Salad Days and Something Else

Resilience

2009-08-21T00:17:00.000-07:00

Elena

I have not yet learned the meaning of resilience. I am still nonchalant about the recent bad luck. Yes, the summer of 2009 has been the worst summer I have ever had, but it's not saying much. Consequently it has also been the shortest summer, and I daresay that will change in the coming years. The older we get, the quicker time moves. Yup, that's just how life rolls.

I'm still walking on my two feet, and I can still play the guitar. It's not all that bad. Nope, not all that bad at all.

Unless there is a greater being that wishes me to draw meaning from these events, I will remain stagnant and unblinking.

Sure, it can be worse. It's not though.

Not yet?

I happened to hit a few more obstacles than a few people. NBD.

National Bank of Dubai.

(No big deal.)

If resilience is apathy, then I'm right at home.

***
Tiffany

Yarrrrr.

My religion happens to require me to collect small souvenirs and keep them within eye-shot. They behave like teleportation devices and time-machines, taking me back...way back...to wherever I may need to go. Whether it be a feather or a button, or a picture with a note scribbled to the back (I actually haven't gotten any of those yet) they all serve the same purpose.

The same damn thing.

I'm not leaving empty handed.

It may sound selfish, but I believe...I have faith in the notion that at the very end, I will still value the time that people gave, if I don't remember anything else. It's a good shelter for a young mind like mine.

Time is one of the greatest, smallest sacrifices people make.

If time were a currency, wouldn't everyone have about the same amount?

You give it as you receive it. You don't really have a choice.

What the time was used for is a different matter.

***

When I was much younger, I didn't believe anyone out there would want to blow up the world.

***

Mary

Appeasement is a great tool when the parental unit is an able, effective unit. Simply put, they have cash and whatever else you may need.

Alas, I am at a disadvantage because there is nothing that the parental unit can offer that I can benefit from. Not anymore, anyways.

Down the line, I think you will probably resolve most of the conflicts...parents suck...all the time, everywhere.

Me? I think I might hate them for the rest of my life. I have good reason to. My mother cares more about an old car than her own daughter. That is unacceptable. Yes, she raised me, but she raised me with regret, and she raised me with the wrong kind of hope. She raised me with the hope that I would become a successful doctor and/or lawyer that would happen supply some cold hard cash for her retirement. I am an investment.

We all are, in a way. Some of us happen to be more loved than others.

***

...and then I grew up and I learned there are way too many gray areas about the matter of blowing the world up.

***

Anna

I'm not a starving musician yet, but I'm on my way there!

Getting the house robbed and owing San Jose Traffic a good sum of money sure gives me a head start.

The Slow Return

2009-01-15T22:45:00.001-08:00

Energy leaves us.

We can't fight anymore

so

we can't hate anymore.

The spectrogram is flat.

The jagged spike is a spike no longer.

Slow, melodramatic end.

Come to me quickly!

piano bench

2009-01-15T01:10:00.000-08:00

I worked as I sat on this strange chair. I plucked guitar strings and stared at white plastic keys on this strange chair. I tried to breathe life into the sonic images that revealed themselves to me on nondescript Thursdays. A piano bench appeared in a dream I had.

It was always far away, tucked underneath my keyboard until I decided to do something productive.

It had never been so close to me, until I constructed a cage for myself. Guitars to my left, a piano to my right, a PC in front of me telling me lies that I need, and a run down drumset behind me.

I bump into the bench every time I back up my twenty-dollar office chair from Wal-Mart to look for something.

Life has never been so normal.

I don't keep chains or locks for this part of my heart anymore.

Apathy arrives with age.

17.

yup

No

2008-12-19T17:16:00.001-08:00

The word "no" either induces changes around us or within ourselves.

You said "no". You made me. You turned me into something with such a simple chemical compound, the slight two letters of the alphabet. I was your lab rat, your science project. You do not know, you may not think so, but you deserve a prize for what I've become. Not because I am groundbreaking, but because your gentle words breathed sadness into me. You gave me sadness, and you handed my life back to me. I was bitter, because you made me silent, strange, and cynical.

