Sunday, February 7
15
My dream from Friday night:
I'm standing in the dark parking lot of a strip mall, outside of a supermarket.
I see Saskia approaching, listening to her iPod.
Soon I can hear Sleepyhead playing through the earbuds.
She tells me that her dad is the singer from Passion Pit,
And that he's never around.
Cut to:
I'm standing in the supermarket with my sister.
I look and see a can of some french food made by a company I haven't seen before.
I know that the head of that company is my "dad".
Enraged that he, like Saskia's "dad", is never around, I begin smashing the cans.
I run out, leaving my sister behind.
The second I leave, I hear wind chimes, and remember my sister is still in there.
I run in as she's being yelled at by the manager, and I take responsibility.
Cut to:
I'm back in the parking lot alone.
A man approaches me, chanting and reaching out.
I try to back away but before I know it, he knocks me to the asphalt.
Cut to:
A van-gogh style painting that moves of an egg with three red pegs pressing on it.
One on each side and one from below.
I feel as if I'm the egg. I feel the pressure from the pegs.
I also feel as if I'm the pegs, and as if they're spring loaded.
It becomes tiring to hold them back so they don't crush the egg.
I finally let go.
The pegs burst into the egg and I feel a brief moment of extreme pain followed by numbness.
Cut to:
A simplistic picasso-esque cartoon of a blonde woman that moves.
She begins speaking french as her hair falls around her face, moving like worms.
It zooms out and she begins to dance
I'm standing in the dark parking lot of a strip mall, outside of a supermarket.
I see Saskia approaching, listening to her iPod.
Soon I can hear Sleepyhead playing through the earbuds.
She tells me that her dad is the singer from Passion Pit,
And that he's never around.
Cut to:
I'm standing in the supermarket with my sister.
I look and see a can of some french food made by a company I haven't seen before.
I know that the head of that company is my "dad".
Enraged that he, like Saskia's "dad", is never around, I begin smashing the cans.
I run out, leaving my sister behind.
The second I leave, I hear wind chimes, and remember my sister is still in there.
I run in as she's being yelled at by the manager, and I take responsibility.
Cut to:
I'm back in the parking lot alone.
A man approaches me, chanting and reaching out.
I try to back away but before I know it, he knocks me to the asphalt.
Cut to:
A van-gogh style painting that moves of an egg with three red pegs pressing on it.
One on each side and one from below.
I feel as if I'm the egg. I feel the pressure from the pegs.
I also feel as if I'm the pegs, and as if they're spring loaded.
It becomes tiring to hold them back so they don't crush the egg.
I finally let go.
The pegs burst into the egg and I feel a brief moment of extreme pain followed by numbness.
Cut to:
A simplistic picasso-esque cartoon of a blonde woman that moves.
She begins speaking french as her hair falls around her face, moving like worms.
It zooms out and she begins to dance
Thursday, February 4
14
I've got to be Hannah, not Angela.
Hannah, not Angela.
Just NOT Angela.
Both were sick and sad,
But one was pathetic to top it off
Hannah, not Angela.
Just NOT Angela.
Both were sick and sad,
But one was pathetic to top it off
13
I like...
to spend hours on facebook looking at photos, and pretending that strangers are my friends
to read everyone's posts on facebook and blogger, and pretend that they were written with me in mind
to make eye contact with strangers, and pretend they had been watching me
to stay quiet in class, and fake that I know what's going on
to read past notes and yearbook signatures, and lie to myself that everyone else still remembers me
to pretend that others were just busy, and that's why they didn't stay in touch
to walk around pretending I'm happy and in control
But sometimes, I just like to lie on the ground, and let the weight of the realism crush me, purely just to punish myself for living in a fantasy
to spend hours on facebook looking at photos, and pretending that strangers are my friends
to read everyone's posts on facebook and blogger, and pretend that they were written with me in mind
to make eye contact with strangers, and pretend they had been watching me
to stay quiet in class, and fake that I know what's going on
to read past notes and yearbook signatures, and lie to myself that everyone else still remembers me
to pretend that others were just busy, and that's why they didn't stay in touch
to walk around pretending I'm happy and in control
But sometimes, I just like to lie on the ground, and let the weight of the realism crush me, purely just to punish myself for living in a fantasy
Tuesday, February 2
12
You came to be my Eden
My fated promised land
And we swore we’d stay together
As we lay in sun-bleached sand
We shared those precious moments
In retrospect, so few
But they couldn’t stay, soon they faded away
Leaving pain and guilt in lieu
And so I’ll lie amongst the flowers
Sink beneath them and blend in
I’ll pretend to be as pure as they are
And bleach away my sin
I’ll wait until you beckon
Crouching at your feet
But if I live in delay, I’ll wither away
A plant strangled by the heat
My fated promised land
And we swore we’d stay together
As we lay in sun-bleached sand
We shared those precious moments
In retrospect, so few
But they couldn’t stay, soon they faded away
Leaving pain and guilt in lieu
And so I’ll lie amongst the flowers
Sink beneath them and blend in
I’ll pretend to be as pure as they are
And bleach away my sin
I’ll wait until you beckon
Crouching at your feet
But if I live in delay, I’ll wither away
A plant strangled by the heat
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