a blog is WAY beyond me. These whole past few paragraphs have actually been a mixture of what sounds like bickering, but is really just my thoughts and ponders as I sit here, a little too bored. :P Sorry everybody.
Truth be told, I'm not really even sure what I'm supposed to write in this blog. It was originally for artistic/thoughtful purposes, you know, something like this. Except, here's the thing, I'm now starting to think that maybe I should just give up and stop posts like this, under the idea that some might start to think I'm insane. And, weirder as it is, I don't even know what to THINK about lately. My mind has been under the same cloud of thoughts for the past few weeks of August, usually focused on the same person. A guy, to be more precise. So, I guess it just feels strange that since he's not in my head anymore, I'm at a loss of what to think about.
Hm, well...Until my mind has restarted itself back into whatever it used to think about, I guess I'm stuck pondering about metaphors, and the rest of everything else, which I call purple ink.

As the ink spilled all over my tongue
My mouth to his lips
Black like poison
I'd won.

Escaping the world for grapes

One the light mist of icy sadness has fallen apon you in August, you realize just how much you really need to fucking go somewhere. Escape. So for now, I've decided to turn invisible, and drift myself on to Hammondsport, NY. Ah, an hour from home, the beautiful country side, and the heart of wine country. Wine? Yes, I said wine. What's made out of wine? Grapes. YES! GRAPES.
Leaving this message for all to read, don't expect to see me. For I intend to be lazily floating among the straight, refined rows of grapes, finding something or other. Or eating. Yeah, I guess you could say I'll do both. Expect pictures, oh dear blog of mine, because Keuka Lake can sure make some pretty pictures.

' The wind picked up, the fire spread.
The grapevine singing, left for dead.
The northern sky looked like the end of days, end of days.'
{Grapevine Fires, Death Cab For Cutie}

The August winter.

You'd think that with a year's worth of papers finished, self journey's explored, tragic episodes ended, flowers of romance burned and forgotten, chimed along with the swift smell of blowing leaves, clay, and potpourri, I'd be happy. Carefree. Weightless. Perhaps content. Yes, even for someone like me, the overly-dramatic-never-satisfied-girl, I could be content. At ease. Done. But no, I'm not. Yeah, it's that simple. I'm not.
Because, for whatever reason, perhaps being the absence of the fireflies outside my window, the uneasy smell of cat puke continuously being replaced on the carpet, fear of a friend lost, or just PMS...there is a silent weight on my shoulders. Invisible and coy, it tricks me into believing it's disappeared, gone off to haunt somebody else's summer being. And I breathe. I breathe long, and hard. Even more depressing, after that supposed-to-be sigh of troubles lifted, I'll realize that my sigh was an awkward heave. A slow, sad, dead thing that nobody wants to be around. Yes, that IS the sound of my sigh. Tsk, tsk...WHAT a disappointment.
But let me tell you another thing, once you've let out a supposed-to-be-happy sigh, and it turned out like cracked, dead leaves...you soon find that your body has gotten so used to checking it's sighs that you actually can't stop sighing. It's true. Believe me. Crazy, and stupid. However, even in a sad, desolate situation such as this one, I've managed to squeeze SOME humor out of it. And here's the thing:
You look hilarious. Just down right funny. I mean, what would you think if you saw some angst-looking, ripped-jean-wearing, neon-striped teen taking heavy sighs uncontrollably? Trust me, you'd laugh your ass off. Ah, aren't sighs the best medicine?

'Cause behind that door, there's nothing to keep my fingers warm
And all I find are souvenires from better times
before the gleam of your taillights fading east
to find yourself a better lie.'
{Title And Registration, Death Cab For Cutie}

Oh well, kind sir.

Hey everybody...Or well, I can't sound to sure that anyone is really reading this anyway, but to who might be, hey. I'm sorry that I haven't been up to date on my posts in a while. And, trust me, I'm not going to lie. I won't say that I was 'busy', or 'drama-related', or 'out of town'. My lack of postage-time was actually due to the fact that I had nothing to say. No words. None. Strange, I know. I first for me entirely. I almost ALWAYS have something to say, to write. Even if it happens to not be the best paragraph, or the smartest sentence...they're genuine words, and they're there for me to do usually two things with:
Say in the most stupid way possible
Leave floating around in my head until I explode from the poetry gas.
So I guess I'll pick right back up on my updates for now, even if my topics aren't the least bit entertaining.
My Apologies.

I, the music geek procrastination queen.

