Waking Up In the Land of Freedom

I am breathing in America, the fast paced kingdom of synthetic opportunity,
A rat, lost in a colossal social experiment,
Born into a maze where white-coated observers have provided me with artificial beauty,
A skyscraper here, The Constitution there,
Distractions
The maze grows more complicated by the day, and soon its paths are so entwined and layered that I feel free,
Thank God, I am free,
Free to explore this uncharted territory, to dream ‘til dreams crystallize, to walk into infinity with you, the only girl who gets it,
But then I hit a dead end in America and wake to the reality that I am more lost than ever.

i may or may not come back to this over and over and over til its a story. Notice, my dear, and especially eager blog readers (Noga, Lucy, etc.) that I make no promises! Hold me to nothing! Anyways, here's part one:


After three long months of hot sun, the earth was so dry that it had begun to crack this way and that in patterns similar to the lines on my Great Grandma Edith’s forehead. When the first rains finally came on that quiet October evening I swear the crisped ground was so thirsty that it swallowed up those droplets before they even had a chance to make a landing. It was still raining just as strong when the sun came up the next morning. I suppose the earth had drank all it could drink by that point because out by the telephone pole where we used to make like we were in the movies and build forts out of cardboard boxes, there was a great big puddle. I reckon it was so big I could have stripped down to my boxer shorts and gone for a swim right then if I had wanted to but I knew that would have upset my mother a whole lot so I just walked back inside.

I told everyone in the kitchen that the earth had clearly had enough to drink because now there was a great big puddle out there and pretty soon it would be a pond if it didn’t stop coming down. I also told them that I thought that maybe if it was still raining when I got home from school and Dad got home from work, we could go fishing because I have heard that the fish bite a lot after the first rain. I guess those are the kind of things that aren’t very interesting to people maybe. Dad said “Not now, Daniel” because he was reading the paper which he did every morning, and my mother told me that if I didn’t hurry and eat my cereal, she would leave for school without me which she said almost every morning. I always think it’s funny when she says that though, because after she takes me to school every day she just comes straight home, so why would she leave without me? That would not make very much sense because then I would still need a ride to school when she got back. And anyways, where would she go when she left without me?

Mama started spending all day at home when Mr. Shepardson closed down Shepardson Motor Sales and Service because he was getting too old and his son didn’t want to be the new boss. Instead he wanted to move down to the city because he got a job on Wall Street, which is a very bad place full of crooks trying to destroy the American Dream, according to Dad. Anyways, Mama used to like working for Mr. Shepardson because he always gave her little presents to bring home for me and my brother Nick and he paid her very well even though she only answered the telephone. Mama is hoping that there will be a new job she can find soon but Dad keeps talking about the economy being bad. I think he is worried about a lot of things right now, because he stopped reading the sports section in the morning, which used to be his favorite part of the paper. I hope Mom finds a job soon. I think that would make him a lot happier.

To be continueddddddddddddddddddddddd.

I asked you for answers and you responded but your words did not put out the fire that blackened my gut and turned it soot,

I thought I loved you so I endured the conflagration and clung to hope-‘she will understand tomorrow. She has to’.

So again I begged you for clarity, honesty, sincerity-praying that this time season finale gossip and prom dress discourse would be forgotten with the arrival of my appeal,

“I love you. No, I really fucking do”

But the same response came again-an awkward teenaged giggle followed by “I have to go”,

And the fire got hotter, and I slowly imploded, like the Tacoma Dome falling in slowmo, embarrassed, lonely, and scattered across a million pointless miles.

That's Life, I Guess.

You want to know a secret? I regret a lot of things. I regret the way I have treated some of my friends. I regret the lies I have told my parents. I regret not spending more time with my little sister, because like my mom says, "she's my only one". I need a change, and Vancouver, BC will be it...but every now and then I get a racing feeling in my chest as I realize that as my departure date races closer, I'm running out of time to fix these things I've fucked up. I want my family to know how much I love them. I want everything to be squared away before I leave. I want to have confidence in the structural integrity of these last 18 years, because hell, I'm going to build the rest of my life on em, and that shit can be pretty heavy.

What I am feeling now is similar to that sense of panic you get when the bell is about to ring but you're not even close to done with the test. Your palms get sweaty, your temperature rises...but worst of all your efficiency goes down. In this state of alarm, you start getting more problems wrong. My unease is making it harder, not easier, for me to be close to the ones that mean the most to me.

I wonder if I'm the only one who thinks these kind of things. I doubt it. I guess that's pretty comforting.

