[two hundred, seventy-three]
This is going to be loving and short. I love lots of people. Infatuation, sexual, and all other stupid forms of love can't be excuses for what the love I feel is. I love the people who take the time to make me smile, and therefore I do the best to do it everyday for everyone I can... So, if you haven't heard it today, I love you.
And have a lovely evening.
Jess :]
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
seems like frosting to me
[two hundred, seventy-two]
It was cool, not the kind of cool that you could say much about, but it wasn't warm enough for shorts, and it wasn't cold enough for a scarf, so there surely wasn't much to say. It was just after a rain, it seemed, like a forty minute, short film of a shower, that came down in buckets and fell promptly on the neighbour's rose bushes, she smiled a lot after it rained. It was hard to explain to anyone really what you mean when you say "My life is a pathetic falacy, save me," but some people do try. Her best friend had told her once that when it rained it took the air out of her, just knocked her to the ground so that she was surrounded by muck and wet, and that surely wasn't much of a rainy day.
They were supposed to be, you know, intense.
They were supposed to be releasing, in a freedom-on-the-side-of-your-plate kind of way. Liberating, in that sense, it was to go walking. Sam had gone walking. She had noticed the water falling over the roses, the petunias, the dozen other kinds of flowers rooted deeply next to the fence that connected Helen, her neighbour, and her house. There was a grey feeling, the smell of wet pavement filled the air, the smell of gray.
So Sam was walking, yes, down the street. Mundane, it was, to walk. No one ever thinks of walking until it is mentioned, and then after that it really couldn't be any more complicated. Sam took one look at her moving legs and smiled, just as Helen was smiling out of her window at the roses, at the sky, Sam smiled down at her legs, and then at the sky, and then once at Helen. Helen loved her roses, and Sam loved her some rain.
The street ended eventually of course, and so did Sam's journey down it, although she wouldn't forget that day, wouldn't forget that walk in particular, it had taken her forty minutes exactly, forty minutes of freeing-and-swaying through the raindrops, through the calamity-packed shower that was the day's rainfall, to get down her street. Living on the outskirts of town did that to you, it soaked you through your being and into your organs.
Weird it was, to think of your organs in danger of getting wet. Was she like an electric board? One that if wet would spark and expel smoke, smoking organs was not a lovely thought. Her smile faltered, and she forget where she was going. Why was thinking so hard? Thinking and walking. One step two steps three steppings four step-on's, it was hard to focus, it was hard to get her mind off anything but thinking. She smiled again then, thinking was too inevitable to take too much thought to, and more smiles occured.
And the rain stopped then, she smiled. Sam loved smiling, and not only because it showed the world the happiness, but it showed herself that she was capable, she had that intact to her, she could hold that feeling that being close to her, inwards to her heart as if the only things clinging to a life within her was that smile. Those smiles, that day, began the journey not only down the road, but further, deeper, towards the centre, towards understanding.
Sam didn't understand a lot of things, she didn't recognise things, she couldn't remember nice pretty words or funny jokes, but she did remember things like Helen's cat's name is Star, and he liked small bits of soft pie crust if you were happening to be leaving one out for cooling. Sam loved that cat, and her street, and the days where she could walk down and not have to really think about something structured, something fancy, something hard to understand, but try to make the journey to getting there.
focus: a new character? Or an old one, who should be dressed in pink.
Jess :]
It was cool, not the kind of cool that you could say much about, but it wasn't warm enough for shorts, and it wasn't cold enough for a scarf, so there surely wasn't much to say. It was just after a rain, it seemed, like a forty minute, short film of a shower, that came down in buckets and fell promptly on the neighbour's rose bushes, she smiled a lot after it rained. It was hard to explain to anyone really what you mean when you say "My life is a pathetic falacy, save me," but some people do try. Her best friend had told her once that when it rained it took the air out of her, just knocked her to the ground so that she was surrounded by muck and wet, and that surely wasn't much of a rainy day.
They were supposed to be, you know, intense.
They were supposed to be releasing, in a freedom-on-the-side-of-your-plate kind of way. Liberating, in that sense, it was to go walking. Sam had gone walking. She had noticed the water falling over the roses, the petunias, the dozen other kinds of flowers rooted deeply next to the fence that connected Helen, her neighbour, and her house. There was a grey feeling, the smell of wet pavement filled the air, the smell of gray.
