happy for the rest of my life.

I hope you understand

i guess i just need to come to terms with that fact that i have no (un)common sense.

i don’t know how to weave words in a way where you’ll understand what i’m trying to say. and really the root of the problem is: i don’t think.

i feel.

&&feelings are different than words.

feelings come from magic. only it’s notmagic. it’s science and it feels like magic because it’s so (un)real.

some people know how to say their feelings… but when they do that, their feelings aren’t really feelings anymore… the somepeople are really thinking about what a feeling is to them (always masking feelings by thoughts).

so somepeople don’t know how to really feel.

and i guess since i don’t know how to explain…that means i don’t really have any thoughts so all i can do is walk around feeling all over the place and it’s just dreadful.

looking at the stars and i’m in fucking tears.

so if you think too much and you need help feeling i’m always here.

i’ll show you how to do it,

but i’ll never be able to tell you how.

(i’ll never write you. i’ll never call you. i don’t really want to talk to you.)

so i guess what i’m trying to say is that i’m over here in this big empty but full house feeling through life and i’m always but never here if you want some company?

Yesterday I walked almost fifteen miles without using my inhaler, a big feat for me (I have pretty severe asthma). A few years ago I could barely run across a basketball court without a few puffs of that awful thing, but as far as hiking goes, I can walk really easily if i use my inhaler. I hate the idea of being dependable on something, though. Of having to alter my body in order to function. That's why I'm determined to steadily get over asthma. I try not to tell people I have asthma. I don't like people to know things like that about me. I mean, I'm already pretty pathetic with all my allergies and I love Madi, but I really don't want to end up like her (her illnesses have become who she is, if that makes any sense?). Yesterday, though, It wasn't asthma that was a problem. Something else strange happened, my legs physically wouldn't move. At first they just kind of cramped up. People are always complaining about cramps, I figured it was whatever and went on walking. It hurt, but I can take pain. I like pain (it's just a reminder that I'm alive). But my legs started to get worse and eventually I was thoroughly convinced that they would buckle from under me. And it scared me. I honestly could. not. walk. I started to get nervous. I'm definitely not used to being a problem. I hate making people wait and I hate the attention of being last. I know that if I was worried about somebody who was with me I would stay with them and make sure they were okay, but still, I just can't handle it when I'm on the other end. I'm not used to people paying attention to me and every time somebody asks "are you okay" I can nevernever answer and then I alwaysalways have to fight back tears. I got so confused and so upset. I've walked farther in more difficult conditions without a problem, but for some reason my body just decided to not work. Mike says that it was because I was dehydrated and didn't eat correctly. He's right. I'm awful when it comes to food. I can't eat anything, it all makes me sick. The food I can eat takes forever to make, so usually I just don't eat until somebody makes food that I can. Anyways, yesterday I didn't eat well at all and my body paid me back for it. It's just another reminder as to why I'm a screwed up human being and I need to be more aware of it. If I'm going to do the JMT next year, I need to eat well. I hate food.

http://sentimentaleye.tumblr.com/

On riding bikes with eyes closed.

I go for regular bikerides to places I feel like going-- downtown, palace, the book café, whatever. I like to close my eyes and pedal as far as I can. Usually it’s only for a few seconds because some part of me instantly opens my eyelids defying my willpower. That few seconds always feels so much longer, though, like I’ve lasted a year. I think it’s because closing your eyes is grounding, you don’t feel connected to everything around you, maybe you are, but you don’t feel like it. Or maybe it’s even that you feel more connected to everything around you. Regardless, It’s that rational impulse to open your eyes that ruins everything, that desire for survival, or instinct for survival? I’m not really sure which. But I figure if I keep closing my eyes, the grounding sensation will get longer, or maybe I’ll get hit by a car. Who knows.

Love poem.

I like hands (especially yours).
To find the inner crevices, to trace the wrinkles, to brush the tiny hairs (while we walk hand in hand).
I've often though about my hands and how I'd like them to feel (yours are so soft and oddly so).
I want hands that tell a story (when you hold them).
Of curiosity (endless).
Of adventure (eternal).
Hands scarred, marred.
Flawed (yes, of course).
I don't want delicate hands wrapped in delicate gloves to be handled delicately with care (please don't ever handle me with care).
I want hands wrapped, unwrapped, rewrapped, shipped across states, shipped across seas, shipped across galaxies, fed-exed (to you), recieved, adored (by you), forgotten, found, sold, bartered, used, reused, recycled, composted, thrown out, discovered, and cherished (by Someone) until they fall apart.
My hands will be story hands (as we walk hand in hand).

(your fingers become my fingers.
my hand becomes your hand.
we will make a story for our hands to tell to the hands of our futures.)

Free flow

I feel a surging, a purging, its earnest
Rising from my core and lighting up my furnace.
Its on the tip of my tongue, I can taste the sun
Imparting infinite powers of one
To my one soul, through my two eyes
Solar rays in my irises tell me I’m alive
And breathing, and now the pain starts receding,
All I needed to do was shut up and stop pleading
For something, because really there’s only one thing
It’s me, I, you, her, and that other guy,
World’s collide and slide, we ask our mother’s why
It’s simple, look its oozing out your pimple
So wake up, you’re growing too old, Rip Van Winkle
Your eyes have grown tired, your soul is obscene
From too much time driving and staring at the computer screen.
Artificial lights, bring artificial frights
You’ve grown so scared of the dark you’re now afraid of the light
So calm down and put the bombs down
You’re just looking for a reason to blow it all to crazy town
You wanna know the real truth?
Or would that be uncouth?
I’m superman but I don’t need a fuckin phone booth
To change, because I find that kinda strange
To me a world where lies aren’t a surprise is deranged,
And honesty is hidden behind plates and chain mail
Layers of protection but underneath you stay frail
And weak, what is this something that you seek?
If you stopped for just one minute,
You’d realize you’re a freak,
And so am I, and so is she, and so are they
And who the fuck says that’s not okay?
Be a freak everyday of every fucking week
Look inside and you’ll find all that you seek
You’re so concerned with the world, external
All the light that hits your eyes burns like an inferno
But your pain is self-inflicted, your thoughts are too sifted
Let it go and you’ll find you’re truly gifted.
Why must you dwell in the past? That’s all it is, it’s passed
Like millions of innocent people chamber gassed
There’s nothing you can do, it’s tragic but its true
Jump to the next stone, there’s no longer one behind you
So accept it, cuz if you don’t you’re gonna wreck it
You can’t deny that lunch comes after breakfast
I’m bored with you, because you always have your chord with you
Plugged in like Neo, so stale you’ve got BO
Meanwhile I’m just waiting for you to bust your free flow.

-Anonymous Facebook friend