Saturday, August 25, 2007

ah well, what can i say. that i found beauty again in this world? or at least realised that it still does exist.. this whole evening i was dreaming of a world separate from ours, even when i was playing.. not wholly there.. ingrid magnussen. magnussen. gods, even her name doesnt sound real. or maybe it does, and im the one who isnt real.. all night i kept on being jerked back to reality, or at least partway there.. that schubert especially. so, real.. so in-your-face.. like oh, my, gosh.. alright now what am i talking about, i cant even do half that.. she tackled it with such an earnestness, goodness. when will i ever do that.. it was like: this is a song. hear me sing. this is a moving song. be moved. yes, pseudo-inspirational all over again.. my favourite word/phrase, i know.. even i am tiring of it already.. but what else is there?
i can be who you want me to be.. anything you want.. the worlds a stage, afterall.. i am a better actress than you think.. diligent student, compliant daught, role-model sister, absolutely-smashing friend.. you name it, ill be it.. so long as it doesnt take too much out of me.. and how well do you want to know me, then? be careful you dont look too hard, you might not like what you see.. dont turn over rocks if you dont want to see the pale creatures that live underneath them.
i know i was being weird, anti-social, way too quiet, whatever. point is, weird, not normal.. but you know what, who cares. it was just this girl whom id probably see only once a week, max. i wasnt gonna make small talk and pretend i liked making small talk.. whats the point. i could tell she was relieved the trains came so soon haha.. oh wells. liked the way her hair fell around though..
god, its been ages since i read this book.. white oleander by janet fitch.. been wondering where it was when suddenly one fine day i was looking for my specs and there it was under my bed saying, read me, let me fill your thoughts.. and fill my thoughts it did.. i cant get it out of my head. the first time i read it it was awesome, mindblowing, so good that i was afraid to read it again but i sure didnt expect it to make me cry.. not cry buckets, heavens no.. but still. here. look at it. this sappy shred of words.
My mother came back to me then, put her arms around me, rested her cheek against my hair. Although I knew it was impossible, I could smell her violets. "If you could go back, even partway, I would give anything," she said into my ear.
Her large hands gently stroked my hair. It was all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.
i roll my eyes at myself.. like, seriously.. maybe it was the whole mother thing.. goodness knows why i still feel like i need approval from my parents.. i mean, yeah they are my parents.. but still. you know. they dont even recognize me any more. suddenly theyve realized that im not their little kid anymore. not their puppet on a string anymore. *gasp* i can think! "dont tell me how to raise my kids" she said.. yesyes im sorry, i know i overstepped that one.. i just didnt want her screwing up my sis alright. (no i am not going to be an ass and say just like me. shut up, mouth) i just wanted her to know that there was an alternative, hey you actually have a choice when i comes to what lens youre seeing the world through.. yes admittedly so far my efforts are not working, and i probably am teaching her rebellion, but at least now she knows that theres something else out there. their word is not gospel and that her world is not merely a subset of theirs. or it could be the whole coming a full circle thing. you know, hey lifes a cycle anyway. (here i probably could go into paganism and earth-based religions but im not going into that. i dont know enough and id probably bore you to death) yes i just feel that im at some crossroads, or have been since i stepped into jc, not that id realized it.. and now ive finally decided which direction to turn next.. i just have to quick make that turn before the light turns red. goodness knows, its been green forever. my luck might just run out.. or i guess it could just be me, the mood.. i was already into this sentimental thing earlier.. i would have teared during the return had i been younger.. how embarrassing would that be, crying while page turning. and it wasnt even nice playing.. yesh what was it about sentimentalism again? something about feelings not being there.. yeah, get a life.
yes so i guess ill leave you with this, from the aforementioned book, while i go rot in my sentimentalism.. just for tonight.
I could have gone with them, Ann and Bill Greenway of Downey. But with them, I might forget things. All the butterflies might fly away. Pressed wildflowers and Bach in the morning, dark hair on the pillow, pearls. Aida and Leornard Cohen, Mrs. Kromach and picnics in the living room, pate and caviar. In Downey, it wouldn't matter that I knew about Kandinsky and Ypres and the French names for the turns in ballet. I might forget black thread through skin, a .38 bullet crashing through bone, the smell of new houses and the way my mother looked when they handcuffed her, the odd tenderness with which the burly cop held his hand over her head so she wouldn't hit it getting into the squad car. With Ann and Bill Greenway of Downey, they would dim, fade away. Amsterdam and Eduardo's hotel, tea at the Beverly Wilshire and the way Claire stood trembling when that bum smelled her hair. I would never again look at the homeless kids in doorways off Sunset and see my own face staring back.
...
It wasn't that I didn't believe them. I believed everything they said, they were a salvation, a solution to my most basic lack. But I recalled a morning years ago in a boxy church in Tujunga, the fluorescent lights, chipped folding chairs. Starr charmed as a snake while Reverend Thomas explained damnation. The damned could be saved, he said, anytime. But they refused to give up their sins. Though they suffered endlessly, they would not give them up, even for salvation, perfect divine love.
I hadn't understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn't like I didn't know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present loss. But I knew I would never go to Bill with a troubling personal matter, a boy who liked me too much, a teacher who scolded unfairly. I had already seen more of the world, its beauty and misery and sheer surprise, than they could hope or fear to perceive.
But I knew one more thing. That people who denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger. They were blind sleepwalkers on tightropes, fingers scoring thin air. So i let them go, got up and walked away, knowing I'd given up something I could never get back. Not Ann and Bill Greenway, but some illusion I'd had, that I could be saved, start again.

omg get a life, girl. this is fiction. F-I-C-T-I-O-N.
reality is the prelims. reality is your As.
reality is your inability to deliver. now get back to it.

Bonjour. Si vous voulons me chercher, vous êtes venu au faux endroit.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

12:59 am

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