Little tune

Alright?


I'm not gonna wait for you tonight


Live from the stage


I'm sure


I'm not gonna wait for you anymore in new wave its alright


I'm walking away from you tonight


Live on the stage


I'm sure


I'm not gonna look at you anymore


The same way

art rambling

just got done painting. gonna call it a night. it's almost 2am. i don't want to sleep in til noon, so i need to sleep. my painting's looking tragically rough right now. still very early in its stage. right now i'm just color blocking everything. every time i start to paint something i always fear that i have forgotten everything i know and that i won't be able to produce something of a certain quality. i always fear that my glory days have past and that this one will be my decline in ability. but it all works out in the end. it ends up becoming more than i ever realized. The difficulty of this piece has decreased. i'm not left with the naked, raw feelings screaming out at me from each glued page. i don't see the sentences so much as just seeing the words. and now it's not even the meaningful words. just words. there's a certain distance between me and the words that were written. Right now my figure is looking to trendy and perfect to speak up for me. i just can't find the right girl, the right face. i can't think of whose face i need. i see the emotion, the feeling, i just can't see the face. i'll know it when i see it, but i haven't found it yet. more distance grows between the emotions and the mere art. right now my girl looks vulnerable, kind of lamb-like. kind of bundled and huddled up together, not shriveled up and mournful. i hope i can get my message across. it is very important to me that i do. little words disappearing without even a trace. no notice, no warning. the i love yous slip off the page never to be seen again, much like the real letters, stuffed and buried away in a drawer or envelope you will never read. good bye, love; and hope and emotions and peace and the old way of life. you have disappeared much like the pain and suffering behind this canvas. i can't believe this was so hard. and now it is merely a bright, purpose and yet unpurposefully driven task. a hobby or craft, if you will. should that make me sad? or should i care? i have to just rememebr to stay true to what this FEELS like, not how it is dictated to look. i need to remember what I WANT it to do, not how i am told to do it. I take hold and MAKE it show what i want it to show. otherwise, it's just another stupid 'pretty picture' that has no meaning. and for all the pain and grief i put into this, i want it to work. i want it to still whisper and flutter past your ears every time you look at it. i achieved a mark a few weeks ago, because i made someone hurt to look at it. they couldn't look at it. ha. mission accomplished. yet, can i do that now? the words, the strongest, loudest, most horrible cries have subsided. can i do the same with a drawing?? i hope so. until then, we'll just keep on working on it. see how it goes.

where are you tonight? how are you doing? i hope you are well. loneliness ensues, per usual. freakin' a.

"Last night, Good night"/ Miku

Don't ask me to explain. The music's pretty and some of the animation is cool- okay, so maybe subtract the Japanese Imogen Heap stuff and the 3d anime singing haha. Don't judge me! lol
Certain things about it remind me of the James Jean video he did for Prada's spring 08 collection. kinda weird, artsy?

another thursday come and gone, this time without freaking out. panic attacks still typical while driving there, and insane raging floods of impatience coming home, but whatever. we survived it. man i am totally ready for this to end. i have to be patient though. to everyone, i'm sorry this has turned into crappy lamo letters and notes. it WAS writing and poetry and crap, but now just whining. sorry guys. like i said, not for you any way, but any WAY. gotta go out of town this weekend. suuuuuucks

(you)

i don't think i've cried that hard in some time, especially when it's not brought on by a crazed, frenzied knife/claw attack. incredible. the space between my lip and my nose is numb. i've never felt that before. at least you gave me the time to talk. you gave me a whole 51minutes to talk. Thank You.


did i mention-- a whole 51 minutes of uninterrupted speach. I could not ask for more. thank you. so much.

reduced to-

i remember looking into that mirror once before. i saw two people there. once from afar. once from standing before it, defiant and happy; nurturing, with heart melted. adulation grand. love sang so sweetly. now a hagard figure stands before; fat and bloated, ugly and alone. circles under their eyes, makeup stained and smudged. go cut your cheek. leave a mark under your eye.ugly scar. bloody sink. we used to be two faces in the mirror. now we are one.

another reply

hey. i'm sorry i acted like such a freak today. i know you could probably tell i was scared. i don't think i even looked you in the eye once. i don't rember it at all. maybe just once, but i know i looked at pretty much everything but you. i treated you like anyone else i don't know. it was so weird. i'm sorry. thank you for getting off the phone, by the way. i was disappointed to see it, but I thought it was really nice how you apologized after you put it away. thank you.
any way, i'm sorry i was scared. my heart just sinks. i get gun shy, like i'm waiting to be slapped or beaten. It's not a good way to live. In fear- that's the word that encompasses all of that... i cringe, waiting for the rod to fall upon me. and plus, i can't say anything with your audience or comrades around. it sucks.

