Stuff and Nonsense

I can't remember how the words fit inside the quotation marks, but it's something to the rhythm of -- What they say, 'write what you know' is silly. Write what you don't know. Write about the yous you have not been yet, or almost were, or could have been, or could still be. Write yourself born into another body, write yourself into the nos of you and the way you might be still if you are late to work, or late to marriage, or late to your whole life. Write you happy. Write you a way you do not know yourself. It's all within you anyway. Writing what you know is silly because you know all of it--- if you are aware of your essence, you can be aware of you in the midst of anything. It doesn't mean you make those choices. It just means know your character enough to throw them into anything- and know how they would respond.

Thinking of this as I am writing you into a book I have not written yet but am writing every day. I am thinking of you and eyes so bright and the world so dark but only because it was night time and we were speaking in circles. We knew what was going on. We still do. We do forever. I am just saying there is something beautiful in the possibility of what could have been when you know you never really wanted it. I can have it, in a different way, exactly how I want or picture. It's no matter. It's fine, even.

I am working on working it out. Working on making it better than I knew it might have been. I am working on a better me, buried inside of a me I have been desperately trying to shove down into the belly of my own definitions.

Something about all of this makes me want to buy a Roladex. 

I am already the person I was born to be. But what am I doing with that?

"If you are born January 21st..." and other important details

Neglecting my knack even though I've got nothing better to do- thus informing my peers about my lack of damn to give, not really to sound critical or serious or even like I mean anything I say- basically, I'm just saying. Something that comes out when I press tips to keys is this rhythm of repetition that I use all the same words to say really different words and I like saying the words they kept telling me not to, words that are weak, not curse words but worse than that - things like beautiful and different, really and amazing, happening and being, and all these other important meaningless things. I don't know. I just start spitting and this is what comes out- this, and something like the way it's just nice to have the pillow between your knees when you sleep even though you're not old enough yet. Basically, I am just trying to not talk about a lot of things maybe I should be talking about just because I don't want to think about those moments and that coldness and how I am so cold. You know, in that big book of birthdays, one of my flaws is "lacking self-criticism" which behaves in different ways in my life like allowing me to live more according to me doing whatever the heck I want to do because I don't let myself/others judge me/I don't care. But there's this big part of me resistant to that phrase because I feel like where does all of this come from then? How am I so upset? I am cold and worried about freezing in the middle of a heat rash in a consistently sunny city in the most radiant life of my light. I don't know. Something about being this autobiographical makes me feel like a jerk and also uncomfortable, because if I am being honest, I just write in circles. I don't know what I'm doing here any more than anyone else. I truly don't believe I have much of a purpose other than to just speak my truth (#selfish?). But the worst is that I just do it anyway. I don't care. If I am being honest, I could sit alone between the roses for a hundred years and feed off the way it feels to not care, to not worry, to not be bothered with any of this stuff I worry about normally that I'm aware doesn't matter, and I would just gravitate toward the love and listen to God and feel the way things are and not think so much about the "right thing" or the "way" or any of it.

I hope for your sake you don't know what I mean, you know?

Because of You.

Floating in something less than spacious and singing Britney Spears songs at 9 in the morning, I am more in love with my happiness than I ever have been comfortable with before. Not all things are reconciled, but I am reconciled with that fact of my life. I am not seeking out a finite peace, but I am at peace and in love with the chaos within me. Though this is often the source of my lows, or something like that, it is not something that bothers me--- it is something of me that I have grown to love and not feel consumes or drowns me, but inspires and awakens me. I am tolerant of this mechanism, long limbs reaching out like sun through pines behind my house back in Georgia to wrap around and hold me until I am aware of my exact darkness. I am walking with God through the places  I have been and telling Him what I can remember of those places, and trying to express my side of the story without explaining myself too much. He laughs at the way I say certain words like "you" and "fear" but we are already ten steps ahead of anyone who wouldn't want to understand anyway. Don't worry. It's not a big deal.

(This is the part where we just have a conversation, and learn not to tell anyone else about it. People sometimes wait for you to say something they can judge. Some people...)

 I am just like you sometimes. I see this in blue and brown and green eyes all around me and I can't seem to explain to anyone else that there is something so dear to me as the way somebody looks at you when they see you for the first time, really.

There was something insane about the carpet floor, about the way you said her name, about how softer the world seemed when we were able to look one another in the eyes, for the first time, as friends. And I'm just grateful for the grace of forgiveness. Not only toward you, but the way I felt as if I'd forgiven myself, something I could not know how to do without you. The world, even softer still, growing soft and soft and cotton and clouds. I'm happy. This is something I need to accept.

And there was something about the time of night, my new "you" pushing my back along the hardwood, our lips holding back stifled laughter, and the music playing, and the look in your eyes, and knowing I love you. The way you say my name and the way you ask me questions. Something about how you are Something, my George Harrison, about the way you move me, about the way I push back and you don't let me, about toast and chirping birds and a really well formed sentence and seeing and old friend and a perfect frame for an okay picture and the way my handwriting looks right after I wake up and the day you can finally just leave your window open. This is what you are for me.

My heart moves fast and with you even faster, and you gave this to me, this ability to open it. Because it's never been quite this way, I still am constantly fumbling to figure how to be this way, how to enjoy without question, just how to come up and meet you for air at a normal person's requirement. You are teaching me how to breathe... but I'm a stubborn student. Learning to "let go" is something that makes me very nervous. But, for you,  I'll try.

"I respect you for challenging me." ... Marilyn Manson said this in an interview I was randomly watching and I loved how he put this. Dita Von Teese was the featured guest on Love Line last night and I ended up just researching her all night and that inevitably lead to me looking into Marilyn Manson interviews... wacked out night, but in a good way. Interesting cats, no doubt.

Anyway, rando shoutout to this fantastic makeup artist, because of a completely non-makeup-related video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8rVg3mT7Y8&feature=g-all-u&context=G2b9669fFAAAAAAAAVAA I loved this.