Wait till the day you finally see I’ve been here waiting patiently.

Tune of the day CXXV.

When all is said and done
And dead, does he love you
The way that I do?
Breathing in lightning
Tonight’s for fighting
I feel the hurt so physical

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Rebel rendevouz.

A short one (but not really now that I’ve written it).

I thoughtlessly walk down the science majors’ hall, to a man in his mid-twenties. The man has coiffed, black hair, and is wearing a jean shirt, black jeans and black cons. Though he has his shirt sleeves rolled up, his arms are covered by another kind of sleeves. Vibrant colors, intricate patterns weave through each other to form beautiful motives. His tattoos mesmerize me. I realize that they are the reason for me approaching him in the first place. The vague sight of color hypnotized me. The man gives me a surprised smile and I ask him about the ink, not caring about the fact that I don’t know him at all. We chat for bit, with a generous amount of flirting, until the bell rings. Apparenty, he has some kind of task in a different part of school, and we have to part ways. On the way to the classroom I’m met with whispers that run through the crowd of studens lining up along the hall. It’s considered scandalous for a student to interact with one of the older guys, but I don’t seem to care. I am late to class, but still running with the rebel thing, so I cockily strut around the tables to my seat in the far back. The burning stares of the students only feed my attitude, and the only thing that causes me to react is someone humming the melody to “I Fell in Love With a Girl”, by the White Stripes, and when I turn my head to the source of the sound, I see the tattooed man sitting there. I don’t show my surprise, instead choosing to throw a flirty smirk his way. After I’ve sat down, I discreetly sneak a glance at him, trying to be nonchalant, and see him stand up. He walks up to me and leans in to whisper something. I put my hand on his neck, but quickly take it back. His skin feels like it’s on fire. I check my hand, but nothing is different. He tells me to meet him in the gazebo after sundown, and then just walks away. With the sound of the teacher scolding someone in the background, I ponder which gazebo he could be talking about. A light switch flips. I get an image of a beautiful white gazebo in my head, wrapped in tiny, white lights and surrounded by lilies. I smile to myself, thinking that I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows about that place. The bell rings us out, indicating the end of the day…

And then I wake up.

Bad blood.

Tune of the day CXXIV.

It’s not like someone who’s felt like I feel (although that’s most likely the case) is telling their story. It’s like that person showing me that they know what I’m thinking, and not only that, but also responding to my thoughts – actually telling me what I should do. I want to say “I know, you’re right. It’s just so hard.” But then I remind myself that it’s just a song. And suddenly I realize that I’m actually responding to my own thoughts. I tell myself that I’ll try, and even though I’m dubious, I accept that answer. Because I know it’s all I can muster up the will to do. Try. How weak. Disgusting.


No news
That’s good news
Someone’s gonna break
See things change
I’ve been changing everything
It’s peaceful
The pitch black
When the last light on goes out
I’m stranded
In my bed
So I think about
The bad luck
The bad blood
That may have come between
Two good souls
That’s one heck of an offering
So take these gifts that have been given
And ended up with an alphabet
But some words are too wrong to define
Now the whole world is waking up
A ribbon cut for the opening
We all knew that day would arrive
Up all night
All upset
The outside’s growing light
No breakfast
Just not much of an appetite
So be cool
And believe in the things you haven’t learned
’cause you lost
And it’s gone
But it will return
Now it’s all laid out in front of you
And that’s half murdered the mystery
Are you still too shy to describe?
Now the whole world is waking up
A ribbon cut for the opening
Yes, finally the day has arrived
So seek
And rejoice
Fill your hands with something tangible
And fly your love
Like a flag
And destroy the desire
For that which is impossible
And accept what you get with a smile

The Raven.

