Awkward and embittered, said: "Shut the door when you go."

I never imagined anything like today to happen. For a while, I have been quite immersed in the concept of a new semester, which to me would also signify an end to what I had. With all the new starts I intended to make, I would inevitably shut it all down and carry on in ways I fancifully imagined.

Upon learning the ways of life throughout my first two years of college, I met him, a bit thrown by him. I was curious, bewildered, pushy, and above all, I was softened. I am aware of my faults and that I am perpetually meant to have an eyebrow raised, just as I am perpetually meant to provoke it by my everyday speak. It was in the instance I realized what I saw him that I knew that all rules had exceptions. Being a journalist, I always knew that, but sometimes it was unclear unless it was physical. I will admit to my flooding heart, my half-open eyes, my graceful and longing sighing, my undying need to draw ever closer--and I will admit that perplexities that make this different than anything I have felt or wanted.

Today was never meant to be, just as Friday, Saturday and Sunday showed me they weren't either. Today was one of those days that wasn't supposed to exist, but because time and it's abounding steamroller nature, it had to, no matter how misfortunate it was going to turn out. My first morning hour on these days consists of what seems to be the strong foundation of my day--without it, things seem to veer off in the wrong direction, as my footing will be missed. Instead, in my disheartened state, I was a bit of a wretch and perhaps should have been more direct in my speech, as opposed to trying to play with the trickery of language. My day was a monotone gray until my third hour. In all the majesty I perceive these moments to be, I was at ease. That's the trouble with perception. It is mostly imagined and is never an indicator of what really is, what has been or what's to be.

"Shut up."

That's all the was said, for the first time ever such a strange atrocity filled the mouth of someone I worried was not like the rest of us. Yes, I worried. When I imagined to myself and when I derived from action, no matter how I wanted to pull out an opposing emotion, there seemed to be a blank. I know about these things. I know not to trust what seldom appears and what seems as though it cannot be. Because usually, it doesn't appear and never is. Either that or perhaps these things are too elite for human grasp. Still, I was intoxicated by this curious predicament and sat myself to its side for as many days as this new semester allowed. It happened perfectly every time until today. When I cowered over this concept, I cowered in joy and in worry. When I cowered today, I cowered in fear, something I vowed to never do for the likes of a seemingly godly principle ever again. I assumed all too quickly that there was one way, one soul that could not cast me into the darkness. Perhaps I am wrong.

I used to care so much about others, that despite the situation, I would love them so much that I would care more about them than the situation. Now I care too much about them, but I see the situation in a much, much larger scale than it deserves. This is what humans do to other humans.

As I left and saw him drive away in a last act of random fate, I thought I could catch him. But I was far beyond catching anyone today. As all the worst possible drivers in the world got in my way and increased the distance between us, I remembered what he said he was doing. I figured I would see him trekking north as I went south down the freeway. I wish I realized sooner that I would not be catching anything today.

Here comes the sun. It feels like years since it's been here.

I knew my time perception was way off sync! Last I posted, I was under the impression that the ed board dinner and staff luncheon were a long way away. The day after was the dinner and the day after that was the luncheon! At that point, I still could not comprehend how free I was. Even with all the chaos with the newspaper, I feel terrible that it is gone. A part of my is running off to bigger and better things just waiting for me next fall, but a part of me wonders where time went. Time moves so quickly, and when it doesn't, everyone breaks their backs trying to get it to move faster and right out of their lives. Maybe this is why I sometimes miss the guru. The guru slows and even dulls time, so that moments last forever. Too bad the guru compromises a lot of things in order to allow for that to happen. No matter; now the semester is finally, truly, coming to a close and it is too late for any of us to do anything about it. It looks like the new semester will be quite promising, with anxious journalists pounding on our newsroom door to get their word out there and spread their passion across the page just as we do. Now is the time where I may rest my wings and figure out in which way I wish to bend the world.

