they look like trees

In his comedy central special, I believe, Demetri Martin tries to make sense of people wearing camoflauge. They’re easy to spot assholes he says. They look like trees. Ha ha ha ha ha.

Seriously. I know most of my posts aren’t full of brow-furrowing content but this one requires some attention. You don’t blend in dumb-ass, you look ridiculous.

Unless it’s a requirement of your job, skip the camo. Most of you out there are wearing out-dated camo anyway. If you’ve seen a solider lately, it the ‘digital camo’ now, not the traditional camo. I’m sure they sell better fashion somewhere besides the Kmart hunting department.

stamina

I look at it this way: If he can sign up to run 200 miles in 25 days, I can run to Longmeadow and back.

Correction: I can run/pant and jog/end up walking a little too. It’s only 2 miles out and the same back home.

I can never compare his endurance and self-will to my tiny sacrifices here and there, but I can certainly put myself in his place. I can try. We all should. Take my advice. Isn’t that all we can do?

what do you dream about?

I’ve had the strangest dreams, the most vivid, upsetting heart wrenching flights of the darker side of the imagination. They never seem to be the ones I forget within a few moments of waking.

feel it, dear

Been listening to a new album, a personal favourite. And it oddly follows my emotional…[insert opinion here]…

It’s a cold rush that gets you to crank up the volume and just feel. What the past was, everything you wanted, all you are right here and right now, everything you can see ahead of you, and everything that can go wrong; it’s all broken down in a few lines and a chorus that brings you to your knees.

Like a train wreck. You want to stop watching but you can’t. It follows just the same–it hurts to sum up the seeming complexity of your life but the pain feels so good.

I just need. To hear a voice. To not be weak. To give up and give in.

“You lived a time of lies until you told me everything
I hope we make amends, but you don’t
Life taught you how to fly and then you flew away from me
You left me haunted, star the ending image of the one

Cos they’re still in you too low
All the voices you don’t know
And they’re still in you too low
All the choices that you chose You harbored all the wasted sighs to define the quiet drone
I’ll let you start again, but you won’t
I saw you pray for change and then you walked all over me
You wanted what you could not have and now you are alone”

every day epics

Epic [ep-ik], n:

imposingly or impressively great; heroic; majestic; surpassing the ordinary.

Which any great, every-day romantic moment, in the correct light, even in retrospect is exactly this. First kisses (well, unless fumbled but no matter how nervously performed) fall in the category. Events as well. Sudden moments, pangs of wistfulness, lonliness, love, are instances cinematic if one could capture the head and heart and portray it on the silver screen.

the power of advertising

Just a glance at the television and all I want now is Earl Gray tea. And yes, I’d like it cold please. What? I don’t even like iced tea. I like it the way any good lass does–hot with sugar and milk. Bastards. No wonder tivo is so expensive–cutting out all the commercials doesn’t exactly encourage consumerism of products most everyone could live without. Huh.

dissidents

Who starts a ‘Fuck the Soliders’ group??? Well I’ve got something to say loud and clear to them: FUCK YOU.

With the exception of a few aged turncoats from Washington, what former solider would be apart of that? None. They are imbued with a sense of respect, loyalty, and honour for their country and their duty. So who starts something like that? A bunch of dove pussies. If you don’t like it, don’t wait by the phone. Don’t worry. Don’t watch the news on the edge of your seat. Don’t care. Which should be pretty easy considering an attitude like that in the first place. These are real people–live or slain–sons and daughters, husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, boyfriends and girlfriends. So even if you don’t agree, reach deep, no matter how deep it might have to be, and find some compassion. Or just shut your damn mouth.

roller coaster

I’ve neglected sharing my innermost thoughts. Ha. The unfortunate side-effect: phoning mother. She argued me into a tailspin of how my relationship with another letter of the alphabet is ‘dangerously unhealthy’ (she hates him) and I need to be able to cut ties with him. I can’t. Even when I get pumped for information, all the inappropriate questions, the reminders, the awkward denial…I still carry on. I still miss him.

T says to me during a sleep-deprived conversation (again) that em has to realize that he’ll sacrifice a little part of friendship for me. That it won’t be the same but sometimes that’s okay. Guilt. A big wave of it just soaked me. Most girls would be flattered but I’m not (most girls, even though they all say that). It’s not a good feeling. It’s confusing, and potentially shit-starting. Drama, sweet lord, and I’m afraid I started it all.

Maybe, though, it’s just moments of seperation and weakness. Maybe it’s ‘turn back time’ syndrome. Either way, it’s something I can’t undo. Full steam ahead. Fuck it. Any other suggestions?

excursions

Sometimes the most fulfilling, exhilarating experiences can be the most tiring. Being in the ocean for the first time, seeing Manhattan at 1am 86 stories up. Wonderful experiences with an emerging, truly wonderful friend. But too much too fast to recap or really expound upon at all.

 I missed you em (and no, not short for emily…I’ve gone guy from the start) and I believe it struck me most profoundly at Coney Island. Forgetting the ocean is salt water, I managed to get a mouthful of it–can’t swim remember?–and later sitting on the beach tasted the salt on my lips. Odd I thought. Dozing off on the bus ride home, though a strand of hair catches in the corner of my mouth and again I taste, and now smell the salt dried into my hair. There’s a momentary ache. A weak point I suppose where I could have allowed a few tears in the darkened coach, yet nothing thus far has pervaded ‘the wall’ as sis calls it.

It’s good to be home.

switching up

I do want to do something. anything. well, that’s not entirely true. I’m aiming for something…good (I know I’m constantly impressed with my well articulated thoughts) to accomplish. I’ve done plenty of something, and it’s been quite a summer so far but somehow not terribly fulfilling. Even if it’s not feeding the homeless or building houses for the poor, advice given is advice taken…and I’d like to start at the beginning.

I feel like I’m becoming a less well-rounded individual. Less going for me. I’m not a good-time girl, or a frilly girl. I’m a goofy small town jeans and tee shirt girl. I liked who I am—-why did that change? Other people liked who I am, it’s what I’m best at, even if I’m not too swell as hell doing it. That was my style and I shouldn’t be ashamed of it.

Feeling rather out of my element lately. I’m getting more away from a particular (albeit ridiculous) mindset. See, mom told me once, when I was younger, that I had two paths in life when it came to being a woman: a harem dancer or a good wife. Ever since I’ve been determined to be loved for smarts, wit, trust, dependability, devotion, yet still be impressive in lingerie. I’ve managed to accomplish that thus far……minus the ‘being loved’ part……life moves too fast doesn’t it?