It's Freeing [entries|friends|calendar] freeing [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[07 Oct 2008|01:58am] those days when i couldn't fall asleep alone - i would wake up before he did every morning and pretend to be asleep to drink in the warm body and dream-cocoon. it feels like yesterday; it's still on me. for so long i used to drown in despair - fill up my lungs with the retrospective idealism of something that never existed in the first place. confused, romanticized haphazard images. now things are different; memories are muted, dreams are vague. i am floating now and moving somewhere but lordy lord i can never get rid of this water. these days, i try not to feel much at all. i don't even miss things the way they used to be any more. lost friends or lost lovers. i just keep thinking about how things have turned out so differently than i thought they would. life is funny like that, isn't it? i know that these are my last months here, in this city. there is a kind of melancholy in the air - always. there is sharp salt air, deep blue nights of fog and wool hats for the last time. and that water... 11 across the sky

[27 Aug 2008|11:08pm] I put on my watch for the first time in 4 months today. It felt like I was attaching a prosthetic limb... I'm having phantom sensations of a free wrist. Tomorrow is the day. 3 across the sky

word vomit. [26 Apr 2008|02:42am] i've tried to avoid this type of writing (self reflection) because it feels so repulsively self indulgent. but somehow exposing myself in this way to utter strangers in this journal is so weirdly satisfying. this past (almost) year has been what feels like a long dream. disorienting, confusing, fragmented - as if there are pieces of narrative here and there that i can't quite string together. i feel as if i haven't been fully conscious since last summer. in june i went to sleep. i quit my job and got into bed. the large bay windows in my room faced east but they were too large to block out the sun - and i always felt too hot between rough cotton sheets, blinded, caught between early morning and sunset. and i came back again to go to school this year and i did go to school but it felt like i was still in that bed, sleeping and dreaming fitfully, feeling a sense of multiplicity and incongruity in my own mind. the melancholy is unforgiving. And i have a plan. I really need this plan to not fail because things cannot continue this way. this summer i have to get out of bed. i have to think about nobody - no men of future or past, and only think about simple things that make me happy. riding my bike on the boardwalk. taking my charcoals and paper to the lake. cutting my hair. making cous cous salad with fresh sweet cilantro, writing letters, and having sugared grapefruit for breakfast with a crossword. i need a little bit of time to earn money for paris. and you - here i have a chance to see you and make things real. to be honest, there isn't much else that i want more. it's strange. but i still feel always sad and struggling and i dont want you to see that. this present reality is my focus and you are this shelved future. for some reason, it is more frightening than anything else in the world that you could see me as a real flawed human being. i'm scared of seeing myself that way. i'm not ready for this. here it is, so bare. i'm such a mess! so what do i do? i don't know. so many feelings here it's almost gross. 8 across the sky

[07 Apr 2008|01:26am] Is this thing dead? dead dead deadity dead? I hope not because I still have words yet i feel i've been asleep for a year or more, and now can come fresh starts, clear mind, decisions. home. and space - so much space i can feel it on my neck and hit ground running. how long have i been asleep? 26 across the sky

[08 Feb 2008|01:27am] sometimes everything seems so dark. but... i'm already thinking about spring, i think i can smell it coming. 5 across the sky

[29 Aug 2007|11:55pm] i haven't been here in a while because i am simply too sad to write anything 10 across the sky

[05 Jul 2007|01:34am] Nothing EVER turns out the way it's supposed to be.

[24 May 2007|05:58pm] [ music | Velvet Underground - Some Kinda Love ] when i look back on the most recent period of my life, i remember feelings and not events, dreams and not reality. or at least, it seems difficult to tell them apart. winter was a waking dream, a transient and mainly fearful flight; insecurity can be a sickness, and it plagued me where i had virtually no defences - night after night, in sleep. I found myself in a large house, amidst a large party; my friends were there, but always left the room before I entered it. he was there, kissing a girl on the roof, someone whispered to me. they fade in and out, sigh and murmur until morning. i woke from these sad and abandoned, sometimes but not always remembering the dream itself. when i turned over to see him next to me, i always felt genuinely surprised, as if we had been separated be years. i was remembering fights that never occurred. Then something curious happened. I was faced suddenly with the 'if' of 'alone'. i liked it. i liked it's immeasurability, it's reliability, tranquility, and most of all, possibility. it was beautiful. What was even more beautiful was that i felt suddenly imbued with the ability to choose whether or not i wanted it - now that I could see it for what it was, instead of shadows in half-formed dreams. maybe it had something to do with the weather. warm yellow afternoons can change a lot of things. i came home when spring did and the dreams were clean gone. I chose to stay with him, but i'm not scared anymore because i have nothing at all to lose. i laugh more. all the time. i enjoy moments more; him throwing pebbles at my window to wake me up, coffee on rainy days, skin on skin... because they make me feel happy, simple, and good. yesterday i dreamed that he was standing in the kitchen, wearing a pink and white trimmed apron, and cutting vegetables for dinner with helen mirren. i woke up laughing and fell back asleep listening to him breath. 13 across the sky