Today my heart is still fluttering with anticipation and unspoken words, but perhaps before Christmas, I will be so calm as to actually move forward with my persuits. After all, all the butteflies he has given me could most likely enable me to fly, even if my proverbial wings are bent back in a resting position. Oh, lovely Christmas...filled with the joy I seek throughout the year and gain only for but a month or so, with no recolection of how to get it back after the holidays are over. I enjoyed a brisk trip to the mall all by myself after ed board today. Me being an intense social butterfly when I can made lovely conversation with the mall employees and even seemed to form a connection with one. And speaking of connections, there is one still so intense like a fire that I cannot seem to pull together. My nervous demeanor mixed with the all-too-lovely ambience of the winter and holiday time somehow clashes each and every time I lay my eyes on him, speak to him and get closer to him. Maybe this winter, Christmas time will bless me with enough courage to at least get a few words in so my heart won't be so wild with curiosity and worry. I always seem to be longing for a winter romance now. Something seems to be telling me that before the Christmas bells toll and before the winter air rolls away, I will have the chance to have what I want. On a silent evening in the chill in the midst of all the festive colors and songs, maybe there will be hope for me under the lights and stars of a long winter's day.

I keep waiting, anticipating you.

And so it ended. Just like that on windy and cold Wednesday night, although I didn't realize it much. I knew of it; I was plenty aware, but all I wanted was nothing more than to come home and wash it all off. Then the next day, a lovely Thursday morning, after pleseantly being able to leave class early and sit in a lonely newsroom, save for Filip and Tony to eventually follow, I knew it was really over. The last issue of the semester was officially behind us. The usual "The End is Near" notice with the remaining days all planned out as if we were going to be shipped off was taped on to every available wall in the newsroom. The hell and stress that was the smallest staff we ever weathered was done. Completely done.

The days coming were a bit of a load of stress, dampering my good mood, but suddenly, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break came. I masterfully defeated my tests--of which I had three of (yes, one for each of the classes I take on Tuesdays and Thursdays) and I was home. I barely remember the week at all after the paper was done. It appears I have centered and kept track of my whole life based solely on the paper. Somehow, like a sundial, despite confusion that may come of it, I knew exactly how to read it the entire time and therefore was able to take hold of it as well as the rest of my life. And yet, sometimes it feels empty, as if the paper was the only clock I had to remind me of my week, what day it was, what time it was and the future to come. Still, I do have a sense of direction that has its focus on the final events this particular Union staff will face: the ed board dinner and the staff luncheon. This is the official good-bye of the semester. Strange how it always comes about a week before the true end of the semester, but nonetheless, once it's over, we will all begin shutting down until the dawn of a new staff and a new semester.

As for everything else, it feels like it hurts even though I know it doesn't. My heart cries, the stress burns and sometimes I long for a little comfort, preferably the human-type who can relieve my loneliness. Perhaps sometime before the semester ends I will feel this sort of fulfillment--in fact, I know I will. With every milestone this newspaper goes through, the feeling always resurges. Forever will I know why journalism is worth it to me. I understand that my time perception is terribly off because of the lack any more upcomming issues and nothing but finals to dull and desensitize me, but I do hope that I will still be able to skillfully play my hand and lay my cards down so carefully that I may be indulged at my whim. Perhaps I will gain more confidence in one adrenaline-induced moment. Alas, more confidence--how strange for a journalist to say! But honestly, it seems along the lines of the norm for the end of the semester to feel that sort of energy rushing at you as if you never had it before. After all, the anxiousness of it all is ensuring I will not be able to hold myself down much longer. It's time to jump.

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say

Everything went sour last night, or so it seems. I was on edge because of all the holes left on my page and 9 p.m. inevitably coming. I hissed once at the agitating business of what seemed like looking over my shoulder began. I would sooner have expected to be spanked or put in a time out before the night was done than to have any compliance with all of it--but I did. Because I care about the feelings of others far too much. I cannot help but see everyone as a distorted reflection of me. We may all be off in a myriad of ways, but everyone still feels and thinks, as do I. So I said nothing despite the eminent headache, which did pounce on me that night, although I did not act on it. Early on, I had massive amounts of coffee and everyone had the usual laugh--and yes, I am telling this story backward, I will flash forward soon. So there was that and a shakey jolt in my hands in an attempt to dull the onslaught I knew we were all in for. I took precautions for that, simple ones that I won't bother to mention. And maybe I shouldn't have smoked that cigarette earlier that day. At least someone cared to notice.

