wasting words on lowercases and capitals

For some reason I always think walls are white. Even in my house, where the walls are green, yellow, and in my bedroom are aqua/teal, I still think all walls are white. I guess it's a stereotypical color. Rarely do you see black walls. It's too dark. Makes the room feel dismal.

Brittle bones break beautifully. I dunno. I felt the need to say something alliterative. And the word brittle had just popped into my head.

One of my friends the other day stated that they put pictures in their blog to make it more interesting. They said that people nowadays aren't as interested in words. Words still work, but pictures just make things easier, more entertaining. i wonder if that's true. Maybe I'm fucked by my career choice.

I haven't shaved in awhile. My facial hair is sort of invisible anyway. It's noticeable close up under lighting, but when it's darker, or there's shadow, you can't see it. I don't think shaving's necessary right now. I'm not trying to impress no one.

I don't know why, but the song I have on right now is making me listen more to the music itself, the instrumentation, rather than the lyrics. As a lyricist, I'm confused. Lyrics make songs for me normally. I dunno, maybe a change is coming over me.

when the sun comes up you will realize you were wrong

I hate leaky faucets and broken piping. They remind me too much of myself. And of how cracked this world is. How far we can push other people away, because they have small problems that we implode into larger issues. We're all broken. I hate feeling more broken than you.

we will stand on solid ground

I'm not much for philosophical things. I can't write or speak like Aristotle or Kant or Dostoyevsky. I can't tell stories like Poe or Salinger, Twain or Vonnegut, whether I've been referred to as the next Vonnegut or not (and I have actually been called as such, but I politely disagree with this comparison). I can't paint you a portrait. I'm no Da Vinci, Dali, Picasso, or Klimt. I don't know the stars, I don't really know anything about the galaxies and universes except that there are stars, planets, moons, and black holes. Maybe I know more, but I could never compare in interstellar knowledge to NASA. I'm not much for athletics. I'm no Griffey, Gretzky, Montana, or Phelps. I'm not a king, a prince. I'm of no royal blood.

Simply, what I can offer to the world is trial and error. I can try writing and fail. Or I can succeed. It all depends on myself and society. I don't need to be famous or rich or anything. I don't care about finding anything important in this world. I know that what I've done thus far hasn't been much. I'm still trying though.

Sending shivers right down your spine

I'm in my robotic state again. This blog post might take me twenty minutes to type up. It's because when I find myself in this state I tend to stare at things, specifically inanimate objects that have no reason to be stared at. They're simply sitting in the room, and they draw my attention to themselves, and I stare, it takes a few seconds, even up to a minute for me to snap out of it. By that time, I'm already staring at something else.
I know what causes this state, but it's not worth mentioning here. I'm not gonna do anything about it either. I know what it means, I know what happens when I'm in it, I'm pretty aware, I'm okay. It's also is when I lie a lot. I just lied a minute ago. I'm not okay. I'm exhausted, frustrated, scared, depressed, and confused. I know why, but again, not mentioning it. It's not important.

I'm also in an increased state of ITunes ADD. I hate that. I just wanna listen to a damn song, but I can't let one finish. I can't, it's reflex.

I don't talk to people when I'm like this. I basically, I guess you say, become a shell. I'm withdrawn into myself. Like a turtle into its shell. That's how it's always been. When I'm robotic, emotionless (even though it's usually when I'm on the verge of snapping or crying, but neither ever comes, I remain robotic 'til it subsides), I tend to just stop. I observe the unimportance of the world. Little things that don't matter, that have no effect on me, no matter where they are or what they are. People become my enemies, no matter who they are. I become mute. I'm currently mute. That's why I'm typing. Because I can't open my mouth to speak. I don't want to. It even feels like I'm too weak to do it. I'm always too weak to do things.

And what's worse? No one, and I mean, no one, can snap me out of my robotic state. It has to pass on its own. I go as far as ignoring people to avoid speaking. I just don't wanna talk. I'd rather be alone, isolated, invisible. Music doesn't make me feel better either. It's just noise. There's no entertainment, no smiling, no dancing or singing. I merely stare at whatever I happen to be doing, whatever website I'm on, whatever homework assignment I'm working on, whatever is near me, I stare. I can type yes, but that's because my eyes rarely leave the screen, and like I said, when they do, I stare at objects.

I bet my eyes get dimmer when I'm like this. I sure hope so at least. There has to be some effect. I know I have no personality like this. I never smile, I just have dropping eyes and a stern look on my face, my lips are in more of a frown than anything. I guess you could say it's when I feel closest to being dead. I feel like nothing, just weight. I don't know existence, only staring and basic actions. I can't speak. Not like I have anything worth mentioning, nothing important at least.

you take my breath away

It always seems I'm in more of a writing mood at...3 or 4 in the morning. I think it's because I'm never doing anything at this time. I'm usually sleeping or procrastinating homework, or awake because I just finished my homework and if I do go to sleep I won't wake up for class on time. That's why I'm awake right now. Because I need to be awake for class by 9, preferably at 8:30. When I finished my first homework assignment it was 2:30, that would have left me six hours of sleep. Believe me, being the heavy sleeper I am, I would not have woke up for class, and if I did wake up, I'd fall back to sleep within seconds. So, I shall suffer through the day tired, but surviving and head to sleep early tonight.

I still have to write a paper about a short story I read earlier. That's due in my 9:30 class. It's easy enough though, basically pick a theme from the story (sidenote: Stacy's Mom just came on Itunes...good classic song...yes, classic) and write on it, using examples from the text. I'll get it done. That's why I'm allowing myself to procrastinate so much.

