Turning back, she just laughs

Sat, 19 Mar 2005 23:21:07 GMT

I don't wanna be around when it all comes down to watch something beautiful die.

Sat, 19 Mar 2005 18:49:49 GMT

Amy comes up and wraps her arms around me. I think it's weird that I'm the little spoon to Amy. She doesn't seem to mind.
And I don't think, 'Today will be the best day I can ever remember, Amy.'
We sit on a swing together and it's so typical Spring. But it's nice. The girl with the kite on the hill. The family of eleven ducks. The one lone cloud in the sky. The quiet. It's all nice.
And Amy says, "They're going to come and ruin everything."
And sure enough, we hear a scream, and some laughs.
For whatever reason, I think about when little kids' bedtimes come, they all say, "Aw, five more minutes."
And I say, "Kayla, are you feeling very puke green today? I think you're feeling very puke green today."
We lay under our one green tree, and Amy says, "I may drool on your arm because I can't breathe through my nose."
I put my face into the grass and I whisper, "Aw, five more minutes," as everyone comes screaming down from the hill.
I feel Amy's drool on my arm, and I don't mind.
I say, "It's weird, because it was all cold and rainy all this week. But today it's like the rain and the cold and the wind and everything all just stopped, just for this one day, just for us. And it's perfect."
It was one of those perfect days where a sweater would be nice but you don't really need it. Where the sun and the moon both shine visibly together all day. Where there's only one cloud in the sky, and you can find shapes in it.
And I say, "Doesn't that cloud look like a heart?"
And Kayla says, "Yeah... like it's breaking."
And I think, 'Kayla, are you feeling very blue today? I think you're feeling very blue today.'
Megan wraps her arms around me and says, "You're lucky to get a hug from me."
Sarah wraps her arms around Kayla and says, "I love you, Kayla."
And Kayla doesn't say anything.
And I wonder why people are so afraid to say the things they mean.
Sarah wraps her arms around me and says, "I love you."
I say, "I love you."
And I hear my brother say, "Why do you mumble everything?! Why do you even talk?!"
And I wish everyone wasn't so loud. Everyone would hear everything I mean if they weren't so loud.
Amy wraps her arms around me again, this time nobody is a spoon. And I think, 'Kayla, are you feeling very pinkish-red today? I think you're feeling very pinkish-red today.'
Amy doesn't seem to mind when I whisper, "Hands down, this is the best day I can ever remember."

And this feels so far from real. I'm lost and I love it.

Fri, 18 Mar 2005 01:39:31 GMT

So there I am, I can feel my half of me and Dana's necklaces floating up and I think about how our box didn't float in science.
And I'd said, "Mine would've floated, I know it. Buy they stole my box. They stole it and they laughed at me."
And Kendra and Mr.Gregory were still at my table, with my box, measuring sides, and glancing up to laugh at me.
I'd looked Mr.Daniels and I'd said, "Tell them to stop laughing at me."
And he'd said, "You're crazy."
Now, I see myself looking at Dana with a green screen behind her, and out loud I say, "Tell them to stop laughing at me."
And Dana isn't listening.
I choke on those words and I come up for air, gasping. Water is up my nose and I laugh. My mom is at the door saying, "Katelyn, are you okay?"
And I say, "Yeah."
I'm okay. And it's nice.
I wash the soap bubbles from my face and I think about how Sarah says I remind her of a bubble.
With the radio, I sing, "It's cold where you're going, I hope that you're heart's always warm." And I take a handful of bubbles as she did and I blow upward.
They float down around me and the backup girl in the radio echoes, "Hope that you're heart's always warm."
I wish I was the backup girl in the radio.
So there I am, with the bubbles falling all around me, and I hear Melanie say, "Look! It's snowing!"
And we laugh, hard. And we blow more bubbles, I mean snow, upward.
I sit on my knees, put my face underwater and sing, "I gave you the best, I gave to the best that I had!"
I come up with my hair hanging in my face. I flip it over to the back so a roll of hair is above my forehead.
And Melanie says, "George Washington hair!" And we laugh.
And the radio says, "You passed on the letters and passed on the best that I had!"
I take another handful of bubbles and I almost blow them, but instead, I push it onto my face and say, "Santa Claus beard!" And we laugh.
I knock the yellow, plastic duck into the water and say, "Kwaks!"
We didn't know how to spell 'quacks'.
Then I see my dad, in the window pointing down and lipping, "Put the ducks down!"
And Ben and I say, "No!" and we run with Quacks and Skipper in our arms. And we laugh.
So there I am, with my George Washington -do, my Santa stumasch, and Kwaks.
And I'm okay. And it's nice.
I stand up to let the water slide off of me and say, "Look, Mel, I'm a waterfall!"
And she says, "Aw, you're so pretty, you waterfall!"
And we laugh, pull the plug, and sing, "Don't go chasin' waterfalls!"
So there I am, watching the bath drain, and I think about why I say I'm draining away the monsters.
And I think, 'I know exactly what I'll say in my livejournal. I'll tell everyone that when you get in the bath, you wash away everything, good and bad. And sometimes good monsters are as awful as the bad ones. I'll say that I don't want to miss anything anymore. So I take baths. And in the baths I live like I want to and remember all I'm feeling like. And I drain them away, so in the world that isn't underwater I don't have to miss anything. And it's nice.'
With the monsters being drained, I blow out the candles, and the man in the radio, the backup girl, and I all sing, "So long sweet summer."
So there I am, walking out of the bathroom in a blue and white towel. And it's awful nice that I catch 11:11.
And I whisper, "I wish that Cassie would dance, because I'm glad it's her birthday tomorrow." And I kiss my left pinky. It's blue.
And I hum, "Take a cha-cha-cha-chance, birthday. I would like you to dance, birthday."
So there I am, and I'm okay. And it's nice. And I'm glad tomorrow is St.Patrick's Day and Cassie's birthday. I'm glad that I'll wear green and Cassie will touch my shirt, say "Green!", and clap and smile. And I'll think, "Happy birthday." And I'm glad she'll smile.
I'm glad that the next time I'll catch 11:11, we'll be in the middle of a giant yamacha. And I won't get the chance to say anything until three minutes later, and I'll say, "It's 11:14." And everyone will look up.
I'm glad I'll look up at the ceiling, and so will Amy. And we'll be alone for quite some time, arm in arm, smiling.
I'm glad Sarah and I will walk across the big orange circle outside that tastes like Robotussin, and we'll announce, "Mary Chang to Hawaii please!" I'm glad her box will pop up and say, "I had fun with you today."
I'm glad I will wake up tomorrow any Nancy will ask, "If you were already awake, then what the hell were you doing instead of getting up?"
And I'll say, "Enjoying the rain on a Thursday morning."
So there I am, climbing into bed. And with my knees on my pillows and my hands on my window sill, I can see the light that is alaways red down the street, and I say, "Dear Rainy Streets, you look smashing tonight."
And I'm okay. And it's nice.