letter to you

hey. man so much to tell you! where do i begin??
 just got back from class. stupid teacher. took a test, so if we had carpooled, i'd still be there waiting for your class to let out in about 10mins or so. sigh...
you'd laugh at me if you could see me downing red bulls and candy bars in class. no shame tsk tsk...
mom made an 'everything' soup for dinner tonight. you'd probably like it- it's spicey. enough to make you sweat and your nose run haha. sounds perfect, right?
on other news, things you've been left out of- chris got married two weekends ago(?) halloween weekend lol. mom and clay are the hospital right now- the ford's dad had a stroke yesterday, and they don't think he's going to make it through the night. sucks for them. "never get a break"-- sounds familiar, right?
any way, much love, sorry you're at home now, doing whatever it is you're doing. miss you. call me some time? or not. i don't know. oh yeah-- i totally snapped at my boss today! haha. it was kind of funny, but then again not. she could've let me have it, but it resolved itself quickly. that's good i guess. oh well. almost let my teacher have it too. he's such a asdfj;dsjf;alsjfs [insert whatever word you know i'd like to say haha] [hint: well, never mind, that's giving away too much! haha] sooo... now what do we talk about? i don't know. it's funny, when you were there at work, heather made the remark, "you look so, solemn." hm. that's how it felt. didn't know it registered so clearly. so obviously, you could see it. You have the ability to read my face far better than most, (even though it can't be too hard lol) and i KNOW i probably make that face everytime we're in the same building. sigh... i'm sorry i do that to you. i'm sorry i make those faces. i'm sorry i pout. i'm sorry i crumple up like a deflated animal. that's how it goes i guess... don't mean to be so gloomy, it's just a LITERAL weight that descends on me, like some bird of prey or something. it just descends, and sits on my shoulders, claws into my heart. it's large wingspan covers me in shadow. sounds like a painting. i'll probably do that too. i'll put it on my list of BS projects, that may or may not come to fruition, depending on how quickly i can work. man, i tell you, this current project is a downer! makes me feel reallly sh*^&%^y. oh well. Poor Prada girls project gone to the side. they were going to be my next great venture, but clearly not. i'm on a roll, baby. gotta get the work a goin'. along with an essay, quizzes, reading, more reading, and i want to say another(???) essay all due friday. sigh. check check check. oh god, and then there's that trip out of town this weekend. uuug barfffff......... man i wish you were around. that way i could text you with funny updates, and miss you the whole time i was there, and think and dream about being home, and finding a crazed stowaway at my door at 2 in the morning. geez... those were the days. but now they're aaaaaaaaalways a lot more like the other occasions, where i was left waiting for a no-show because of some drunken stupor. (*(*&(&_(*_)*you're killing me.... sighhhhhhhh... i'm waiting for a response or something i guess, hence the stalling. when i'm done, this means i'll have to find something else to do. oh well. holy crap it's 9:25now. well, if we were at school, we'd be walking out to my car, or already heading to the highway. wanna get some coffee first, before we go? i've got homework to do. "yeah me too"
k.

always the fall

Had some thoughts scribbled down earlier but they all got washed away. So here is a new one, scribbled down on my arm in the car.

i never

thought

the

summer

would

end...

But I

keep
forgetting
that
autumn
succeeds
it.

still looking for a fix.

[m] wasn't there today, so i don't know what's going on yet. man this sucks. i really really wish [ ]

"is it getting better, is it getting worse? was it ever worth it, was it just a curse?"
"are you getting better, now?"
"you always talk too little, too late, too much, too little, too late, for me to figure out."
"I still can't figure out..."

******

no new messages. no new emails, no new anything to check. nothing. hopelessly driving myself crazy. this sucks. i'm tired of it.

can't you just see the noose?

lack of clever title or narrative here

sleep was torture last night. about the time i wrote that last post, my head was killing me.
two days worth of pain finally caught up with me.
unnumberal blows to the head will do that to you. I think i might have a bruise, but i can't tell. i know i do, but the rest aren't visible.
took a hydrocodone to kill the pain.
i lay my head on the pillow and the pressure sends my head into a fueled frenzy of pain. I role over and can't sleep. reverse blood flow hurts equally.
took a pill to ease the pain, induce some sleep. it eventually worked. now i have some stupid papers to write. bullcrap essays and homework. i really just want to paint.
sincerly,
me.