So lately what's been coming to mind for me is what I want from college. Yeah, I'm furthering my education and living away from home, trying to be adult, be more responsible. But, after four years, when I graduate, I don't really know what to expect. I can honestly say I'm frightened of the future. It's strange how a few years ago I just wanted to grow up and be done with high school. Now I miss high school. I wanted college so badly...and it's not as great as I built it up to be. Yes, it's college- there's homework, but you can do it on your own time, you get to choose your classes very specifically and at what time you'd like them, there are parties (though I do not partake in these whatsoever), and I'm away from home. But it's just... it's still school. And after I graduate with a degree (in hopefully Creative Writing), what's gonna happen? It's tough. I really don't know what I'm going to do if I can't sell a book. It'd destroy me and I'd be left with a dream shattered. Sure, I'll still be young, but I'd need some way to support myself, some type of job until writing worked out. I hope I get lucky and land something big.

My Ipod Touch is up in my room. I just thought of it because I wanted to check the weather for today. Then I'd just look at what the weather's like in Reykjavik, Iceland, just because it interests me.

Well, I'm gonna finish this paper, shower, get ready for breakfast, then get to class. Blogging off...that was awful. I'm not gonna bother with signing off ever again.

don't hold me up now

Do you ever feel like you want to stare at yourself in the mirror, but be two separate entities? What I mean is, being two different things, a creature in another dimension and yourself in reality, you could yell at your reflection, and it would listen. Your reflection then, when it fades as you leave the mirror's presence, would take over you, and you wouldn't make the same mistakes over and over. That's how I feel right now. I wanna scream at myself, but even my reflection probably wouldn't listen. Damn being stubborn.

we will mend statues from the ground to the skies

So I tried something again within the past ten minutes. I tried to play guitar. Key word is "tried". I sincerely need to find lessons at some point. I've had this thing sitting on its stand for the past 2 years or so and I pick it up every once in awhile, throw the strap over my shoulder and try to play. I just can't get a handle on it yet. Maybe someday though. Maybe with some help.

The reason I picked it up tonight was because I'm writing music and I figured since I'm working on lyrics, maybe for once I could put actual sound to it. But, apparently this evening, that will not be happening. I'll stick to singing for now...I do wish I'd learned piano though. I was taught piano, I took lessons when I was young, for about three years but I've forgotten it since then. I was then forced to learn it during sixth through eighth grades...that was a fail, literally. I failed piano three times over those three years. Not only did I fail, I failed in front of a crowd of students, teachers, and parents. It was nightmarish the first time, but the next two times it was just a simple walk of shame from the bench back to my seat in the crowd to watch the other students play their pieces and astound while I sat with head down, only clapping when it was necessary and for as short as I could while still being polite.

I really don't know why I struggle with instruments so much. I think it could have to do with my lack of passion for them. I used to love piano, like I said, I willingly took lessons for three years and would practice daily. I actually got pretty good for a kid. But then when the lessons ended, my care for the instrument dissipated and now I sit here, guitar over my shoulder, it hanging off my back quiet as it has been for the past two years. Again, hopefully some time soon I can start lessons. I don't care if I'm eighteen or if I could learn on my own, lessons make things easier. Then I have to continue practicing even when it grows boring...though knowing friends who play guitar and drums, it should never get boring.

Anyway, music-wise, I have been working on lyrics. I have nine songs complete, and I have about three or four that I've paused production in the middle. I'll get back to them eventually. My reasoning isn't necessarily because I want to start a band this summer, although that is something I want, I just write them. They allow for a release. It's like how poetry and short stories also work for me. Sometimes I write just to write. It's something I am passionate about, something I am willing to practice, because I want to be good and someday want to be successful because of it.

As for my wanting to start a band, I've wanted to for the past few years. Every summer I hatch this idea that I can just throw together a band, call up some friends and we can bash out a few songs and local shows. Well, it's never happened. This summer I'm taking the initiative and actually talking to people early. I'm finding out who of my friends plays an instrument, what instrument they play, what genres of music do they enjoy, everything that can be helpful. By summer, if things fall into place, a band is a possibility. I know I have a drummer, that's an upside. My best friend has been playing for quite awhile and I know he wants to be in a band, we always talked about it when we were younger. It's funny too. Someone told us the "how do you get to Carnegie Hall joke one time". We immediately went upstairs to his drum room, he sat down at the drumset and I had something for a mock microphone and we started just playing over and over "Practice baby, practice", as that was the answer to the joke. It was fun, we did that for a few days actually. Just playing because it was fun and practicing I guess. Maybe now we can complete a band lineup and start practicing for real.

To confront an issue I was struggling with in my last post, my poem wound up being one of the two winners in my CW class's voting. It was both sections voting on the four poems, and as I said, I was conflicted on whether to vote or not, to vote for my poem or not. I just didn't vote. When I found out I won, it was bittersweet, I just couldn't be excited because for some reason, not to sound conceited, I knew I was going to win. That's my strongest class, my strongest skill- writing. If I didn't win I surely would have been disappointed, but for some reason, winning with writing doesn't bring me excitement the way winning a pickup game of basketball or winning a raffle does. Maybe it's because I've been told I'm good at it. I know I'm mediocre at basketball, and raffles are based on luck, so maybe because it can't be predicted, well basketball can be (based on who your teammates are), but raffles are all luck. You can buy twenty tickets and lose, the winner having bought only one. It's all luck of the draw. It's exciting to win, because it is so unexpected. Well, I won anyways. So my poem will be put on those maple syrup bottles with the other poem, hopefully whoever receives that syrup likes what I wrote. Maybe they won't even read the poems, just empty the bottle on pancakes, waffles, all sorts of food, and toss the bottle in the trash. Maybe.