Can we take a ride? Get out of this place while we still have time.

Thu, 17 Mar 2005 01:34:58 GMT

Kayla and I stand at our locker and I say, "I think about the last day of school a lot too."
She says that she does too and I click the lock shut.
Walking to my next class, in a way, I was glad nobody but me was around. It was quiet. Quiet is nice.
I'm thinking about one day when Kayla said, "I wish I had brown shoes."
And I lipped, "I wish you had everything."
And she didn't seem to notice.
I'm thinking about when Mary's IM box popped up on my screen and I read, "I need you to know that you're one of the most tangible people in my life."
I start to type something but I decide not to spit on her words. Instead I just whisper, "I've wanted to be good news."
And she doesn't seem to notice.
In my next class, Nahum shoves a sheet of newspaper in his mouth and mumbles, "Leth see how lhong I cahn kheep it therr." He's wearing my white bracelet and he laughs. Hard. With his mouth stuffed and his eyes shining in the lights. And for a second, he's beautiful.
I think about Megan at lunch looking at me with inquiring eyes, and now wherever she is I'm convinced she can hear me answer, "Ten, Megan. Nahum's a ten."
And he doesn't doesn't seem to notice.
Amy walks backward in front of me and holds my hands. I kind of like to think we're dancing as the raindrops fall on our faces. She takes my left hand and writes, "El Niño is Amy's star."
She walks away and I sing, "The best deejays are saving the slowest song for last."
And she doesn't seem to notice.
I pull the tiny, square note that Dana gave me out of my pocket and I read, "My castles are falling."
And when Dana walks through the green door to building eight, I sing, "But I can't look into the street without everything changing."
And she doesn't seem to notice.
Sarah sits under a lifeless tree and her eyes seem more blue under the rain. The popsicle stains her tongue purple and she says, "Sit with me."
I put a piece of candy on my tongue, look up to wonder what made the sky so sad, and I lip, "I hope static prevails."
And she doesn't seem to notice.
We're all there for our good grades, standing under a dead tree in the rain with purple and green tongues. I start to think about how perfect it is, and Sarah says, "Look at Megan deep-throat that thing!"
And it doesn't matter that the moment was spat on and isn't beautiful anymore. Because we're all smiling. Real smiles. And it's still perfect.
I sing, "When I get home tonight, I'll miss them, in high school, Yeah!"
And no one seems to notice.
And it's nice.

The beautiful people.

