Moving on through life

I've moved on from here. It happened awhile ago. To continue to adventures through meandering words visit me at http://celtic3cycle.blogspot.com/ I'll be waiting for you there.

Notes I Write to Myself

I can't expect the people around me to be close and care and love when I can't return their feelings with my own, when I throw their's back into their pursed lips and open arms.

Something never change and some always stay the same.

And here I am again sitting alone on the floor locked in my own words, trapped in this sactuary I created, but to others it is solitary confinement and I lost my own key in this barren room.



its spring now. I'm impressed how quickly the trees have sprung into flower and the women into short skirts.

but today, 5 into april, it snows just afternoon

Men

I think I've set a new record. Six cat calls - this means six groups or individuals of men said something - were flung at me on my walk from the subway ay Park and 28th to my dorm on 1st and 26th. How many blocks is that? Seven. The sun brings out everyhting. The flowers, women's legs and cat calls. Why do I like the sun? Right, the heat.
Why do men feel they have the right to recklessy wing these razor sharp words at women on the street, women only trying to get home. In the dark these comments are terrifying. Do men know that? Do they know we've been taught to fear these words, suspect each sylabul of tripping us up, thrusting us to the pavement or pulling us into a dark alley? Do men know we tense up against each words as if it were a knife threating our existance, our security, our confidence? Do they know they are ruining us for other men? When you can hear the intent of a male voice from his few words shot across an empty sidewalk or from an open car window "Hey there pretty, what time your daddy want you home?""Hello gorgeous.""I hope your boyfriend appriciates that ass." What if I said that to them? Can I? Will they just laugh and act on their words? Better on to stop. Don't let them see the fear in your face. "Hey there hunk, what time your Momma want you home?""Hey handsome.""I hope your girlfrind appriciates that dick."

I wish I could love like a man
With reckless
Abandonment and those
Looks of shock, but
Women are some how incapable or
Maybe just me. I
Do prefer to wake up
alone on sunny
Sunday mornings
And have coffee with my
Plants and books.

When I was a child
I would pretend
I was in a jungle, all alone
Or in a tree house, protected from the rain
I would read for hours
The sun would slip
through the thick banana trees
in the late afternoon and
right before sliding into the sea,
he would send me a few rays
to dance across my spine.

Maybe I’m still in love with the sun.
Its hard to forget a first love
and none after him have
burned so brightly,
but I never blistered.
I did protect myself against him too,
in case he became too
zealous or enflamed by passion.
But now that he is gone,
that I have found other loves,
I pull on an extra sweater against the cold,
because nothing warms me
the way he did on those afternoons of solitude.
Danaë would understand,
for she too fell in love with a beam of sun.

But my first love did not incur such myth,
it was over
before I could wind the words into song
and teach others to fall in love
with my myth
and feel the heat through my verse.
So now I love with less intensity
because the sun is an exhausting lover
and the moon, she too demands my attention.

With her it is more of a seduction.
She slips in through my window, unsuspected.
Her soft fingers draped across my shoulder draw my attention slowly,
caressing me into her thoughts
and she into mine.
I don’t notice that these too are demands
that will steal away my energy,
she hides her intent in shadows.

She loves the way I do,
making sure she is loved before professing herself.
It is safer that way.
She too must have been burn by the sun.
She hides from him now.
I don’t have that luxury.
But we understand each other
and her fingers on my shoulder remind me there are other ways,
I just have to turn around and embrace them.
But that too scares.

Most Scattered Post Ever

first thought:
I've come to this semi-understanding with the idea of polygamy. I don't think I could ever practice it, but I've come to a semi-understanding. Not to mention, my boyfriend and his roommate think I would make a great second wife. ANYWAY. The other night was my boyfriend's birthday party and he invited a whole bunch of people to a bar and it was lots of fun and everyone was buying his a drink and he was already drunk when we got there because we pre-partied with a few people at this german restaurant and they drunk....so long story short. The boyfriend is drunk. I'm bad at deal with drunk people and I----I'm not sure what to call this feeling, maybe disappointment. But somehow I always tend to lose faith in the person who I have to deal with. BUT it was soooo helpful having his roommate there. She was totally on top of everything. I love her. Maybe the reason I feel this disappointment, is my own inability to take actions that will be completely beneficial to the drunk person. Anyway, she knows what to do and i'm good at doing what i'm told. So she made my night so much easier and I am going to be forever in her debit. To go backwards and hopefully end at the beginning. I am not disappointed in my boyfriend and his drunkenness - the pessimistic side says i don't feel it yet, or am not willing to admit it, because i don't want this to influence our relationship, but i don't listen to the pessimistic side. So i think two wives take the pressure off one another, they make up for each other's faults and short comings, or at least idealistically. However, i don't think i could ever practice polygamy, because i'm not sure how i'd feel about sharing in the sex field. I know i don't have to sleep with the other wife, but still.

