I want to live my life in a eternal hypergraphia. I want the entirety of my being to be words, not images. I want to be made up of fractals of letters, That all languages would alphabetize and disassemble to form me. I want to touch paper and have ink spread like veins as I leave novels of thought and consequentially pieces of my person literally behind. I want new thoughts to replace those which I have lost but never feel ashamed of that which has been me before this moment. Each day I am new, new cells are on my body, they have formed and in their bright existence I am given a sheet of paper in each. A place in which to tell the story of my memory and of that which can not happen. But when i awaken, I don't think about this newness. I don't understand my clean slate. I can delete things from my message box, but I cannot delete features of my life. It is in some way this struggle, that really makes us new. This knowing that what there will always be is, but not accepting it. The resistance of new cells, their creation past the primary and scientific is in and of its self a full blown war against past. Why would we create new, if the old always was? We wouldn't.
So I will write and type and ooze onto your screen and these notebooks and receipts. I will be and I will be accepting of the fact that I may not like what I have to say 10 years from now. I am, and what purpose do I serve as a creature of creation if I refuse the construction of that which I was born to create. I realize my newness, my birthing in the night of microscopic headway against that which we allow to pul ourselves down, and it is from this standpoint, all the language shall come.

'Ello Love

If you need something done, do it yourself. Pool your resources, and fight. I refuse to give up on myself. I refuse to sit around and watch the world cave in on me, around me. I will survive, I will succeed, I will manifest my own dreams.

This is the statement that I want all my watchers to say to themselves. We have to be our own strength, not rely on others.

I realize now, when I've come so close to losing everything I worked for, in letting it all slide I was really being dependant. The people I depended on are people who promised me and who's very existence is in small part supposed to help me succeed. I know, knew they would not live up to their duties, and i allowed my self, my future to be put on the line, whether they helped me or hurt me would make or brake the test of love. This was Idealist and stupid.

end.

'Ello Love

so,

random news.
the sun has bleached my hair to a very light color, streaks of it are nearly white. Once the summer is over I will upload a new ID to remind you of all the warm you'll miss as winter hits.

My nephew Bean likes having his diaper changed, when he makes a particularly large crap he likes to look at it and say, "Nice."

My mother is postponing my graduation party because she doesn't have any money until August or September. All my friends will be in college, no one will be able to come.

In fact may not get to go to college. I live with my mother and to get there I would have to commute. She said she would pay for my registration and insurance till I got my license and a job, out of the money she already owed me, but now she can't. Without either of these things I wont be able to even get to college.

My stepfather and I are barely able to speak to each other.

I know it may seem like its not much, but this is just the newest developements. Not all of the previous issues.

I think I'll just find somewhere far away, and stay there, forever.

'Ello Love

/it comes to my attention, due to an insightful journal on Judgement that it might seem to you that my thoughts are judgemental. That I refuse to trust, or that I deem all situations as doomed. However this is not true and I apologize for making you believe that, the truth however is that all situations need to be taken with a grain of salt. A measure of suspicion will do much to protect the small inner light that is you. I think there is good, and I realize that it can not last or it would not be good, but bland, and normal. To have good all the time would make life as human the regular flavored oatmeal packet in the variety box. It is my own pained experiences that make me fearful of extreme good, because as I've grown up, extreme good is always followed by a low so intense it makes all lows before it tremble with wimpy fear. It is this low that I spoke of last. This pain and disappointment that I feel, again and again, due to my continued hope. My eternal quest for days that are more good than bad.

I do not refuse to hope, however much I may wish I could stop the action and protect myself, I do it anyway, with every person, even those that never come through for me. That is why I say protect your inner light, protect your fetus with the ability to hope for a better tomorrow. Protect it with walls, let the light shine on it, and understand the clouds for thier good and find peace in them. But do not expect the sun to shine forever, and when you know that person, know that promise, the one that will break your heart, be wary. Look over your shoulder and around the corners. Do not be caught with no shields up because that light may not survive.