Wed, 16 Mar 2005 00:23:35 GMT

The window is down in the car and I wish for the thousandth time that my hair didn't blow in the wind all the time. It makes me feel ridiculous.
My mom hands me a pocketful of nickels and dimes and we sing with the radio: "Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey."
I step out of the car and check my watch, I'm late. I start to flop away in Megan's shoes and my mom says, "Wait! You forgot to tell me you love me."
I say, "I love you."
And she says, "You look beautiful today."
And I smile and flop away.
Megan says, "I like your shirt. And your bracelets. And your shoes! My shoes."
Sitting in second period, I wonder about the star on my ankle. Sarah is to my left and I wonder if when she puts on eyeliner in the morning, if she says, "I look beautiful today."
I wonder the same about Mary.
And Keely.
And Amy. I say to her, "So, what are you? The girl with the... eyeliner shit stuff?"
And I wonder the same about Dana as I did about Sarah.
I step away from my locker and say, "Hi."
And Dana sniffles.
Keely is walking with her arm around Dana and she's telling us what's wrong. Her eyeliner stains her yellow sweater sleeve black and I wonder if tonight will just be another night when she falls asleep on a tear-soaked pillow. I really hope not.
I don't know if she's beautiful because her make-up is gone, or because it's raining, or because she's crying. But she's beautiful.
Later, I see Dana walking to science and I say, "I like your shoes."
I sit at her desk, notice the red in her shirt, and think, 'I'm really glad to have you here with me at the table. You remind me of a rose--An absolute rose.'
We sit at our station and I say, "We got Eggos yesterday. Real Eggos."
And she says, "Yay!" And she smiles. And so do I. And we don't stop. And I think they're real smiles. And it's nice.
I don't know if she's beautiful because her make-up is gone, or because it's raining, or because she's laughing. But she's beautiful.
Walking in the rain, I put a pink flower behind my ear and say, "Do I look amazing?"
And Kayla's lips say, "Yeah."
I lay on Kayla's stomach, put the flower behind her ear, and say, "You look amazing."
She looked amazing.
I walk in my door and Ben says, "How was your day?"
And for the first time, I say, "Not bad, actually."
He says, "You look nice today."
His hair is brushed back and his shirt is black and sharp. And I say, "You look nice today too."
I kick Nancy and she says, "Don't kick people, Pretty-In-Your-Pink-Shirt."
I take the pink flower out from behind my ear, put it on my dresser, and I think about how Dana reminded me of an absolute rose.
And I whisper, "People should tell Dana she looks amazing."
And I whisper, "Dana looked amazing today."

See the young man sitting in the old man's bar, waiting for his turn to die.

Mon, 14 Mar 2005 23:19:53 GMT

Right then, the radiation burns at my retinae and I can't remember the last time I saw someones mood say, "Okay".
Somewhere in my head Amara says, "I never wanted to be little, and now I never want to be."
Amara always reminds me of when I was little and I'd say, "Laser blades."
And I'd say, "Otay."

Kayla's info reads, "Death may be the greatest of all human blessings."
It sounds pessimistic.
It's in my favorite color.
It's true.

"It's stupid. Because you never ever want to be young. But then you're older, and everything sucks."
"You know what I'm thinking."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. And, right now, it doesn't matter that you know."
"How do I know?"
"You just do."
"Is it something that you've never really throughly discussed with someone?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Does it apply to you?"
"Yeah."
"Me?"
"...Yes."
"Ok. I think I really do know. But I'm not sure."
"Just rest at the fact that you do."
"Okay."

She was right. It didn't matter that I knew.
And my mood says, "Okay."

Show me some of them Spanish dances.

Sun, 13 Mar 2005 21:10:14 GMT

I woke up today to a sound I felt like I hadn't heard in a terrible forever. Well I mean, a sonance, right Sarah? It was the same faint Spanish music across the street I'd heard Summer after Summer. It was that song that Stephanie would sing to us in chorus and remind us that we'd never be the best. Ever.
But this morning, listening to that song, actually listening, not just hearing it, being the best just didn't matter. The Spanish music didn't bother me. The sun creeping through the blinds didn't bother me. Waking up didn't bother me. Being alone didn't bother me.
I didn't remember the last time I showered, or ate, or spoke. And I wasn't bothered by it.
Nothing bothered me.
Nothing mattered.
Later, I'd type, "You're weird." And she'd say, "So? You're el niño."
I'd pause and say, "Whatever you say."
And she'd smile. And so would I. And I'd mean it. And it'd be nice.
But this morning, I did something crazy: I opened my blinds. And I thought, "That orange there, that used to be my favorite color. I don't really know why gray is my favorite color now. But it is."
And I thought, "Maybe I'm sick of artificial lighting. Maybe I'll never turn on another light again. I'll actually know what the sun looks like during the day. I'll live by candles by evening and glow sticks by night. I'll never sleep, I'll never even close my eyes. I'll dance when it rains and hang like a star. And I'll sing Counting Crows all day. And nothing will matter."
All alone, I jump on my bed. My hair is in my face and the sun is in my eyes. I'm waking up for the very first time.
And I sing, "Sha la la la la la yeah!"