Thus I became a brooder, wallowing in those strange two letters that you gave me. I wished on shooting stars and coin fountains. I wished for change.

...and then time takes my hand to another place. It's chilly here.

Here I become a thinker... an analyzer. I didn't know why you gave me a "no".

It's a very cold here. I hate myself here. I hate all the things you don't like about me.
This new place is filled with mirrors.

I am made a perfectionist here, dismembering the parts of me that you don't like.

I start to question this genocide. There are somethings I do like about myself, and I will not throw them out.

Even for you.

Because you don't matter anymore?

I am anew.

It's a new thought, born of self-loathe. I play with the idea like a new toy. It's such a fascinating notion, that maybe you were not as important to me as I thought you were.

...but you are. I think about you now and then. I won't forget because forgetting is lying to myself. Letting myself forget you is sympathetic to destroying a piece of me.

It's warm here. I'm near you, and I know you.

Here I am an iron romanticist. It's your fault.

You can smash your fist against my gut but you will only feel yourself.

...but you can shower me with your heat,

and I'll melt with you.

Do you think she's pretty?

2008-12-19T16:48:00.000-08:00

You asked me as we were sitting in the corner of the library. I didn't say anything.
"C'mon you know she's pretty."

I thought the exact opposite. Do you want me to be ruthless? Do you want me to pick her apart?

"Her jaw appears wider than her forehead, her right eyebrow is not symmetrical with her left", etc.

You stared at me in awe. What? Did you think I couldn't tell who was beautiful and who was not? It's such a vindictive ability to have...to be able to tear someone apart like that.

Of course she was only a picture in a book. It was an old book and they obviously didn't have the miracles we do today.

You asked, "Who's your perfect girl?"

"I don't have a perfect girl."

...and in that moment, I lied. I did think of someone. It was only a face, and the stale air of stale thoughts surrounding it. I used to love this face. This person has become the perfect girl in my head. I fought so hard to terminate the way I felt, yet a single thing remains. I don't think I can stare too long into these eyes lest I fall down the same stairs I worked so hard to climb (i.e. the grand human process of falling into love again, and transforming yourself because of it). Her eyes will burn me.

How do you trust anyone while knowing that anyone could fall in love with your face?

"I don't have a perfect girl."

That's right. I don't.

You and I (draft I)

2008-12-12T23:48:00.000-08:00

In my dream,

you and I,

we sat on your kitchen floor. I think it was your kitchen. The place didn't look like my house. I'm assuming it was yours.

We shared a carton of milk. It was about to expire anyways, so you thought it'd be a good idea to finish off the rest. I rested my head on the cabinet where all your family kept all the bowls. It was a strange place, with a cold hardwood floor.

You said something.

"His name is Sam."

"Who's Sam?"

"The guy I dated for the past few months. I should've told you. Sorry, haha."

"Oh."

You pass me the carton. I take a swig.

Gulp.

"I wasn't that happy with him. We didn't click, ya know?"

Gulp.

"Could you say something, Leslie?"

I smiled at her, and shrugged.

"What are you thinking about?"

I open my mouth to say something, but I quickly close it again. That wasn't as sneaky as I thought, as your radar blinks red. You ask me, "What? What did you want to say? C'mon, Leslie."

I can't look you in the eyes. I remember a time when I did that, and it was accompanied by a gentle "no".

Some minutes pass by.

Sorry, I finished off your milk.

I attempted to get up to look for your trashcan.

"Oh, give it to me, I'll throw it out."

You took the empty carton and threw it away. Yup.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

"I...", you stumble, "think if we talked some more, we could be friends. I think I want to be friends. Maybe if we became friends, we could be really good friends, right?"

You stop making any sense.

"We could be really good friends! And I'd tell you stuff, and you'd tell me stuff, and we'd tell each other stuff! Leslie?"

I humbly replied, "I'd like that."

"You know maybe when we're really good friends, we'd know each other well enough, and we could go out-".

You pause because I glare at you.

"Leslieeeeee?"

"Whaaaaat?" I mocked.

