Unholy Octoparrot

I swear up and down the tallest thing you can find that I read about Necker and Fai's band on some music blog. But if I can find it now I'm Robin Fleshman, and it's making me crazy. I had one scrappy draft post about that. Envy Week being just past (it began, completely unsolicited, on the stairs last Monday), I had a devastated, jealous snippet written about some boy. And, I realized they were remarkably similar. Could it be true that I really do experiance just one emotion for two completely different events? The smooth bleeding together suggests the worst.

You always find it in the last place you look. Quick, come up with a reason to make that right. It's just a matter of not having looked there yet. Mmhmm. I get what I want and I want to find it.

Or maybe I'm really losing my head. This hasn't happened in a while, you know. Not since the days of the Ex-Guyfriend have I ever been so doubtful that something happened, nor so convinced that it should have. Memory may be tricksy, but life is an awful lot like a boring science experiment, you know. A little different every time, but horribly repeatable.

I did spend hours upon hours telling myself it was hopeless, but of course that didn't make any difference. Like an interior rhyme, it makes sense in my head and it was probably a bit too obvious in living color. I live in my head, don't you? If I can think on my feet, it's because I've been thinking with my chin on my hand, too.

Well, I did spare you the hysteric love poem.

And tonight, if I could sleep tonight,
We could walk on through,
I could drive, this evilness that reeks
Oh, I can try, but only you can free...

What's inside of me
- Starlight Mints, "Inside Of Me"

Destiny Drawer

Lately it's been securing somebody else's secrets. Why am I bearing that cross, still? Not to pass the buck, but it hasn't been mine for a while now.

I mean, who looks at the little basket under the hot air balloon? I've realized conceit's the real reason people hate emo kids. With that bright red balloon of connotations and memories, I forgot what else that drawer has in it. So I took a pin to the balloon, stashed it someplace else, and scraped the drawer off its high shelf in my closet.

Where'd it come from, anyway? I may have it had it the better half of my life. It's hideous, it's dark brown, it has two tiny wheels, and it may have been an unremarkable part of someone's very ugly kitchen. And mostly, it's full of doll clothes. There was the one lacy, polyester dress she came in, but I made all the rest. Dresses and sashes and jackets and capes and lots and lots of bonnets. This calico dress is for school, this satin bonnet is for a party, the white cape edged in blue and red matches the blue dress and is for the Fourth of July. The sorts of things every girl and her doll does, but lots of it.

None of them were good constrution, really. I'm too impatient to be much for sewing. The doll has tangled, matted blonde hair and no name. She isn't really very beautiful.It was about the clothes, putting them on and taking them off. Her limbs are bent from it. It's sort of nice, you know. A little bit of preordainment. You could write it in my biography. Right?

And yet - I did lots of other little girl things, without the doll. I took ballet and riding lessons. I had playdates and I read lots and lots of Nancy Drew. I wandered around outiside for hours and hours. What gives, what gives the future?

Fuzzy Logic

Remember grade school, when high-school students gave you those fuzzy yarn pom-poms on yarn strings to hang around your neck? Every time you were nice to someone, you were supposed to pull a little piece of yarn out of your pom-pom and tie it to the other person's string. By the end of the day, your pom-pom would have just a few strands left, and little ties in many colors would be knotted to your string.

You know me. I was not going to see my perfect, round pink pom-pom limp and depleted. I pulled out maybe a yarn or two, and got as many ties from other people. I must have avoided everybody. That afternoon, I hid it under the racks of clothing on my closet so I wouldn't have to explain it. I knew no one would understand.

I have elementary-school Valentines in my closet. Ah, the sweetest of diluted loves. I never did explain the pom-pom, but I threw it away ages ago.

It's the sort of day when you could love everybody. Good news! Far more people than you expected are willing to give you candy. I haven't eaten this many sweets in a day since finals week. Ribbon-bedraped pigtails get people looking at me I never realized didn't. It makes me look girlish, I know, but that's just the point. Today, I'm still too young to be cynical. If the cavity of your chest is bigger than your heart - never fear, that's room for improvement. You've got time to grow into it. It's an excellent excuse to be as bubbly as Cherry Coke. It's a big party, and warm out, too.

Fire on the hill
Fire in me still
I feel out of my league
But you turn around and you say to me that

I love everybody here
And I agree
I love everybody here
- Athlete, "I Love"

Damsel In Distress

There's afternoons where I feel like my head is full of air. My intelligence is gone, particularly on days with math tests.

My head may be empty, but my feelings are from the heart. When there's a chill from within, what can the contents of my mind do but condense? And now I'm biting my lip, and now I'm trying not to think, and now I'm all alone and I'm watching him and now why can't he see?

I'm usually hiding in plain sight, you know? And surely you've counted yourself up pretty high. I want to see you lose all your arrogance, just once. The sun is so bright in my face that I wouldn't recognize you when you stop to save me. When I tell you that I'm crying over you, I would be doing it to be nice.

It'll be a lie, sort of. When my skull is empty, what can you expect? I'm crying because you've stolen my head and I'll never capture you. I'm crying because I'm sure I deserve to be better and to love you more than anyone could.

And the accusations,
Quite a sin
And the obligations,
They're gone with the wind
And the tribulations,
Of a day gone bad

Just the condensation,
On a glass we just had,
On a glass we just had,
Of the bitter truth,
Of love
- The Dalloways, "How Can I Explain?"

Partial Undress

Remember that idea I had about asking someone out via telegram? It would be unusual. It would show uncommon affection.

It's too late. Western Union discontinued telegram service last week.


And I don't blame them, of course. It's my fault. I held the idea too tight and the life dried away. I never asked anyone out, and certainly not by telegram. The tiny, adorable bottle of blue Korean perfume on my shelf is evaporated into dust. Regret it? You bet I do.

Tomorrow, I'll use some of the fast-dissappearing pink perfume. Or maybe I'll run out of time, or maybe I'll lose my mind, or maybe I'll do it the day after tomorrow.

I don't want to read a broken wall like a textbook. If I do it now, it might hurt. If I wait too long...

What better time to make it better than when everything's alright? If I can never live up to history... Carpe diem, carpe diem.