So Sam was walking, yes, down the street. Mundane, it was, to walk. No one ever thinks of walking until it is mentioned, and then after that it really couldn't be any more complicated. Sam took one look at her moving legs and smiled, just as Helen was smiling out of her window at the roses, at the sky, Sam smiled down at her legs, and then at the sky, and then once at Helen. Helen loved her roses, and Sam loved her some rain.
The street ended eventually of course, and so did Sam's journey down it, although she wouldn't forget that day, wouldn't forget that walk in particular, it had taken her forty minutes exactly, forty minutes of freeing-and-swaying through the raindrops, through the calamity-packed shower that was the day's rainfall, to get down her street. Living on the outskirts of town did that to you, it soaked you through your being and into your organs.
Weird it was, to think of your organs in danger of getting wet. Was she like an electric board? One that if wet would spark and expel smoke, smoking organs was not a lovely thought. Her smile faltered, and she forget where she was going. Why was thinking so hard? Thinking and walking. One step two steps three steppings four step-on's, it was hard to focus, it was hard to get her mind off anything but thinking. She smiled again then, thinking was too inevitable to take too much thought to, and more smiles occured.
And the rain stopped then, she smiled. Sam loved smiling, and not only because it showed the world the happiness, but it showed herself that she was capable, she had that intact to her, she could hold that feeling that being close to her, inwards to her heart as if the only things clinging to a life within her was that smile. Those smiles, that day, began the journey not only down the road, but further, deeper, towards the centre, towards understanding.
Sam didn't understand a lot of things, she didn't recognise things, she couldn't remember nice pretty words or funny jokes, but she did remember things like Helen's cat's name is Star, and he liked small bits of soft pie crust if you were happening to be leaving one out for cooling. Sam loved that cat, and her street, and the days where she could walk down and not have to really think about something structured, something fancy, something hard to understand, but try to make the journey to getting there.
focus: a new character? Or an old one, who should be dressed in pink.
Jess :]
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
in less than, to be frank, i think that, yes
[two hundred, seventy-one]
Is it just me, or is this semester becoming increasingly more complicated as it continues to expand and grow? Maybe it is just me. I looked at my course outlines at the beginning of the semester (three weeks ago? Seriously?) and I realised that I didn't have too many assignments, essays, etc. to do throughout the semester, which sort of made me get into the courses more. But now, it just seems like things in other natures are piling up.
Such as applications, and resumes, and portfolios, and bills, and budgetting, and a social life? And so many other things, it's like so many of the things I used to enjoy for stress relief such as writing, being around people, reading, did I say writing and reading? All have lost their shine, because it is just piling up on me. I am holding the world on my shoulders and they're splitting down the middle.
I have appointments, and personal goals, and goals for classes, and class selections, and applications for travelling, and everything that really shouldn't be on my plate infront of me, nice centre stage with utensils strewn over my table, which is also covered in papers and cooks and discs and cords. Oh the cords. There is a never-ending brew of constant cords all over my life right now. Connections. It causes heartburn to think about it.
I can't swallow all of this. I need to just take it a day at a time, and stop comparing myself to everyone else. Let me be perfectly true to my sentiment, I do love school, I love life, I love everything that is going on, there are just those days those thoughts that irk me, that get me into a cuddled up nest in my bed and refract me from wanting to escape. I don't want to escape, can I stay trapped?
What is truth? Really? Is anything truly believable? What about honesty? I feel like these things are too heavy to ponder when I should be reading or writing or editing or applying or paying or walking running singing dancing jumping frantically trying to catch up. Eating? Should I?
I made the best dinner tonight. I "sauteed" tofu and red pepper in butter and then had some orange juice and some crackers. I feel like it was just the best thing ever, I loved it, and that is the bare honest truth. Stay tuned in the next week for characterisation, plots, musings, etc. I have an application (or four) that I need to start writing and preparing, to plump up and polish for the show!
It is autumn, I'm allowed to make county fair jokes.