You would say anything, you would try anything, to escape

Sat, 12 Mar 2005 22:39:50 GMT

I wish everyone would get over the notion that everything I do comes in phases. Maybe it's just the way I am. Imagine that.
Sarah said I wasn't going to be quiet again yesterday. Maybe the day before yesterday I was just sad. When I'm happy I feel different and I say half the shit I want to say. Yesterday, I wasn't happy. And I didn't say anything.
Imagine I'm still in third period, and it's still yesterday.
To my right, a girl passes a note to the girl in the desk in front of her. I read, "Look at the girl to your left's pants. Aren't they ridiculous?"
And I don't say, "I have a name."
The second girl starts to write, "Haha, punk kids..."
I stop reading.
And I don't say, "Shut up."
The second girl says, "Pst" and she winks at me. And I don't say anything.
I look at Dana and she's watching us, laughing.
I look at my desk and I, for certain, am not laughing.
Mr.Mims takes their note and throws it away. I almost smile.
The first girl passes me a note that says, "What's wrong? You don't like me? I think you're cool!"
And I don't say, "Leave me alone."
Now she's writing a bathroom pass and she purposely makes it "slip" out of her hands, and she says, "Oh, where is my mind today?!" And she laughs.
And I don't say, "I hate you."
She walks away, pulling up her pants. And then Sarah is next to me, and she says, "Look how big her butt is." And I smile. Once.
I blink once, twice, thrice, and Sarah is gone.
I see my reflection in my watch. It's Kayla's birthday. 12:21.
Kayla used to wonder how she drove everyone away. She'd ask me over the phone, "How?"
She did it the same way everyone else does it.
I'd lock my door and say, "Your ugly attitude."
If she wanted me to lie, that's all she had to say.
Looking at my reflection in my watch still, I don't notice I'm crying until my eyeliner stains my sleeve black.
And I don't say, "Girl number 1, where is my mind?"
I'd want to say the same thing the next time that it was Kayla's birthday. It'd be 12:21 am and I'd say, "Everything's all... mixed up."
And when I woke up this morning, I didn't say, "I think today my brothers will put their hands over their eyes, ears, and mouths and say, 'See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.'"
And when I got out of bed this morning, I didn't say, "I think today is the day when my brothers will say, 'Wanna try?'"

And I didn't say, "I think today is the day when everything will change."

It's only in your dreams, But it felt like it was real.

Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:46:37 GMT

So, here are the details about that girl they call Kathleen, or Kayla, or Katie... whatever her name is.
Her hair smells like baby shampoo and it makes her cry. Soap bubbles pop in her ears and sting the palms of her hands.
She wore a scarf today and she's used to only being noticed when she doesn't care to be. She's used to only being listened to when she has nothing to say. She's used to the exact second after everyone asks "What's wrong?" being the very first second that something is.
She's underwater and the radio says, "So, let me slip away!"
This time she remembers, and she screaming, and the speech bubbles talk for her and say, "So let me slip... against the current."
And she wonders where Mary is. And if her palms sting. And if bubbles are popping in her ears. And what her hair smells like.
And she's still screaming.
Then, she thinks she hears a train. And she sees Mary, hands over her ears.
Soap bubbles.
She's in the backseat and they cross the train tracks.
Before they know it, they're in the building down the street. Dashboard is on stage singing the saddest songs. And she's dancing arm in arm with this Mary girl. And she's happy. And it's nice.
Once again, she's looking at the ceiling, so high. Then around the building, everyone is singing, everyone is a star.
Crying, cold, and clapping stars.
She wants to take every brilliant head and wedge it in the ceiling that's found a thousand miles up. Where they belong. Stars belong in the sky.
And up in the sky, they're all real. This girl, too, she's real.
She's happy.
She's a star.
And either Amara or the radio starts to say, "Hands down, this is the best day I can ever remember," and the star girl sits up from the water, gasps for air, and wonders if she died.
She has a name, but no one knows it. She just died, but no one knows it.
Her face is wet and cold. She wonders if she cried.
And out loud she says, "I wish the happiest parts of my life weren't mere hallucinations."
And this time, she know's for sure she's crying. Dying.
And out loud she says, "When people say 'pathetic', I wonder if they know they're talking about me."
She drains the monsters from the bathtub and lays on the carpet in rags.
She wonders what the faces in the ceiling have to say about it. One set of eyes in the ceiling say, "You've always been a star."
And the star girl notices her shape. She laying flat on the floor, with her arms, legs, and head reaching out as far as they can.
And the set of eyes were right, she was a star. A shining, brilliant decagon in a colorless sky.
She thought, "Since I'm a star, maybe tomorrow I'll hug someone, or kiss someone, or dance with them. I don't know yet. But tomorrow, I know for sure I'll stop wasting my time swimming and I'll start to learn to fly."
Once she was wondering, if there are so many stars, how can any of them be special? But today, she sat across the table from a star. It wasn't that he was pretty, or that she liked his voice, or clothes, or hair, or eyes. But he was a star, and the star girl knew it. Maybe he was a star because he was real. Because when she blinked once, twice, thrice, he was still there, his eyes on hers. And when she saw him, really saw him, not just looked at him, she wanted to jump across the table and kiss him. But she didn't, and she didn't know why.
Right now, her computer password is "password" and she can feel everyone behind their computer screens wishing they notice things the way she does.
Still on the floor, She can't tell if Amy or Chris Carrabba is on guitar inside the radio, but either way, it's beautiful.
It's Amy.
And Amy says something the star girl wished she knew when she was in the bathtub:
"Remember to breathe and everything will be okay."
And this time, she knows she's dying.

Going off when there's nothing wrong.

Wed, 09 Mar 2005 23:02:41 GMT

"Petrie The Pleasant Piranha"
By Benjamin Albright

Petrie the pleasant piranha was misunderstood by all the other fish in the sea. He was like no other.
Petrie the pleasant piranha was made fun of for his dorky glasses and ugly braces.
"Look at those ugly glasses and braces."
Petrie was a good hearted fish. He never did anything to harm another fish and was a vegetarian. But all fish have their instincts and point of losing their minds. And one day...
He snapped.
And he ate the entire school of goldfish.
He was very sad and felt really bad. But he realized how good fish tasted.
"MMMMMM."
He went from school of fish to school of fish eating all he could catch until he was full.
"I'm full."
After he was full he felt extremely sad and asked everyone to forgive him. They all forgave him immediately.
"I'm sorry."
"It's ok."
And they all lived happily ever after...
except for the dead ones.
And the other fish never made fun of Petrie the Pleasant Piranha again.

