SheFallsSoftly

Cloudy days, covered windows, soft white light pouring through brazenly onto white walls, white sheets, white skin… Everything is warm and soft, I lie here all day and wonder if there is any better way to spend my time. Wonder if it would be so bad to live a life like this, quiet, warm, slow… Venturing into the world only for necessities and touch. Only for necessities. I wonder why I push so hard for motion, for action, for movement, for appointments and business and success… These lazy days of summer are showing me a part of myself that if I’ve seen I don’t remember. The part of me that spends two hours watching your chest rise and fall, feeling the soft purrs of the cat. The part of me that reads for hours, without fervor, without pushing, without trying to find any deeper meaning. The part of me that wants instrumental music and light that doesn’t understand the word "no," light that comes in spite of clouds and curtains. The part of me that breathes.

Maybe it’s not that you’re making it too difficult, the problem is you’re making it too easy. Too much face value… too obvious. No hidden agendas, no plans, no yearning, or waiting, or secrets.

Maybe I’m just scared because all of these lies are like curtains that I keep pulling tight and you just don’t listen when I say no. White light pouring onto white walls, white sheets, white skin.

Imagine what it would be like if I just let this be easy…

But hey, that’s really not my style. My style? More emo, panicked, obsessive compulsive and borderline. Ironic, literal, literal, double entendre–in that order.

I saw Patrick today… he insists that I should stop being so emo. Imagine if someone said that to Virginia Woolf, or Anne Sexton. There’s no need to bring up the fact that both of these women committed suicide… In the end, no one cares how you die, it’s what you produce when you’re living. Regardless, I’ll write what I wish here and feel as I feel. No one’s being forced to read it, or to live with my emotions. I’m happy as I am.

When I went to see him I’m relatively certain that I had some sort of question to ask him, however I lose my tongue around him, somehow… And my will to defend authors, music, art, philosophy, and pretty much anything else including myself. I don’t really know what I wanted or needed to hear from him other than a good, strong, "YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER TO THESE QUESTIONS." And I do… The problem is, I have a large collection of friends contradicting me. Learning quickly that good company doesn’t necessarily equate to good advice, though. In the end I’ll do what I wish, and what the other party of this whole matter wishes, despite all of this worrying and questioning and naming.

I’m feeling self assertive tonight… Perhaps it’s my antithesis to the acquiescence a few nights ago… Even though that was really good.

Warm soft skin, early morning light, peace, dreams, hold on tight…

It takes a special sort of boy to find what he’s been looking for and casually dismiss it.



Life is very long.

So, in a remarkable display of responsibility, my father didn’t send in my acceptance letter for my national merit scholarship. Thanks, Dad… Sometimes I remember how young my parents were with their first child, it’s like birth control only more effective.

Firefly is over. This makes me very sad… All I have left is the movie and then it’s all done. I suppose I’ll just have to move on to watching The West Wing.

I have this tendency, when I’m depressed, to search and search for an explanation. As one might expect, the reason for my depression and the reason I give it are very rarely causal. More often, I think of what would make me feel better, and blame that (or them) for not being there. It’s a pretty bad system, really.

Yesterday was a very bad day at work. I’m holding out hope that today will be better. At least I haven’t dropped anything important yet…

My mother told me last night that I never really had many nightmares when I was young… It’s odd, because I remember laying in bed trying to talk myself out of irrational fears. I’d tell myself that my cousin was right next door, my father above me in his bed, my sister asleep just below me. When you’re young and scared, proximity is everything. I know I had nightmares, I was just too terrified, anxious, and self-aware of a child to ever let her know.

"Don’t look at me like that! I SAID DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT." -Yo Saf Bridge. I’ve most certainly had moments like that. Sometimes those eyes can pierce so deep I’m certain that my soul is bleeding.

I’ve got that sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach again. Evasive doesn’t even begin to explain it. I just wish it didn’t feel this way… I wish I didn’t need it to. I’m certain there’s a synthesis I’m just not finding.

Today makes 3 times now that my body has driven me to my old apartment… I get into the parking lot, find a space, and suddenly realize that I’m far away from where I want to be.. How very like life. Regardless, I’m concerned at the sheer amount of auto-pilot that exists in my life and how rarely I scrutinize the things I am actually doing. More often I concern myself with happenings I have a significantly smaller amount of control over, nitpicking details, recording events, all the while ignoring the fact that this is the moment.

I think such interesting and useless things sometimes. When talking to Billy last night, he told me that he had trouble connecting the interconnections in history such as those between Napoleon and Jefferson. The issue is not realizing that they existed and when so much as that they interacted. Imagine if someone were to read all of these blogs and try to put together a cohesive history of the last few weeks of my life? All of these individuals linking me and giving the links clever little titles. Perhaps all this journal is is my side of the story, my stake in the futures perception of me. After all, to be is to be perceived.

