already thursday

i'm so obsessed.

i'll get back in touch with reality soon.

immersion

betray your monsters.

things about other things.

when some stranger walks into the room i'm in, wearing the same cologne as some high school crush, ex, tolo date.... it starts to make my skin crawl.  it always churns something unpleasant in the pit of my stomach... something memorable and not in a particularly favorable way.  i find myself eying the stranger in disgust, or at very least in an unfavorable manner.  i don't hate it, and i don't hate them, and i know the stranger has done nothing intentionally wrong.  in fact, i know they could probably be decent strangers.  the only unfavorable thing these people have done to my knowledge is that they have chanced to smell like someone from high school.  someone who, admittedly, i can neither recall by face nor by name.

it's awful, i know.

but how can smell hold on so tightly to something inside of me?  something i can't rightly picture or place?... something i have almost altogether forgotten?  how does something so small capture us in almost an unconscious and private manner?  it's the awkward control this something has that i really dislike: it's the things i don't understand.

like it's kingdom come.

i guess this is to everything old.

   to every last kiss and every last moment and every part of your old life that you have to let go. to every girl that's just trying to grow and live and breathe for just a fucking second longer than the last. you were breathing when it happened and now it's old and this is to every last thing you're scraping out the back of your mind because it's dragging you down.

   it's makes you breathe too heavy like a new england summer and it weighs you down like too many too much and all at once. it's everything that needs to be dropped off and let down to rest because you only have one set of bones to fit this skin.

   to every last sweet thing that fell off his lips and every sharp glance that fell between the moments. to everything old and outdated like nothings in your ears because too little too much and too late run all the same these days. to every one and the next and right the fuck now.

better run.

charisma

as the posies sung of conversations on and on:

"i know it's not fair."

"she just has so much damn charisma that i don't even want to start."

"she was forced to have charisma."

"she can have charisma, she just needs to stop taking the things i have away from me."

"i know it's not fair."

"i want out."

this sums up the week.

what i've got.

i've been asking myself all week "what the hell am i doing here?" in school, i mean really. somewhere around the halfway mark in life i slipped out of the "in school and doing well" sort of person. up until recently, i've always assumed everyone else was cut out for the 8-4 business of school... but i've also always been thrown into the honors classes, so maybe this has something to do with my reasoning. i don't know. i've always been the kid that tests astronomically well on standardized tests... but after a while (after i realized i'd be in private school for life or something) i stopped caring and started being the sort of someone that did well in class but scraped by when it came to homework. this is probably where i began to coin the term 'i make procrastination an art'.
and it's pretty damn close to the truth.
true, i don't care to do my homework/papers/assignments until after i've painted/sketched/sat infront of a sewing machine... i never really have to begin with... i probably will never get that routine out of my system.  the only thing is that i haven't been in that routine lately and the nerves beneath my skin have been itching and longing to do so.  and i don't know. i've been doing a whole lot of creative nothing lately and it's killing me.
literally.
i'm dying here.
all my right-brained insides are falling apart and i'm turning into a run-of-the-mill something who works only to do homework.

what the hell just happened to me?

i don't even like the homework i'm pretending to love. i can't concentrate and i don't CARE. i want to go back to tearing my old clothes apart and sewing them back together. i want to jump into the car and photograph my hometown some more. i want to color my friends' hair and cut it like i used to do in high school. i want to paint until my lungs collapse and sell it all like i used to.
i was beginning to be someone great.  how can a solid month and a half stretch turn me into someone i hardly recognize as myself?  i can't seem to stop caring about what everyone else wants me to care about.  i can hardly tell what i want to care about anymore.

we call this

mental

emotional

and physical exhaustion.

bring me some resuscitation.

harder. better. faster. stronger.

because sitting down for open mic night, listening to one person and the next pour out their soul into a secondhand microphone and let it come out the speakers is too close but not enough.  it's because being is different from seeing, and seeing is too far from realizing, and becoming is wrapped up in it all and is either the result or the ends or the means or just plain anything more than what you're doing right now.  because putting words together isn't enough sometimes.

sometimes it's when your mind runs too fast and your tongue and your teeth and all the space in between can't keep up.  it's awkward like seventh grade study hour.  it's awful and escaping like something you can't put your finger on.  it's when you realize the single moments of introversion won't suffice anymore, but the extroversion is too much made up and you're stuck inbetweenagain.  in between like those dam words that just won't make it out.  in between like jumping and not.  in between like the space between the lips and the microphone or you and the performer.

in between like "i guess" and "i know".