You get up.

"Hey wait," I said. Crap, I can't think of anything to say. "Um, have you seen my magic-wallet?"

"No."

"Oh. Here, take a look at this. You stick money into like this, then you close it and open it the other way. The money gets locked under the bands wallet."

"Haha! That's really cool! Where'd you get that from?"

"Oh I found it at Target. I didn't know it was a wallet at first, and then when I did know it was a wallet, I kind of was skeptical about it's functionality as an actual wallet. Yup, haha."

"That's really cool, I kind of want one now!"

We're both sitting on your piano bench now. It's strange how far away I feel from you. I don't want to tell you that though.

I feel very far from you.

I wake up from my dream.

You met me at the right place

2008-09-16T20:07:00.000-07:00

but at the wrong time. I changed quickly and I did not feel it. I did not taste it, I did not get any taller, and I looked the same each time I stared in the mirror. I never heard it. I never smelled it, I never saw it. I won't ever touch it.

it's a very trying time.

I grew up. I got better at singing. I played some more guitar. I played with electronic music. I bought myself things. I worked. I worked for a summer. I worked for a thousand dollars that were burned the week after. I quit facebook, I quit doing homework, I quit smiling, I quit searching. I quit. I'd like to. Some select individuals won't let me. People I happen to love very much keep me in a place that makes me uncomfortable, tired, broken, and dilapidated. Such is the beauty of stickin' around.

Worry is a parasite that I thought I could fight off. I managed to keep it suppressed for an impressive amount of time, but it's fed off my defenses from the inside and it's grown into this vile, collective mass of mistakes I've made.

hah I quit Facebook.

2008-08-28T23:34:00.000-07:00

Thus school begins.

I was pumped! I was ready, I needed to be ready. I was going to give it my all.

I'm burned out. The second week of school has not even finished yet. I've lost most my energy, and I can not revive my voice right now.

Leslie's writing becomes bland!

I am tired. I want water. I need sleep. Oh no, jazz band auditions are coming up!

***

I walked down the hall, watching all the people who used to talk to me walk by me. I wondered why this was, but ignored the question until now. "Hey, I used to know you" , I thought.

To paraphrase JM, every so often, you have to forget everything you ever knew about a person. That's how quick change is.

When I meet somebody, I oughta spend some time getting things back to zero. I should pull them back to knowing absolutely nothing about me. I should do away with all the preconceptions people have about me.

I don't really care, of course. There are only a few people who matter to me.

Which brings me to to where I am now.

I always felt I had to accept everybody. I had to be a good person. I've dealt with enough asshats to know that isn't the ideal way to live life. Love everybody, and treat them as you would have others treat you. It's the "Golden Rule", but last I checked, gold was gaudy in excess amounts.

Why not hate people for a change?

Lately, what I see repulses me. Well, not lately. I see it all the time. I just chose to ignore it until now. I think this might be a historical moment in my timeline. I am changing and I am aware of it.

I tried. I really did.

2008-08-03T01:59:00.000-07:00

I have a tendency to write when bad things happen, or when I'm generally not having a great fun time with life. Considering I haven't written anything at all for some time now, you can easily guess that I've been doing well.

I have one song to write. It's for a lady I know. She's not a close friend, we don't talk regularly, and there is no romance going on. Regardless, she is terribly beautiful. That's all.

I'm relaxed. I didn't find...what it was that I was looking for. I have a couple more days to do so.

but I'm relaxed

tired too.

The true nature of people appear when you spend four weeks working alongside them.

asshole.

Or if you end up sitting next to them on a tour bus for a few days.

I've gotta figure this Santa Cruz thing out before Elena leaves for college. Patrick is gone for a while too. Ugh he's leaving earlier.

Imagine our lives being lines. Our lines merged at one point, and parted at another. If I cut myself some slack, I'd say 75 to 80 years for me. 80 pieces of line. You and I only share this one piece. It's such a small segment, but I would hold it dear for the rest of my life. I would paint it baby blue because that's the color of my 11-20 year-old pieces.