In any case, production night finally ended with a disgusting feeling of failure in my stomach. It was then in my humbling state that I took a moment to remember the morning. I have a good bunch of people on my side, even in the middle of my pained thoughts in which I seriously considered leaving next semester: A thought that continued well into this morning. There may not have been any phyiscal contact as I have been wishing from anyone since years ago, but that morning was quite calm, even in my frenzy to locate my writers and the articles they were writing. In my advanced pace and racing mind, I was hushed. I know it, because as I think about it, I could have very well destroyed anything that could be clenched in my hands, but I didn't. The morning was actually one of the last times I smiled the whole day. I understand that in my moments where I am completely uncollected, no female on this planet likes me, but I did not need approval from one group of people. I had my own, in a strange non-destructive way. I believe it's called self-esteem. I think butterflies have it. That is why they fly so freely and elegantly.

The night, that is, the one after the newspaper production, was one the likes of which I have not seen in a while. I believe it was freezing cold, but I did not notice. I was too content in my own endeavors and so immaculately impressed by other things that not even Mother Nature could speak to me. I just yammered on and on, most likely incoherently, much like I do in the confines of the newsroom, but this was different. I suppose every night is different for me, but I'm talking about a different kind of--well, different. This kind of different was the things I thought I understood years ago. It is the kind that made me realize the things I thought I wanted were only pieces of the puzzle and that I really wanted something entirely different, and that something had a good way of disguising itself as other things. This is the kind of different in which I noticed the stars and every little twinkle and glow, instead of just the sky. After the paper was out last night, I felt more like a human and less like a creature. It was one of those colder nights that still feel warm regardless. I think I finally know what I am doing.

Tomorrow is JACC. I will be writing, as I assume I will be feeling, seeing and thinking more than usual. Last night and yesterday morning are things that come by so quickly, but will transcend the days to come. I owe a lot of it to particular people. They will recieve much from me in all forms henceforth. I am following the course.

Go ask Alice when she's 10 feet tall

Yesterday, as Pearl and I called it, was a useless Monday. Went in to the newsroom on our day off to work on the paper and only about three other people did so in return. A writer walked out on my story and all I had was a blank page. Our adviser was right--we are burnt out. Later I sat with the guru for the first time in ages. I think I may have thrown off a few people by it, but I was too immersed in everything. Pearl and I shared a meal, too, and talked about things we never get the chance to in the company of others. I went home and pulled out my Twilight Zone box set and sat in its strange wonders and almost intergalactic theme song. I heard Rod Serling, clear and close in my ear. I lied back afterward, after noticing how long everything took and sank into some Pink Floyd while I still had the chance. After my moment, my very long moment, I was no longer watching all the world with silence and patience. Not that I burst into speech. Actually, I was quite numb in the tongue, with this feeling of film all over and heavy grip on my jaw. My tongue seemed dead as it tickled tiny feelings of numbness throughout. My own silence does everyone some good.

Today was one pain after another. No one is anything at all like the guru. I felt like I belonged too much perhaps as everyone seemed to slowly be throwing in the towel on this evening. I wish I could have driven in the peace just like yesterday, where I was not concerned about the slowing traffic or how long everything was taking. And even though I noticed everything takes such a long time, I long for the times where I don't even notice it. Perhaps this weekend, in the midst of competition and the like, time will pass slowly by itself, but gracefully over me. If only tonight could be a bit number, a bit quieter, without the thought of who is doing what and how I'm ever going to finish and what I plan on doing about anything. Time is always too fast when you don't want it to be, even when the hours drag the way they do. Until tomorrow, I suppose. Until the next time I can relinquish the time I have for something more soothing will I remember what I have said here.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

It gets dark earlier in these parts. California hit darkness at about 5 p.m. yesterday, so my usual drive to the mall on the weekends was unusually empty as my headlights creeped around in the night. It was a more peaceful drive with the softness of Led Zeppelin on the airwaves as I started my car. Once it was over, I scraped the night with some Dragonforce, although this time I kept the volume low.