I think I'm growing into a more mature person. Only time will bring that thought.

Next thought - hopefully more cohesive.

My boyfriend's roommate's boyfriend is visiting from North Carolina. He has been friends with my boyfriend since 12. They get alone really well. it was great seeing them together. I like him a lot. I like him drastically them the other friends i have met so far. He is mountains above them. All four of us hung out last night. I haven't had that much fun in a long time. I was having breathe stopping, snort inducing fits of laughter on the walk home from the german restaurant (this is a different one then the one mentioned above). I haven't laughed that hard for a long time. They play off each other so well. I hope i can coalese into this group.

and the third thought, a poem:

I woke up in my dream at your place and it was morning again
Maybe I wanted to relive those last few hours
But I knew I was here alone at my place and I woke myself because I knew it was fake and I didn’t want to pretend. I don’t want to lie to myself anymore. I do it so well.
I don’t want to upset myself.

“A dream itself is but shadow”

Je me perde dans tu peau
Ce n’est pas des mots de moi
Mais je comprends tout
Tu ne me comprends rien
Je pense ques c’est heureux
Je veux que tu comprends tout
Un jour, probablement, j’espere

But this doesn’t create a barrier between us, it makes us closer

Je suis plus proche de toi aujourd’hui que jamais

Dans les reves ou dans le realite, je t’aime et je te veux

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come”

Je veux notre peaux devenir d’eau
Et pleut sur les oceans du monde
Et cause tous les fleurs devenir le plus belle que jamais

from my dream I woke up twice
I don’t know which is more real
The one where I was alone and knew the things around me didn’t exist
Or the one that continues and I think everything is real
I remember them both the same,
Are they equally real?

Je ne vraiment exist
Je suis un ombre

I know its . . . "alternative". Anyway, just a note on it. The quotations are from HAMLET, byt Shakespeare. I hope my french is correct, yes i know i left out the accents. anyway, that's everything. I now have to go meet that boyfriend on mine. I should also write a scene in my play, but i'm too tired and don't want to haul my computer anywhere right now. so i guess i'll end up long-handing it sometime in the next 24 hours.

so... "GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK"

ps. i have not seen the movie and it was not my oscar choice, since i didn't see it - out of lack of time and money, not choice.

Santa Monica

I called my dad today to go over my taxes - i've never had to do taxes before.
But he was distracted.

Yesterday a teenage boy was shot in Santa Monica. He goes to Santa Monica High School. My sister goes to Santa Monica High School. I went to Santa Monica High. Fortunately, my sister does not know the boy. Not that it makes it any easier. Its is hard watching all your friends and the people around you grieve openly, uncontrollable in classes, between classes and every where else. You feel so hopeless and useless and guiltly that you do not know the person who is so missed. I feel guilty that you don't hurt and that you can't make everyone else not hurt too.
That's how I felt when LaLa Morales, a girl in my year at SaMoHi was killed. I didn't know what to do.

But it get worse, or maybe it just adds to the pain.

This boy - who's name I don't know - was shot across the street from my theater. The theater where I grew into the person I am today, in both good and bad ways.

My Dad nows plays an integral role in the running of the theater and while in rehearsal yesterday, the boy was shot. He was there. The boy ran across the street and into the glass doors of the theater. He died in my father's arms. His youth cast was in the lobby with him. They all saw it. I wish I could close their eyes to that forever.

If this had happened three years ago, even two years ago. I would have been in my father's place. I would have been holding that dying boy trying to stop his bleeding until the ambulance arrived. I would have been yelling at the little ones to go into the other room and keep rehearsing, distract themselves from the cruel world which had so quickly invaded the little place of imagination we try so hard to create and maintain.

I might have known the boy. He might have been in my year. He could have been in one of my classes or sat across the quad at lunch. We might have only known each others faces, passed each other in the hall a few times, not even smiled. I might have been the last person to see his eyes still taking in the world no one should ever know. Would I have cooed and tried to make it not seem so bad? Would I have smiled at him, so he might see a little bit of friendship before his final breath? I don't think I want to ever know what I would do.

I got the day off.

I skipped from French class this morning because I was really hung over and there wasn't anyway in the world I was going to make it downtown, then find food and coffee and then be any sort of comprehending in class.
SOOOO I went to breakfast with my boyfriend and his roommate. My comrades in arms.
The fabulously lucky thing for me is that my other class today was called off because the teacher is in Princeton NJ having her play performed.
SOOOO I got the day off.
My boyfriend and his roommate had to go to work. But they are a bit more accustomed to drinking, then I am given that they've had longer to do it legally.

It has been great today. The weather is nice. I got to lounge around in bed, because I can't find any homework I need to stress about. Its great.
I needed a day like this.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN!!!!!