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Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005
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7:26 pm - bursting onto the scene....
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Sometimes understanding the present means taking a step back and understanding the past. My emotions work in strange but beautiful ways. When I enter a new place, new environment, I take longer to adjust than many others. I often feel as though I am re-learning lessons I have previously learned. Like in an essay, each new paragraph of life requires a reference back to your thesis, a re-understanding of purpose. Sitting outside in the courtyard, watching as the southern California rain falls upon the sixties style architecture, grasping a cigarette in my right hand and my little green book in my left, I realize that I am actually here, free, and that taking a few steps back is okay as long as I am are prepared to eventually take one giant leap forward. I think I'm ready. I need to allow myself to burst free otherwise I will just burst.
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| Saturday, December 11th, 2004
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3:42 pm - the dividing line...
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"I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was- I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared, I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was half-way across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that's why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon."
- On the Road
current mood: contemplative
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| Wednesday, December 8th, 2004
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7:35 pm - So many treasures, so little time to discover them all....
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Recent discoveries:
1) The hammock on Sanborn's roof. Six people, a vest full of Tecates and stars = AMAZING. The only problem is getting down.
2) Pot and nothing to do= hardly ever good for me.
3) Painting and pot= good anytime.
4) Playing dress up is still fun. Especially when mixed with good people, good conversation and sixty dollars worth of wine.
5) The line between friend and more than friend is still hard to cross.
6) Awkwardness is in fact a two-way street.
7) The word "stoner" never really has much meaning until you live with one.
8) I am much more traditional than I ever wanted to be.
"Have you ever had milk straight from the cow?"- Mitch...ahh randomness...creative conversation is a skill mastered only with too much time on your hands.
current mood: optimistic
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9:33 am - i've been having weird dreams...
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She can lead you to live
She can take you or leave you
She can ask for the truth
But she'll never believe you
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| Friday, December 3rd, 2004
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8:45 pm - Oregon
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A quote from an email I recently sent to miss Katelyn Brack:
"I have a very specific memory, which I turn to often when I am a bit homesick for Oregon and friends, of you and me in your car driving out to visit your Italian friend. We had reached the point on the highway where
there were no longer four lanes of crazy traffic cruzing along side us, the suburbs were long gone, and the scene blurring past us now consisted of fields, trees, hills, and the sporadic country house. The afternoon sun was streaming in the side windows and we were singing along to country songs and discussing our summer ambitions. It is a simple memory, but it seems to encompass so much of what I miss: Oregon's beauty, car rides, and the comfort in knowing my friend's histories and them knowing mine. I couldn't have been happier...."
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| Wednesday, March 3rd, 2004
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5:52 pm - Something I wrote last night for Autobio and Diane...
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Saturdays
Approaching the door, a familiar glow wraps me in its comforting blanket. I hear high-spirited laughter and jumbled words consorting within. As I cut through the back pathway, I pass a window playing moving pictures of merriment and festivity. Pink faces sipping wine from crystal goblets, smoke filled clouds lingering near ceiling panels, spreads of hors d’ourves for feasting upon mahogany wood. This is where we play dress up; curls clipped with jeweled pins, lace dresses clinging to young shapes, crisp whites left unbuttoned reveal browned skin, patent leather shoes reflect soft light; our bodies adorned with treasures new and old.
Once inside, red stained pouts press softly against my chilled cheek and greetings rise above the murmur, calling my name and pulling me in. My cream jacket slips from my shoulders and is thrown over the spine of a dining room chair. A Gasp arises and complements flow. “Fabulous.” I am handed a drink, a blue concoction with a sugar-rimmed lip.
Soon, hands are balanced upon their partner’s hips. Friend’s arms entangle, using each other’s strength to stand, their presence for comfort. Beats do not shake posture or break rhythm of step. Conversations take to motion, speaking through dance. Voices turn to speakers, and the kitchen into an arena of song. The count of empty bottles measures energy.
Legs numb, but still moving, slowly crumble to the floor and laughter rings out. Adrenaline flows through the brain, hypnotizing our bodies into believing immunity runs through our veins. Immunity from endings; we’ve created a mirage of paradise to blur the conclusion we know is so near. Ignoring our inescapable ripening age, we’d rather believe it is our right to stay green.
An organization to our chaos suddenly occurs, an unspoken acceptance of a lineage of events. The clock strikes one, and our bodies fall into cars, a key into the ignition. We change arenas, leaving the door locked behind. Two silhouettes appear in the window, our protectors draped in terrycloth robes, blessing us as our car skids away into black. Our destination: where pleasure seekers end their search, a momentary cure.
Circular awareness is possible on the dance floor. Stimulation spins round as music intoxicates my mind and seeps into my bloodstream. Time is no longer linear as songs bleed and synchronized hips sway. Here, the temperature measures desire. Bass may rise and fall, but heat remains constant.
My skirt swings against another’s jeans. I press my hands against a pair of bare shoulder blades. Beads of sweat spill down spines. Mouths suck in a communal breath. I feel the pulse of a boy’s heart against mine. I press my ear to his chest and listen, my feet alternating to the arrangement of his downbeat.
