The Person vs the Persona

Not Enough Sleep + Too Many Movies + Complicated Unrequited Feelings + Tendency to Make Analogies and References = This Ridiculously Long Poem

i'm flickering on
a projector screen
my eyes and tongue and head all fuzzy
words expressed blurred on the page
and in my brain
inebriation
sleep deprivation
not missing a beat
this is a classic
tonight
will most likely
be more of the same


hope that boy's there
drunken bogey
and i'll be bergman
reciting lines
perfect dialogue
cut/scene/fade
and he'll return to becall
the script still works
and i'll swoon
each time
i see him on the silver screen
this works out
the moviegoer
the cinephile
and the archetype
in black and white

when he's not calling me "kid"
he's more than rick blaine
more than bogart
his credits include
olivier's hamlet
and a brick with a twist
unambiguous orientation
found in newman
still
the archetypes
don't end there


oh the novels we speak of
the works that he's read
his literature lifeline
although proverbial
is all quite impressive
he's been
young werther in goethe
fitzgerald wrote him amory
(once again blaine)
when hemmingway birthed him
jake barnes was his name
but
he can't confess compson
can't deal with faulkner
in face of the fact
macbeth first brought up
sound and fury
signifying nothing

funny silly cliche
how
the characters
are all the same
their lot is stock
broken boys
i mean men
i mean those
coming of age
and then aging
---or just prematurely aged
lost and lonesome
waning idealist
dark
cynical
jaded
burnt out romantics
debauched
and desperate
habitually
intoxicated
from their youth
to their primes

lost the plot did I?
personal prologue
erratic subsequent shift
to male lead lime-light
even so,
i'm the ingenue
it's still my story
(or is to the highest extent
possible in patriarchy)
i'm the god damn damsel
trench-coated gamine
stocking and chemise
cig perched between
gloved fingers
smoke breath fusion
so cold
in the absence of technicolor
i'm the girl
that opened the scene
restless and weary
scorned by love
embittered by loss
mirroring
the departed lover
(never present enough for true departure)
i am the timeless
heroine in gray-scale
offsetting and delineating
fractured other half
met cute
but didn't end well

here i stand
at the station
or in the ascending rain
almost as forlorn
the unattained love
who injured me
by way of
unrequited love
and yet
i am not
like him
i may not be
the femme fatale
or the american sweetheart
or have a fraction of his heart
but i am
not like him
i am wide-eyed and hopeful
a candid romantic
still holding out
as the credits roll

People Can't Want What They Want

It's indian summer. It's overwhelming for September. The heat soaks into our skin and we melt into the sheets, into each other. It is meaningless. Touch is just touch and we do not connect. Wine soaked tongues molest each other, fingers grope and the pleasure is not happiness. But this is real. It is contentment. The simplicity cannot disappoint. It's so easy. Feelings are messy and unsatisfying. Not too long ago I fell for a boy simply because of the way he made me feel. There was comfort security ease and joy. I was happy but unfulfilled. He couldn't feed my intellect, excite me with thought and opposition, inform me, tell me anything new. His mind left me wanting. His presence warmed me but he bored me. And he lost the singular ability to put me at ease when he fell for someone else in my life; he let me down. Another recent encounter managed to stimulate me, surprise me, impress me. His unnecessary emotions, his intense reactions were my own. He felt too much and I wanted to feel his burdens rather than my similar ones. I wanted to soothe his hurt. (My predisposition) We discussed film noir and playwrights, southern stream of consciousness, feleni and dark comedy. He was an old soul, a romantic, living in the wrong era as I am. But for these reasons he loves a girl intensely. I was, once again, too late. My hopes were merely budding, too new and undeveloped to fall. He is just a concept, a half passed thought not formed. Boys and men, males struggling through these stages come and go. They take and clutch or say too long, convincing themselves there is something more than the harsh physical reality. I don't want caresses nor do I want roughness. Leave the compliments, the electrifying pulses, the nothing of contact, the morning afters, and the good graces at the door. I want passion with heart. I want an ugliness so pure and true I can taste it bittersweet and see its biting beauty, i want talks greater than words, to speak of works and heartbreak archetypes, idols, pasts, and deities. I want truth. I want a boy who holds my attention who is not merely moments but an event, a boy to wait for and anticipate. I want a boy who understands sadness so we can accept it and trade it in for joy. I want him to admit we have no control, to know we are merely children, to see we are innocent but tarnished, breakable, that we are love. Together we will be all these things, the truth of what we are.