I have to worry about making sense to myself. It's only halfway when I make sense in my head.

they are i are we are she are he are going going going going going going going going going going going going gone.

Limited

2008-06-01T00:17:00.000-07:00

I keep my mouth shut a little bit more now. It's all part of this big plan to listen more.
My words have numbers and weights attached to them now.

Well, no...they always had weights. I just never numbered them.

Because of my indiscretion, there is a fat hole in your bag.

The have little yellow tags on them now. It makes them easy to see!

One, two, three.

grades

2008-05-30T00:32:00.000-07:00

I meet summer with heavy eyelids.

It's time to earn some scars, it's time to learn about you.

2008-05-30T00:20:00.000-07:00

I take life much too strangely.

I got rid of my booster rocket way too early.

I think excessively.

I learned that I am not many things. This marks the end of my second year of high school.

What were the golden years? I forgot what they told me.

Ants are invading my room. There is ant bait set up now.
This fort is not going down. It is strange how I sleep so close to poison.

I have had the one of the worst months in my life.

It does not warrant large, confusing posts.

I'll leave it up for record's sake, but don't take it to heart.

The last two posts were written under extreme pressure, for those two or so people who actually read this.

My mother almost took a hammer to all my instruments. Of course, she did not follow through because it's not my money.

Baccalaureate Mass- I told Drew that I am not a son. I am an investment. Regardless, as long as there is one person who would like to listen, then there is a reason to keep my sanity intact.

Tables and Graphs, Tables and Chairs

2008-05-28T18:30:00.000-07:00

He said that in the end, the accounting books are going to come out completely even. What did I want out of it?

I just want them to write back to me.

I assumed that it was a part of the subtotal.

Those bottles are worth much less than what I thought they were worth.

Maybe five cents.

I said to myself that I could do better.

What now? That's a FAQ.

a stupid edit, and...for you, an explanation.

2008-05-26T16:27:00.000-07:00

CHEESE, MUCH CHEESE. I write with cheese. Below!

i am no storyteller.
you listen well, i will give you that.
maybe i will tell you about distance
i am a fervent follower of distance
i believe in distance.
when you listen, i feel loved.
i feel guilt, when you listen.

i am a leech.
distance will protect you from me.
distance will teach me many things.
distance is evidence that

glass does not last forever.

you get away from me while you still can.
(that's optional)

"This is not a letter, this is a white flag. I surrender. I'm sorry I bothered you."

- me! (well I was thinkin' it)

If you let go, I'll let go.
If you walk away, I'll walk away.

s
he
shot
me dead..

Heavy (a short) [draft 6]

2008-05-25T23:05:00.000-07:00

The rain falls as if it can not make the world wet enough. I'm waiting for you. I've been waiting for the past two hours in the deafening rain.

The sound follows me to all the places I decide to sit down. It rains down, it rains sideways, sometimes it even rains up. Under the cafeteria's slight overhang, I sit down with my back against the icy brick wall. My arms wrap around my knees.

I think at one point in my life I decided that I hated it when my feet were inside wet shoes.
My shoes are tied together by their laces, and I've slung them over my back. My socks are stuffed inside. I am wet, everything is wet.

I spot you coming out from the front of the one-hundred building. You have your polka-dotted umbrella and your yellow rain boots on. Your jeans are tucked into your boots, and a small purse is hanging on your shoulder. You unknowingly make it so easy for everyone else to see you. There is no one else quite like that. You stop at the flagpole and look around for somebody. I get up and slowly blaze a trail through the rain in your general direction, meeting your eyes halfway there.

I keep a distance between us.
Standing has never been so competitive.
"Hiding from me?" You stare me down. I don't say anything.
"Why are you crying?" You can tell, despite the rain.
"I want to read something to you!" I have to yell. The rain does not cease, not for anyone.
You ask me, "Another story, a Hemingway imitation perhaps?"
"Fuck you!" You were always a smart ass.
"Well, fire away, I've all the time in the world!"

I pull out a soggy piece of binder paper from my pocket and I do not remember much else.

