conversing with a headstone.

are you still writing?
I know you pricked your finger on the coffin hangnail, but has that meant anything?
life is a mess of exaggeration, so I'm not fully sure where to stand, lest I break something. then again, you never really held breaking things against me. did it ever bother you?
it would bother me.
I don't know if I can report good news or not. all I can say, is I'm still here - whether you like it or not, though I prefer to think you like it.

I'm alive still.
did you ever stop writing? I never could read that mixed handwriting of yours. too confusing, too cryptic. or so you may think.
right now, my soul has fret buzz. not that I mind, or that you care.

dear you,
do my changes bother you?
would it be love if you saw it?
you can be honest,
it's not like it's important.
my existence is mine to judge, can't you get over that?

is your grave clean?
do you get visitors?
would you care?
do you even have a grave?

are you dead?

when did you die?
why did you die?
do you even know who I am?

I wonder if we'd be friends if you weren't in a grave.
are you in a grave?

or is it just that you're so cold,
you may as well be dead to me.

would it be love?
no, you'd know it, especially
since you never have.

by the way,
get over it.

sex and art and sex. (and the number 42).

so I've been thinking.
but it hurt, so I stopped
and haven't posted much lately.

but that stops now! sorta.
I mean, it's not as though it really matters,
since this is mostly self-gratifying.. for now.
I do have readers, and people have talked
to me about this blog, which I appreciate
immensely.
anyway..

for one thing, first and foremost, I'm going
to talk about my grammar/typing habits real quick.
I usually spell everything correctly,
I pride myself in that fact, because I love words.
but it has been brought up to me that I don't
capitalize correctly, and format my blogs awkwardly.

to that I say, I don't care.
it's something I constantly shift between,
I realize full well it's improper, but the entirety of this..
experience?
isn't proper. it's just a mess, a mish mash, a gash of
my flooding thoughts and so on, and so forth, et cetera.

so yeah, back off my letters, hoe. ho? hoe. gotta be hoe.
urban dictionary says it's hoe, so.. safe. well, I say "safe".

anyway anyway anyway.
this has little to do with the original intentions behind the post,
being sex.. and art.. and more sex, obviously - if you read the title.



the first sex is irrelevant, I just thought double the sex might spice the post up.



I love art. drawing mostly, in fact I do the majority of my drawing in pen.
not good art pens, just really sharp tipped pens I have.
if I'd given any amount of attention to my drawing over the years,
perhaps I would have improved - if at least slightly.
so I've decided.. I'm going to draw every day, until I'm not awful.
not that I'm awful, I just tend to do crazy collage-style drawings
and I always feel like they have a very singular focus and I'd like
to do more than just that.
agh. blah blah blah, more arts.
might start posting a comic I've been considering about an abstract
bird and a little girl, using them as a medium to discover the intricate
details of life (namely the number 42 if we get right down to it).
anyway, that may happen at some point - or not. I haven't decided.

as for the sex - sex thing,
I've been watching Mad Men lately (up to Season 2) and I'm really
enjoying it. however what I've noticed in all these big budget,
uncensored television programmes is the prominence of sex,
and it's emotional misguidedness (not a word but whatever).
not that I'm booing sex at all, I'm just saying I feel a bit of a disconnect
when I see some of these scenes because when there's reasoning
behind the scenes it proves to make less sense that it would have if
they just decided "right then.. LET'S FUCK." and then fucked.
and typically all the scenes in Mad Men are result of promiscuity
and passionate urges - which causes no disconnect between me
and the characters. it makes sense in the show for it to happen.
BUT *spoilers-maybe-kinda-sorta-not-sure*
there's a scene where the main character becomes incredibly
helpless and seeks out the attention of a love interest for
sexual comforts. well.. I can't say that's TOO odd, and it's
probably me that's the odd one out, but I feel like when
a character in a show is having a crisis of emotion and identity,
the comfort they seek should be less sexual.
it almost felt like it shattered the perception that the character
is feeling weak, falling apart even, and instead of seeking
the arms of a loved one, it just kind of forces a sex scene
on the situation awkwardly.
if it were real life, I'd be like.. well the guys got a hard on, whateva.
but in a show, it's kinda like.. why does "hollywood" have to force
a seemingly great and emotional scene for the character into a
cookie cutter sexually masculine scene so it's like
"he's no bitch, he's gettin' pussy" or something weird like that.
now this is a half-rant, and seems totally baseless as I read back on it,
and I wouldn't argue it with this, but there is a disconnect in that scene
thanks to how the sex scene feels forced, and it bothered me.
it's like.. sure, sex is sexy, but if you ate ice cream whenever the fuck
you wanted you'd just get fat and lazy.
hm.

anyway.
art. gotta do that shit.

PS

there's this girl I talk to
she is the bomb
and quite funny

but she's mean to me,
she threatened to beat me.

the end <3

on my funeral.

I don't want one.

A funeral, that is (if you didn't read the title). I'll obviously think about it more later in life, but right now? I want to be cremated and mixed in with some fertilizer for a flower garden or something.
No service, nothing churchy, nothing fancy.
I feel irritated whenever I hear it's not for the deceased, it's for those in mourning to gather and find solace - or peace. I feel irritated because while I'm not against mourning, I am against an event being held under such a flawed pretense. I don't want my post-mortem moments to be awash with negativity and a memory wrapped in dark clothing and smeared makeup.