It's not me. Buried wreckage, my soul.

Tue, 08 Mar 2005 03:08:27 GMT

Well, I did it again.
I found another box full of glittery pins, eye shadow, hair clips, and lipstick tubes. Shiny, fake, plastic piles of everything I used to love.
And the radio says, "I'm not the same."
It's funny how over time you can shrink yourself down. And one day, this day, you'll dazzle at what you used to be. All the pretty colors. All the shining lights. You'll take yourself between your fingers and squeeze. Hard. No matter how much your tiny self screams and cries out. Bites and scratches at your epidermis and threatens to pierce through. You'll keep crushing yourself. And all the while love the way it feels. Not the pain, but the sense of finish. Of closing yourself away, once and forever, in a way that a pink and blue box could never accomplish. The way that only you can strangle everything you love to death.
And the radio says, "It's hard to say I miss you."
I think Slaine would choke on everything I still have of hers.
Everything we got together.
Everything we did.
Everything I still remember.
She'd choke and die.
Sifting through our lives, I came across the sample lip gloss we got together that I haven't used yet.
I was saving it for middle school.
Three years ago, Slaine peeled apart the plastic and rubbed her finger in the lip gloss. Then her finger slid around her lips and they went, puck!
Then, her lips parted and the words "Mocha Ice" rolled off of her tongue.
Lizzie did the same. Only she said, "Rose feather".
I just said, "I'll save it."
And now, three years later, I came across the sample lip gloss. I peeled apart the plastic, rubbed my finger in it, spread it on my lips, and whispered "Mocha Ice".
And somewhere out my window I hear Slaine.
Choking and dying.
And I say, "I'm sorry."

Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

Mon, 07 Mar 2005 03:56:42 GMT

We went to some thrift store the other day.
The place where poor immigrates go to buy clothes not because they like them, but because they can afford them.
Inside, it was warm. The clothes were stained. The furniture, scratched. The books, torn. It smelled like a nursing home and the Mcdonald's toys were on the same shelf as the stereos.
And the people were the same way.
And not for even one second did I feel like I didn't belong.
After we left there I went to Kayla's house for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. And at the time I didn't realize how different that weekend would be.
But it was.
Whatever day it was, I hadn't bathed since Thursday night. My hair was thick, greasy, and not styled. My socks had become discolored. My pants were torn at the ankles, covered in dirt and tree sap at the knees, and stretched out from wearing them for three days. My shirt wasn't so hot either. Make-up was a foreign idea by then. The color on my fingernails was chipping and there was dirt under them.
And I didn't mind. I didn't mind one bit.
It seemed like, when I stopped caring about hygiene, I stopped caring about everything else, too.
And for the first time, it was like not one of us really minded about anything.
But I still got in the bathtub when I got home.
I washed away everything that happened this weekend along with the dirt on my feet. Washed away everything and sank back to the world where embarrassment and sadness still exist. Where it can't just be all that matters is the person holding your hands and spinning across from you. Where it can't just be the street lights and the songs in your esophagus. Where it can't just be the Mentos stuck to our faces and everyone falling into each other with laughter. It can't just be Amy's eyes sparkling in the camera flash. It can't just be Kayla's fingers running across six strings and the guitar saying "Bow, wow, wow, wow" in the tune of Schism. It can't just be that if you don't wake up the next morning, you don't wake up, oh well.
I sank into the world where everyone is only where and who they are. They can't be out of their minds. Not just crazy, but they can see the big picture. And all that really matters is the blue center light pop of the dying fireworks in the sky.
Alright, maybe we were out of our minds and crazy.
But, maybe we were just happy.
Imagine that, fuck head. We were just happy.
Sunken all the way under the water felt like the only place where it was happy again.
Sure, you can't breathe. You can't see. It's so hollow that it's loud and you can only talk in bubbles. But that's what the whole weekend was like.
And I didn't mind. I didn't mind one bit.
Looking above me, at the surface water rippling the ceiling, coming up again seemed more crazy than I already was.
So then it came.
The scream.
And if anyone heard, I didn't mind. I didn't mind one bit.
Getting in the car today, my mom turned up the stereo and said, "Like it?"
I listened for a second and replied, "Yeah... I really do."
I didn't say it because I knew she liked it, or because I couldn't find anything better to say and it wouldn't matter anyhow. I said it because I meant it.
I really did.
My mom smiled and said, "Me too. Fran gave it to me. I've been listening to it all day."
And sure enough, when we got out of the car, she took out the cd, put it in a stereo inside the house, turned up the volume, and pressed play.
Sooner or later I'd wake up and my mom would say, "Put on a jacket and we'll go get some food, before Nancy comes home and starts yelling at us again."
The cd is still playing.
And looking at my mom, with the happiest song playing, I'm under the water again. I'm spinning in the street lights again with my three best friends. I'm out of my mind again.
I'm happy again.
And I don't mind anything. I don't mind anything one bit.
And it's nice.

And I feel this coming over like a storm again.

