6 : Fifty Eight

This was meant to be sexier. Then it just got nerdy.

September 25th, please?


The Integral and the Swain

He dabs sweat with his tongue in a sheer summer’s sun
On the cusp of some thought indirect.
The swain, much too young, but a dire heat has spun
A dihedral where planes intersect.

The slope of his eye, slanted grin each imply
Something tangent and best left undressed.
It’s the fourth of July—there’s a fire in the sky,
And its integral flares in my chest.

He takes breath to the flame, forms a derivate frame
For reciprocal equations and lines.
I pawn number for name as I plot out the game
With meridian the function of time.

Now the sine holds my throat—breach the firm asymptote
That had bound our release from reserve.
Silence only provokes need for lips to denote
The full sum of what’s under my curve.

A

I should be working on my art project or sleeping... but this needs to come out:

Last night went far in solidifying an affection that I'd previously felt to be insubstantial, and at its worst, inconsequential.

How is it that a hopeless situation--and this is hopeless--gives me so much hope? Honestly, I think it's resonating because it provides a good foil to my unfounded Evan angst. Here, HERE is something worth angsting about. Here's beauty, Amy. Here's hope that you can meet something far, far better than Evan Beach and that it's for you.

Thank God he exists.

Waltz

Three chairs three doors three rooms--
A gray-scale image doomed.
I'd call your gaze authentic
If not for the costume.
I'd call you reticent,
But there's no secret spent,
And at the very most,
You love what I invent.
And at the very least,
Consumption's been increased.
I sing a song of six-pence;
This rises under yeast.
It works until we rush,
The night birds leave us flushed.
Three chairs three doors three rooms--
One matter still untouched.

- A

Some days, I really think I've lost it. I think that I feel too much and I make up emotions and I create my own crazy expectations for love. Other times, I think I just missed my chance--plain and simple. And I'm paying for it.

KARMA!!! IRONIC SITUATIONS!!! ROLE-REVERSAL!!!

I am an idiot, I am an idiot! That's all that it comes down to! Why am I so stupid!

*facedesk*

Today was bad.

Irony

 

Your heart’s an aching wound of poor design,

A torrid, blatant thing, misunderstood,

And with my hardened bones it did recline.

I never did quite love you when I should.

 

Eyes tend to gaze where fingertips entwine

To shed some light where “might” becomes a “would.”

She clasps your hands and lips and feet and spine—

Still wishing I had loved you when I could.

- A

Well, whatever the hell I was expecting to write, this probably wasn't it. Physics... golf??? Come on, Amy, come on.

This is 100% Tuesday. 


The Ambassador

Animate, polar--
The bass drifts from beneath a street lamp,
All mapped out in my mind.
It sails over the forms:
Stomach fairways, lightning curling along my toes
And your lips like a decal
Clinging to static-sprung skin.

Go ahead, play it--
Take those fingers, golf daringly along the water's edge.
Settle in the dunes, the rough--
I don't know how you'll get yourself out of this one.
The music's flow settles
On your back
Near my hands,
But my mind seems far more concerned with
The din of your hazard breath.

It's funny the way beds rise;
We're all potential energy, black bodies
Buzzing, swinging wildly against whatever seems worth hitting.
That's all nice, you say,
But he's just the ambassador.
The breeze picks up--the storm curls back.
The music drives hardest when it gets dark like that.
Maybe soon I'll meet him, I say.
It all depends on which way the wind is blowing.

-- A

Yup. Just burst into spontaneous laughter in the office.

"Given the Adamastache's apparent ability to be mysteriously resurrected after being killed by shaving, and the obvious presence of more than one copy of it, the moustache may very well be the final Cylon model."

HAHAHA. Thank you, Battlestar Wiki's "silly" pages.

Other thoughts: I might be single-er, but at the very least I'm happier than my ex. That's something worth smiling about, I think.

Time to get back to school...

-A

Hellooooooo, Monday!

This is going to be a good week. I can feel it. Everything is winding down here. I've got plenty of work to do on the Wikipedia page before I go. And to top it all off, I've got moving in to look forward to. Ahhhhhh. I feel feathery and fanciful.

Thoughts--

I'm becoming a Michael Phelps fan. Not, like, that AT&T commercial, but I really do want to see him kick some ass. All eight medals would be phenomenol. He's talented, motivated, and cute in a dweeby, nice-bodied way. I just want to give him a big fucking hug.

I miss Meghan and Betsy. I *need* Meghan and Betsy. The end of summer has me in a rut and I need to find something more to living. 

Meghan's party is going to rock the fucking house. That is all.