I want to go out and buy a pumpkin, is that too early too? Why am I so late for some things and early for others? Can't the world just come up to speed with my time? Is tomorrow Thursday? You know what that means? Live jazz in the bull ring. This means I get one relaxing afternoon, with an apple cinnamon tea (and ice cream?) and just some relaxing for my relaxation...Prior to beginning a predetermined stressful group project. How's about we all just take christmas vacation a tad early this year? I want that.
Hope you all have a lovely evening, I still don't know what to do for my night that is left, probably figuring out a tentative reading/writing/editing schedule for next week. Is Thanksgiving a "holiday" if you have a midterm two days later? Nope.
LOVE
Jess :]
Is it just me, or is this semester becoming increasingly more complicated as it continues to expand and grow? Maybe it is just me. I looked at my course outlines at the beginning of the semester (three weeks ago? Seriously?) and I realised that I didn't have too many assignments, essays, etc. to do throughout the semester, which sort of made me get into the courses more. But now, it just seems like things in other natures are piling up.
Such as applications, and resumes, and portfolios, and bills, and budgetting, and a social life? And so many other things, it's like so many of the things I used to enjoy for stress relief such as writing, being around people, reading, did I say writing and reading? All have lost their shine, because it is just piling up on me. I am holding the world on my shoulders and they're splitting down the middle.
I have appointments, and personal goals, and goals for classes, and class selections, and applications for travelling, and everything that really shouldn't be on my plate infront of me, nice centre stage with utensils strewn over my table, which is also covered in papers and cooks and discs and cords. Oh the cords. There is a never-ending brew of constant cords all over my life right now. Connections. It causes heartburn to think about it.
I can't swallow all of this. I need to just take it a day at a time, and stop comparing myself to everyone else. Let me be perfectly true to my sentiment, I do love school, I love life, I love everything that is going on, there are just those days those thoughts that irk me, that get me into a cuddled up nest in my bed and refract me from wanting to escape. I don't want to escape, can I stay trapped?
What is truth? Really? Is anything truly believable? What about honesty? I feel like these things are too heavy to ponder when I should be reading or writing or editing or applying or paying or walking running singing dancing jumping frantically trying to catch up. Eating? Should I?
I made the best dinner tonight. I "sauteed" tofu and red pepper in butter and then had some orange juice and some crackers. I feel like it was just the best thing ever, I loved it, and that is the bare honest truth. Stay tuned in the next week for characterisation, plots, musings, etc. I have an application (or four) that I need to start writing and preparing, to plump up and polish for the show!
It is autumn, I'm allowed to make county fair jokes.
I want to go out and buy a pumpkin, is that too early too? Why am I so late for some things and early for others? Can't the world just come up to speed with my time? Is tomorrow Thursday? You know what that means? Live jazz in the bull ring. This means I get one relaxing afternoon, with an apple cinnamon tea (and ice cream?) and just some relaxing for my relaxation...Prior to beginning a predetermined stressful group project. How's about we all just take christmas vacation a tad early this year? I want that.
Hope you all have a lovely evening, I still don't know what to do for my night that is left, probably figuring out a tentative reading/writing/editing schedule for next week. Is Thanksgiving a "holiday" if you have a midterm two days later? Nope.
LOVE
Jess :]
and this is why I love it here
[two hundred, seventy[
I started off today as a bad day girl. I woke up in a bad mood, not wanting to leave my nest, and kept pressing snooze, like every other teenage/young adult student who doesn't get enough sleep and yet the pressing, impending doom of early morning classes pokes at us saying "come on, get up, you'll be late or worse, have big puffy sleepy eyes all day."
I have big puffy sleepy eyes today.
I wrote today off as a bad day, I forgot things, I do this a lot, it's one of the downfalls to being blind, I forget that something isn't there, or forget that something is on my floor and step on it and break it, or I forget to throw something out, etc. I try my best to fix all of this, but I'm not perfect. Today I forgot my gym card, and so I brought all of my gym clothes and shoes, carrying them with my laptop to school was so heavy, for nothing. Needless to say I was disappointed with myself.
This all has happened in the last hour and a half, and now I am sitting in the library, reading a novel for a class, ate an apple had some cheerios, some of the problems have resolved, maybe I am no longer a morning person. I have reverted back to my highschool needs, that I need atleast an hour in the morning to warm up to being awake, which sort of bothers me, but maybe it's better to admit to that than to run around spitting lies about my psuedo-morning person mindset. I'm going to do my best to not get in bad moods easilly, but it's the whole slepy-hungry thing, I'm such a loser.