Fri, 04 Mar 2005 23:04:17 GMT

"Stop worrying about my life. It's my problem, not yours."
But then, if you really didn't want anyone to worry, you wouldn't tell anyone in the first place, would you? You wouldn't tell anyone and laugh like you're used to it. Like everyone's life is bad, and you shouldn't deserve everyone's charity.
Well, you're right.
You don't deserve it.
Because your parents came back.
Sometimes I don't know what people really mean when they laugh.
The majority of the world would say they laugh because they're happy.
Mr.Gold says it's pent up anger.
I think when she laughs, she's saying, save me.
When I'm on the phone, I can laugh and cry at the same time, and no one will notice.
I count on the notion that no one ever notices anything all too much. And if they do notice, they never say anything.
Either everyone is stupid, or everyone is a coward.
And, to be honest, I think it's both.

So this is strange, our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance where nobody leads at all.

Fri, 04 Mar 2005 02:21:35 GMT

I look past David's head to see it. The sign. The place where my grandmother used to live, back when I loved her. I could see myself, a little girl on my grandmother's lap on a wooden swing, and I'd say, "There's a lion in your jungle!"
I called it a lion, she called it a peacock.
It was a lion.
I'd jump off her lap and run through the trees. Laughing. Hard.
Somewhere in the distance I'd hear, "Katelyn! I'm the big, bad, roaring lion! And I'm gonna get you and eat you all up! Grrrrrrr!"
And I'd scream. Loud.
She called it a jungle. I called it heaven.
It was heaven.
And David ruined it.
"Q."
I blink once, twice, thrice, realize where I am, and David only had one thing to say:
"Q. Remember that, Katelyn."
He points above his head, the seat letter reads 'Q.'
Obviously, he didn't notice me whisper 'Q' to myself five minutes before.
It's weird, I always do that. If there is anything above me I'll remember it. Writing, pictures, the light fixtures, even the texture of the ceiling. Especially the ceiling. I can probably remember the ceiling of every place I've ever been inside of. It's what I do. I notice things.
I notice things.
I look out David's window again, then through Finance Park's window, and then, another sign.
This time, in big, white, glowing letters, it reads 'Kane's.'
And then I'm nervous, and I have no idea why.
Usually, people go to work as a job. Today, it's just a field trip.
Before I even know it, everyone is inside and I'm on my knees, looking at the ceiling. As always. If you asked me then, I couldn't tell you where David was. But I think I was kind of glad no one was around but me. Up there, in the ceiling, it was quiet, and nice. Nice is good.
What I didn't know was that the day would be over before I even stopped staring at the ceiling.
What nobody else knew was that, while they laughed, the kid who notices things in the back of the room is the only one who knew the memories would fade.
I blink once, twice, thrice.
And then, a different ceiling is above my head.
My ceiling.
Everyone is asleep.
The fireplace and the open window smell like winter. And I smile, once.
Out the window is a beautiful world, cold and wet. A breathtaking painting, intangible and distant.
A flock of a thousand starlings sit on the telephone wires. And all at once, they spread their wings. Slow. And they fly away. Terrifically synchronized and brilliant.
I feel my ribcage bend and my heart implodes.
And I don't just love the way they look, I'm jealous of them. I want to be the tiny, black starlings.
And I whisper, "Your feathers make me cry."
I blink once, twice, thrice.
And the ceiling is the clouds.
They call them clouds. I call them art.
They're art.
I wonder what made the sky so sad. I stick out my tongue and taste it's tears. Polluted and delicious.
I can see my breath in the cold wind. The rain cuts through it, and I don't mind.
I expect pneumonia. And I don't mind.
And I'm spinning, and I don't know why.
It's loud, fast, and wild. But it's beautiful. It's peace.
I'm dancing in the painting, and for one tiny second, I think I, too, am intangible and distant. Even invincible.
But then, I think I felt someone point a wand and say,
"Ridiculous!"

And I won't tell them your name.

Wed, 02 Mar 2005 23:20:23 GMT

I think I'll always just be 'that one girl who sits against the wall and scribbles in that notebook all the time.' I always wonder if anyone ever watches me in the back of the room and wonders if I can turn a canvas into a beautiful work of art. Write a symphony. Spit out poetry like you've never heard. Sing like there's no tomorrow. I think it'd be enough if they even wondered what color my eyes are or what my middle name is.
But they don't.
Nobody cares that, when you cry, your eyes turn green. That your hair smells like heaven after you go to the Pier. That every time you take a bath, you sit on your knees with your head in the water, and scream. Loud. That when everyone is staring at you, you put your face in your hands, taste your lip gloss, and count. That, every other day when your family is screaming at each other, you turn up the radio, look at the stars, and say 'Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far, far, far away from here.'
Nobody ever cares.

Micheal: "Here."
Kayla: "Uh, This isn't me."
Micheal: "Oh, it's not?"
Me: "It's me."
Micheal: "Whatever."

"Oh Hi, Shannon."
"That's not my name."

"Who's... Katalyn... Ale-brit?"
"Right here."
"Where?"
"Here."

"And what's the birthday girl's name?"
"Katelyn."
"Okay, Katherine, right this way."

"Katie, or Kayla, or Katelyn... whatever her name is, isn't absent."

"You were in my class? I never even noticed you."
"Of course you didn't. Nobody ever notices anything."

