My sugar heart melts on your tongue
My breath stops at your touch
No one has ever shut me up like you have
Your kiss like candy and I think I might crash
I feel like it would be dumb to say that I could love him.
I haven’t slept for days. The ache sets in and I weep alone in my bed. You left fingerprints on my skin. I haven’t been the same since.
I am burning and the world keeps turning. I am not tragedy enough yet to be a story yet. For now I am just sad. Nothing significant. I want to grow a new heart.
I am alone again, and I hear the scratching of sin on sin and I see the remnants of what you meant to me dripping from my skin.
Scars are all you are.
You were night time voyages to the moon and back. You were reckless abandon, you were near arrest. If I had stayed, I’d probably be in jail.
I’m glad you and I are no longer friends but I am sad it happened on your terms. I am HAPPY that I never got a chance to mutually love you. It would have wrecked me and being wrecked over you would be the biggest waste of my soul imaginable.
I don’t know what to write about I guess that’s where it all starts. Being a WRITER. What does that even mean. It’s what I want. But I don’t know what steps to take. Being an entertainer is hard because what you actually need is people to like you. That’s it. You don’t need skill or talent NECESSARILY. I mean, you do, but its not a fucking JOB REQUIREMENT. It’s not what makes you SUCCESSFUL. Which is totally unfair.
I can’t stop moving. I feel the vibrations of every form of life coursing through me and it’s like if I stop moving I die. Or something. Who knows. I’m just typing everything I think and maybe, just maybe, poetry will come out. But prose. I don’t want to be a poet. Or maybe I do. Courtney wanted to be. But that doesn’t mean it’s the thing for me.
I feel scared because I know I have an addictive personality and I know I could very easily get hooked on raves and molly. Well its not the rave that hooked me. It’s the drugs. I know that. Drugs are very nice and lovely but its interesting because the thing that can bring you to the high points of life can also drag you down to the lowest.
I can’t stop typing or thinking or moving because whenever I do a familiar depression comes creeping in and I don’t NEED that right now! Not at all. I just need to be up and be excited about the dude I like. He’s very attractive but thinking about him makes me depressed. Usually with dudes I have the upper hand because I am a rad girl and I am pretty. I used to be reluctant to say that but I am pretty. People tell me that enough on Youtube and shit that I believe them and its FINE. Its FINE to think I’m pretty. Whatever.
But anyways I usually have the upperhand. Example. This guy in one of my classes. Not my type and an aggressive dude but a good friend vibe. Not a boyfriend vibe at all and he hits on me and says weird things to me a lot but I’m just a dick to him! It’s fun! Because I’m reminding him that I’m in control because I AM. It’s fun to flirt and fuck with dudes. Men are EASY. Unless you like them. Then they’re the most complicated thing in the world.
I think the best sex advice I could give anyone is not to fake an orgasm. If you do you’re only betraying yourself. Which is dumb! Sex is about you just as much as whoever you’re with! It’s not wrong to tell a dude what to do sexually because men are HOPELESS sometimes. Everyone is hopeless at some stuff. There’s no reason not to guide people when they’re not on track. Sexually and non sexually.
I simultaneously see normally and see myself from the outside. I am fascinatingly detached. I am looking around at the other people but not connecting. I have an unbelievable desire to destroy everything I see but I don’t possess the energy to actually carry out these things. Pain and love are nothing more than distant song topics. Everything has blurred together. This morning seems like weeks ago.
I’m starting to wonder if I even exist at all.
I have forgotten how to feel and now I’m sinking, drowning in apathy. I don’t know how in the world anyone could save me.
Everyone is paper and everyone is glass. Every single person and every single thing. So easily broken. So easily thrown out. The future has absolutely ceased to matter. My goal is to seek feelings in the now. I do not have the ability to be anything more than a mirror. I reflect. I deflect. Somewhere along the way the mirror broke and I’m at the beginning of seven years of devastatingly bad luck.
I need new love. I need new pain. I need to snap out of this. One of those two is the key and I will pick whichever one comes first. That’s all.
I’m lying on my floor listening to my Unplugged record and thinking back over the course of my life and wondering honestly who I’d be if I’d never have loved Nirvana. I don’t think I’d be anything like me. I don’t think I’d love the way I love or create art the way I do. I don’t think I’d want any of the same things I want.
I’m just about the same age as Frances and my parents raised me on old Beatles records, so I didn’t have a childhood full of Nirvana like some of you. But when I was about 12 my mother forced me to take the SATs (I got a 1690 without studying at all, if you’re curious), and in order to bribe me to do that, she bought me the American Idiot CD, which had just come out.