Cigarette smoke lingers against the skin of young girls who take breaks to stand in the rain outside the club. I join them. I let the weight of my body be held in concrete arms, sliding down a cold brick wall. I let go of the shoe straps dangling from my fingertips; they fall, hitting a thin slice of lake forming between a large crack in the cement, spattering speckles against my heel. Vibration faintly pulsates through my skin and up my throat. A song spills tepidly through my mouth, “Let the rain fall down all over me…I’m coming clean, I am coming clean.” A bewitching gust of wind blows goose bumps across my legs, reminding me that outside our fabricated Amazon, coldness has yet to draw to a close.
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| Sunday, February 1st, 2004
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3:31 am - things......bleh...
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"Why don't you take one step to the side, and we can stop doing this silly little dance."
A cleansing cry
Growing up.....
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| Tuesday, January 20th, 2004
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12:04 am - eighteen as of midnight....
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I just made my first decision as a legal adult: no matter what age I am, peanut butter and honey on toast will always be a staple of my midnight snacking. Mmmmm.
Here is a list of some other things I will not sacrifice as a result of my ever depleting "youth": Listening to books be read aloud, hiding beneath my comforter in the middle of the night, dancing in the shower, secret handshakes, otter pops, rebelling, playing dress up with friends, drawing pictures in the sand, splashing, puddle jumping, spying, singing along with the music anytime anywhere despite being tone deaf, jumping fences, sledding, asking to be tucked in, flashlight tag, daisy chains, building forts, speeding, defying any sort of bedtime, believing in rock and roll, climbing out windows and then back in, dipping Oreos in milk, watching "The Sandlot", looking for secret passage ways, letting raindrops fall on my tongue, way too high heels, asking to be told a story, writing, listening to 90's hits, laughing at "Clueless”, letting my imagination run away, and believing people when they say I can be anything I want to be.
My friend’s father captured my state of mind perfectly when speaking about, of all things, love. He said something similiar to this...
When you are seventeen, maybe eighteen, you first fall in love. It takes you away. New. Fresh. Sublime. Then, you realize this person isn't who you thought they were. You walk away with a broken heart. You move on, slowly, and when you are twenty-one, maybe twenty-two, you fall in love again. Heavy. Deep. Intimate. But, you realize love made you blind. Your heart breaks for a second time. You are twenty-three, love falls in your lap, again. Mature, but not quite. Your heart shatters and suddenly, you realize, you've done this before. And that's when it hits you: you have a past.
I’ve been afraid of reaching the point where the different chapters in my story become distinct, a brief hiatus between each. Afraid of remembering things only when I choose to go back. Whole groups of people and places lost in memories. It's usual of me to make decisions impulsively, leaving the idea of regret only floating in the mind of the person by my side. But then when something comes my way, something I can't avoid or escape, a little pain twists and pulls at me. A poking at my side. Do I really want this? Now that it is placed in front of me and I can't stop it from moving beneath my skin, do I even want it there? It's not that I don't trust new experiences, ideas and places.I embrace them. It's that I don't trust the concrete and structured. I don't trust stability. Being an adult means facing things I've pushed away and suppressed. It’s a matter of trusting something I've never known. Believing in something I've always been told I couldn't handle.
But, then I realized, the amount of pasts I've already compiled upon my plate are far more numerous than most. I've been scared many times before, but I never let myself run away. So, why start now?
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| Sunday, December 21st, 2003
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7:59 pm - ...what i was thinking about last night while everyone else drifted into their dreams...
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I've decided that all i wanna do is go to Patagonia...
"The wind chased me everywhere I went in Patagonia. It clogged my sinuses and sent the Jeep slithering across the gravel roads as though on ice. Birds flew backward. Trees grew horizontally. The wind was a living thing. It could be violent, punching holes in glass windows or sending spirals of dust rising above the flat, dry steppe like miniature tornadoes."
....and sleep in the Andes mountains, blanketed only by the thick ocean of stars....
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| Friday, December 19th, 2003
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12:50 am - As my 18th birthday approaches, I feel more and more like little Wendy from Peter Pan
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Wild Horses
by The Rolling Stones
Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you
Graceless lady you know who I am
You know I can't let you slide through my hands
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses couldn't drag me away
I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or off stage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses couldn't drag me away
I know I've dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken tears must be cried
Let's do some living after we die*
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses we'll ride them someday
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses we'll ride them someday
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12:43 am - Thoreau, deserts, dancing, and prosthetics..oh my
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So with college news looming in the air and applications continuing to pile upon my desk, I've had a lot of time to contemplate my future. These are the plans if college fails me, or I fail college:
Plan A: interpretive dance
Plan B: start manufacturing my line of prosthetic *bling bling* legs...i kid u not
Plan C: surrogate mother
Plan D: psychic
Plan E: BREASTS- coming to a town near you
Plan F: my rhymes- kelc : ghetto :: Chris Myers : hip-hop
Plan G: there are plenty of gay men...right?
Plan H: retreat to the forest to live like Thoreau
........
Plan Z: professional "Thirsty Kelsey"
Let's hope it doesn't come to any of this.... ::fingers crossed::
....well, at least until after college
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