Thursday, March 29, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
stream o' consciousness produces leni's dark side.
numb, she thought. numb. as her lips burned with the intensity of a flamethrower. she enjoyed the way pounds fled her flesh. the way her eyes dilated. the way her cheeks grew pale at his slight mentioning. to be numb was cathartic. she savored the moments when she didn't feel, think, need, anything.
but what does one do? stand on the edge and release or wait at peaks never to peer beyond? she chose to fall. and fall she did, alongside the multitudes who savored the way wind rushed past their face, cool...numb. without the fall, there would be nothing. without the numbness there would no longer be joy. but she had begun to wonder if her cold heart and numb hands felt anything besides endless waves of pity.
she still wasn't sure who it was for: herself or others. the others who chose not to go down this path. they didn't know. how could they understand.
she was, by all means, perfection. the very definition of euphoria. it's strange how closely related apathy and euphoria can seem. for you can smile as widely in apathy, have all the same bland, blank facial expressions of one who is extremely happy.
it's easy to fake both.
oh how she fell admiring the ground's inevitable thump. how she enjoyed the plummet. the way her stomach screamed no, no, no, and she defied her body time and again.
to have control over oneself is the best kind of control. to scream no to your heart, your inner organs, your guts. to let them know who's in charge. you can choose the inevitible if you want to. your brain is the only thing that matters: it's what moves your feet, what clasps your hands, what brings the bottle to the lips, what fucks a stranger.
you can make that decision.
because it's yours.
and she did. and enjoyed every last drop of self-loathing destruction.
but what does one do? stand on the edge and release or wait at peaks never to peer beyond? she chose to fall. and fall she did, alongside the multitudes who savored the way wind rushed past their face, cool...numb. without the fall, there would be nothing. without the numbness there would no longer be joy. but she had begun to wonder if her cold heart and numb hands felt anything besides endless waves of pity.
she still wasn't sure who it was for: herself or others. the others who chose not to go down this path. they didn't know. how could they understand.
she was, by all means, perfection. the very definition of euphoria. it's strange how closely related apathy and euphoria can seem. for you can smile as widely in apathy, have all the same bland, blank facial expressions of one who is extremely happy.
it's easy to fake both.
oh how she fell admiring the ground's inevitable thump. how she enjoyed the plummet. the way her stomach screamed no, no, no, and she defied her body time and again.
to have control over oneself is the best kind of control. to scream no to your heart, your inner organs, your guts. to let them know who's in charge. you can choose the inevitible if you want to. your brain is the only thing that matters: it's what moves your feet, what clasps your hands, what brings the bottle to the lips, what fucks a stranger.
you can make that decision.
because it's yours.
and she did. and enjoyed every last drop of self-loathing destruction.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Responsibility, Grown-Ups, and Grad Schools...OH MY!
Lots of things can happen in a week. A ton. A shitload. And I've had a metric ass-kicking these past 6 nights. Not a bad ass-kicking. A good hard blow to the brain. It was a good thing. A great thing. I needed to re-evaluate.
I find myself in ridiculous situations saying ridiculous things and wondering how or why i got there and why those phrases that mean nothing just yet, tumble on outwards. they spill into my brain via some strange and otherworldly taser gun. I was doing fine and snap: hey, there's that thing you didn't mean to say.
I've made new friends. That's always nice. They're fun people. It's sad that it took me this long in Keene to find some good people and they have to swept under the rug. Graduate school does that to people. Why do the best things always come at the end? I'm just waiting for the smoking signal to ding, cause that means everything is okay.
That brings me to another point. Syracuse: out. Iowa: nada. 2 down, 5 to go. Let's hope I've learned to grin and bear rejection. Megan thinks I'm suffering post-traumatic stress from all that shitty shit during the undergrad application process. Perhaps. Probably. That was pretty devestating for me.
For the first time in a while, I don't feel this endless surge of worry. This all-encompassing self-doubt. The whywhywhys or hows of how I meet people and how they respond to me. I'm a good person and I deserve as such. I meet a boy: I shouldn't immediately doubt, but I shouldn't immediately attach either. Learning it. Owning up for my flaws. It's a difficult process. So I don't know where the future is headed, do I need to know the endings before the beginnings even transpose into middles? No. I am slowly letting my grip slip away from these things. They don't matter. But more importantly, I don't want them to matter anymore. That's the main thing: I don't want that hassle.
So I'm solving it now. Iowa rejected me; I cried. I scare away a boy with my intensity; I fix it. I feel like crap; I take care of myself. It's a funny thing, being responsible. It's remarkably.....soothing.
L-Dawg: OUT.
I find myself in ridiculous situations saying ridiculous things and wondering how or why i got there and why those phrases that mean nothing just yet, tumble on outwards. they spill into my brain via some strange and otherworldly taser gun. I was doing fine and snap: hey, there's that thing you didn't mean to say.
