"if you see a shadow, there's something there"

It really is a small world after all.

The past few days have been spent chasing shadows and the light in between. It's been a struggle finding comfort in the dark, illuminating my apathy with street lamps and morning sun, but I've managed to find temporary solace in the place where both worlds collide. Not only am I having a difficult time telling the difference between hunger and appetite, I can't figure out if this is what I want. Everyone is telling me that I'm going places and that what I have comes naturally to me. But when I'm in front of the camera my mind is turned off. It's the only time in my day where my mind is blank. Perhaps I'm confusing apathy with freedom. I don't know.

Wizard of Oz torrential downpour, zipper shaped lightning, clean air, flat tires, immediate breaking, sweating through cotton, hairspray in mass quantities, yellow eyes and nude lips, not wearing undergarments, constellations of bug bites, ivory skin tarnished with sun, sandy knees, blank stares, fitting in, not fitting in, words of praise, honoring a king and an angel, "put your chin down", Detroit U-turns, screaming "I'll find it myself", quitting, the boy in the fitting room, faded reds, dirty dishes, pointless arguments, a productive carousel ride, "the friend zone", wind blown cigarettes, traffic jams, flooded highways, threatening headlights, having an audience, changing behind sheets in hot cars, wading, waiting, shopping in the dark, twin bed secrets, chipmunks, starving, wedding talk, awkward admissions and a song about unicorns.


While at the beach, we noticed a lifeless mass of white floating, atrophied in the water. Looking to the shore, we see a swan standing, watching the white mass float back and forth. We concluded that it was the deceased mate of the swan on the shore. She stretched her wings, bending them inward and outward as if to acknowledge us. We stood in silence. The swan, who we thought was in mourning, entered the water slowly, making its way up to the other. She approached him, still lifeless. And as if by some strange miracle, the once lifeless swan lifts its head from the water to greet his other. We cheered and wiped the stubborn tears from our eyes. It's funny. Life is always taking me by surprise. And sometimes, hope surprises you in the form of a white swan who simply was much too tired to greet a trio hopeless wanderers.

When I'm 40 years old, someone is going to nonchalantly offer me an unwanted ticket to the ballet. When I seat myself and the show begins I know that I will look back and wonder how it is I denied myself of one of my most persistent and potent dreams. Everyday while doing the dishes, I lift my leg straight and horizontal, toes pointed east and west. When I stand, I'm always in third position. I know that I am clumsy and I was born with very little grace, but for some reason I think it would make me happy; dancing on my tip toes, spinning around and around, arms out like wings, legs parallel to the ground.

Do you feel fireworks?

"I threw in a life preserver, but preservation is always only temporary."

I thought I needed it to live my life more happily.
I think I may have been wrong.
I think I may be the exception.

Perhaps, I've only wanted it because I was supposed to want it. I've been conditioned to want it. The truth is, if I had it I wouldn't know what to do with it. And I doubt it would even help me at all. The funny thing is, I've known it all along but it's much too difficult to admit until now. The way I am and the way I've always been is all I've ever known. There's no need to complicate things. There's really no need at all.

There's another problematic factor in this already problematic equation. We will always refer to the feelings we once felt and the experiences we had, to judge how to approach everything that comes next, before we even see it through. We dismiss and accept things without knowing what will really happen. Never will you be able to force time you spent from your memory, no matter the lengths you may go to. And these same spans of time are the crossroads and roadblocks that prevent you from freeing yourself.

I climbed my first tree.

Yesterday, while making an early trip to McDonalds (7am) I witnessed something awesome. Picture this: A heavy set kid on a bike with a bag of McD's food and a drink. He looks in the bag (he's alone, mind you) and he smiles the biggest, most happy of smiles. He then proceeds to pick up a boom box (ghetto blaster/cassette player) with a CORD and he rides off on his bike, food, drink and boom box in tow. Where he was going, or what he intended to do with the cassette player, I have no idea. I do know, however, that it made me a very happy girl.

My worst fear is slowly coming true. Awkward silences, small talk, "catching up." I'm not sure we can repair the damage that the natural progression of growing up has done. If there was a way for me to patch up the holes that we've allowed to exist so that we could return to our sisterly state of familiarity, I would. But it takes more than that. I wish I could say I was referring to only one person, but there are a few. Le sigh.

As of tomorrow morning, I will be thrown into recycling bins and trash cans all across Metro Detroit, only to rest peacefully in my immortalized newspaper condition for ever and ever. Well, until I am recycled into something new someday.

As of lately, it seems as though the only ideas I have are bad ones. If I ever have a good idea, I'll be sure to write it down so I can have proof that I was at one point capable of doing so.

I'm better off airbrushed and retouched.