Can't sleep, now. Honest writing is painful, but it must be done! Try it sometime!

On another note, PLEASE read The Perks of Being A Wallflower. More on this book later....for now, I just can just suggest that you read it.

Recent Ramblings

Off Beat Love

She knocked on my door and smiled when I opened it,

I knew this was her home...

But when I invited her inside she ran away, and then I knew she was scarred.

So I remained alone again that night, and wondered if she would ever come back.

The next night she knocked again, but this time she was not smiling...

When I invited her in she said "fuck off", but pushed me aside and entered.

Blood Notes

At 2am the black-haired, metal-faced freaks walk off the stage,

Exhausted from primal screams and power-chords,

I head for the exit surrounded by fans,

Morons just got their minds fucked by the "sickest beats everrrr, man",

I passionately express my distaste,

Three of their kind hear me.

Blood boils and an hour later it stops oozing from my temple,

One of these vermin popped me in the face,

But I am smiling now, for I know they care.

Unsatisfied O'Clock

Morning, I have spent all night waiting for you, but you greet me with rain and darkness,

I am disappointed,

Afternoon, I have spent all morning waiting for you, but you are here and I have forgotten my lunch,

I am hungry,

Evening, I have spent all afternoon waiting for you, but when you arrive it is social hour and I can't call my best friend,

I am lonely.

So I crawl back into bed and wait for morning.

Hello again to you all...out there across the high seas of the internet. Well let me open by making the announcement that my plants are all dead as fuck...except for the peas, of course; peas are particularly resilient, fast growing plants. Over-watering, lack of sun, poor potting soil, or a combination of all of these was likely the culprit of this mass vegetable die-off.

When I noticed the whithered plants developing brown spots and then lying down on the soil's surface to die, I was angry. I worked long and meticulously to bring those little plants into the world and then they just up and died. With no appreciation for my labor or the beautiful Oregon Spring and Summer that approached, those plants just died, dammit.

Then I realized how absolutely absurd it was that I was angry at the plants. And soon I became frustrated, for there seemed to be no thing or one to blame for the organic disaster...it was just bad luck, I suppose. But who or what controls luck? There must be something I can blame! I have realized that it is in my nature, and probably in yours, to seek out something physical-something with mass-on which to blame my misfortune. Once I find that thing I imagine destroying it, or just giving it a good old fashioned talkin to. And then, my friends, I feel better.

That feeling of deep frustration that results from failure for reasons unknown is one that affects me most deeply. I am still trying to wrap my head around it, honestly. I anticipate the arrival of a revelation, soon...one that tells me I don't have to blame in order to find acceptance. But I haven't stumbled across any such wisdom yet. I'll let you know when I do.

In other news-I suggest listening to David Dondero. He is an enormously under-appreciated folk singer and guitarist. He has played here in Corvallis a number of times at the Interzone with This Bike is A Pipe Bomb and by himself. He's gone on to tour with Bright Eyes recently I guess...still he has to sleep in his car and play empty coffee shops though...so listen to him and pass it on if you like what you hear.

An old man pumped my gas tonight.

It is a cold night that keeps most indoors. The roads are clear. At nearly two a.m. I pull off Ninth just after the traffic light to fill up the tank. Upon my arrival, an old man rises from a stool, puts down a bible and begins to limp slowly towards my car.

When he reaches the half-open window of my Volvo station wagon, he looks tired. He is pale and thin-haired. He lacks the extra pounds that men of his age often display, sometimes proudly as a mark of their comfort. His eyes are deep caves. He looks uncomfortable in tight jeans and a torn outdated Aeropostal jacket. The Salvation Army doesn't have fitting rooms and they certainly don't let you pick and choose.

The man does not smile. No phony "Hello and welcome to..." He emits a sense of determination so subtle yet intense I know it can only be the product of true desperation. I watch in extreme discomfort as this old man fights with everything he has to retain his dignity. But it is clear that he is tired of struggling to hold himself up as he fills it with premium for the rich college jocks in their daddy’s BMWs. The old man is slowing down but the world is speeding up.

I am suddenly sweating even though subzero wind is gusting in though the open window. The car’s heated leather seats burn my legs now. Subconsciously and discreetly I cover the thousand dollar laptop that sits on the passenger seat with a ratty old tee shirt. I turn off the chipper pop song that my $300 iPod touch is blaring. I feel ill.

I nod as the man hands me my change and pretend to check my watch at the same time, too ashamed to look him in the eye.