Intimacy

One of my favorite things is greasy bangs. Because I always wonder what they smell like. Probably like forehead. But yes, whether they are straight across bangs or side-swept bangs or just long face-framing bangs, greasiness is always easy to detect and so hard to look away from. I remember when I was going out with Andy, I used to like to smell his face. It always smelled faintly of grease, of facial grease. This probably sounds gross but I feel like when you get to know someone intimately, you grow to like such oddities. Like the smell of their scalp, or you become familiar with their bad breath, and when you’re in a crowd and that person farts silently, you will still be able to tell that it’s that person’s fart because you know it’s that smell. And then sometimes when you get to know a person well, instead of being disgusted by his back pimples, you just want to pop them. And it’s so disgusting right, but it’s also in a way very intimate and sweet and unmistakably genuine because who by choice would ever feel that way towards someone they did not like and love.

Oh neee-oh!

Drew just called me to say that Dominos messed up his order. "They gave me buffalo wings instead of chicken kickers" (and I knew bear was quite bummed because at the end of his sentence when he said kickers, it sounded like kickeerrrs...). I could almost hear his Sad Face through the phone.

"I even got my chili sauce all ready!" Then, spoken gravely: "There's pineapple in my pizza. I don't like pineapples in my pizza."

All this made me laugh through my sympathetic "aw's."

And i

I am so tired of making internal apologies to you for who I am, the way I think, the needs I have, the fears I feel, the comfort I seek.

What I keep struggling with is that I'm the only one to blame for feeling this way; no one is forcing me to be sorry and you're certainly not telling me to apologize. Maybe in the end the only thing that tells me I'm the one to blame is that I'm just this weak. For thinking that I'm wrong for being me.

The perks of being a wallflower

"If somebody likes me, I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am. And I don't want them to carry it around inside. I want them to show me, so I can feel it, too. I want them to be able to do whatever they want around me." 

--Stephen Chbosky

When you were the first

You say, "Don't waste your time on me when you can be meeting new people," but don't you see that you're irreplaceable. You say you don't want to be just another one of the people on my list of friends I hang out with, but don't you see that you just aren't the same. You say you do it to fill up the emptiness inside, but don't you see that it hurts me too to see what you do. You say you get bitter because it seems like I don't even really care, but don't you see that I do, I just cannot bring myself to tell you. You say you wish you didn't say what you said because it makes you seem like the weaker one, but don't you see that I am not as strong as you make me out to be. You say it's just too hard, but don't you see that it was never meant to be easy.

What I imagine the old man recalls about his wife

Mary looked like the kind of woman who was easily mortified. I helped her stand when the train came into the station. Her arm was frail beneath my fingers. Time had taken its toll on the young bodies we remembered using for disreputable ends. 

Silver needles in meridians

"A butterfly made perfect by a dart through it."


What do you make of that?  

Illusion

Subway etiquette

During rush hour, when everyone fights to get on and you almost trip because a feisty granny shoves you from behind, just be cool -- even as her gnarled fists dig into your back. You don't want to be that jerk who was mean to the granny and you really don't want to raise the ire of an entire platform of already-irate passengers. When you do finally make it inside the car, crammed against a 300-pound man's pudge, try not to notice that his sweat beads are dripping onto your shirt. Just have your earphones on and be thankful that the music's drowning out his loud breathing.

Inside is outside

How come no one told me all
through out history, the loneliest people
were the ones who always spoke
the truth, the ones who made a difference by withstanding indifference.

First of the calendar series

Read more books than blogs

This one is perhaps my favorite

Friday at the Voice

Nicole bought a bridal magazine during her lunch break. She's showing it to Gavin.

Gavin: You realize I don't give a shit about weddings.
Nicole: Tons of people subscribe to bridal magazines.
Gavin: That's retarded. If you're only going to marry this person once, why would you subscribe to a year's worth of bridal magazines?
Nicole: A wedding takes a year to plan. A year to two years, sometimes even more.
Gavin: Uh, just book a place, hire caterers, invite people. Done.
Nicole: But it takes forever to decide on a dress. Like would you prefer that walking toward you, or that walking toward you?
Gavin: If I wanna marry a girl I wouldn't give a shit about what kind of dress she's wearing.
Nicole: I wanna get married by the beach or the water. Where do you wanna get married?
Gavin: Probably in a court house.
Nicole: In a court house? Oh my god that's so dreary.
Gavin: There's something about weddings that's almost... I dunno, depressing.
Nicole: Would you want to get your wedding written in the newspaper?
Gavin: How many fucking questions are you going to ask me about weddings? The idea about paying money to have something written about my wedding is just silly.
Nicole: What?!
Gavin: There are so many other things you can do with money.

Nicole starts telling Gavin about a wedding story that involves a huge ring. He tells her that big rings are gaudy.

"I appreciate subtlety."