[09 May 2007|10:21am] I'm 20, today. 45 across the sky

[27 Apr 2007|04:20pm] I'm bringing this back to life. Hi. 47 across the sky

[30 Jan 2007|08:41pm] restlessness/dreams of wandering/a dulled, soft fear of loss and wanting. there are pictures of mine that are ghosts of places. i walk their hallways and see the chestnut panelling and mismatched coffee mugs, tiles, and smell things we hid as children and never found; things i can remember long after i have forgotten this place with relentless pigeons, silent ice, grey roadways, thin trees whispering and waning, and wind chimes. 26 across the sky

[03 Jan 2007|04:11pm] 2007. I've lost track of all of you; what with purposely neglecting my writing, i've neglected this journal. But here it has faithfully remained. It's hard for me to keep up with those of you who do read this; I know there are a few, and I am always amazed and greatful to discover that people out there keep up with my airy and inescapably idealistic thought-trains. So if you still do, post here. Let me know you're reading, and I'll read back. Say hello to me, tell me about the nice things in your life. Post a picture if you like. 105 across the sky

rising and falling, from minute to minute [21 Dec 2006|02:58am] I can't help but feel like it's inevitable, and I can't afford to have my heart broken again. 16 across the sky

[06 Dec 2006|10:02pm] I'm sitting in the bright womb of a small coffee shop; the type of coffee shop that has Wittgenstein quotes on the inside of the bathroom door. I'm studying for a final exam that has swallowed me whole, but I won't even remember in five years. I won't remember this final or how well I do in my acting interview tomorrow morning or Wittgenstein quotes; only feelings, moments, faces. I went to that bathroom to sit and cry, but then I stopped, came back out, and bought a bowl of pasta salad. And now I know that I'm just trying to find ways to feel sorry for myself when I don't even want to. I don't want to feel sorry for myself. I have found good moments; I have a man in my life, a warm house, smiling friends, artichokes, mittens. A dark roast coffee and pasta salad. It's enough! Exclamation mark! 29 across the sky

[16 Nov 2006|06:59pm] my words are coming back. fast, fierce, furious, ferocious. each day i have something new; warm november sun, paint paint paint, shanghai flowers inking across pages, kisses. i am back from the cold, artistic dead. it's wonderful to have someone who wants to hear your story; it's wonderful to bicycle at night through the thick thirsty atlantic mist, street lamps peeking dimly through naked trees at you, laughing, damp asphalt humming. my heart flying on my wheels. little years in my pocket. small rosy blond ringlets sits next door on the steps, pink doll-size windbreaker, smiling and waving. when i came back to the big city i flew in and back out in the night-time; a million little lights on a map like a breath of anonymity and mechanical masses. potentiality, infinity, indifference, goodness, badness, love. it holds a new life for me, waiting. I see Ernie the Irish Bartender for the first time in six years. He touches my chin and turns my face, considering my angles, blue eyes, cheekbones. In a thick unaltered accent he tells me that a "lass should use what she's got and give it to the world". am i acting yet? his own eyes are ensconced in laugh lines, warm and wrinkling and telling me "never do it for the money". he was a musician in the rolling hills. rock and roll ireland. an absurd old charmer and i blush so easily; but it's just enough to remember what i want and all the futures i've built. and with a good martini. 19 across the sky

[01 Nov 2006|01:05am] happy fucking halloween; life's but a walking shadow. 28 across the sky

[18 Oct 2006|01:31am] i have lucid drifting dreams about lions and clocks and onions; a tide of anxieties swelling into wintering nights, and writer's block heavies my hands. i have new pens and brushes; they're strong and silent. there is an ocean of india ink thirsty for stiff paper. but right now i am blind and mute, waiting at the bare bright sea. three times a week i have a teacher who shows me how to breathe, how to turn my lungs into wings. 9 across the sky

[20 Sep 2006|06:30pm] i guess i'm an acting student now; i seem to be perpetually layered in all black stretch fabrics and incessant spandex. the others wear their blacks as a badge of honour, hiking through campus amongst the sciencers and lawyers and psychologers with their backpacks and jazzshoes and silly grins. i mostly feel like an existentialist; the result of which has been indulgances in philosophy and cigarettes, neither of which are good for me. i also wear chanel no. 5 every day now, because it reminds me of my brother and audrey hepburn. on saturday afternoon, someone anonymously and unexpectedly left a bouquet of sunflowers in the basket of my bicycle. it made my month, i think. 50 across the sky

navigation [ viewing | most recent entries ] [ go | earlier ]