It was a nice walk around the mall for about a half hour while I waited for Nikki to get off work. I searched for dresses I could wear to JACC, fidning one at Windsor that I went back and snagged today. Everything else was so overly glamorous, but they did attract my eye perhaps because of the angelic Christmas music in the background. By about 7 p.m., Nikki was out and we walked over to Wahoo's in the dark. It was quiet in there, with the surfer-esque atmosphere relaxing the mood. At that point, it was all conversation about men and women and all the like. We would pause for certain songs and talk about ourselves and how we always imagine our own music video for songs of which reflected on our lives. We dream of musicals of sorts, I suppose.

Coffee Bean--that was a warming comfort of me long-craved cafe mocha to my lips. It was more men, more women as the air chilled outside and the winds began tussling as though we were from the midwest, not Southern California. Nikki had quite the time talking about her boyfriend, who treats her well. I thought about my prospect--thought about him, talked about him, made Nikki smile at the thought. And of course, us being the ultimate compilation and dynamic duo, we laughed at all the same things, no matter how ridiculous. While we may not have recieved complaints, I could almost hear the annoyance of the other customers at our offensive language and sexual innuendos. But still, we almost kept it silent. It was just those kinds of nights.

Barnes and Noble was full of hilarious books and I pined to buy every single book in the whole store as usual. Some day I will own a whole collection--a library! And I will read them all at my own pace. I will have time. All things willing, it won't become a Twilight Zone moment in which my house burns down or I become a bitter senile old bat and cannot grasp my love of books any longer. On another note, I never realized how much bad news could be made hilarious through baby animals.

Nikki and I created more walking music videos with the power of the opera songs playing among us. And even when things could have turned in another direction, he stole my thoughts. I could almost hate him. I could dare to say I could kill him for this--but then what fun would life be? In all my previous confusion and coming out seeing clearly even in the darkest of nights of which I had long forgotten could come so early, this was my moment. These are my nights to hold again.

I know who I want to take me home.

Tellin' mother nature about you and me

Sometimes there are things only certain people know how to do and they do it at exactly the right time. But really, it's extremely rare. In fact, I care to say animals know how to do things like that better than us humans do. On some days when I'm especially worn, tired or dreamy-eyed, my dearest Ginger will look up at me as I am bent over saying hello to her, and touch her nose to mine and give me a single dog kiss wherever she sees fit. And some days when I come to the backyard to cry or mope around in the outside air, I will get a nibble at my fingertips. And some days where I am lazy or lonely, she will share her toys with me and raise a paw to me. Somehow, all of this means more to me than anything any human could ever do.

She is my little genius, who knows how to pick apples from high up by pushing off on a wall and sees no challenge in any "mentally stimulating" doggy toy. She's my little sweetheart who loves me and misses me every day of her life. She's my little blanket and shoulder to cry on who sits patiently as I wrap my arms around her and let a few hot tears touch her fur. She's my inspiration who gets me writing my greatest work. My love for her got me to write the piece that allowed me to be the columnist for my college's newspaper. She's my little darling who still gives me puppy eyes even when she is a 7-year-old German Shepherd. She's my sleepyhead who sleeps curled in strange positions, but still manages to get up and greet me with her half-open eyes when I go outside after a long day. She's my noble protector who still bellows her deep and commanding bark, strong and proud, and who will still protect the house with all her power because of her human-like sense of family and pride. She's my gorgeous little thing, still elegant, poised and stunningly beautiful despite her years. She is my life and love for everything she could give me and more. She is worth more than most humans could ever hope to be their entire lives.

