30 Seconds til Meltdown...

I've just finished the most painful paper I've written since the poem I wrote in high school called, "Torrance." It's not the writing itself, but the content that bothers me. It's a story I'm not completely comfortable with admitting, and especially a story I do not like to share. It still pains me to think about what I've lost as a result of my physical impossibility to move forward and push through. That's simply what it is....a physical impossibility. If I push through it, it will become damaged. More physical pain. More emotional pain... As it is, I'm living with a bandage over a massive, gaping bullet hole. I haven't played my violin and years...and I hardly know myself some days because of it. The music has been pulled and stripped from me, and I'm left bare and naked in the corner. That blanket of security, now gone.

I used a quote in my paper that says, "The youth's voices echo in my soul and stitch the open wounds of my past." But, stitches do not hold back the pain...

I Love Philosophy

Someone once told me I wasn't smart enough to understand The Matrix (1999). This, I have never forgotten. It has become, and is now, one of my favorite movies. I can't begin to explain how painful that statement is, and how it has also pushed me to move forward and to break from the mold.

Today, I'm writing a paper on the different philosophical tenets imbedded within the movie. It brings a smile to my face knowing that I have the background knowledge of philosophy that will make my paper shine above the rest.

Though, I do have to say that if I were without my favorite philosophy music, a mix of Sigur Ros, Moby, and the Donnie Darko Soundtrack, I wouldn't have the same thought process while writing this paper. It is a ritual, and a bit of a supersitition about paper writing-more specifically philosophy paper writing. I've written many a paper without without this mix, however, it is a necessity for philosophy. It puts me in the right mindset to get the job done and for it to be focused and directed. No other music that I've found, as of yet, gives me the same effect. And yet, I never tire of this music, eventhough I've listened to it hundreds of times.

Song of the Day: Approach/Dream-Sigur Ros.

Again...

Sometimes I have to read things over and over again. It's a validation of the way I once felt, or being able to slip back into a moment that I want to live over again. A moment that that I can't let go of and that, like a lucid dream, I can slip back into. Sometimes its music, sometimes it's a novel, sometimes it's a feeling that sweeps through me all by itself. I'm not sure how it happens exactly, but the threads of the past are woven tightly throughout me. For right now, I just finished revisiting The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. It's an entirely cliche novel, but one that I could read over and over again, and it would still bring out the same emotions in me. I would still cry at the same points in the story, I would still feel the rush of excitement when I hear about the love of Noah and Allie. It still overcomes me and I'm lost in the emotion. I feel like all of my senses are on a higher level. I remember where I was when I was reading it. I remember the music in the background, the late evening hours I spent finishing the book, and if I looked through journals of poetry, I'm sure I could approximate the time frame in which I finished the novel. I feel like I can hear the words in the letters Noah writes to Allie, I can smell the outdoors and the rain while they canoe. I can also smell my own surroundings better for some reason...I'm sure it's a physical hightened sense of smell because of the crying and the clearing of my sinuses, but I tend to shy away from the scientific reasoning behind this phenomena. I'm more interested in the emotion behind it.

There are certain albums that make me feel this way...

John Mayer's Room For Squares It's an album that has multiple meanings for me, but I remember those moments very well...

Moby's Play It still gives me butterflies. The good kind.

Staind's Break The Cycle Aaron Lewis, you spoke to me when I needed to hear.


And then there are certain songs:

Eric Clapton's Wonderful Tonight
Fleetwood Mac's Landslide
Debussy's Claire de Lune
Jason Mraz-Who Needs Shelter
Imogen Heap-Hide and Seek
Tori Amos-Gold Dust

The song that reminds me of reading The Notebook: John Mayer's Great Indoors. It's more of a mood set rather than the lyrics specifically.


There are more...but those are the first to come to mind.

It pains me to know that most people are not so in touch with their emotions...or with their own minds. I know I'm am stuck inside of my own head most of the time, but I wouldn't give this up. Never would I give up how intuitive I am to my own feelings. I delight in the moments when I feel as if I am weightless, where I do not feel the burdens of everyday, though these moments have gotten shorter and shorter as I've gotten older. I hope that as I become older, they will become more frequent and longer. I delight in the moments where I feel like my head is all that matters and the thoughts inside of it, full of insightful things meant only for myself. Perhaps that's selfish of me, but they were made for me and no one else. This is not a fault of the brain, but a gift of the self.


I get pulled in by the emotion, but I just can't let it go...

Writers World...

I've been a bit of a writer for years. I've dabbled into various mediums trying to figure which I like best, but mostly I'm a free verse writer. Not really social commentary, but self realization I suppose. I think the best moments when I'm writing are when I'm thinking about music, though I woudln't call myself a music writer, a music critic, or (really) a music analyst. There's just something about listening to the right music when I'm writing, or I feel most inspired to write about, well, anything, once I've had that transcendent moment with music (see post: Have to Write...)

I'm getting back in the grove of writing on my blog and attempting to find more time to write here, and that's always a struggle. There are times I want to run from what I believe, run away from the thoughts that get bottled up in my head, and really, that's where this comes in for me. Writing is like therapy for me. It brings me clarity the same way running does.