Babylon_whore's writing owns my dear, AR shippy soul. LORD. Who needs to fall in love when you can live it vicariously through fanfiction? My God... the Domesticated Sexay series winds me up into knots of fangirlish glee. It's amazing how she just made me melt into a pile of goo by writing about someone getting up to pee in the middle of the night. It makes me wonder if that's the kind of love worth waiting for. It makes me wonder if I should settle for anything less.

Speaking of settling... men are weird. I'm weird. I can't sort out my feelings towards anyone these days. I wish we could all just shake hands and agree to be friends. I think my life would become about seventy times less complicated if that were the case. I see dependency in myself. I see dependency in others. I wish I could stop loving and that everyone could stop loving me--I need to live my own damn life for a few months.

I think that's why fandom has slowly crept back into my bloodstream. It's a protective measure. It's an investment in something that won't break me. I'm trying to rebuild the foundations I used to have--I need something to rest my feet on before I go making anymore leaps of faith. It's not going to be very productive or beneficial in the long run, but it's familiar. I've got a firm grasp, here. Fuck anyone who tells me to let go.

Karl Pilkington is... amazing. Just an absolutely ungrateful bald-headed twat with a head like a fucking orange. HEE. Those damn podcasts are unbelievable. And I can't wait to see Ghost Town, Ricky's new movie. It looks quite funny, if not a bit cute.

Blah, blah, blah. I'm rambling/wasting time purposefully. Nap time, yet?

-A 

Blah, blah, blah... thoughts of right-now. No one wants to know any of this. Fuck it, I'm bored.

Before I get rambling, I would like to announce that Dr. Horrible is BACK ONLINE! At least for now. It's up at Hulu. They said the official soundtrack should be out in a few weeks, which is good, because my pirated copy is shit quality. Hee!

ONWARD--

I don't think anyone at school is prepared for A) my religious maturation or B) my obsessive regression, both which have blossomed (maybe "exploded" is a better word) over the summer. It's very, very funny. I went hunting through my posts tagged "boys" while searching for an old "love note" yesterday. GAWD, was I setting myself up for trouble last summer. UUuuUrgh. Talk about fucking melodrama. All that "deep," whiny relationship bullshit... as if I had any idea. 

Now, all my posts consist of things like, OMGBSGlauraroslinFTW, or, ILU BATMAN (SQUEE). HAHAHA. The difference is quite ridiculous. I haven't been in this state of mind since, like, my junior year of high school. You know, back when I really didn't care that much about people. Haha, I mean, NOT that I don't now, but staying heavily invested in my interests is far less taxing (and frankly, I need a fucking break from that shit). 

We'll see how my fangirlishness holds up as the semester begins. I'm looking forward to embarrassing my friends with my antics. They have no idea.

You know, I was going to write a nice, juicy review of the X-Files movie, and I just wasted forever gushing about A/R. As if I never gush about A/R. *facepalm*

SO. X-Files.

I'm glad I got to see it. And it really does sadden me that the box office results were so shitty. I would really love to see more of Anderson and Duchovny (Dec 2012, baby!). You never know, I guess. You never know.

Now, bring on that AD movie madness, already! LOL.

Longest post ever.
-A 

(Real Life) * BSG / (abstract and purposefully vague rambling) = this. 

I have no idea why I feel so very violent today. Either way, PROSETRY IS FUN.

A Bit of Unfinished Business

“You’re a goddamn jackass, you know.”
I’d say it and I’d mean it too.
Hasn’t been a day not full of you.
If I squint hard enough,
I can still make out the Tennessee starlight—
Never guessed I was transparent at high night.
It’s enough to make me throw in my dog tags.

“Shhh,” the cicadas croon,
But I’ll be calm when I damn well please.
If you’d please
Just shove all that “shhhh” you spill
And let’s dance, boy, dance.
You’ve got telephones for singing.

Sooner or later, we’ll sort through this
Fucking mess.
I’ll give you my fucking best
Because I kiss far meaner than I punch.

“Shhh,” your red lips croon.
Sun’s up—high noon
“Hasn’t been a day not full of you.”
Let’s fight, boy, fight—
Leave your knees and elbows stinging. 

Goddamn jackass. 

-A

Sometimes, I wonder if my dreams are trying to save me. Mmm. The right things always seem to show up at the right times, just when I need them.


As for the ex and his LI... I'm bothered a bit more this morning. I guess that's to be expected. Meh. Nothing some fluff fic can't cushion, eh?

-A

The ramblings of a madwoman:

I think I like Elliot Smith. His voice is the opposite of stellar. And his songs aren't very energetic. But then I hear things like "Needle in the Hay" and "Christian Brothers" and I can't imagine why either of those things would matter. Pure acoustic genius, I say. Pure genius.

Amy's LI was a douchebag. Amy does not waste her time with douchebags. Amy deserves an apology before she can muster up the ability to give a shit.