And I will stand in the rain on the corner

I think finally realized how light I am when it comes to these things. This whole world could be flooding and I would be above the water. I love the rain, but even as it poured on Saturday, I thought only of him and each little patter and pound was another thought of him or a bit of my imagination running wild all over the whole thing.I was happy to not be driving; it gave me time to think because for some reason, my head is clearer when cloudy, gray skies are present. It felt like my heart was sending my blood in a loop, in and out of my heart like it was fluttering in the breeze along with the scarce leaf which tumbled down from the sky or sloshed in a puddle, damp and slightly a mess.

I had money in my pocket and a warm hand to my lips, musing. What was better, however, was the knowing. I may have normally been happy knowing I had money, knowing it was the weekend or knowing the weather was a change of pace, but that wasn't it at all. All my excitement coursed inside of me because I knew he would be near there. I have driven by the place so many times my whole life, and yet it never even mattered until I knew he was there. Now any outing in the area will never be the same. Every time I drive by, my heart will settle, yet overflow. It has become just a little more special. Christmas time is coming, too, and I will probably be driving passed more often through the white and gray sky, with a chilly frost--as far as Southern California goes. Then with every rattle of the shivering palm trees and every sparkling red holiday decoration and every frigid and strong gust of wind, one of my thoughts will reach to the sky. And they will all be of him. Even in the pouring rain, it will never feel so right as to think of him.

Am I sorry your sky went black?

I led a death caravan today. Sounds out-of-the-ordinary, but if you were a spectator, it wouldn't be. I think that's how the world works sometimes. It's good at disgusing itself and as much as I'd like to blame humankind for being oblivious, I think some things are meant to be masqueraded. It's definitely not a good thing, but it's just how it happens.





Back to my story, I woke up to a gray sky, and lo and behold, it's still gray. It felt like something out of a horror movie that takes place in some misty woods with the "heroes" left to find a mansion looking very out of place or some rustic sort of groud that ultimately harbors what used to be their safety, but now has become nightmare. It was a goth metal music video and a delicious slasher brought to life. I noticed just after the light on Lomita as I was trekking down Western. I didn't notice completely, but I did confirm I was leading something by the time I passed Narbonne High. They being the enemy school back in my high school days, I found it ironic I discovered my cabaret just after passing their quarters. The misty sky was still streaching the bruises it sustained over night, with clouds colliding so softly as if falling apart over each other rather than partaking in combat. So there it was in the rearview: a giant metal snake, perhaps a metal dragon, curving along the road behind me--it slithered in a rhythmic way, with each section of its body curving at just the right time. It was silver looking like it had a tongue ready to flicker to get a taste of me. I was a few feet ahead with the asphalt a decent restricting gap behind me and it front of it. It wasn't entirely silver, it just had a silver head (which was something in a Honda or BMW) with a bit of red, black, and I believe blue connected by a single spinal column. Surprisingly, it was completely even--just the same size fragments of its body with no distortion except in color. It stayed perfectly behind me and eerily, no one stepped in my way for miles. Up until Torrance Boulevard, it twisted and slithered, getting longer with each attracted piece clinging and following. Some little parts crawled away like disoriented black beetles. Was I being attacked? Where was this giant confounding snake headed?

Perhaps the strange occurences in life of a significance in some way, but it's meant as a secret, like an ancient language or transcriptions to the dead sea scrolls. There had to be a reason I chose the scenic route. There had to be a reason no one ever passed me. There had to be a reason for the way it moved besides proper physics. There had to be a reason for all the silence. And what of the dull and morbid cabaret that allowed me to lead it so far? I turned onto Artesia, and one car kept swining back and forth in front of my little drones as if it were willing to slay me if given the chance. I stopped and its breaks stuttered, flashing on, fluttering, flashing off, fluttering then flashing on again. It was a nervous little thing that finally stopped a bit too far away from me and lost its nerve completely. One more turn onto Crenshaw with the dimness of the morning staying relentlessly painted to the sky. It could've been raining ashes and snowing all at once, but the sky was completely still. When I arrived at EC, I stepped out and actually looked up like the cliche victim of the perils of a dark sky. I could feel the air swell thick in my lungs and on my skin. Perhaps I could've held it in my hands and brought it close, but instead I trembled. I, the leader of the most deathly looking display I'd ever seen besides the obvious scenes of death and the like, trembled at the silence. Of all things, I felt a slight fear and submission toward the silence of the gray and empty parking lot. After all, all around me was a sea of cars all potential pieces of a caravan the next morning or right after class. Who were all these people, anyway? And what of those in the caravan? Why did they come together in such a way? I know it wasn't on purpose, but the sheer obscurity of it must've had a reason--or been a reason--of some sort.