You wait politely as I finish.
"Well I'm done. That's all I wanted to say." I look at my bare feet. Suddenly a pair of yellow rain boots face my toes.
"Are you sure? I don't think you are done. You want something. From me, anyways." You lift my chin up with a hand. "You want something."
You position your face in my line of sight, forcing me to look at you. You look funny with your head tilted like that.
"I have to-"

You kiss me.

"Is that what you wanted?" The hand you lifted my chin with is now playing with my ear.
"No."
You back away and look at me funny. "Okay, I lose. What do you want?"
I don't look at you but I feel for you in the rain. I tug lightly at your arm, but you aren't budging. You make me step towards you.
"What do you want?" You ask me quietly.

I pull my arms around you and hug you tightly.

I hold you tightly.

I think I feel one of your arms pulling me in, but I am probably imagining so.

You break my hold and step back a few paces. "You won't be the last to love me."

I watch you turn at the corner and disappear, the sound of rain following you the entire way.

and

2008-05-25T11:10:00.000-07:00

my phone has a huge reflective surface on it, so every time i look at it i get to see myself

Verizon

2008-05-25T10:40:00.000-07:00

I keep pressing the buttons on the side of my phone.
I'm hoping the little display on the front might say missed call.
As if I could miss the continuous near-hundred decibel chime of the little red device.
I keep checking.

Four Hours of Graduating

2008-05-24T18:02:00.000-07:00

They would have to want to see me again.

I hid my tears behind my sunglasses. They went away quickly. I smiled and waved. I do not think I have spent my time in the best possible way.

Everybody happened so quickly.

I realized that this was not a race, this was not a war. This is a big pool of people waiting and everybody is going somewhere. You just have to wait for it. Work is involved in some nondescript way.

The people who have left the Saint Francis High School crowd to join a bigger crowd-

I think I just have to wish very hard.

She told me that this was usual "Leslie" thinking. I didn't respond but I remember thinking, "Well lady, we've got two more until we're gone."

Who am I leaving behind?

It was just four hours but you best remember it for the rest of the double digit years (triple digit maybe?) of your life. I guess.

Slow Dancing

2008-05-22T19:30:00.000-07:00

It was a strange dream, and when hand-in-hand with the fact that I have not slow danced in three years...

There was a superstructure seemingly from a futuristic video game. It was beautiful, both the building and the previously unmentioned sunset. Everybody was there.

It was hot, a very specific kind of hot that I think only I can recognize. Weather is one of the things I take with me. The weather acts as a sort of catalyst between me and my memories.

So it had *the* hot, a hotness that I had experienced before in an unnamed British colony. I don't remember what my attire was, but I know it was no where close to formal. I felt drunk, my neck wouldn't hold me head up and I could not recognize any voices. Strange, I thought I knew all these people.

I wound up slow dancing with a ravish young lady on the roof of that superstructure during the sunset. It was hot, and we were tired. The weight of our heads were no longer carried by our necks, not from alcoholic influence, but by our foreheads. The skin where our brows met shared sweat and some of her long hair. My brain is trying desperately to recall the last time I was rested upon.

I woke up in my mother's car. I was parked in the lot of a rundown Asian supermarket. My mother fortunately found us a tree to park under. The sun glared at me through the leaves.

I fell asleep again.

I did not dream again.

The Characteristic "Elena" Bag

2008-05-22T19:19:00.000-07:00

I've been running into Natasha Ire the past few days. I received a baggy of chocolates from her today. I surrender. They were excellent.

...that's how I look for Elena. I look for the cream and blue striped bag that she seemed to always carry.

but no, Natasha said that was not the characteristic bag. I was quite shocked.

There was no debate.

I, being a young grasshopper, do not know much.

The characteristic "Elena" bag:

brown and corduroy, among other things.

Half an Hour to Be Selfish

2008-05-22T02:13:00.000-07:00

I want to dance on the rooftop with somebody.

I want to hang up on someone because we've said goodbye fourteen times in the last minute.

I want to put a Burger King crown on someone's head.

I want to make breakfast for somebody. And laugh when it gets burnt.

I want to throw a snowball at somebody.