Weak Allusions, Rants, and Failed Expressions Produce This:

poppy seeds after dinner
can't get to sleep
cough syrup prescription
can't get to sleep
passed out cold bottles
can't get to sleep
if only you could
adjust my dreams

but there is too much stimulation
too much to partake in
and regret
semantic pulses
chapped lips
abandoned bedsides
and the words they use to make it alright
any of it
(scared away or finding their own piece of mind)
say nothing at all
and the ones that stick around
only stay until you finish them

because we're only gramophones
with lipstick
typewriter clicks
press press press
hands on
if we break down
fail to compute
operate out of line
we get trashed
words like tease
or bitch
are flung across
our wire workings
and we're tapped out
or left on the curb

marguirite, machine
this mechanism can't dream
nanobots in my head
i place them steadily
because i can't speak
react
or dream
unless someone else allows me
even artificial intelligence
needs a sleep function
i'm just
a melted modem
burnt out batteries

Isn't This What College is For?

I'm reevaluating myself. Asking all those questions you ask yourself a billions times throughout life and don't really figure out until you look back and see what it is you wanted and how you presented yourself. You know, the usual ones:
-Who the fuck am I? (When we get down to the very core)
-What do I want to be perceived as?
-What don't I like about myself?
-How do I fix the things i don't like, keep the essential parts of my personality, and transform into what I really want to be?
-What is holding me back?
-WHO is holding me back? What friendships aren't worth maintaining? Who have a grown apart from or even grown out of? Who just creates drama and negative energy? Who do I feel comfortable or totally like myself around?

I'll get back to you when I have an answer myself. Also, the big yet simple most important one of all:
What makes me happy?

Your Name Escapes Me

Run Dan Run and C.O. were wonderful last night, as always. I didn't enjoy C.O quite as much as the first time I saw them, but still could dig it. It just wasn't as intense of a performance. RDR was even better than before, but I wish they had played more off of basic mechanics. Fabulous, nonetheless. And of course I took a break and went outside and the NEXT song they played after I went out was Your Name Escapes me. Soooo I literally sprinted back in. Hahaha. Fireworks Show was def. not what I'm usually into but they got really into it and the singer had an interesting voice so I danced my heart out to those sporadic, epic drum solos. "Jam Band" or not I enjoyed a sess. of songs that were like 10 min. long for the first time ever, so it was good.

Pictures will be up soon. They're being retarded right now though.

The Fort Rumor Mill

So I may have never stepped into Fort Mill in my life...but somehow I know a great deal of history involving its residents. Maybe because half of them relocated to CofC and they're the people I enjoy being around the most. But sometimes it's a bit much. I know who dated who, who's into who, who broke whose heart, who used to be friends, who isn't getting along with each other...And of course they're finding all of this out about me. I know enough about Fort Mill and its residents to have created a persona as one of them. It's fun to fake people out and tell them what part of Fort Mill I grew up in and what street I lived on and who I lived across. And sometimes they believe me. Why? Because it's easy to become a Fort Mill expert and because I've sort of assimilated into the group. I like the sense of community and the fact that I'm not actually from Fort Mill doesn't really matter. However, the Fort rumor Mill isn't as fun. I DON'T like being caught up in drama as if I've been a part of certain people's lives for years and have witnessed the events which have lead up to recent tipping points. I don't like people knowing who I'm crushing on, who I've made-out with, who I'm mad at, and intricate details of what happens to me on a nightly basis. Ultimately what I'm saying is the same phenomenon that allowed me to feel so at ease around certain people and feel a sense of familiarity is the same ridiculous mass consciousness that allows people to know a tad too much about me. So here's my proposal...Fort Millions, I love you...you are the majority of the company I keep, but let's stop the gossip. Let's accept that we just met and be comfortable not knowing every detail of our lives before college. And let's also keep current details to ourselves. If you want to tell me about your life or I want to tell you about mine, okay. But I don't need to know what happened to other people recently, I don't need to know who said/did/implied what to who. I'll get the details straight from the source if they want to tell me. And that's the way I expect everyone to find out about my life. Okay? No more he said she said. And now we can actually get to know each other instead of just ABOUT each other. ;D I love all the amazing people that somehow originated from the same town. Yay for Fort Mill minus the rumor part. ;D