deear blogworld

The Bay Bridge is broken. I do not approve.



I just re-arranged my room for the (sixth? seventh?) time this semester. Looks awesome. What's that word? fung-shwey? (excuse the phonetic spelling.)




Poems are funny things. They make me confused as to why I am here. In a good way.


(decipher that)

You're soft like the Rain

and deep like the sea.

--

I'm coughing up a lung today and I think it's funny because I treat me pretty properly.

More sleep please.

Happy birthday to Zak who is twenty-four years old today and will always be

older than

me. 

he he.

He's made of magic, you see, my better Soul, and makes me believe in Happily-

ever-after, repeatedly, and we're like two peas in a pod, two-

pieced puzzle, two hearts dreaming together, two minds

in the Love nestled in the Palm in the lap of the God

who is my Tomorrow and makes our Today and formed a Yesterday 

so we could be Now and Love and Trusting 

and Trusted. Oh, Lucky, I'm in

Love.

Every day is new. 

I am doubting I say and he says no, you are not doubting, let me show you doubt.

and he pulls the picture from beneath his books and points to the man in the center

This is doubt, he says, this is a man who is full of doubt and it shows in the creases in his eyes, in the red of his irises.

I am still doubting, I say, and show him my list of ten problems and he looks at them like I am made of white wool
and he says no, you are not

made of doubt, you are made of a question.

But there is no answer, I say,

and he says, you cannot hear it, because you talk

too loud.

Just things I think about tonight

I am made of something that (I would like to say is prairie dust, but) is
suburban streets with concrete pavement tattooing feet
that tap, not barefoot, but heeled and stuccoed
like the face of our home (not honey-suckled, but) saturated
with tan paint the color of desert dust.

It's okay because the summer is one-hundred
and four degrees at sunset and burns the skin
like sex at midnight, (which, even if I have no first-hand
experience, sounds like chaos that erupts,
like terror, at dawn).

And I miss my family because they, like him,
are home, in a different way: are Home in the blood-lines,
in the Love that hurts when I eat dinner
alone.

These words are capitals on purpose because of Truth,
of Stories, of Permanence that wraps my wrists
in thirsty grins akin to purpose but instead are sleepy,
are wishing, and Miss:

the mom that holds me when I am tired and runs
her fingers through my hair in the heat
of the desert, in the soft of suburbia.

the dad that kisses my cheek, with an I love you
(and he Means it, with a capital Meaning like Reason,
like Understanding, like the Truth
that forgets where I came from and dreams for where I
go).

My God is something blue like the Iris,
is something black like the night, is purple
like the velvet of the pillow that waits
for my cheek but instead is forgotten alongside the

fists I press into my forehead. My God is God.
It is different because you are confused: what is she writing
about? What does she mean?

I mean that home is halfway across the bay, is at the base
of this large state, is in the red prayer book at my beside,
is the dawn. Is the twilight.

You are

You are my favorite (something, someone, inhale, jumping-jack) 

you taste like (sunshine, bananas, ice cream, mud pies)

you feel like (silk, satin, sheen, breeze, jersey) against my skin and your heart 

is (purple, blue, fire-engine red) inside of mine.

Say it aint so--ohwhoaohwhoa

I came home from a weekend in the woods--with 13/14 others, in the heart of Lagunitas--and sat on my bed. I then proceeded to consume an entire bag of Trader Joes peanut butter filled pretzels.

I have white mask on my face
My mouse is chewing her way through a steel barred cage
Salt granules cake my brown comforter
And I had no one water my Ivy this weekend.

But that is okay. Because Ivy is invincible.

My starving mouse, however, is not.

---
In other news, my spirit's soaring again and my soul is more settled--all because I finally skipped out on work this morning and was able to attend church. Praise God His voice was Thunderous music to my ears today.

Ah. Lord I miss you when I am far from your Sanctuary. Bring me Home to the Church again soon.

Fall on me (for anything you like)

They say that some things never die (no, I have no idea who they are, and I do not know what those certain somethings are). But I am intrigued.

A pathos plant seems to never die. They last multiple human lifetimes and only die when you toss it in the trash and stop watering it. A tree seems to never die. They pride themselves in getting rounder and fatter and continue to shoot up to the sky till someone in need of a cross or a cradle cuts them down. I suppose its mostly plant things that never die. Probably because they have no consciousness so they never have to worry. Maybe that is why we find them soothing.

Maybe that is why I purchased a bush of ivy and put it on my bookshelf today. Because plants never die. Because they don't worry. Maybe I am trying to learn a lesson.

Mostly, though, I think I am just a compulsive shopper.

stresshisseslikeyour teeth

I'm lying on my bed with a round, heavy stone in the center of my back because I want to be centered and I think it might be something like those stone massages--or, I thought--but so far its just a rock.

I'm feeling oppressed. By nothing. I am impulsively filling the silence with Linkin Park and I am only slightly ashamed.

I just finished reading a Sarah Dessen book (not ashamed) and am on to figure out how to raise 900 dollars in less than a week, so that I can keep going to this school.

If I am living on the streets by the end of next week, it's because Mills Student Accounts and Financial Aid is run by vampires.