Mr.Cellophane.

Mr.Mims announced the individual names of those who worked at Kane's, that included me. Then who worked at some company where no one was really sure what they do there. Then, "Everyone else works at Home Depot."
Everyone else.
Everyone else was just... everyone else.
But me? For once, I had a name.

I was Katelyn Michelle. And for one breif moment, everyone knew it.

Because all the dreams you never thought you'd lose got tossed along the way

Mon, 28 Feb 2005 23:04:07 GMT

To be honest, I don't know how much time I've wasted watching the movies that were the walls around us then. But, right then, it didn't matter.
The frog never knows that the duck loves him back until he near dies for her.
And before I knew it, we were standing in the middle of the streets paved with red and white lights. Screaming.
We're walking across the street.
I mean, running.
Or, skipping.
Either way, our feet were hitting the pavement.
We're dancing like we didn't care.
We're laughing like we're happy.
We're singing like everything was alright. And in that moment, everything was.
And, for the first time, we were real.
We were the best scenes in the movies.
We were the frog and duck defying love.
We were the red and white lights sparkling in the street.
We were the dances.
The laughs.
The songs.
We were real.
We were the stars.
Like phantoms forever.

Did you lose yourself somewhere out there?
Did you get to be a star?
And don't it make you sad to know,
that life is more than who we are?

"Punk rock changed our lives."

Sun, 27 Feb 2005 19:15:04 GMT

Looking around the room, nothing was beautiful.
The singers.
The dancers.
The bassists.
They weren't beautiful.
Neither was Konstantine.
Or Joely.
Or the Blue Girl.
Or me.
But, the rain? The rain was beautiful.
The cigarette smoke tumbling to the ceiling in the manilla lights. The broken glass threatening the underside of my shoes. The songs dancing out of the speakers. The base line like a thousand dying nights. The trumpet like every scream inside of you. The saxophone, a midnight blue sex scene.
They, on the other hand, were beautiful.
Not only were they beautiful, they were real.
Holding up my hands, I say, You're not the only one but you're the best, Bradley. And the three of us put our arms around each other. And we don't let go. And none of us seem to mind. And we're dancing, arm in arm. And it's nice.
Walking out of the glass doors, the stars came into sight.
They were beautiful. And sublime.
And so were we.

We're all stars now in the dope show.

Thu, 24 Feb 2005 23:49:30 GMT

Dear Night Sky,
There was a full moon last night, I wonder who went insane. I wonder who looked at the moon, felt their pupils shift, and now will never wake up the same again. Last night, looking through my blinds, I thought it might of been me. At the time, I didn't realize that I still remember the night that happened. I remember the way you looked. As every night, a blanket full of diamonds. A deceiving beautiful death. A dark blue disaster waiting to happen to every set of eyes. Blissfully ignorant, I looked up and didn't know at the time that I'd never wake up the same. I'd never wake up. With the skies I've seen, people ask me how I sleep at night. The answer is simple, I don't.
How do you sleep, dear Night Sky?
Honestly, I don't know how you do it. I used to look at the sky and think I just liked the way the stars looked. Now I realize that I'm addicted to them. Envious. I never think that the stars shine for the sake of the stars shining anymore. I never just like the stars anymore. Now, I want to be the stars.
A burning ball of gas.
A glow-in-the-dark wish on the run.
A light admitting diode plastered in the sky.
I know what it's in for, though.
Life is like your little star. You'll never know just what you are. But life is not your diamond sky. You live. You hurt. You die.
I, of all people, should know that. Hell, I wrote it.
But I still stare out my blinds and chew the fat with the Man on the Moon every night. And I still envy you and all your diamond rings, thinking:
'Dear Night Sky,
I want to be one of your stars.'

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Constantly talking isn't necessarily communicating.

Wed, 23 Feb 2005 23:11:11 GMT

"Hey."
"Hi."
"How was your day."
"Awful."
"Why?"
"Because... It didn't rain."
"Oh. How was school?"
"Awful."
"Why?"
"Because it was school."
"Oh. You mean didn't like anything in particular about your day?"
"No."
"Hey, don't close that door!"
"What do you want from me?"
"Whatever then, don't ask me how my day was."
"How was your day?"
"Good."
"Well, good for you."
"So, you didn't like even one part about... Open the door!"
"What."
"Nothing extraordinary happened?"
"Nothing ever happens."
"You didn't feel special today?"
"No. I didn't."

Hate today, no love for tomorrow.

Wed, 23 Feb 2005 01:53:52 GMT

I had this dream that no one had mouths.
Everyone spoke through art, music, and facial expressions. Everyone only said the things they really meant.
Regret didn't exist. Gossip and embarrassment. They never happened.
No, It wasn't in some stupid field of daisies and love.
But it was nice.
Nice is good.

Regret.
You're always yelling. Always. You act like this was the first time I didn't answer you because if I did, I'd scream and throw the silverware in my hands across the house to pierce everything in it's path. It wouldn't be half as bad if I knew if you meant it or if you regret it. I'm not saying I expect a sorry. I'm just saying, it would be nice.