The only company I had in the midst of the lot was the low and foreboading buzzing of the electric wires along the telephone poles, strung in black like the knitters at the beginning of Heart of Darkness (Joseph Conrad), who sat there knitting mindlessly, leaving a heap of black fabric to grow larger and without shape. There was this strange power as the silence was cut with the buzzing like I was about to be plucked by some force coming from above--as if I were about to be brutally slain and practically massacred until I was nothing but an accomplished red target on the asphalt. I always feared that parking lot. It's not that it was unsafe, but the scale of it and the fact that there is so many strangers...a woman can never be too sure, especially when what has been sure has not always been pleasant (and I'm speaking specifically, although I do not wish to be specific about this). Being as worn as I, I don't think I could necessarily fight off whatever any stranger threw at me. And don't mean just any stranger, but a stranger--the shadow type of stranger who comes so quickly, he is faceless and without breath and only human desire and form to be recognized, only to dissipate in the confusion. Once I was out and close to class, the silence changed and therein lied the end of it. For some reason, I doubt anything this strange will happen again in the same manner, and if it should, it shall be far away.

Wednesday never ended

I know it's Sunday. It's been exactly one week since Redondo, only with a few altercations. But despite the day, this is about Wednesday. I was tempted to write on Wednesday, then again on its tail end of which I wasn't sure what day it was. Then again on what I came to know as Friday, and again yesterday...but now I have bearings and conclusive thoughts. So this is not about all that was missed when I was dormant. This is about some possibly psycho neurotic trip without the aid of foreign substance. It's about a time where there was no real differentiation. This is about Wednesday.


There was something in this Wednesday that made everyone feel a little bit better about everything. Truth be told, it ended on a rough note, but nevertheless it was enjoyable. Enjoyable isn't always the word we'd like to use when describing Wednesday, especially on the newspaper staff. Interesting, maybe, but not enjoyable. That was the first bit of forshadowing that I was in for something. It was nice to see everyone look more animated and in full-color as opposed to ready to drop. Maybe it was John making pencils penetrate the ceiling or maybe it was just that we were all on a roll with our humor that day, but we were happy. Yes, happy. The simplest of all defining terms of euphoria, but it was just that. It was almost as if we were young again. Everything was funny, everyone had something random to say or do, time went by almost too fast and we were all pleased just to have the company. In the end, the paper looked pretty good and we were off at 9:30 p.m., the earliest I've ever seen and it wasn't so bad. Of course, we were all tired. That's always a given, even if there's an element of fun. After turning myself around dropping off Cristian and Robert at Cristian's car, I had fun curving around Prairie Avenue to get myself on the right path home. I considered taking a drive through the PV hills before making my way back, but I decided against it after realizing how late I'd get home and my slight uncertainty of where the exact route I wanted to take was. In addition, I wanted to get home as early as possible (as far as Wednesday nights go) so to ensure my last night with tia Ney was a great one. And what of my sour note on production night? It was nothing so great that it could've created a significant imbalance in me, but it was quite the irritation (and sometimes still is, but not so much now). I got talked down that ledge by two good people. While it is in my guilt to say they became unwittingly involved (and I was unwitting myself as I got the news that someone believed them to be proprieters of whatever misery they claim to have experienced). I ended my night earlier than I wished as I was preparing to get up at 4 a.m. the next morning.