Laura Roslin is my hero. Mary McDonnell deserves that fucking Emmy nomination, and won't get it.

I downloaded Series 2 and 3 of the Ricky Gervais Show/Podcast. I am thrilled to hear more inanity from Mr. Karl Pilkington, and really, few things would give me more joy. Ricky, Steve, and Karl make my head spin with delight.

PS3 needs to pull out the big guns today to counter XBox's brilliant showing at E3's opening. That FFXIII blow was pretty hardcore. As for Nintendo, I fully expect them to bring the goods. The add-on already had my tiny gamer brain buzzing. I haven't been anticipating it very much, so anything should light me up at this point--no room for disappointment.

Enough for now.
-A

Must. Write. 

Inspired by the narrative the and the male protagonist's name, I figured I'd give this a shot. This is loosely based on events in Daphne du Marier's Rebecca, and even more loosely based on my own dramatically unfolding life situations. Spoilers?

Manderlovely

Deafening is the smile that paints her kiss.
Threatening is the curve above her hips.
A godly baroness beneath your sheets,
And softer still along your fingertips.
How could you ever forfeit love like this?
Danvers talks of splintered, broken ships,
And now that furious ghost has come to sleep
Within our bed and in between our lips.

It shouldn't change the matter in the least-
She still took the final ship out west.
You asked my hand at breakfast; I said yes,
And she still took the final ship out west.

Perhaps you think I'm bland and without name.
This much I know: I am no blistering dame.
I'm not the witch whose fire absorbed this house,
And watched as your heart fell in blist'ring flame—
She and I will never be the same.
Still, I part your tender lips in vain,
Hoping that my tongue, your fire douse.
I stumble down the hall in tearful shame.

It shouldn’t change the matter in the least—
She still took the final ship out west.
Our love but stopped when I first donned the dress,
And she still took the final ship out west.

So sinking ships do tempt the truth to rise.
I take a dip, go tripping through your lies,
And find a passioned heart suppressed by guilt.
It’s scattered ‘long the Cornish countryside.
I strip you of Manderley's thick disguise,
You strip my chest and conquer my demise.
Upon our trembling foundations of silt,
I let love settle in between my thighs.

It shouldn’t change the matter in the least—
She still took the final ship out west.
The coldest heart ceased beating in her chest,
Before you cast her final ship out west. 
 
-A

A sonnet.

Cicadas

Cicadas sew a subtle summer’s din
And flitter golden wings into the breeze.
Boys breathe sunlight broken by the leaves
And gather sweaty beads upon their chins.
The rugged path leads rugged legs of men
Above the brook and through the gaps in trees
Where cicadas sing: "Fall on your knees--
The wilderness consumes all you have been." 

It’s her wide gaze that causes breath to catch
Upon his lips; she strolls among the thatch
And lives the thoughts he’s sheltered all along. 
Within her native hand, his heart is hatched
With splendid clamor only to be matched
By her softly-spun cicada song. 
 
-A

Ode to a Lapse in Judgement

You're the weakest flame I've ever seen.
You're the lowest mark I've ever hit.
I must have doused my heart in kerosene
The day this slender candle first was lit.
I have to squint to keep you in my sight,
Though where you burned me aches a reddened sore.
You're the dullest star that shines at night.
You're a sun that's dying at its core.

You're a tired rebellion on its knees.
You're a fatty non-malignant cyst,
And when you act a vacant, stupid tease,
I can't believe that God let you exist
Or Jesus thought that you were worth his while.
A broken boy, all bathed in idiocy.
You're an adolescent turned a child.
You're a penny swallowed by the sea.

I've a mind as restless as the sound.
I've hardened love that's born again.
I could take a breath and put you out,
And never have to see that putrid flame.
Yet here I sit, and kindle what I've made;
Tiny candle with the hair-thin wick.
You're still breathing embers as you fade.
You're the heat that gathers in my fist.

-A

The therapist says I need to start trying to dig this shit out of me. Apparently, I like pursuing and detest being pursued. I pursue because I look for a certain quality. And I reject because I want to choose it--either they don't have it or I'm not sure of it.

I'm supposed to figure out what that quality is. So here's a shot:

Qualities of people I've pursued:
- Strong-minded
- Strong personality
- Individualistic
- Happy
- Funny, Outgoing
- Conversational
- Socially apt
- Shared interests

What they gave/would have given me:
- Pride
- Security

Qualities of people who pursue me:
- Socially awkward
- Feed off of others
- Desperate
- Unhappy

What would be missing:
- Wouldn't like to be seen with them
- Couldn't imagine maintaining a conversation

More later?

-A

I am so fucking stupid.