God, listening to nothing can sure get a LOT of songs in your head. I mean, currently I'm sitting downstairs in this small little room I'd like to call my basement lair. Not exactly a basement, but no apparent use other then computers occupy the room. Other than a dark wooden antique desk with two apple computers, one a monster-like being, the other my small solitary laptop. Wires intertwine from mysterious places between boxes on the floor, painting to be a portrait that would resemble tentacles. Various things cover the surface of this techno-monster, being my father's work notes, all scrawled in tiny, professional handwriting. Boring old calculator, two stray pieces of notes, a red important-looking folder, and even a napkin with instructions is penned. As for my stuff, you ask? Well, today that's really easy to cover. One stray red earring, my paint-covered yellow pick, a notebook/sketchpad filled with messily-written lines of improv poetry, blue flyswatter, all accompanied by my red guitar.
So, I'll stop going into deeps discriptions of things that REALLY don't matter, and go back to topic.
My music need is growing by day. By hour. By minute. Even by the seconds that you take to read this shit. I want more bands and so many more albums so badly that I just might go wack and shoot a pig or something-I don't know. Alright, so I have all of these bands that I'd love to get more of, you know, a complete album might be nice. Lately my only hope has been my music-engrossed friend sending me the few songs she can, and the internet. I've been meaning to join Rhapsody for a bit now, getting that whole 'Unlimited Tunes' thing or whatever. But I'm your everyday procrastinator, and all my cash just went to owing my friend twenty bucks because I accidentally jumped into a pond while her own twenty was in my pocket. Oops. Ehm, crap.
And, I'm not just a straight complainer, I've got a good amount of music in possession now, but I can't exactly fit it all onto my old 2 gig iPod. Oh well, looks like my iTunes better get ready for some serious music garage-band explosions. Cuz it will have to hold all this stuff in for a while. ;)
New songs being played on instrument:
Jane Says
Say It Ain't So
El Scorcho
I Summon You
I'll Follow You Into The Dark
By the way, if you find my music-geekiness-complaining interesting, please feel free to leave me any bands you think are awesome. I'll be sure to check them out, and write my ideas.

'Lazy lady had a baby girl
And a sweet sound it made
Raised on pradies, peanut shells and dirt
In a railroad cul-de-sac'
{Odalisque, The Decemberists}

Nutella Adventurer + Spoon Conqueress

Even though I've only missed one day of posting, I feel like I have so much to say! An earthquake has happened, the earth fell apart, get ready everyone, this is going to be one WONDERFUL piece of mind.
Alright, so I guess I'll start out with the more basic updates of my life. For this whole past week, I've been going to this local hang-out camp for half days, then meeting up with another friend in my area to just continue hanging out and do whatever the fuck we feel like doing. No matter what that thing is. We could walk down and scope out all of the different isolated streets branching off of where her and I live, talking about nothing. We could go on a very successful scavenger hunt for the reddest apple of the season, and pick the best car to throw it at. OR, we could come across little hidaways by the side of the road constructed from bushes, and spend about 2 hours trying to take a perfect picture.
And as a matter-of-fact my friends, we did do all these things. Yes. It's true. I do enjoy having the picturesque tree climb. All's better when it's on private property. And I most surely do enjoy laying in the middle of the road, having to violently roll of when cars approach. As I do all of these things, for I am the Spoon Conqueress.

Let's follow that road, where the apples lie.

Have you ever been unwillingly forced, or simply dragged into reading/being read the book of Tuck Everlasting? You know, it's the one story that during one grade of Elementary School or another, your sweet and caring teacher decides to read to the class; only to have the reaction of many dazed and confused little children? If you have, and you understood it, you surely know the feeling of the lingering August days. For over the course of my short lifetime, I've grown to notice this myself: August is a peculiar month.
When I describe it as peculiar, I certainly don't mean anything like the storyline to Tuck. I mean, as cool as that would've been, I sadly didn't find a magic spring of everlasting life water. :( Instead, something else seems to happen specifically in the month of August, opposed to the carefree stress of June, and the lighting-quick social life of July. If you talked to any comics, school teachers, or lonely 4th graders in there un-airconditioned rooms on the topic of August, they would probably just knock it off as boring, lackadaisical, unactive, all gracefully topped off with a blanket of humidity. A slow month. A lacking month. A simple month. The end of the end of summer. Thrill lost.
But during today, which, (to be completely honest) started out like tired lazy bullshit, the only entertainment being a few used-to-be interesting people hanging out saying and doing absolutely nothing. Strangely enough, the day completely decided to flip by the end, and I found myself with the best of friends, walking on a simple road, picking out plants and apples in the hazy air, discussing the world and everything in it. And, eh, don't worry, I'm not trying to say that the world is so fucking happy and we all should cheer every single minute of it. And I'm certainly NOT trying to make/get a complete point across that even on the worst of days, things will perk up. I don't preach, I won't do that. But there's something about laying down holding the sweetest red apple, staring at the gigantic vine-covered bushes surrounding the roads, and talking about everything that makes August a seriously royally fucked month.
A salute to summer!

'I wanna see it when you get stoned on a cloudy breezy desert afternoon
I wanna see it untame itself and break its owner
I wanna see it now'
{Car, Built To Spill}

Escalating Sighs

Helo everybody, uh, this is my first blog I guess. Stupid thing to say, I know, but if I just rushingly jumped into my deep dwellings of life on the first blog...Well, what a lame statement that would be.
So basically what I'm saying is that, to everybody, honestly, EVERYBODY that had faith in my originality of paragraph posting, I'm sorry. Look, It's a late summer night, promise I'll have something a bit more interesting to say tomorrow. For now, you're condemned to be content with what few bits of text I'm giving you. AND even with grammar too. Aren't you lucky. :P
For now, I'll leave you with that.

' 'Smoke was pulled like ribbons from the windows of the car.
i followed the flash of silver from your teeth.
above the tarmac the lights were icy green.'