The album was unlike anything I had ever heard. Most music my classmates liked was wonderful 90’s pop, and while great, it wasn’t about being dissatisfied with the entire fucking country. American Idiot was angry and heavy and politically charged and there was swearing. 12 year old me was more than intrigued. After wearing that CD down until it was nearly unplayable in my gray boombox I cherished so much, I wanted to look for more. And that’s what lead me to Nirvana.
Lithium was the first Nirvana song I remember hearing. I still remember thinking the verses were cool, but being absolutely blown away with how the chorus had such a different energy. I remember thinking that this guy knew how to write music on a level I wanted to understand. I started to take guitar lessons.
Nirvana was the first band I liked that made me weird in the eyes of my peers, although I don’t quite think that’s what it was. I think 12 is the age where you being to forge your individual identity within society, and it just so happened that I’m from a very outdoorsy town where most everyone I knew played several sports. I wanted to sit in my room and imagine revolution and think of a future where I could create art that people would find important. My friends at the time all played volleyball, and instead, I shut myself in my room and wrote.
I never knew Kurt, but I do know that he was an incredible talent and voice. I know he didn’t enjoy the pressures of fame, but you don’t get named the voice of a generation for no reason. His music made me feel less lonely, but at the same time made me feel like being alone was okay.
(And no, I don’t think I was born in the wrong generation. I think when people say that it’s proof that generations have more in common than they think. Some older people just pretend their youth wasn’t important. Which is stupid. Duh.)
Last June I went to Seattle to see American Idiot the musical, and I also stopped at Viretta park. It felt like paying tribute to the things that set me on the path I’m on in life. I cried at Viretta park, even though I don’t cry very often when I’m sad. The amount of inscriptions and tokens left there for Kurt just got to me. He continues to make such an impact on people today, and that’s so beautiful. I don’t think any of us can say what Kurt would have wanted if he were alive today, but I don’t think he would have been upset that he gave so many of us outliers a home in his music.
Thank you, Kurt. Rest in Peace.
I just read your most recent story- its great! I wish I could write like that in a novel type of form, but personally scripts are my comfort zone
Oh my gosh thank you so much!
Scripts are so awesome though! I was a film major but I had the hardest time writing scripts because I got too excited about my idea and kept forgetting things because it was in my head already if that makes sense. But yeah scripts are rad!
The evening air was cold and crisp on Max’s skin and the way it whistled against his lips like the ghost of something else made his heart ache. He looked out on the choppy waves as he dug his feet deeper into the sand. Max liked the coast. He always had. The coast was liminal.
He brought his last cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with smoke. It was one of life’s cruel tricks that the thing that got him though days such as this was the very vice that could one day kill him.
I WAS LOOKING AT MY GOOGLE DOCS AND APPARENTLY THERE IS SOME STUFF FROM MY AP LIT CLASS FROM MY SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL AND IM LAUGHING SO HARD OMG IM CLEARLY INSANE
Paradise Lost Parody Deal
God - Kimberly
Satan - Megan
Narrator - Sangeeta
Beelzebub - Jen
Synopsis: God is throwing a party, which is super lame. It’s a sparkling juice tasting event, and Satan decides to crash it, because he thought it would be really legit. Then it was not, so Satan and Beezelbub were pissed because God found out and kicked them out, so they decided to throw a really awesome party on their own. Satan sends his bud, Beezelbub to get other people to come and they were like no way man. It was a kegger with red cups and curly straws, therefore more cool. Then God sends the police to stop the party and Satan is all oh its better to throw a bitchin party than be at a lame one. For people to join Satan and Beezelbub, they were offered a curly straw and then told to wait for a sign. The angels were not interested but everybody else was like up for hella partying! Let me know bro! The sign was what Jen just did, aka, a bird call. They have to have their curly straws to get in. God cannot get in even though he wants to because Satan’s party is way better. When he can’t get in, he calls the police, and lets all the angels back in except Satan and Beezelbub.
“Nowhere Fast” by the Smiths
“Over the Edge” by the Wipers
sometimes i crave a dystopian society where i have to live in the woods because this materialistic city life thing that i deal with every day wouldn’t exist anymore
i miss living in bend. when things got rough, i would just drive ten minutes from my house to shevlin park and then just run 6 miles into the woods. and i’d just sit there on the ground and listen to absolutely nothing but myself and the organic world around me and my problems would seem so far away and so inconsequential. it would put everything into perspective. sometimes i’d stay out there for a really long time. i wouldn’t want to come back to the city.
the last time i was there, i was alone and it was raining. it was cold and sort of miserable, but i was happier then than i am now living here… as much as i never thought i’d say it, i’m always going to want to be able to go back to bend. my goal is to be successful enough in film that i can afford to have a place in bend to go back to.
the silence of the woods when compared to the suffocating noise of the city is quite an incredible thing