About once or twice a week, I'll have very intense moments of clarity. Moments where I feel like I'm seeing myself or just being. Sundays get me to that point. But most of the time, I'm lost. I'm gone. I sleep and I dream of people I treasure and I know I can't hold them. I wake up and feel absolutely wretched. Just wretched.

I bawled Saturday night. Just came back to my room and bawled. I keep scraping around for a way out of this horrid mindset, but everything I cling to is just as unstable as I am. Why can't I be someone without someone? Where is this lack of wholeness, of me-ness coming from? Will it ever even matter? Why do things matter in the first place? Why do I miss what I have before it's even gone?

I want out. I want out, horribly. I want to pull away from this group, this definition. Is this what I'm destined for? Will I simply be reinventing myself my entire life? Why, why am I never satisfied? Why am I the mirror no one stands in front of? That no light shines on? Where is my hope? Where is grace?

I don't want to be a chameleon. I want to be someone, a whole someone. Someone who is loved and who loves freely and presently.

Dear God,
    save this.

-A

My theology class is the biggest pile of bullshit ever.

Sonnet (I)

He parts and leaves me grounded as a fish;
My tired sky is want to give sweet breath.
I flounder there, and seek impending death,
While once-loved hands command the fire and dish.
In drying eyes, my still-life water shifts--
A filthy salve; it bubbles at eye's crest.
Pan and pale approach to end duress,
And at your lips I'll make my failing wish:
I'll breed a sickness you cannot boil out,
And while you down my piece of mind in bites
My tainted heart your tender 'mach invites.
These fins will kick amongst your marshy bowl;
Within your deepest parts, you'll feel my spite,
And in your poisoned gut, my soul delight.

--A

As my mood deteriorates on this lovely Saturday evening, I feel as if I need to write something. Maybe it'll keep me from the Kleenex box for a few more minutes. But Puffs. Seriously, Kleenex sucks.

So yeah, I did write a list of things I have to look forward to. Kinda sad, isn't it? Hopefully I can keep adding to it for awhile... I have to remind myself that there's a future. That's just how pathetic/insane I feel right now. I can't see past this next pointless week of hurting. I should probably add my therapist appointment on Tuesday to that list.

My dreams were so fucked up last night. There was the obligatory roller coaster, which I'm starting to think is an abstraction of my anxiety. Then Jenny started going out with my new-ex, my old-ex started talking about sex with the girl he left me for, and my LI wannabe was being fucking weird.

About that. Okay. Guys. Pursuers. Seriously, you know who you are, and you probably read this. So let me be harsh:

1. I'm not ready yet. Unless you truly desire to be rebound material, you're searching in the wrong place.
2. What I need right now more than anything is friendship. Let me be honest: I am not physically attracted to you. If you want to spend time with me, start by actually getting to know me. I'm not sure you have any idea who I really am. And I certainly don't know who you are.
3. There's a difference between being confident and being creepy. Learn it. Physical closeness does not equal a) me enjoying it, b) any form of attraction or c) getting anywhere closer to an actual relationship.
4. I will not ask you out. Don't expect me to.
5. I'm not over Evan. And he's still my friend; insults get you nowhere. See one.

A part of me is open to them/him. And there are also those alarm bells going "ringy-dingy-dingy" because, goddamn, I think I should have learned my lesson by now. Urgh.

Xavier men are retarded.


It's the devil I love.
And it's as funny as real love.
--A

It's hard to believe I haven't written anything since the breakup. It feels like that relationship is miles away, now. The hardest part is over. It's coming down to a matter of finding something else to wake up for in the morning. I haven't found it yet.

I'm probably going to start crying while I write this. My roommate is probably going to think I'm insane. I probably am.

I'm glad it's over.

There, I said it. I'm not worried all the time. I don't feel miserable when he doesn't hold me or touch me or kiss me. I don't obsess (as much?). It was awful at the end. It was godawful and we both knew it.

It hasn't been as difficult this time around. Probably because he isn't holding another girl in his arms or throwing me out of his room like I'm a piece of trash. There are times where I am absolutely fine. I'm stable. I'm smiling because I mean it. He isn't on my mind. It isn't a problem; it's just reality.

But I love him. I do, and it kills. He is my best friend and he's leaving me and it's just like all the times before. I'd give him anything.

They never stay.

--A

I'm about to have a weird week.

No one but us really thinks this is going to help. No one but us thinks we should be doing this. But I am still clinging to my hope. Clinging as always.

"That's not normal." Well, I'm not too normal. It takes time to heal. I'm stronger than they think. And I still care.


So I'll wait for you, and I'll burn.
Will I ever see your sweet return?
Oh, will I ever learn? Oh, lover,
You should have come over.

-A

Least Insane

He tells me I'm the least insane;
I can't say I agree.
His kisses fall like tenuous rain;
I'm crazy as the sea.

--A