Sunday night was a good time of 5 hours of pool at Slick Willy’s, where I was but an independent variable as opposed to Billy’s constant. I have proved that I have absolutely no luck, particularly when there is pressure, by magically getting one of the balls into the hole exactly when it was least appropriate. There’s the rub. I should not be allowed to handle a pool cue when sleepy, as I am wont to do violent and generally inappropriate things. Billy should not be allowed to talk at night, as he is wont to forget everything he says even though it was probably pretty important. How convenient.

C-span raises cholesterol levels. I  love it anyway.

The West Wing reminds me of Sports Night, which makes me happy, as Sports Night filled the void left in my life when I finally finished watching NewsRadio. I remember waking up at 3 am to watch the reruns on Comedy Central.

Explosions in the Sky is the best thing to happen to my playlist since I ripped everything William had by Bowie.

My new room is beautiful, and you should all come by and see it.

Enjoying Firefly… next I’ll probably be reading Kurt Vonnegut and liking it. Losing my soul, I tell you.

"Amid those landscapes roams the soul,
disappears, returns, draws nearer, moves away,
a stranger to itself, elusive,
now sure, now uncertain of its own existence,
while the body is and is and is
and has nowhere to go." -Wislawa Szymborska


It’s cold tonight
You stare at me
And I’m afraid the wind might pierce me
Bare skin, chapped hands, iced lips
A thousand icicle pins, probes, forceps
Immobilize and look inside
Your fingertips, my palm,
Blood rushes to my cheeks
I don’t belong
In this skin
You’re holding my hand
I try not to answer to reality
Caffeine and nicotine
Chatting idly,
I try to convince myself that
We all work this hard
To seem brilliant
I can feel your gaze
I catch your eye
And quickly glance away
Situate, disengage, resituate, run away
Useless stalk and capture when I’m the prey
You smile at me
You look happy and I claim this moment
As security

How is it that the more I look forward to an evening, the less likely it is to actually come to fruition? One way or another, I needed sleep after the last few weeks and I couldn’t wait for that evening to finally ripen. Perhaps fruit was a bad choice of metaphor.

I’m having some major concerns about my faith recently… It seems like the more I think about it the less I feel I can really believe. The problem is, I want to so badly. It’s hard to imagine the world being created ex nihilo, but it’s also hard to imagine (for obvious reasons) a being beyond our comprehension that exists "around" us if you will. The more I think about church the more it feels like a big round of groupthink. The more I think about prayer the sillier it seems that anyone is listening. The common attitude of those I know concerning God is that one must have faith, and that even if there is no God a little faith won’t hurt anything in the end. How very superstitious… I want to believe, desperately, and so much of me does… It’s just so hard to find a good reason to justify those things.

Also, I haven’t written any poetry in entirely too long.. This is likely due to the current "not quite comfortable enough to formulate real imagery to describe it" status of my quasi-relationship, as well as the extreme amount of busy-ness, and my completely lack of motivation to deal with the past.

The biggest problem is when you start telling lies and you don’t even know what is true yet… Then you pretty much lose any chance of ever figuring it out.

The score is currently: Sleep 3 : Casey 0

Feeling uncomfortably calm.. just waiting for something to happen.

At some point, I’m going to need to learn how to keep my insecurities from making me lash out at other people… because if I don’t, this just isn’t going to work out.

I’m getting sick again, which isn’t really of any surprise considering how stressed I’ve been recently. With any luck it won’t be tonsilitis, and I won’t need to get my tonsils out. I really just can’t afford all of the time and energy that would accompany that.

I ended up with 14 hours of A and 3 hours of C this semester, so I’ll have something like a 3.45 cumulative GPA. Not too shabby, I suppose.

I’ve been working at La Luna. I’ve been designing my theoretical-tattoo. I’ve been riding this roller coaster of ecstacy and rage and it’s driving me crazy. My life really isn’t that interesting, it just feels that way to me.

If I was looking at my horoscope for two days ago, it would say  "Late in the evening, Venus is going to block your communication chakras, so expect stormy waters." If only I could believe that enough not to feel like I just mixed metaphors. Sadly, I am neither a believer in mysticism nor wont to believe much of anything in a women’s magazine.

I think what I’m feeling is false enlightenment. Or maybe I just miss you.
Uranus is being blocked by Jupiter, and so the past will be confronting me to clear up any untidy endings I may have left behind.

I feel like I might be on the verge of something big. Then again, I tend to make mountains out of molehills. Oddly enough, what I want you to say and what you do say are very rarely the same thing. I think that’s for the best given the experiences I’ve had with those who always say the perfect thing.

I’m glad I’m fun too…

So, I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo… I want a swallow, right by the hipbone on the left side of my torso. Here are my favorites thus far:



I would like this one a lot, especially if they could do the faux-stitching detail so it would look like it was actually sewn onto me.



That one is awesome, but I’d like a more stylized sparrow… I really like the flowers in the back though, although I’d prefer oleander, lily, or iris…



I like this one, although it would obviously have to be rotated as I want it divind downward. It’s stylized the way I’d like it I think but the head looks sort of funny. I really like the way the wings are done. Mostly I just want something really simple, small, and understated.



Also on the list



Thus far, I think I’m liking the first and last the best. Thoughts?