Dodging Bullets. Firing Squad. Ready- Aim- Disarm:

AT 8:44am, I received a call from someone.
I knew who it was, I saw their name come up on the screen, perplexed to say the least.
More so was their confusion, when I answered the phone.
"Alex?"
"Yes."
"Hey, uh, this is ------- -------
-uh... I'm sorry I dialed the wrong number. I'm sorry about that, I-- I'll see you later."
Okay.
(abbreviated, and abridged version)
Any way.
I think I know why you were calling. There's only one of two reasons, and especially, due to your surprise and apologies felt.
Either, I'm the first person in your alphabetical call log, and you called me by mistake-
OR
you called me because you were looking for someone else, that you always confuse me with. I am her, she is me, etc.
If you were calling for her- well- I know what you were calling about.
Did you know I read your face? Every Thursday night when I see you- I look at you- I
try to read between the lines- your face is red- are you stressed? Are you distraught?
You look stressed, you look worried- is it internal pain registering on your face, or are
you just tired from a long day's work?
*So far, it's only ever been the latter of those. Which is good I guess.
But each time, I feel like I'm walking up to the firing squad. Whose name are they going to call this time?
*Each night, as the announcements get closer and closer, my heart wildly palpitates, and my face grows flush. Splits seconds I cry, I mourn, I am in anguish, and then the kettle's flame receeds, and my face is cool once more. Until the first part dismisses. And then we sing. My words falter and squeak. I can't get out the words, and the message tears at my heart. We stop. I close up my book and fall to my chair, crumpling in my seat like I pile of dirty laundry. Here it comes. I just know it this time. I look back at you to see what your face will tell me. I can't tell. "Well, friends, we have a couple of announcements this evening..." Oh god here it comes. And quickly, it fades, and we move on to the first part. [of the second half].
Thank god it's over. I did not get picked. My name was not called. Or, Rather,
Your name was not called. I can calm down and settle in again.
I am angry and yet releaved at the same time. Such a tease, and yet such a sigh of relief. Human emotion is such a dirty game to play. All the blood, sweat, and tears poured out on behalf of it, or rather, in its name. Dirty tricks we play.
Well, another bullet dodged, for another day.
Unfortunately, it's still got to be only a matter of time. And that's what sucks. If he called you today, that's what's going on. Another bullet, another day...

Time of Death- Pronounced 8:04 PM

So today wasn't the official death, but mountains fell and walls broke.
You were there. So was someone else.
I tried to talk, despite my half spoken delicacies, avoiding every little thing I wanted to say. I had so much to say. At least I know the truth, I guess.
At least I know parts of it.
At least I know about that box you keep hidden on the shelf.
(The one you keep your heart hidden in. The one where you have been taken captive. The one where the savages keep you and lock you away.
You are vulnerable and sad there; but they think they are protecting you. They think you are safe there.
It's okay- you can come out-
speak louder so they can hear you- get out. Tell me goodbye-
Tell me where you are going.
Pain pain pain pain-
My trachea collapsed from angry yelling- I strangled my self again today, [and] choked out the liar. We attempted to suck the life out of him but stopped so we could live free-
I enjoy punishing him, because he made me hurt. It made me feel bad. It made me weak.It made me a victim. It made me cry.
We tell us we are weak. We tell us when it's too late. We tell us when to run. We tell us when to scream.
We call ourselves names. We feed ourselves the lie. We cut off our oxygen. We cut off our heart.
We sever all arteries. We exist as enemies. We eat our own liver. We drink our own blood. We write it on the wall. We smear it from the pages. We blot it from existence. We carve it into our face. We gnash our teeth at it. We wear our red on bandages. We peel skin with claws. We drink to violence, and sing to death. We are the enemy, we are the death.
We scream. We pray. We beg. We plead. We scream. We pray. We beg. We plead.
We grovel on our knees. We beg at your feet.

Sing to us again, oh scream out again. Love me again. Please, oh Pain, please.
Heart, my love of all, please remember me again. Please sing to me again. Please make that face again, that beautiful, content, happy, small face, again. Please be beautiful for us again. Please grant us favor and love and adulation again. Please love us and raise us again. Put us on high, so we feel safe and loved again. We feel safe in your eyes once more-
-and like a mighty icon, we fall to the earth, backwards, into the dirt, facing the sky, not knowing where we land.
Our arms and legs flailing while we scan the earth below. In a crushing blow, we breathe the dust. We look around. Our pedestal is gone. Our arms, lifting upward, to cradle, have fallen away. We are left, standing. We have to walk on our own. The audacity! The Pain! of Human Love.

Where is my pedestal? Where is my carriage grand?
That I should ride the surface of the earth, light as a bird, never touching land?
You have raised me on high, and then fell below. Where are you now?
Where else, am I to go?
You lifted me up, made me feel like a queen-
At love, of which cost, a life unclean.
My life defiled, my love unrequitted,
yet once more restored, my sins I repented.
You gave me Love, yet once more again,
showered me with precious life, sunshining rain-
Beauty and love. Life and all else above-
a happy Abode, now of which, there
are none of.
Where do I go, from thus, henceforth?
To scour the soil and earth again,
Looking for that someone, to return my self worth?
Who shall restore it, when, which one doth reclaim?
Who will give my pedestal, return my shining fame?
I look forward to be the jewel of your crown,
but until then, to the earth, I am boun'.