Don't you know who I am

Adrien

Tan, with wiry hair on fingers

I want to touch faces. I touched his knee cap, his fingers. I want to hold his hand. I want him to grab my hand. But he doesn't strike me as the type who would do that. Remember when Mark had taken mine. I was ripping the grass. He put his hand on mine, gently, slowly. Don't remember the first time Andy and I held hands. Wish I did. Will Drew ever hold mine?

A Long Day's Journey Into Night

Tyrone: I wouldn't give a damn if you ever displayed the slightest sign of gratitude. The only thanks is to have you sneer at me for a dirty miser, sneer at my profession, sneer at every damned thing in the world -- except yourself. 

Jamie: [wryly] That's not true, Pappa. You can't hear me talking to myself, that's all. 

To the boy who loves french toast

Happy seventh month

The strangest thing

And high up above or down below, when you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Winona

Fascinates me.

Therefore we do not lose heart

"For how can a man shake off his habits, what can become of him if he is in such bondage to the habit of satisfying the innumerable desires he has created for himself?...
...He is isolated,  and what concern has he with the rest of humanity?"      

-The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky

 

If what we call love, doesn't take us beyond ourselves, it is not really love. Love wastefully, love selflessly, love fearlessly because...

"There is no fear in love.
                But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment.
                 The one who fears is not made perfect in love. "
                                                                                 I John 4:18

Thursday, January 25, 2007

family

 

dear siblings of mine, please know that i love you all so very much. and i have been thinking about the three of you every day i pray for you every night. i am never without you i carry the three of you with me every moment, wherever i go... rise up in the morning, on my way to school. listen to mike's cd, the tunes have "Save[d] Me From Myself." soak up a lovely day at school, endless bouts of laughter with friends. but i come home to an empty house, and so i walk the rooms... and open the drawers... and trace my fingers along the volumes on mike's bookshelf. i read jeff's email, and i'm so happy so happy, that i swear my insides are smiling along as well. ann leaves. afterschool, i come home and spend four hours on the bed hugging her pillow. i suppose some part of me thinks that just as the fluffy surface encased her scent, so i will be able to cling onto some part of her. but soon the sadness subsides, because i realize that (i love my dear siblings very much, and) it is that love i have for you that sustains me through all. i carry your hearts with me. "i carry it in my heart."

Check one

Meet my new accountability partner.

Kids don't like him very much 'cause he tends to emit creeper-like vibes. But as I've recently got this accountability system set up with him, I'm gonna believe the best in what buster's got to offer.

Favorite non-musical sounds

-squeakiness of the lead in mechanical pencils as you write
-gentle lapping of water when you move in the tub
-airplanes taking off from afar
-the chafing sound that stiff jeans make when you rub your legs together
-grandpa hacking a loogie
-that gentle sound when you press the seal of a ziplock bag
-thick Sharpies scrawled across paper
-gravel crumbling under my shoes
-"soundless" sinking of sugar into a cup of foamy latte
-pop that a pickle or spaghetti sauce jar makes when you finally open it
-crunchiness of a pizza crust

David

I saw your picture and heard about you a year before I even met you. When he said you liked my writing, the one about finding familiarity abroad in Italian bars, about Manhattan and quiet pavement, I thought how good it would be if something happened between us. The friend from Sweden, blonde and open, expressive and unafraid. Then he told me you had a Persian girlfriend and how at every chance you'd say, "She's amazing." Later I got to hear you say it for myself. He still doesn't know why I hate the word amazing. It just tells me that I am not her.

You left the pizza I brought you on the bench, uneaten, saved for a homeless person -- one who wasn't Jewish like you and who could eat pork. I wish I hadn't asked for pepperoni, but cheese had seemed too plain, too cheap.  What I remember is so much. The way your hair was pressed against your forehead under your clay blue hood; how you tugged on the strings as you talked to me; your lips without grooves. How I immediately felt a little awed and inferior when you so openly conversed with the doorman.

At the Plaza Hotel, you asked if you could drop in your suite before we headed up to the roof. You brought out a blanket for me. We sat down, then in the middle of talking you suddenly told me to stand up. So abruptly: "Stand up," just like that. I didn't ask why or what for, didn't even frown inquisively like I normally would've. I simply stood on that roof with you and tried not to watch you as you wrapped the blanket around me snugly, tucking corners under my arms, binding fabric around my shivering legs. I tried to still them, tried not to move. Tried to savor this, the closeness. It was as if I had discovered security for the first time.

You said my name and asked, "What do you want?" I smiled sadly, not saying anything. Just knew that what I wanted didn't matter because the reality was, I would never see you again.

I had never known how these things were supposed to go together anyway, but just this once it was okay to laugh about it. Everything since has been bits and pieces. Crinkled paper, an impromptu cab ride, hands and the fragile city that we built
that would not make it past the night.