The night came and showed no mercy on me until 2 a.m. leaving me only two hours to compose myself and get ready for tia Ney's take-off.

It was in those two hours where something interconnected. I woke up at 4 a.m. and realized it was still Wednesday. Crazy? No, it was exactly right. Everything from earlier was so clear as if there was no pause between them. I don't necessarily believe there was. We left when it was still dark, but for some reason it's always brighter at LAX. There were still some clouds of indigo blue as we got there and unloaded the suitcases and began descending upon what appeared to be the right section of the Tom Bradley Terminal. For those of you not from L.A., first thing, I feel sorry for you, and secondly, the Tom Bradley Terminal is exclusively for international flights and is perhaps one of the better terminals at LAX with its giant schedule board with extravagant names on them rooting from both the coutries and the airlines. After looking around the initial level for the Mexicana ticketing counter only to find gray and lonely terminals, we were about to step outside and hope for the best when we ran into a single woman vacuuming the mats in front of the doorway.

"Esta alla abajo. Puedes usar las escaleras."
What does that mean, you ask? "It's downstairs. You can use the stairs."
So that's exactly what we did. We dragged the suitcases all the way downstairs and all the way to the very end of the terminal. After that it was mostly quiet and I felt my eyes begin to drag a bit. At about 5 a.m., we decided to see if the McDonald's above Tom Bradley's initial floor was open as we didn't check in the midst of our search. Of course, like I said, everything was open. It was dim and we even mentioned the minimal lights to one another, but I liked it. I stared out the window and watched the planes land in the distance as they belted through the indigo sky made all the more epic by the enormous windows that touch from top to bottom, with each panel perhaps the size of a standard window, on either end of the top floor. Until about 6:15, we talked about the newspaper and exchanged last minute information until I finally had to let her go. We walked her down to her gate and in a matter of seconds, it was as if she was already back in Mexico.


We stepped back outside and the sky was almost as blue as it usually was. But it was that beautiful blue that's a bit on the periwinkle side. It was the kind of blue that comes just before the sun breaks away. It's the kind of blue that's under the complete control of the sky--no sun, no other element except the sky and its own accord. There's something in a sunrise that makes someone see and feel so much, and there's even more to a sunrise at LAX. It may seem as if the modernization may be a damper, but the only real damper is knowing someone, or perhaps yourself, is leaving. While I'm not particularly upset when I take off for somewhere else, I do think of everyone else who is leaving behind someone for a good while. I'm one for travel, but the airport isn't always designed for that. The airport is just that--an airport. It has planes to take people to other destinations, but nowhere in its description does it say it has to be amusing. So it was that Wednesday continuation (that I couldn't necessarily call Thursday because it just didn't feel like the past had fully ended) that made me feel for everyone leaving their own ground into some place full of life, but not their own. But taking a moment to stop in front of the terminal gates and look up into the sky, there's a calm demeanor to it, even more so than when looking out the window in one's own house. It's inexplicable, but somehow in a place catering to voyages to new and familiar places give its own unique sunrise as if the sun it presents is one completely different from that of which we see every day.

I passed El Camino on the way back. I didn't pass it directly because we were on the freeway, but I knew in a few hours I was to go back the way I just came, only this time, I wouldn't get to go by LAX. Tia Ney wasn't coming back. It was an okay day when I got there a few hours later. I couldn't fall asleep in English because we were prepping for debates and by the time Verge's class rolled around, I was suddenly wide awake. I was getting hungry around 9 a.m. because I ate at 5, but after forgetting about it, I suddenly wasn't hungry. Even when faced with food directly, I was suddenly "too full" to eat it. I did manage to meet Deborah Chesher, a rock n roll photographer in the 70's and she was outstanding. I came home expecting to tumble down, but I just couldn't do it until 6 p.m. I even got hungry before I got tired again and I felt like perhaps I was in some sort of realistic Twilight Zone. Perhaps I was caught in two realms and suddenly Wednesday was finally becoming Thursday. I haven't the least of what I was feeling, but now I know for sure the day would be so much more interesting with just a few more hours added on. I napped until 8 p.m. and found I couldn't get to sleep by the time night rolled around, so I stayed up for a shorter time than I imagined. Tia Ney was home safe by then and I was star gazing as usual.