But anyways, things are going better now anyway, I am reading, which is a nice relief, and I am actually feeling better. I wish that I had some banana bread, but I guess I can do without until later.
I will write another post later today, maybe and update on my mood. I have an essay due tomorrow that I still need to write a bibliography for.
I hope you have a great day!
Jess :]
I started off today as a bad day girl. I woke up in a bad mood, not wanting to leave my nest, and kept pressing snooze, like every other teenage/young adult student who doesn't get enough sleep and yet the pressing, impending doom of early morning classes pokes at us saying "come on, get up, you'll be late or worse, have big puffy sleepy eyes all day."
I have big puffy sleepy eyes today.
I wrote today off as a bad day, I forgot things, I do this a lot, it's one of the downfalls to being blind, I forget that something isn't there, or forget that something is on my floor and step on it and break it, or I forget to throw something out, etc. I try my best to fix all of this, but I'm not perfect. Today I forgot my gym card, and so I brought all of my gym clothes and shoes, carrying them with my laptop to school was so heavy, for nothing. Needless to say I was disappointed with myself.
This all has happened in the last hour and a half, and now I am sitting in the library, reading a novel for a class, ate an apple had some cheerios, some of the problems have resolved, maybe I am no longer a morning person. I have reverted back to my highschool needs, that I need atleast an hour in the morning to warm up to being awake, which sort of bothers me, but maybe it's better to admit to that than to run around spitting lies about my psuedo-morning person mindset. I'm going to do my best to not get in bad moods easilly, but it's the whole slepy-hungry thing, I'm such a loser.
But anyways, things are going better now anyway, I am reading, which is a nice relief, and I am actually feeling better. I wish that I had some banana bread, but I guess I can do without until later.
I will write another post later today, maybe and update on my mood. I have an essay due tomorrow that I still need to write a bibliography for.
I hope you have a great day!
Jess :]
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
do I come across like a piglet to you?
[two hundred, sixty-nine]
I think this one shall be short, since I am in the midst of writing an essay. I am super nervous about this essay, because I feel like my thoughts do not come across as clear as I would like them to. I am working hard on it, and editing it, but I still feel like it may turn out to be just terrible, although I hope I am wrong on that. I hate it when I burn my tongue, it ruins everything for a day or two. I also hate it when it's warm in the fall, maybe I'm out on a tree branch alone in the sweltering heat here, but I miss the days where I could wear a sweater and feel comfortable, all day, just sayin'. I suppose that weather is a myth in Canada nowadays, you either get blistering hot or blistering cold, what a wonderous and brief life we live.
Did ya get what I did there? Eh? I saw the opportunity, and I went for it.
I want a hot dog,
take care,
Jess :]
I think this one shall be short, since I am in the midst of writing an essay. I am super nervous about this essay, because I feel like my thoughts do not come across as clear as I would like them to. I am working hard on it, and editing it, but I still feel like it may turn out to be just terrible, although I hope I am wrong on that. I hate it when I burn my tongue, it ruins everything for a day or two. I also hate it when it's warm in the fall, maybe I'm out on a tree branch alone in the sweltering heat here, but I miss the days where I could wear a sweater and feel comfortable, all day, just sayin'. I suppose that weather is a myth in Canada nowadays, you either get blistering hot or blistering cold, what a wonderous and brief life we live.
Did ya get what I did there? Eh? I saw the opportunity, and I went for it.
I want a hot dog,
take care,
Jess :]
what what behind
[two hundred, sixty-eight]
I am ridiculously behind on posts today, so expect two more after this one. I wrote a poem yesterday and I realised when I write poetry I don't particularly think about it, and the same happens when I annotate it. I don't think about the physical, literal, emotional, or have a focus to begin with, but by the end I just know my shit, I know what is meant and what I think is meant anyway. I feel like if there is anything to do with poetry in my head it would be that I just let my thoughts go, just continue them downward it feels like it just goes onward into my psyche, or maybe I should just stop reading Freud.
Maybe this is all a ploy to get some sort of response from my poetry, more than I already have gotten, not that I like writing it a whoooole lot, but I do like the outcome sometimes. Yesterday's poem I feel like I could revise a little bit, but for the most part I enjoy how I can put things like the way I see into words. I also write like I'm an insane person, all the time.