Also, I’m intending to really decorate my room in a few weeks, so I’ve been thinking as to how I should do that. I’ve got a bedroom set of black and white painted wood, very grand and romantic, and i think my color scheme might be a very dramatic black, red, and white. I’ve already got a sheet set that looks like the print on Meg White’s drumset, so I’d need a black comforter and things to go around the room. The room has a vaulted ceiling, so I think I could really emphasize that by using black, white, and red organza/tulle/chiffon/lace (all sheer fabrics) and weaving them over-under-over-under on the ceiling, giving the room a nice pillowy romantic feel. I’ll probably get some black blackout curtains for the floor to ceiling window, and drape more of the lace and chiffon type stuff on that. Then again, I think that might look sort of awful so I might stick with all of the other decorative elements and sub the red for a soft purple or pink. I like the idea of the ceiling though, it mostly just depends on what decorative wall art-type stuff I find. Also, there will always be fresh flowers in my room.

As of now, I think the main focal point might be this piece by Harold Feinstein, or a similar piece in a differenct color

On a less completely vapid note, my life has calmed down quite a bit… the last few days have been very relaxing, particularly the hours of cuddling and Firefly that happened yesterday with Billy. There was also that nice round of hangman at IHOP, which became infinitely cuter via the use of an adorable pangram on my part.

You call me crazy, but I don’t know if that’s true. I’m difficult, it’s true, hard to understand and harder to handle… But I don’t think I’m crazy. Obviously I’m probably a biased judge on the matter, but I don’t think hurting makes me crazy… it makes me hurt. I haven’t led the sort of graceful untouched life that might allow me not to hurt, not to have a past that follows me. In a lot of ways, that’s my fault, but in a lot of ways it isn’t. Culpability isn’t the issue, though, the issue is that most people go through these kinds of problems and even if the wounds aren’t as fresh anymore, you have too.

After all, if you’re more willing to trust a coin flip than your emotions, what does that say about your emotional state? I wouldn’t call that particularly sane.

Also, I’ve still never won a coin toss. I didn’t even have to call this one to lose it.

I promised myself once that I wouldn’t let them see me cry anymore, that I could learn to be stronger. These things I do to distract myself from crying are becoming more obsessive compulsive than I might have hoped. Realistically, it’s safer for me to cry, however it’s easier not to.

The thing is, I haven’t honestly though about it in months… Not since I left, really. It’s easy to talk about it without really thinking of what has happened. Like Andy said, it’s easiest to hide a lie in the most obvious truths. The lie is that it hurts, I guess, and it still hurts, and it will always hurt… The lie is that as much as I like to think I’m learning how to cope with this, I’m not. That would be like learning how to "cope" with your wisdom teeth cutting the inside of your mouth for months and months because no one has made you go to the dentist… And, to be frank, that’s just dumb.

This memory still rubs me raw, still chafes me ’til I bleed. Memories of being powerless and stupid can do that, though. The more I tell myself I’m letting go, the more I’m just hiding my head in the sand. The more I say I’ve learned to deal with it, the more I mean I’ve gotten better at keeping my eyes closed so I can’t hear the screaming. Yeah, it’s about that ineffective.

What have I done to cope? I’ve written poetry. Lots of poetry. Pages and pages of poetry that I assumed would somehow make things easier. Poetry hasn’t fixed a thing. I’ve talked to authority figures and caused problems for everyone, including myself. I’ve started keeping a journal to track myself. I’ve tried to explain to many people who I thought at the time cared what kind of mind games I’ve been subjected to… I’ve moved across the country to get away from all of the constant reminders. I’ve blocked phone numbers, and email addresses, and threatened with a restraining order. I’ve talked to psychologists. I’ve been medicated. I’ve tried all sorts of coping mechanism, most of them physically unhealthy. I’ve dealt with anorexia, bulimia, self-mutillation, suicide attempts, abusive relationships…

The thing is, I feel like I’ve tried everything and it hasn’t been enough. Like maybe the only way to deal with this is just locking those doors and throwing away the key. With all of it, it’s all a bunch of symptoms of one greater problem and all of those symptoms are addictive. I want them like you wouldn’t believe. It’s so much easier to give into chaos than to fight for order.

It’s like riding your bike next to a semi-truck… You know you have to fight against the gravitational force pulling you torward the noise and then silence that rests beneath the wheels.. but some part of you knows it would be easier to just let go.

I don’t really like to be down like this… This completely negative worldview. I honestly do believe that life is beautiful, and I honestly know that I am an incredibly blessed person. I know that this life has to be lived in its entirety though, and parts of it just plain hurt. I just neeed to figure out how I’m supposed to get past that.

It’s Cinco de Mayo, and I’m starting work at La Luna. That’s right.  A mexican bar and restaurant. Oh.My.Goodness.

Memories are potent things, guys… Oftentimes more powerful than the initial experience, because right then they’re without greater context.

It’s good to know I still have the ability to scare the shit out of myself.



Ashamed, eternally scrubbing infernal wax,
Melted rivulets infinitely dripping down my back
But I don’t know how to explain that
In the face of your inevitable pseudo-intellect.(She Falls Softly)