(unedited photo by Joshua Band Photography)

More than this - there is nothing

More than this - tell me one thing
More than this - there is nothing
It was fun for a while

Champagne and late night cigarettes with the girl from Iceland, tugging hair, painting faces, doppelgangers, lipstick on wine glasses, invasive and persistent flashbulbs, new acquaintances, playing dress up, pink water, drifting right, bloomers and bow ties, congratulatory words, play list adoration, birds of paradise, 2am and 3am and 4am, smoke induced hallucinations, a nap on a strange couch, saying 'thank you', negative association, rain filled reflections, mid summer's day karaoke, roaring thunder, fake laughter, dump trucks, feeling whole, old vices, hazard lights, makeshift garment bags, newspaper stained finger tips, sloppy signatures, little details, angry and cathartic walks, feeling sexy, pillow forts, $63 paychecks, second and third place ribbons, stopping in the middle, spontaneous interventions, apologizing excessively, a lonely breakfast with pen and paper and realizing you can't describe color.

How many failed marriages does someone need to go through before they realize what they need to do differently? Let's hope 5 is the end of it.

I've exhausted my welcome. I have to stop assuming people are here to help. It's selfish of me.

I hate money.

I wonder how many times we were in love and didn't even know it.

I wear red lipstick now and mens tshirts. I don't fucking care.

We're always missing out, aren't we?

They say the camera loves me, but it's not a real love so who cares, anyway?


[unedited photos by Josh Band Photography]

"You'll figure that out. The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you."

I don't recognize myself. I am the same. Exactly the same.
Maybe I'm just forgetful.
That must be it.


I made a wise choice. I can't believe I sided with the angel on my shoulder. I seem to always favor the devil's quick wit and irrational tongue. But foreseeing the implications of my unruly desire to act on my flawless ability to make emotionally self destructive decisions (take a breath) I am relieved to know that I am capable of doing what is best for me. This, of course, is a once in blue moon occurrence.

I hate that I can't afford a new car. Don't get me wrong, I love my car. But I'm pretty sure cars are not supposed to stall, let alone stall while in motion. I have a honest to God feeling that I may be killed within the next few weeks, all because of that stubborn piece of machinery. There's not much I care to do, though, to alter the outcome of my inevitable crash.

Is it wrong that I am comforted with knowing certain people will most likely spend their life alone, searching for something that will never exist to them because they have done nothing to deserve the happiness that comes with companionship? It is wrong, isn't it? I feel just awful for even thinking that, let alone publicly confessing it on the interweb. But I can't help smiling at the mere thought of a well deserved fruitless journey.

I don't understand relationships. I don't see the point.

I did another photo shoot.

I'm on the cover of Real Detroit.
I'm just now realizing that I'm not cut out for this.
And I'm a fool to ever think I was.

I have 5 pages. 3 of the 5 pages are convoluted chunks of dialogue; unassigned, poorly worded dialogue. I want my character to become a heroine. But I don't think she's strong enough yet.
It's all a bunch of rubbish if you ask me. I hate not knowing how my story ends, but I guess that's the beauty of being young.

Do you ever have the urge to just run?
Leaping over sprinklers, escaping curious dogs, darting across busy roads and highways, over wire and wooden fences, through barren fields. This is what I want to do.
Where I end up won't matter in the end.

I know where the summer goes.

Aside from suffering from heat exhaustion to the point of near hospitalization, I can't seem to catch a minute to take a breath. I can't be bothered to think about things that were once self-destructive and consuming. And it appears as though I've lost the ability to frown. All of the aforementioned details are positive.

My life is quickly becoming a technicolor kaleidoscope, twisting and turning in every shade of wonderful. Reds, yellows and violets. Although it's a beautiful color in every form, I very rarely see the blues; they're difficult to find these days.

Spf 50, warm swimming pools, wine coolers for breakfast, white eye liner, flashbulbs, kind and confident people, shish kabobs, seedless watermelon, $110 sunglasses, bikinis, thumbs up, biting straws, diving board laziness, hot pavement on bare feet, oversexed condiments, awkward legs, leotards, scar secrets, shaking hands, high maintenance boys and sun kissed happiness.

After waking up on the couch at midnight, in a heat exhausted stupor I thought about how I really wanted someone there to pat my forehead with a cool washcloth, fetch me ice water with a bendy straw, walk me to my room and to tell me that by morning I will feel much better about everything. But I had to do these things on my own. It's okay, really. Everything is coming along just as it should.

I should have invested in waterproof mascara a long time ago.
But if my luck keeps up, I won't be needing it any time soon.

Steady as I go.

"Hope is the thing with feathers"

Correction:
It's not a matter of moving on. Moving on is the easy part. I've done that already. Actually, I remember doing that a long time ago. It's finding ways to appreciate experiences and finding lessons in messes that takes time and effort. But at least I've found a flower in this shit of a situation. It's actually quite funny, really. Without this, what fodder would I have for my writing? This whole mishap was a Godsend. A fucking Godsend, I tell you!!! I thank both my lucky and unlucky stars that this fell into my open lap because in all honesty this is the funniest, most ridiculously genius situation that could possibly be presented to me (of all people!)

Am I ashamed? Am I embarrassed? Of course I am. How could I not be? At least I'm not too prideful to admit my shame and ultimately my poor and careless judge of character.