I feel as though my writing contradicts the way people conform to society sometimes, which I know is a huge statement to say, but really it is a large thing to get into words, and I feel a pulling within me as I write to not make sense, to not write within the lines within the box, to write as if unexpected, from different perspectives for example as a child, as a depressed alcoholic deadbeat cancer patient, but there is no way of knowing why all of this comes about.
Maybe I should major in creative writing with a minor in philosophy.
I have been thinking about taking some philosophy courses lately, but it sort of conflicts with the whole honours english major, theatre minor, but can you take a double minor? Wouldn't that be a helluva courseload. All I'd be doing would be essays, research, and thinking. God forbid anyone ever thought.
Think today, people, go forth and uncover ideas.
take care,
Jess :]
I am ridiculously behind on posts today, so expect two more after this one. I wrote a poem yesterday and I realised when I write poetry I don't particularly think about it, and the same happens when I annotate it. I don't think about the physical, literal, emotional, or have a focus to begin with, but by the end I just know my shit, I know what is meant and what I think is meant anyway. I feel like if there is anything to do with poetry in my head it would be that I just let my thoughts go, just continue them downward it feels like it just goes onward into my psyche, or maybe I should just stop reading Freud.
Maybe this is all a ploy to get some sort of response from my poetry, more than I already have gotten, not that I like writing it a whoooole lot, but I do like the outcome sometimes. Yesterday's poem I feel like I could revise a little bit, but for the most part I enjoy how I can put things like the way I see into words. I also write like I'm an insane person, all the time.
I feel as though my writing contradicts the way people conform to society sometimes, which I know is a huge statement to say, but really it is a large thing to get into words, and I feel a pulling within me as I write to not make sense, to not write within the lines within the box, to write as if unexpected, from different perspectives for example as a child, as a depressed alcoholic deadbeat cancer patient, but there is no way of knowing why all of this comes about.
Maybe I should major in creative writing with a minor in philosophy.
I have been thinking about taking some philosophy courses lately, but it sort of conflicts with the whole honours english major, theatre minor, but can you take a double minor? Wouldn't that be a helluva courseload. All I'd be doing would be essays, research, and thinking. God forbid anyone ever thought.
Think today, people, go forth and uncover ideas.
take care,
Jess :]
Monday, September 26, 2011
and what, sat
[two hundred, sixty-seven]
motions, it looks like
to everybody else and I sit there sort of like
like a cough, held back but a little too loud,
and since I couldn't, I didn't,
but everyone else moved out of the way,
and everyone else looked back at me,
and asked me with their eyes,
but alas, I couldn't,
I couldn't see.
but it was just be coughing, I said,
what about being accepted?
nobody looked back anymore, I think,
but how would I know,
how would anybody know in such a dark
sick and dusty whirlwind of
nothing really,
well sometimes something,
and they sparkle,
but mostly just nothing.
I see things like a movement, a motion,
so people don't realise I do,
although only sometimes,
but detail faded, it looks like
like a dusty, dormant, mundane, dull,
blunt, emotionless, loveless,
discontent.
unsatisfied, always,
and yet, I see more everyday,
and I see more everyday.
focus: the lack of sight of people versus my literal lack of sight.
oh baby,
Jess :]
motions, it looks like
to everybody else and I sit there sort of like
like a cough, held back but a little too loud,
and since I couldn't, I didn't,
but everyone else moved out of the way,
and everyone else looked back at me,
and asked me with their eyes,
but alas, I couldn't,
I couldn't see.
but it was just be coughing, I said,
what about being accepted?
nobody looked back anymore, I think,
but how would I know,
how would anybody know in such a dark
sick and dusty whirlwind of
nothing really,
well sometimes something,
and they sparkle,
but mostly just nothing.
I see things like a movement, a motion,
so people don't realise I do,
although only sometimes,
but detail faded, it looks like
like a dusty, dormant, mundane, dull,
blunt, emotionless, loveless,
discontent.
unsatisfied, always,
and yet, I see more everyday,
and I see more everyday.
focus: the lack of sight of people versus my literal lack of sight.
oh baby,
Jess :]
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