I want to sleep on the floor. Alone.

Because you're angry at me.

OK.

I'm done.

It really did take me thirty minutes to come up with those things.

Crawling Up

2008-05-22T01:33:00.000-07:00

Do you like ice cream? I've always wondered if there was another category that Popsicles belong in. Summer is coming along just quickly, maybe much to fast for the life of me. I am required to the pick persons to find this perfect summer with. It is a lifelong search, and I've been at it for the past- well since I've been aware that there could be perfect summers. At least, as close as summer can be to perfect.

All summers must end, but '06 is immortalized within me.

I don't remember 2007. I have a feeling it killed a part of me. It was not a bad summer, but it was a lifeless summer. Doldrums!

1992 inched. 1997 crawled.

2008 is coming at us from halfway across the galaxy at super luminous speeds.

Despite everything, I found a big heart this year. This strange group of superheroes...

Let us begin the dance. Or roll the dice.

I'm

2008-05-21T21:58:00.000-07:00

not that picture in your mind. I wish I was.

I've told her everything that I could. I've told him everything that I could.

I looked at myself in the mirror at school. The restrooms can manage to be quite murky. I did not see what I wanted to see. I did not see what I usually see on good days. I want to say it wasn't me that I saw, but how strange is it to deny my own reflection?

There is always that thought that follows me. Everything that I write here, has been written by some poor soul before me.

Okay, so what now?

The search for the perfect summer is daunting.

Sing me my song. I want to hear it from you. I don't care any more, I don't care!

I'm having one of those trivial moments, and throwing myself into a blender is on my list of things to do.

I'd like to dance on the rooftop with someone.

Finish Line

2008-05-21T02:31:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep today, so I keep tapping.

We make eye contact until you turn around.

I was born this way. That's my excuse.

INFP, that's my excuse.

They made me this way, that's my excuse.

We made eye contact, until you walked away.

I knew you, and you knew me.

At one point in time, that was a valid statement. It was true, and I can not deny that it happened. At one point in time...

You didn't say goodbye. I wish you did.

We made eye contact, but I turned around.

We made eye contact, but I walked away.

Plastic

2008-05-21T02:07:00.000-07:00

I am here, and I am reminded of who I am. This strange paper burns a hole in my pocket, more so than money. I wish you would send me some more, but at the same time I wish you wouldn't. I always wonder why they start with "dear".

I feel small. I feel cut in half- no I fee like a half, and I am searching the masses for a bright light that I could maybe call sanctuary. Somewhere I can exist as not the "odd numbered wheel". I keep circling around it, I do not want to say it.

It is likely that I know exactly what to do, but I cannot choose between streets. The names are twisted, and contrary to popular belief, do not lead to the same place. I know exactly what to do, and I know there are many things I can do. Yes, it is likely.

They flip a coin, and they tell me "You don't know what to do."

They are not strange, they are not wily, they are not conniving.

They are right. I do not know what to do.

Like Crystal

2008-05-21T01:39:00.001-07:00

It was a clear message she sent me.

I stay on Meebo, despite the fact that no one is online at this extreme hour. I have this lingering hope that some one may sign on and speak to me.

Through her actions, she sent me a message. I was- I did not want to hear it. Or see it, or feel it. I take after my mother. I can be stubborn.

So I resorted to being a friend.

That didn't work.

Laura said, "Fuck that shit, you deserve better than that!"

I don't I know what I deserve, but I know writing everything on a piece of binder paper does not warrant a ticket into someone's life.

Beau Geste

2008-05-20T16:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there are wings on my shoulders. Nothing great...they are heavy, slabs of extra flesh, extra nerves. I don't feel I have the brain capacity to be able to move them. Maybe I can.

I imagine myself being part of the sky, saving the world with a set of wings.

They are heavy.

I cannot move on anything but my legs. I am aware, though.

I'll let you crawl underneath one of my wings. Maybe I could keep you warm, but I cannot provide you with much else.

I can only listen and speak. When I am cornered, I can only listen and speak.

They are heavy, and I am rendered completely finite.