today was a beautiful day.
Everyone I know could very well know everything about me. I've been in the same small town for nearly seventeen years and I'm sick of everyone knowing who I am. I just want to be some girl...no strings attached....no awkward middle school years or catty high school disputes. Call me vain, but for the most part, I think I'm a relatively decent human being.
I was called immature for the first time the other day, and by someone whom I respect and care very much for. I'd never even once stopped to think I might be immature. I've always thought of myself as at least as mature as the next person, so now I'm a bit worried.
I wish people would stop talking about me. I wish people would stop picking everything apart. I don't know why fortune falls the way it does, but it certainly is a strange thing, isn't it?
Sometimes you just have to deal with shit.
Sometimes I wonder.
Sometimes I wander.
"tantalize poets with visions of grandeur, their faces turn blue with the reek of the compost, as the living try hard to retain what the dead lost, with double dead sickness from writing at what cost and business and business and reverse and reverse and set the brain reeling the inverse and perverse"
nouns are usually just clarifications, I think. Ideas are generally vague, and meant to be molded to certain specifications. That's what makes them ideas. Ideas and facts can so easily be mistaken for one another, and who's to say they actually aren't one another? Facts are impossible to define. There's no such thing. There's nothing solid....nothing scientific. I don't believe in the scientific nature of anything. There's no formulated system that can't be bent or disproved eventually. Maybe in a black hole. Maybe a black hole itself.
But I digress.
I've spent quite a while trying to decide whether or not to clean my room. I cannot make hasty decisions such as this...and I feel whatever I choose will have to be fairly permanent. Do I believe in minimalism? Do I believe in over saturation? Should I leave my most important possessions strewn around carelessly or tuck them away with a sort of nurturing paranoia? It's a big decision. I can't clean my room.
So where's the mathematics in all of this? Which chemicals are running through my mind and in what pattern to cause all of this silly indecision?
And there's this guy's voice coming through my speakers. At one point in my life I was pretty well convinced he was God. I lit candles for him. He's yelling obscene, vaguely tortured but still dissonant phrases over a sweet melody that he turned backwards. He was like a paper doll....or a paint by number. Create-a-god. I think that's the kind of God I want, a novelty one.
Last night I went to this show in Boston and I saw this other unlikely man who was supposed to be a God, or so I've heard. He was yelling the words of this song called "Here's To Life"...one of a series of songs about not killing yourself that he almost surely wrote to convince himself not to. I know nothing about this man. No one obeys this paper-doll God. My friend stared into the pit, turned to me and said "Sara, these kids are so excited about a song called 'Here's To Life', and the predominant emotion they're feeling is the need to punch someone in the face".
Incidentally, my paper doll God did shoot himself. So it goes.
...I read too much Vonnegut. I've read Slaughterhouse-Five too many times. I can't say "so it goes" when I talk about death. I am not Kurt Vonnegut. I'm sorry, Vonnegut, it was entirely appropriate to the point of necessity.
I felt these thoughts would be best expressed on your glowing screen, because they're low thoughts. Low culture, low intensity that require extra pigmentation and such. There's no sunlight in late November. That said, I don't believe in high-culture. Everything is low-culture. I just feel as if this is the appropriate format....denouncing mathematics and all. I categorize this as "everything".
I'm reading the most fascinating book in the world right now.
Sometimes I just really like everything....
THIS IS RADIO
This room is driving me crazzyy. I'm grounded for not doing the dishes one night last week. damn. Get me outta hereeee!
Looking back on the way things used to be, life is pretty fuckin' cool, though. I remember when my entire life was like the confined-clausterphobic-completely afraid thing. It's not like that anymore. Things are fine. Things are going well. I've got amazing friends and I do things and hang out and drink coffee and draw. I never sleep, but that's okay.
I have no idea why I let my life get so hell-like last year. I guess I didn't feel I had a choice. I sort of knew what was going on but I was completely terrified. I'm glad I took the risk and got my life together. I think I feel like myself again. I feel content again.
Sophomore year was a horrible, horrible, horrible experience.
I mean, at least the end of high school is in sight from here.
this isn't for the sake of anything
i forgot how to be creative. It takes too much effort. I dont have enough energy. If not for coffee, i would not be alive right now. "if we did not have chemicals, you would not be signing my deathhh certificateeeee" thats from "The Other Improv"....ironic, no?
at any rate. Things arent registering in my brain. I'll do whatever you tell me to just to get it done. I HAVE NO SOUL. Rather, my soul perfers to sleep in. I'm only sleeping. Why is everything white?
Emily said: "yeah, that's what I used to think when I thought too much"
I cant help it. It wont go away. Don't get me wrong, I'm not unhappy. However, my medium is DEAD. Maybe I'd like to take credit for it's slaughter, but it wasnt me. It's dead and I cant even remember it. I don't even know what I'm doing. I have no reasoning behind it all. It's all just filler. I throughly enjoy skipping my classes in favor of running away from the white-ness of it all. It's not even sterile...soon it'll match the snow and then my world WILL be black and white....unless it turns grey from my black coffee. The blues are still blue. There is no blue. I don't have the blues. Maybe I should be a swimmer again. Sometimes the snow is blue. I hate the snow.
Someday I'm going to live in a shack in the woods with Squiggles (three guesses, guys)and just make crazy art all of the time. I wont need money. I wont need anyone else. I'll learn to play every single instrument. I'll have two cats and name one Hendrix and the other Nitzche.