I see every person I meet as a new opportunity. I may not show them all of myself, in effort to protect me, but I do not assume they will hurt me. I just keep in mind that they could. I live in the shadows, so i am not blinded by false hope, that all people will be purely good, or that all promises will happen. It's too much hope, false unrealistic hope that will truly injure our souls. Everyday hopes that are mustered and either fulfilled or crushed are but bug bites to that unrelenting blindness. That cheap shot that KO's you in the bar.

Every day i wake up. Sometimes i wish i hadn't, but i do. i wait then, in my bed, and i tell myself, 'today will be better. today i will be better.' If that isn't hope, i don't know what is.

I hope you don't think me a horrible pessimist It's just that I need to be prepared, I need to hold back, I need to disbelieve sometimes, to survive.

'Ello Love

it seems to be my style to say in my journals my musings. Everything that I had thought in the last hour is expressed here, like a mini deviation. It can never be deviation, because it has no goal and no end, thus it is journal. It comes to my attention that these musings are read, not only by myself as I click aimlessly down my page. People are around us, everywhere, and the fact that we are not safe from sight lends us into a sort of abstract blinking, as though if not hide altogether then to encourage secretly.

speaking of sight, this is my latest musing:


Sometimes the light is too bright. you step out and are assaulted by the instant headache. Your pupils retract so fast it injures your nerves. I will always be a creature of darkness, no matter how much I love the light. I live my life in shadow knowing that I may step into the sun, but its beams will always blind me. Its warmth will always burn me, bleach me dry. I was not made for summer, or spring. I am cold like autumn rain, freezing like winter sleet. The clouded existence is mine to own and welcome into my space. In the clouds there is knowledge of light, acceptance of it, whether it appears today tomorrow, it will come, but there is no hope. Hope you see, is the most leathal weapon. I fear it with all the intensity of a terminally ill patient. With clouds there is no hope, that the sun will stay. With clouds one is immeadiately filled with a rush, the blanket of what some people would correlate with sorrow, I compare and find peace. Clouds are evidence, solid proof that light ends, it can be blocked, cast out, eradicated, eclipsed. So when there is nothing but blue, but sun, the sky only lies to its vertically challenged under dwellers. It lets them believe something that will never be and is not true: that light lasts. This I have found is true of everything, good things do not last. While the clouds bring nourishing rain and too serve a purpose that is good, sunlight is what we most notably pair with goodness, and life. We need sun, soak it up,absorb it,and we feel good, Vitamin D courses through our veins and saturates us. But this is laced with a cost, the knowledge always that the other foot has yet to fall. Blue skies are promisses. Promisses breed hope, foster it in incubators and sprinkle it like growth serum upon our heads, but that hope is never fulfilled. Not never, but rarely, and its the hoping in the interum, the waiting and then the disappointment that renders me dark. No matter how tan I am, how many hours I work under the yellow ball of rays that dictates our lives, I will always wait for night, for rain, anything to help shelter that small fragile person who hopes. To prove to that person that good things do not last. Because that person is the core, and much like the core of all people, must be protected from harm, because without it we no longer have point in life. It's that core, that person in the depths of depression that glows faintly waiting for the next step wherein good things happen. Its small breast pulses like a fetus, soft and small and easily injured. It is this person that we build a wall around, this person that dreams and believes that we find it necessary to protect. Our weakness and only reason for life is this small life. So when there is too much light, too much hope, that person is the one who hurts if you are not careful. That person is the one who burns and writhes in agony, who feels disappointment. So guard that person, use the clouds to temper it's hope. Hide it from the whole world, never let it out, because although the risk may give it light and happiness and it may grow strong, the pain that later may be felt would shut it down altogether. I admire those who can take risks, but make them knowledgable ones, ones perpared, because to be caught unawares is a pit so dark not even I will take time to describe it here for the passage would be a long and ominous one, I assure you.