Of course this is assuming I'll find anything in my life that'd result in such a funeral, but either way.. If it's my death, I don't want it glorified in boy public manner. No food, no service. Group up and mourn on your own if you truly wish, but don't arrange something as foolish as a wake for me.

Or something. Half-asleep ramblings. Goodnight.

short, unintended hiatus. to end.

it's been a little while since i've written on here. I wouldn't necessarily call it neglect, so much as the fact that I've been busy enough that I don't have to call it neglect.
I've been in Spokaneland since Thursday, staying at my friend Wayne's house.
on tuesday my friends Wayne, Justin, Collin, and I will be leaving at like four-something to go to Kennewick. why Kennewick? we wanted to turn going to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers reunion on screen into a roadtrip. so we'll leave a few hours before the time of the show, and let destiny take it's golden course.

anyway, I have blogworthy thoughts on hold. they shall be coming.

title post broken.

Dear cellular-sounding-board,

I have writers block, and it won't go away. Expressing myself is made difficult by invisible walls, and yet I'm going to try anyway.
Why do I have writers block, you don't ask? I'd attribute it to feeling depressed, but sometimes I can find inspiration there so I'm making that a symptom, because I want to write but can't. So I get frustrated with what I do write, constantly deleting/scrapping entire paragraphs and pages of dissatisfaction in a flurry of fury, grinding teeth, eyebrow scrunching and all.
Despite this I'm going to try anyway.

By now I've deleted about twelve paragraphs of unfocused, disorganized, half-hearted thought that I've tapped - rather than punched, my phone is newer than that - into this digital blogfront.
So.. I'm going to see if I can't sleep off this feeling of broken English and whatever, whatever, etc, whatever.

Adios,

Mister-interweb-blog.

it's today, I hate today.

it's today.
it's a day that will probably end in dismay,
that's the way it usually is anyway.
today is the majority reason I hate August,
the "morbidity" isn't near as real as the morbidity.

I have faith in everything that ever was or wasn't,
I hope to move past my everything and anything.
it's not like I'm eternally broken,
I know I can recover.. eventually.

I hate today,
and I stupidly keep wanting something very specific to happen.
but I know there's absolutely no chance of it,
who do I think I am? someone worth it?
I wouldn't go out of my way for me.
or something, right?
emo rant over?
did it start?

I have happiness somewhere to be pursued,
but I can't pursue anyway.




ANYWAY



I'm in Spokane right now.
It's my home, always has been.
Things in Yakima have progressively been getting worse,
actually that remains true since I moved there.
Sure there were moments and weeks and months..
Where I could see myself staying a while.

But now I'm thinking seriously,
I don't really want to live in the town
where I found out you don't exist anymore.
I don't really want to live in the town
where my family went from broken to shattered.
I don't really want to live in the town
where I meet shreds of hope and lose them soon after.

Right now I'm thinking about working a little while, and saving saving saving.
And after I save, save, save, I'm thinking about moving back home, to Spokane.
Away from you, and you, and you. Sure.. away from some of my friends,
but I'd still see them. But I don't want to see you, or you, or you either.
I'm thinking about moving back, and attending community here, and working,
and saving saving saving, and then after my community years.. Either Gonzaga or CWU.
I want to be an English major. I want to move on with my life,
as many people have already done.
I'm a stupid little bug drowned in amber,
a fool eyeing the barrel of a gun, I know it's odd.
but that's what I am, and that's what I have to overcome.

My greatest hits,
my soon-after heartaches,
move on from me quick and easy.

and whatever?

plan,

job, save, spokane, job, community, save save save, gonzaga/cwu, live.

to the girl from the gamestop, but not the one I met that was working at the one in spokane today, although that one liked my shirt but it doesn't matter.

dear cellular diary.

there is immense beauty in a place, and it's very much not a foolish dream. there are wonders here and there, that I can't hope to obtain.
it's always the simple things I find I enjoyed most. the fact that I can make someone with such an overwhelming sense of presence feel embarrassed and barely able to contain a smile may have been one of my favorites.
that level of unconditional and awkward happiness I could help another achieve just by being me, it still feels unfathomable.
but achieve it I did, and whether you read this or not, or even realize it's for you, since I'm too weak to say it to you myself, I'll have to convey it through this cellular dialogue between boy and blog..

it wasn't just "fun", it was surprising and scary. but while it may turn out that I'm totally wrong, I still felt there was chemistry.
it was very complicated beneath the seemingly simple exterior of our hanging out and occasional dates.
but no matter what it may or may not have been, it was great. it felt good. and among my favorite things about you, other than how you genuinely seemed embarrassed by me (in such an adorable way to boot), I honestly think I'll miss your honesty, the look you got when things were quiet, and that despite the surface feelings of fear and insecurity.. deep down you actually made me feel warm, and calm.

anyway, this is the best I can do for you, whether you read this or not.
I do hope life treats you beautifully, and as much as I'd like to be the boy you wrap yourself up in, I do hope you find happiness and don't let fear or anything overwhelm your ambitions.

so.. goodbye, you.
thank you for existing in my life,

no matter how short it was,
it was definitely beyond sweet.