Someday I'll live in New York with Drew, Emily and Andrae. We'll go to art school and have pretty wallpaper. We'll spend all our money on coffee, clothes and furnishings from Ikea. We'll eat Annie's on square plates and listen to house music, britpop and early 90's hip hop all the time. Someday Emily and I will get married just so we can have children named Maxwell, Noah, Axel and Cat Meds Von Disco. They'll listen to Daft Punk and their names will change based on how much we like them at the moment. The loser gets to be named "Cat Meds".
Someday I'll learn how to sing.
Someday I'll learn how to sing.
Someday I'll learn how to sing.
"In the someday, what's that sound?"
So anyway, my soul has been subduded and beaten and at this point I'm being slightly melodramatic. Sometimes I have an intensive desire to never talk to another human being as long as I live for no particular reason. This is becoming less frequent, and has in fact almost totally dissapeared. I've found I thoroughly enjoy walking places. I like to walk more than I like to drive...but I live in West Cumberland so this is near impossible. I like to dance with every step and I dont much care your oatmeal planet. I cannot sing on key and I cannot tap dance.
I feel manufactured.
Everyone wants to be a fuckin art star. Everyone wants to be famous. Nothing is organic and we're all fucked. Do i care? not in the least.
-SARA ELIZABETH TARBOX.
MY VOICE DOES NOT WORK.
in other news, life is astonishing. This weekend involved sushi, belle & sebastian galore, the blues brothers, lots and lots of band practice, tying emily up in drew's trunk and lots of people i love a lot.
i need to do something about this voice of mine. any suggestions? anyone want to help me? i'd probably love you forever <3.
i know that writing in your livejournal when you're upset is like grocery shopping when you're hungry.
regardless, here goes...
I'm not quite sure who i am right now....i'm not quite sure what i want. The logical part of my brain says "maybe you dont need to know...maybe it doesnt matter", but the part they fluff off as 'obsessive compulsive' (bullshit!)believes it to be of the utmost importance i figure it out, posthaste, and make desicions accordingly.
i wonder how i spend my time. I've been alive for 16 years and i barely remember any of it. Its like a smeared canvas, sort of. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.
all i have to say? "all these lights keep flashing in my head".
i hate being asleep and night and i hate being awake during the day. I'm not sure where i've been for the last year, but i think there's something my mind isn't telling me. Im kind of afraid of it. It knows something I don't know....but my dreams are too complicated and sometimes I fear I am slightly co-dependent. This is frightening.
This room might be driving me slightly mad.
I want to be LISTENED TO! Sexism is so prevelent...i dont know if anyone believes me. Women are so often just dismissed as crazy hormonal bitches and not respected. I'm fucking sick of it. It is sexism. Sexism exists. This is not in my head. This is not relevent to the rest of anything. I'm worried about it. I'm worried about being dismissed and being used. I'm worried about people who play up the stereotype because it's convinent...because it's expected. People like it. Look! look, now you're all like "fucking hippie bitch" fuck you. I've done it, I won't lie. Y'know what worries me? This line from this song called Glass Slipper. Amanda Palmer asks "how many princes do you think it takes to put a girl like this back together again?" NONE! you don't need a prince to put you back together! do it yourself.
I say this a lot, but,
YOU ARE YOUR OWN SAVIOR!
we dont need a higher power. But people look for one because being in control of/responsible for yourself is scary as fuck. I am not dennouncing god here....i believe there is that of god in everyone, thus he is not a higher power. He is not higher...he is us...he is love. Nothing higher...I dont think things like hate and love really work that way....i dont think god really works that way...personally.
I am a teenager. I am confused. I feel stupid because of shit I've done and because of the way I feel. I restless. am so fucking A V E R A G E!! Just the same, I'm worried about who I am. I'm not sure. I think I know but it seems to change to suit my mood. My opinions....I dont know. I dont know what I think. I can see so much in so many different things. I'm not quite sure what's real and what's in my head. I'm not quite sure this isn't ALL in my head.
I thought I knew who I was now, and I thought I knew what I wanted and I thought it was all sorted out. I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure that I haven't been lying for so long that I just convinced myself of everything. Maybe it's all just justification.
I just want to be RESPECTED.
but I'm not. I cant be...I cant respect myself if I keep doing this. I thought I knew that this was wrong but I'm not quite sure. Deep down I think it is....but that's just the left cortex. They're fighting. It's like in A Scanner Darkly. It's like in that White Stripes song. I have just sucessfully reduced my life to a quirky rock single and a Keanu Reeves movie.
I need a dictionary. I need a tutor. I need to be more fucking desicive. I need to figure shit out. It's like all the vesicles and receptors are tangled up and they're trying to figure out which is which and it's not fucking workingg...its just this electrical storm...where is the poetic justice in that?! electrical storm....? no. I can't blame this on the weather. In my mind it's not winter...so that's good. There is no air conflict.
....I dont know what I'm complaining about. I'm white and upper-middle class. I have food and I have doctors and I have more money than I need to live. I have friends, I have a family. I feel really fucking selfish. I feel really fucking helpless. I cant help myself and I cant help anyone else. I have to help myself, though. I am my own savior. No one else is gonna come and make this shit sort itself out. That is my job. I cant help it. This is dumb.
I cant believe I'm writing this on fucking livejournal.
Remind me not to write here when I'm having panic attacks anymore.