I've made new friends. That's always nice. They're fun people. It's sad that it took me this long in Keene to find some good people and they have to swept under the rug. Graduate school does that to people. Why do the best things always come at the end? I'm just waiting for the smoking signal to ding, cause that means everything is okay.
That brings me to another point. Syracuse: out. Iowa: nada. 2 down, 5 to go. Let's hope I've learned to grin and bear rejection. Megan thinks I'm suffering post-traumatic stress from all that shitty shit during the undergrad application process. Perhaps. Probably. That was pretty devestating for me.
For the first time in a while, I don't feel this endless surge of worry. This all-encompassing self-doubt. The whywhywhys or hows of how I meet people and how they respond to me. I'm a good person and I deserve as such. I meet a boy: I shouldn't immediately doubt, but I shouldn't immediately attach either. Learning it. Owning up for my flaws. It's a difficult process. So I don't know where the future is headed, do I need to know the endings before the beginnings even transpose into middles? No. I am slowly letting my grip slip away from these things. They don't matter. But more importantly, I don't want them to matter anymore. That's the main thing: I don't want that hassle.
So I'm solving it now. Iowa rejected me; I cried. I scare away a boy with my intensity; I fix it. I feel like crap; I take care of myself. It's a funny thing, being responsible. It's remarkably.....soothing.
L-Dawg: OUT.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Greek Tragedies Make Me Smile
Leni has been making strange, albeit delightful, decisions. Life has been good: a pleasurable mix of pain and play. That sounded almost like S&M, which is totally not what I meant. In any scenario, I spend my nights at home alone or out with friends and I found this delicious balance between alone time to be okay in my head and friend time to be okay in my life. I need both: the wine and American Idol nights co-habitating with dance class and girly movie nights.
I keep feeling as though I should quit smoking, but there's something about it that has always been subversively appealing to me. I just feel like a femme fatale in a sexy evening gown. They're so convincing. So downright sexy it's hard to ignore the low-cut dress and how the smoke just spills from their lips as though it were as natural as breathing.
But I'm not a temptress. It's not like simple breathing for me. It involves coughing and spitting and everyone yelling, saying "you need to quit." But there are those moments when the light catches the smoke and it curls outwards into the dark spectrum of the universe and I can't help but think about how beautiful those smoke echos must look in the light of distant stars.
...if it were possible for them to exist outside the realm of my backyard.
On another note: Greek tragedies do not lend themselves to the post-WWII era. I went to go see Keene's production of it last night, and while the actors were all quite good, it's simply not enough to compensate for the fact that it ended with "WAR! HUH! GOOD GOD! WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR?" Ummm....no. I wanna see the traditional Greek play: baby-eating, mother-fucking, father-killing, god-avenging, traditional Greek play. It's what I pay for...
..Not that I paid for my ticket. I got mine scott-free from a cast member. That's what happens when you know people. And what can I say? I'm a big deal in Keene.
Or so I think.
Tonight: Shower, then dinner and Pan's Labyrinth with Mattamegnon. Perhaps some hang-age with Miss Cate, or Miss Kate-E and her friend Seth. And some deep wonderful lucid dreams.
Sounds like perfection to me.
yours always,
THE Leni
I keep feeling as though I should quit smoking, but there's something about it that has always been subversively appealing to me. I just feel like a femme fatale in a sexy evening gown. They're so convincing. So downright sexy it's hard to ignore the low-cut dress and how the smoke just spills from their lips as though it were as natural as breathing.
But I'm not a temptress. It's not like simple breathing for me. It involves coughing and spitting and everyone yelling, saying "you need to quit." But there are those moments when the light catches the smoke and it curls outwards into the dark spectrum of the universe and I can't help but think about how beautiful those smoke echos must look in the light of distant stars.
...if it were possible for them to exist outside the realm of my backyard.
On another note: Greek tragedies do not lend themselves to the post-WWII era. I went to go see Keene's production of it last night, and while the actors were all quite good, it's simply not enough to compensate for the fact that it ended with "WAR! HUH! GOOD GOD! WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR?" Ummm....no. I wanna see the traditional Greek play: baby-eating, mother-fucking, father-killing, god-avenging, traditional Greek play. It's what I pay for...
..Not that I paid for my ticket. I got mine scott-free from a cast member. That's what happens when you know people. And what can I say? I'm a big deal in Keene.
Or so I think.
Tonight: Shower, then dinner and Pan's Labyrinth with Mattamegnon. Perhaps some hang-age with Miss Cate, or Miss Kate-E and her friend Seth. And some deep wonderful lucid dreams.
Sounds like perfection to me.
yours always,
THE Leni
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