Ceremony

i feel like i am embalming you. i am sealing you up, burying you, not still alive, but immediately after you exhale your last living breath, and deflate your hollow, sagging lungs. your soul went out on that last breath. you are no more. as i meticulously wrap you up, the task becomes harder and harder. first your toes and your feet- i can pass that task. but then i reach your soft stomach, still warm to the touch. though you are dead, gone, your insides are still half alive, shutting down, failing. they are warm, surrounded by your blood. liquids still gurgle and squirm through your intestines warm. i lift your dead body in my arms to wrap your waist around. though you are dead, you are still pliable, still movable, though heavy and limp at ev'ry angle. i am so weak- and you are so heavy- i have not the strength, and your own body is turning against me. i have not the strength to lift you. so i set you down and in a terrible attempt to lay you gently, my arms give out and your half wrapped body falls heavily to the ground........your arms i wrapclean of scars like mine but ugly with different forms, hideous and disgusting in their own right. they disappear from my mind again. the memory of them is but a farce. they were never there, hard to believe.then the hands- the soft kind hands- they are wrapped. gone forever. the fingers- beginning to curl inward like hideous talons. they were once warm and soft, familiar. they were once calloused from working and living. but now they are cold. the most extreme joints- the palms of the fingers themselves, the center for touch, the swirling designed surfaces- now hollow and cold. i feel each ripple of skin- each crevice , each scale- they were once your hands, now they are no more-they are empty hollow twigs, dried and crunching like desert wood. they are cold- and burn like ice. they are not yours any more- i recoil and wrap the hideous things away, folding one over the other across your chest. your face- oh your face-i cannot do it. just as i imagine sucking the life out of you, i feel as if the gauze has covered my own mouth. i scream in agony of the terrifying, most frightening thought. chills and shrieks fill my heart and a hellish, feral noise makes its way out of the hollows of my soul, escaping on the wind like a gust of rain spattering the glass windshield. i awaken from my dreamYour dead and lifeless body still lays before me, wrapped in plaster cast-gauze, suffocating like the dust of moths' wing. scream at me! let me know you are alive!! scream at me!!! again, this horrible howling, guttural noise escapes from the pit of my stomach, all the air in my body dispelled into the empty room, echoing through the chambers underground-open your eyes! show me signs of life! bleed out, SOMETHING! just show me you're alive!!i bandage up your neck and chin. i bandage up above your brow- this is your last chance. speak to me, let me know you're alive! your bones are heavy- you will not move. the task at hand gets harder and harder. lift your head! just lift your head up! i can't wrap you up alone! your head is much too heavy for me to lift myself! and this gauze! oh this gauze is like a damned curtain of velvet soaked in rain!! i can't hold your head up and wrap you with it! please just speak to me. please even if you must go, please pick up your head for me so that i can do this. let me bury my dead, please. let my bury my dead already. i am tired of this build up. if you don't want to be back, then goodbye. i cover your face, smother your mouth, black out your eyes and you will never speak again. is that what you want?

The Beginning

this is all i'm reduced to- spending every waking moment checking my email, dashing and yet slowly marching to answer my phone, whether a call or a single note chime of a text. all i'm doing is waiting- waiting for the verdict. will someone just please answer me? i feel like rusted metal. some great towering artifact finally collapsing in on itself. its thin bird legs folding in, collapsing under the crushing weight of the smallest bird lighting on its silo. my hands are heavy stones, my fingers extensions of twigs, creaking and trembling in the still breeze. i turn my head in agony. i can't bear to see your face shining through.each pasted strip of paper falls apart in my clumsy hands. they are too limp and not agile enough to move. delicate paper falls apart in my fingers and falls in an oozing clump to the floor.the words-oh those horrible wordswhispering to me in the loudest cacophony of noise that no one else seems to hear.they are like a hundred voices whispering all around me, speaking all at once, driving me crazy. they leave me weak and impotent.i wish it would go away.

Why 'parapraxia'?

Because.
Its definition:

par·a·prax·i·a (pr-prks-) or par·a·prax·is (-prkss)
n.
Defective performance of purposive acts, such as a slip of the tongue, thought to reveal a subconscious motive.

para·praxis (-prak′sis)
noun pl. parapraxes -·es′ (-sēz′)
an action in which one's conscious intention is not fully carried out, as in the mislaying of objects, slips of the tongue and pen, etc.: thought to be generally due to a conflicting unconscious intention