I guess I should have known years ago that as much as I love music and as much as I can't live without it, I can't live without my writing more. All the way through my earlier years, I never left the house without a notebook and a pen. I haven't done this since I started college I suppose. Now, I always have my planner with me, almost always have a novel of some kind along in my purse. These things are important to me, but I have my planner to keep me on time and a book to take up time while I'm waiting. Essentially, my life now revolves around time instead of leisure. I made the sacrifices in some of the things I loved, to create new things I love. I value the education that I have and that I worked so hard for it. I began to write different things, but I still wrote. My music has come and gone through periods now and it is very painful to think of beginning again. I haven't played in so long, I'm sure I still could, and I'm sure I still want to, but the fear eats at me. What if it still physically hurts? and an even bigger fear...what if it doesn't?

I can continue to write all the way through my life, and I plan on doing just that. There are some major fears in my mind about it though. Will I be able to have the writers world that I want? Will I someday be able to have a room of my own for writing? Will I find solitude in writing and reading the way I naievely did years earlier? I certainly hope that those parts of me have not died as I've become more and more practical. I've always been emotional, affected by everything around me. It is hard for me to take my emotions out of my work. It is hard for me to not find the little tidbits in novels that show the most emotion, show heartache, or devastation. The parts that mostly affect mering deep inside of me, but for some time now have gotten lost in the everyday menial tasks of life. The everday seems more important and rates an "A" on my list of things to take care of. Writing, of course, is further down the list. Having time to reflect is certainly something I find meaningful and important for many reasons. Honestly, having the time to sift through it gives me a grip on reality, even if it is only the reality that I see.

TR-009 Edge of Desire

Because today, I just can't write for myself....


Young and full of running, tell me where has that taken me? Just a great figure eight or a tiny infinitiy?
Love is really nothing, but a dream that keeps waking me
For all of my trying, we still end up dying, How can it be?

Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me/'Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see/I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe/There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me.

So you and full of running, All the way to the Edge of Desire. Steady my breathing, silently screaming. I have to have you now, Wired and I'm tired. IThink i'll sleep in my clothes on teh floor, or mauybe this mattress will spin on its axis, and Find me on yours.

Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me/'Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see/I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe/There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me....

What happened to me?

As a true part of my character, I always feel like I should be evolving. Changing, morphing, advancing, call it what you may. But lately, I feel a lot less like myself than I used to. I'm doing something I love, in a place I enjoy, and my life is pretty much uncomplicated. But right now, I feel like a different version of myself. I used to have so much spunk, so much anger. I've changed in ways I didn't think I would and I've become something that on most days I'm happy with. Perhaps I'm holding on to my rebellious days a bit too much, but sometimes I just can't hack living in a world with bright colors and happy people 24/7. I've dealt with things people my age shouldn't have to. I've lost friends who were dear to me, both physically and emotionally. I lost the most inspiring person in my life and live just far enough away from home that it doesn't ache as much anymore. I've been emotionally disconnected from people I care about just to make things easier to cope with. I'm alienated. Perhaps that is why I connect so well with literature and why it speaks to me so much. I like the stories; I like hearing about other people's heartache since then it doesn't make mine feel so bad. I read to get away from what I'm going through, and learn to cope with what others describe.

For the rest of my life, I want to write.

That's something I can be sure of. I've written this blog on and off for years, but I always come back to it and it's the only medium I feel comfortable with lately. I used to write poetry. Like mad. I will never throw out the notebooks filled with verse because for a period of my life, that's all I felt like I had. I had my thoughts, and a notebook, and luckily a few very close friends that stuck by me.

Yes, for years I used to be dark and twisty inside. Black was the sole color in my wardrobe and the only thing that made me feel comfortable. I was aching and falling and slipping fast. Something happened at that point, and I turned into something else. The best way to deal with that, I guess, was to change. I've changed my image many times. Been back and forth between the me that seems right, and the me that's playing a role. I've gotten better at hiding the things that ail me. I've gotten better at fitting in. I've gotten better at covering up the dark and twisty. Perhaps that's the reason people always think I'm older than I am. Perhaps I look more weathered than people my own age, who carry innocence on their sleeves instead of heartache.

I'm trying to hold onto certain parts of the me that makes me feel most at home. The one where I'm in tune with how I feel and in tune with how I'm affected by things. I'm not the girl who wears only black anymore, though I miss that life. I am still the girl who paints her nails dark colors, and not just because it's in style. I feel most comfortable when I have my thoughts written down and when I've taken the time to realize how I really feel about something, and forget the rest of what's going on and am completely lost in the moment. When really, that moment is all about me. I have those moments so rarely anymore, and I used to live in those moments. Somehow, I need to have those moments back. I need to hang on to what used to be me, because that's where I feel the most comfortable. I kid myself when I laugh off people saying that I'm

"deep."

I, of course, think this is ridiculous because this is the way I've always been. I'm a pessimist, never the optimist. I've lived outside the box for many years. I'm the secret, silent type hidden in the corner. I cry when no one is around to see it. I keep a lot to myself, sometimes to my detriment.

I'm constantly morphing and changing, that I know for sure. There are things I can't let go of, things that I'm not very good with coping from. I have a chip on my shoulder, and mostly I spend a lot of time trying to cover that up. But what's so wrong with showing it? I still have to hang on to the part of me that made me who I am now. I can't always be the person that everyone else wants me to be, I have to be myself. I can't forget like all of those things didn't happen to me, and that certain parts of my life didn't exist. I can't let go of everything that once was in order to fit into the world I have now. I am who I am because of those things. I can't be me without all of those experiences.

No conformity; I have to be myself. That, I'm not willing to compromise.