Dear Scruffy West Publications Blog,
just kidding, i couldn't stay mad at you. This has turned into a humorous situation where i know only 2 people are reading you. Me being one of them. However i plan on changing your name when i get back from Dallas, Texas selling books door to door which is possibly the most random thing i've ever done. And that's saying something from a random person. Am i nervous? yea. Extremely!!! 12 hour work days is insanity. So much emotional stress. I realize that i never tell anyone how vulnerable i actually am. Hence, a blog of truth that 2 people have access to. But back on track, I also plan on getting more people to read you. This was just a trial period. I'll also give you a decent design rather than the semi newspaper publications look i was initially aiming for. I don't write black and white. I write ridiculous. That deserves a ridiculous design. Not a Newspaper design. I'm just gonna be straightforward. Sephra, i know you're reading this. Give me design suggestions haha. Oh and i'm still awkward around you but whats new. I so enjoyed my chocolate chip pancake last night. One day we'll play compatibility. That wasn't meant to be a metaphor. was it? just kidding. Am i? K that got twisted on many levels.
But i know you can follow it through and laugh.
Don't be a stranger is the only favor i ask.
Those lines sum up so much of how i feel even though it was lighthearted.
I never know when to draw the line between laughing and crying. Regardless, funny sentimental people deserve funny sentimental dedicated blogs.
I would tell you to stay awesome but I know I don't have to worry about that.
If i shall not hear from you again till fall (insert sad face here),
remember the alamo...
all my lovin,
ph
one more thing: my shuttle broke down as it was driving me to school during finals week. It broke down at campus crossings, and i had to walk the rest of the way to Mass Comm.... 12.6 minutes walk : )
20090508
I actually questioned my blog???
Take a picture of me now and this is what you'll see.
Dear blog,
I don't know what to think about you. You drive truth out of me to the point of tears. Is that a good thing?
I feel like i can't match your clever conveyance in person all the time. It's so much effort.
People say i'm extroverted. I'm confused.
Change of subject
he will take glasses off cause he knows his sight is bad. That way he's happier. He can't see things that make him sad.
He will talk in third person as though he's not really in his life. More like reading someone else's tragedy cause all the pain makes for an interesting story.
He will not say what he really wants, in times most appropriate to speak. So meek. So weak. 44 is not what he meant.
He will remain obscure and mysterious.
He will write words to raise others expectations, and fear living up to them.
He will put this bit of truth in an almost completely unknown blog but not in a public one.
He will drive home stupidly fast. So fast as though he wanted to crash.
He wants bad habits dead but is not a murderer.
He will look at the full moon alone.
Pray to a god he hasn't thought of in years.
he will not embellish this post to sound more than it is. This is the image. This is it.
Dear blog,
I don't know what to think about you. You drive truth out of me to the point of tears. Is that a good thing?
I feel like i can't match your clever conveyance in person all the time. It's so much effort.
People say i'm extroverted. I'm confused.
Change of subject
he will take glasses off cause he knows his sight is bad. That way he's happier. He can't see things that make him sad.
He will talk in third person as though he's not really in his life. More like reading someone else's tragedy cause all the pain makes for an interesting story.
He will not say what he really wants, in times most appropriate to speak. So meek. So weak. 44 is not what he meant.
He will remain obscure and mysterious.
He will write words to raise others expectations, and fear living up to them.
He will put this bit of truth in an almost completely unknown blog but not in a public one.
He will drive home stupidly fast. So fast as though he wanted to crash.
He wants bad habits dead but is not a murderer.
He will look at the full moon alone.
Pray to a god he hasn't thought of in years.
he will not embellish this post to sound more than it is. This is the image. This is it.
20090504
Esoteric Contemplation
Isn't it true? every truth has a bite to it.
What makes me feel alive always seems short lived.
Isn't it true?
I'll smile and watch the sunrise. I'll cry and watch it leave.
That pattern is here and keeps its hold on me.
Touch isn't hard enough.
Hearing isn't loud enough.
Seeing isn't aesthetic enough.
Smell isn't as fragrant
Taste isn't as pleasing.
Feeling Intangibles. That's the only sense present.
Walking alone at 4 a.m
The rain doesn't feel wet enough
The music i listen to isn't sad enough
Words i read aren't descriptive enough
My bloody nose isn't appropriate enough
bitterness doesn't taste bitter enough...
She'll ask me "how are you."
I'll say "I'm fine"
I'm fine.
I'm lying.
I'm fine.
I won't escape my head. Thoughts are here to stay. Hope is gonna be the death of me. But i'd rather die believing there is possibility (even at it's ridiculously smallest chance) as opposed to having no hope at all. And what sick allegorical meaning the word hope has right now.
Here it is. I'm talking to myself again. Can i shatter some more please? This crystallized structure i work so hard to create only lasts to an extent. Wouldn't you know it? How much you can vent when in lack of emotion. Words constructed to open up everything i never spoke. The words i love to choke. The words you wanted to know. You held that book of secrets and didn't wanna let go. Don't pretend you weren't intrigued. More than once i caught you trying to read. As chance would have it here it is.
This is how it begun. Raw and bland in it's full obscure extent.
"I really care for once... and that's an understatement."
So meaningless though. At least to one of us. You want that book to shut.
Isn't it true? truth just bit. No matter how hard i try i can't match its wit.
So i'll just dry my clothes,
Take my headphones off,
Close this book,
Wipe the blood from my nose,
Spit out any bitterness.
Nothing overcomes this intangible sense.
It has become far too immense.
and in all this resistance
all this indifference.
I swear to god
I've got no defense.
I'll smile and watch the sunrise. I'll cry and watch it leave.
That pattern is here to stay and keeps its hold on me.
What makes me feel alive always seems short lived.
Isn't it true?
I'll smile and watch the sunrise. I'll cry and watch it leave.
That pattern is here and keeps its hold on me.
Touch isn't hard enough.
Hearing isn't loud enough.
Seeing isn't aesthetic enough.
Smell isn't as fragrant
Taste isn't as pleasing.
Feeling Intangibles. That's the only sense present.
Walking alone at 4 a.m
The rain doesn't feel wet enough
The music i listen to isn't sad enough
Words i read aren't descriptive enough
My bloody nose isn't appropriate enough
bitterness doesn't taste bitter enough...
She'll ask me "how are you."
I'll say "I'm fine"
I'm fine.
I'm lying.
I'm fine.
I won't escape my head. Thoughts are here to stay. Hope is gonna be the death of me. But i'd rather die believing there is possibility (even at it's ridiculously smallest chance) as opposed to having no hope at all. And what sick allegorical meaning the word hope has right now.
Here it is. I'm talking to myself again. Can i shatter some more please? This crystallized structure i work so hard to create only lasts to an extent. Wouldn't you know it? How much you can vent when in lack of emotion. Words constructed to open up everything i never spoke. The words i love to choke. The words you wanted to know. You held that book of secrets and didn't wanna let go. Don't pretend you weren't intrigued. More than once i caught you trying to read. As chance would have it here it is.
This is how it begun. Raw and bland in it's full obscure extent.
"I really care for once... and that's an understatement."
So meaningless though. At least to one of us. You want that book to shut.
Isn't it true? truth just bit. No matter how hard i try i can't match its wit.
So i'll just dry my clothes,
Take my headphones off,
Close this book,
Wipe the blood from my nose,
Spit out any bitterness.
Nothing overcomes this intangible sense.
It has become far too immense.
and in all this resistance
all this indifference.
I swear to god
I've got no defense.
I'll smile and watch the sunrise. I'll cry and watch it leave.
That pattern is here to stay and keeps its hold on me.
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