Now that I'm living off of the state of Michigan (although I am still rightfully employed), with days upon days free of responsibility and/or obligation, I can finally make shit happen (not, of course, the same shit I referred to previously) For example; I start my second attempt at composing a novella tomorrow morning. I'm also de-cluttering my world of many things that are merely collecting dust. The modeling thing? Yeah. I'm going to start working on that in a more pugnacious manner, too. It's time to get aggressive because now I know what I want and I know what I deserve; Happiness. Duh!

I bought Guatemalan worry dolls. I've been wearing them around my neck.

I bought an old photograph of a girl who shares the same hunger.

I ate a cactus.

I'm shooting a cover and spread for Real Detroit on Tuesday.

There has been, within the past 24 hours, a dramatic shift in my rotation. I need a gravitational push.

I am convinced that the birds are literally falling from the sky. Every where I go, there are fallen nests, birds with broken necks, abandoned eggs. I'm starting to think that they've forgotten how to fly. Or maybe the winds are not carrying them the same.

Are we not all just flightless birds?

¹in·fi·nite

1: extending indefinitely :endless <infinite space>
2: immeasurably or inconceivably great or extensive: inexhaustible <infinite patience>
3: subject to no limitation or external determination

I'm getting a new tattoo. I'm starting at the beginning. Things will start happening, not because they need to or have to, but because I now know that I have the power to alter each and every avenue I am confronted with.

Three years ago today, I graduated high school and I am in the exact same place, feeling the exact same way, thinking about the exact same things. This is a wake up call. I suppose this whole week has been a wake up call. But what happens when I fall asleep?

Freedom, in its purest most unassuming form can only be found on a dance floor. Or so I am convinced.

I spent the entire evening dancing with my eyes closed. Flashes of light shined through in distorted shades of shadow. Of course when I opened them, I was blinded by awkward familiarity, which I did my best to avoid even though I wanted nothing more than for them to recognize me (which they would have if I had been standing a bit closer.) It's best that we did not exchange words. They would have forgotten my name, but would remember my brief association with you. Perhaps you told them all about how it "Didn't work out" or perhaps you never told them anything at all. Despite not talking to them, seeing them was proof enough that this hurts. I was led astray by a reckless heart and now I am trying to find my way back.

Him: clean break?

Me: I don't want to lose a friend, though.

Me: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said.

Him: Its not as if you'll never hear from me.

Him: Its ok.

Him: It isn't right for me to talk to you anymore.

Me: It's fine. I'm fine, really.

Him: Keep this part out of your blog.

Him: but I really am an awful person; An awful, lonely, bad person.

Me: Oh shut up with that. jesus. And I leave nothing out of my blog.

Him: you should have more confidence. My final words.

Me: final words?

I won't be drinking from the poisoned well of love any time soon.
In fact, I'm starting to lose the will to drink at all.

I will never begin to understand how it is people can hurt one another. I include myself in this both parts of this riddle.

It's strange to watch everyone walk away from you so easily.

My world is moving in such a dreamlike rotation.

I'll find the pieces.

Alice: Oh, no, no. I was just wondering if you could help me find my way.

Cheshire Cat: Well that depends on where you want to get to.
Alice: Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as...

Cheshire Cat: Then it really doesn't matter which way you go.

The past few days have merely been slightly distorted mirrors of one another. Early morning walks, accidental poems and car rides without destinations. Oh, and cigarettes. Lots and lots of cigarettes.

It makes sense, I suppose. The truth is, this has become a game. I don't know what I'm trying to win or why I'm trying to win. I'm not sure I even want to win. If the past is any indication as to what is awaiting me at the finish line, then I feel like I'm wasting my time. It's like when you play those awful games at traveling carnivals. The one where you attempt to win a goldfish, even though you have no desire to own or care for a goldfish. You simply have to win. And when you take it home and place it in a bowl of sorts you are certain you'll wake up to find it floating at the top. You won't care. You'll flush it down the toilet and forget about the prize. Because after all, you've already won. You can't lose something you never had. I think I secretly want to win just so I can lose.

And yes. I am the queen of convoluted metaphors.

I realized how nurturing I am and how willing I am to nurture just about everyone and tend immediately to their needs. So much so that I forget to take care of myself. I just need a little water now and then. I need some sunlight, too.

While at the pet store, trying my best to avoid walking near the cats in cages, I caved and had to give my fond regards to the furry residents of the towering land of feline imprisonment. And that's when I saw her. Lily, was her name. Solid black. All I had to do was look in her direction and I knew it was fate. I walked to her cage. She pawed at me. I had to pull myself away otherwise I would have opened the cage, put her in my purse and bolted out of the door. Not having her in my arms is my most consuming regret.

That last line would sound beautiful coming from a boys mouth in reference to a failed love affair, wouldn't it? I think so, too.

I feel as though I have voluntarily severed my own leg.
I'm not quite sure how I feel about this rash decision.

It feels like Valentines Day.