I’m in one of my moods again. My thoughts consume me, keep me from getting any rest. I spend my nights trying to escape them, turning to fiction to keep me from facing reality. Trying to numb myself at night, barely aware of my surroundings during daytime. I roam around aimlessly, having set destinations but no goal. I move sluggishly like a zombie, keeping all interactions at a minimum. I get fleeting moments of happiness, but they disappear all too fast. People watch the dark circles under my eyes with concern, puzzled looks when they meet the blank, disconnected stare of my eyes. Such a sudden change. They don’t realize that it’s just routine. I have to get these periods out of my system to be able to live. Otherwise, I’d get lost in them. The thoughts.

I’ve spent an hour reading The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe, aloud. The rhythmic verses soothe me. Diving into one horror story to avoid my own.

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; –
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before –
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore –
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting –
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

Response.

So, I’ve been thinking about writing lately. I’ve always written but I didn’t realize, until recently, how much I enjoy it. I’ve been thinking about spending my summer writing, maybe get started on my first story. These days, my fingers are practically itching for it. I just want to write. All the time. I realized I have practically no experience in writing seriously, and then I started doubting myself. I mean, what if I really suck? No use in even trying then. So I decided to get some help, have someone read one of my texts and tell me what they think. I read this blog, Rocknrollercoaster (Such an awesome name. Actually, such an awesome blog. You should read go read it. It exceeds mine in every way.) and thought I’d ask Mark, the dude running it, because I know he’s a good writer and wouldn’t bullshit me. So I did, and he shared his opinion. It really gave me the confidence to actually try this thing. It made me so happy, and I just want to put it here so I have it. For rainy days, you know?

Yeah so here is Mark’s response to the post “Haunted.”, that I wrote the other night. Just scroll down a bit. Or click here if you’re too lazy.

“Seems like you and I could be like writing twins or something, that story seems like one I would totally write about, because it’s something I experience a lot, and can relate to. We also seem to have a similar style when it comes to writing creatively. We both employ a lot of descriptive words and an apparent use of assonance. I also like your use of fragmentation.

I know you’re probably looking for critique probably and not so much praise, but honestly I don’t think I can critique something when it’s written at a level at or above what I would be able to write myself. It is very well-written, I think I’ll keep track of that blog and check out some more of your stuff.

You do a great job describing the experience of seemingly being engulfed and taken over by the demons in your head… Like the feeling of being unoccupied with anything around you so you get lost in your own thoughts, which eventually become negative, and struggling to bring some positivity into your mind. Once the demons are expelled, you know they’ll be back, but the temporary relief from them is a nice feeling… a big weight off the shoulders.

It’s something I experience often, just about everyday, so I think I’m a pretty credible critic on the subject. ^_^

P.S. I like the title. Very appropriate and Chuck Palahniuk-esque.”

Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be stoked, you know you would be. I’m ecstatic.

Now I’m pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door.

Tune of the day CXXIII.

Today, when the door opened and I saw you – my breath caught. As sappy as it sounds, I’m completely taken by you. When you come in like that, looking like the incarnation of Holden Caulfield, I can’t help but melt. And, against my better judgement, I revel in it. And you’re just being your lovely, preckly self, oblivious of how you affect me. When you give me that shy smile, you inadvertently feed the flame. Actually, you set me aflame. Whenever you look at me, it sends a wave of heat through my body. I imagine it’s an elevated version of what blushing feels like. I’ve fallen for you. And though I know there’s a big chance that I’ll crash. Hard. I just know that I’ve never felt so alive. And if falling is what it takes for me to live, then let me free fall for the rest of my life. This tune is for you Phreckles. Every single word is for you. Because it really was enchanting to meet you. And it still is. Every fucking time.

(Due to (idiotic) copyrights, I can’t find a version of the song that hasn’t had its pitch changed. It irritates me, so I’m not even bothering. Instead, I’m putting up a cover by the very lovely Meghan Tonjes. I kind of adore her, so check out her YouTube channel. Incredibly talented.)

This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go
I’m wonder-struck, blushing all the way home
I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew
I was enchanted to meet you