Gossip.
You always do that. Always. I suppose this is one hell of a stride you broke. I never thought anyone could be all four characters of the Wizard of Oz. But I was wrong; No brain, no courage, no heart, and no home. The words 'selfish' and 'liar' could be in there somewhere, too. No, don't hate you. I feel like I should, but I stopped paying attention to the rest of the world a long time ago. As of now, everything you say is gossip... and I don't pay attention to that shit either.

Embarrassment.
Whenever I see retarded people, they're always smiling. Always. It makes me feel so stupid and selfish for anything I've ever felt sad about. They're so blissfully unaware that everyone looks a little more at them. And they don't wonder if people are laughing at the way they walk or how their hair looks or the clothes they're wearing. They're not embarrassed of themselves.
I saw this boy at the My Chemical Romance concert. He spoke like rain and his eyes flickered in the blue lights the same way. I wanted to hug him, fold him up, and keep him in a jar like a butterfly in my back pocket forever. But when the blue lights disappeared, so did he.
There's another boy. I think I've seen this one a thousand times in the past few weeks. He walks freakish and has the face of a sad angel. I bet his voice is beautiful. He follows me. He watches me. He's my deer.

I wish everyone would just die.
If people didn't exist, neither would killer cars.
It'd be nice.
Nice is good.

Katelyn, Hit me up with some free-style!

Tue, 22 Feb 2005 01:49:56 GMT

From the company that brought you Allupons and Ghett-O's, comes a special feature:

"The Chronicles of The Nerd"
Starring:
Katelyn the puppeteer as 'The Nerd', 'The Guy', and on vocals.
The voice of Cassie as 'The Announcer', on lights, and on beat box.
And Kayla on camera and... whistling.
February 21, 2005.
$0.00.
Curtains up at 8:30.
One night only.
Don't miss out!

"The Chronicles of The Nerd"
Be sure to see them both. (i.e. The Special and the bloopers.)

Brought to you by Dr.Bargain Mart III

Do you care if I don't know what to say?

Tue, 22 Feb 2005 01:12:59 GMT

If you asked me now what I did after you left, because I know you would, I could probably tell you a thousand different things I did. Thought about. Worried about. Empathized about. Died about.
But as of now, I think I've narrowed it down.
I heard the passenger door close and you drove away. Fast. I could feel the look on your father's face.
And I didn't like it.
Cassie packed her things and walked away in response to the knocking on the door. Kind of expecting her to turn back and not have to leave, I kept my door unlocked. I sang myself a sad serenade. Alone.
And I didn't like it.
I sighed and fell back without looking to see if my bed was behind me. It was. I wondered about the pictures in the ceiling design and if, if one day I wanted to, could I still find them? My legs hung over the side of the bed and the heels of my feet kept hitting the metal bar under my bed as they swung. It hurt, but I didn't do anything about it. I kept swinging my feet without moving up a bit so that they would hit the mattress instead. I didn't move. I didn't move for a long, long time.
And I didn't like it.
The sky got bigger and I got smaller.
And I didn't like it.
I didn't like it one bit.

Come, angels of unknown.

Fri, 18 Feb 2005 03:35:43 GMT

I found a box today.
Outside of it, it was an enigma.
Opening it was a time machine.
Inside of it, it was a time capsule.
The inside of the top read "Pokemon 1999-2000" in red crayon.
In it, there were crayons. Crayons upon crayons. Markers upon markers. Legos upon Legos. Blocks upon blocks.
Markers, colored pencils, and crayons from companies that don't exist anymore. Legos that the color had been robbed from. Blocks broken in two and scribbled on. The paper around the crayons dotted with tiny fingerprints in paint.
They looked so innocent.
For whatever reason, I suddenly remembered how it felt to color with broken crayon.
If you asked me now, I couldn't tell you why. But then, I destroyed them all.
Left on my rings and crushed them between my fingers. The shattered plastic Legos and markers, the shattered wooden colored pencils and blocks, they all turned my skin white, then red, and threatened to pierce through it. But no matter how much it hurt, I didn't stop ruining everything I touched.
Emerald ones.
Sapphire ones.
Ruby ones.
Topaz ones.
Amethyst ones.
Jade ones.
Onyx ones.
One Lapis Lazuli one... I kept that one.
I looked down at the star hanging at my collar bone and wondered what black and topaz meant on a mood necklace.

I'm down under the pavement of capital hills and lowercase people.

Thu, 17 Feb 2005 01:01:18 GMT

A boy died once upon a time. And tomorrow, I really don't expect anyone to know his name.
"Do any of you remember that boy from last year?"
If looks could kill.
The look in my face, She knew that look and immediately dropped the subject.
What she didn't know was that I already knew the words before they parted from her lips.
What she didn't know was that nobody would ever remember him a year later.
What she didn't know was that nobody remembered him a day later.
On the eighteenth, nobody cared.
They loved again.
They laughed again.
What she didn't know was that on every seventeenth for a year, there were blue scribblings inside a blue calendar square. And a blue girl in that same blue room grew a blue heart. Her blue eyes cried blue tears on her blue coat.
And nobody knew.
Sometimes I hope nobody knows when I die.
I think I'd love to die alone.

You'll never make me leave!

Wed, 16 Feb 2005 01:24:03 GMT

I'm so fuckin excited.
It doesn't get more selfless, Sarah. I don't think I've ever loved anyone more.
♥