The night was mine.

How can we let the sky tumble down?

You better keep a good eye out.



Time for another breakdown and I'm not even going to bring up the one I had on Thursday (3/27/08). Just know there was a lot of bizarre and deft movements ultimately resulting in what felt like destroying a paper doll. I never realized how fragile I was. I always sort of had the fear that my body could very well betray me despite the fact that its served me well aside from the fact that I was small. How strange that when it gave in, I was the only one who had a hand in it. I betrayed myself.



Onward sweep.



Friday (3/28/08): Haha, yes. Yes. That was one Friday that will go down in the books for anyone who witnessed it. As for me, I'm not sure if you can say I witnessed it. Granted, I remember it almost vividly except for a few mild-mannered things that probably no one else in the waking day would remember anyway. I don't care to go into it. All I know is that something in this night sparked something I never expected. I'm suddenly appreciated and regarded as a thing of beauty. I suppose, however, that I have many forms. People happen to fall in love with my open (and open-ended) side that comes at the most awkward of times. It's the form I assume is most like a goddess--it's one that is open to the people, instead of just doing things passionately by almost sleight of hand. In this state, I speak and laugh and break through somehow. But it's a form I keep quiet because of all the atrocities in the waking life. The only thing about it that I can't quell is my sensitivty and compassion for other humans. Even still, no matter what I was that night, I just can't understand it. As much as I want to, I don't see what caused this uprise in desire for me.

Saturday (3/29/08): Happy birthday to Cristian. I woke up at Berenice's house, a little bit ailing from being the goddess the night before (and sleeping on the floor). It was, surprisingly, one of the more quieter mornings of my life. It felt as if what I had was real. All that remained was an empty room and four friends reminicing, laughing, hurting and sharing. It wasn't at all like a movie, and yet it was because while everything seemed real--the feat seemed impossible. It was then I got to know earthly Nancy. The night before, she slipped passed me as the night grew old. We ended up at Norm's on Hawthorne Boulevard, possibly the worst street in existance with each business location at a more random spot than the next. Hawthorne is like a desert. It may seem fitting since supposedly California is a desert, but this is Southern California. This is the end all be all. At least give Hawthorne some dignity. Despite its quiet near-beauty, it's a rat's nest for traffic. But no matter, it still got us where we needed to be. After that, that was the end of my weekend with the few of them. On to Jannette's party later that day.
That started with Lazy Dog Cafe, which translates to great restaurant with the most anal customers ever, which is beyond me since that place is louder than reason. But of course when we clapped for Jannette's birthday consolation dessert, despite the fact that we couldn't even hear ourselves sing, some arrogant bastards probably in their 20's (not much older than us, yet they must've felt themselves of royalty. Or as though their putird excretions do not smell) felt it appropriate to "tell us off" with a rude snot-nosed "exucse me." Well, they certainly were excused. Let's move on. There was another real moment at Jannette's house where all of us, now made 13 by Jannette's unexplained house guests, were talking and trying to fit on two couches and a coffee table. Sooner than we knew it, which is common for us, we were midnight bowling. Even as the hours took a toll on us, it went by so fast all I really remember was bowling poorly as usual and dancing to classic rock. What a time it was.

Flash forward.

Perhaps the entire week that came after was notable, but all that really came of it was more musings from the bottom of my mind. Although I did have a nice time with my family on my dad's birthday and although my best cousin and I saw each other for the first time in months yesterday, I feel the need to hush. If I wanted to say anything more, it would be on politics, but considering my worry for my ever-weakening aunt, I will say nothing more than what needs to be until tomorrow.
That being, if one takes the time to do things opposite their nature, or buried within their nature, it will seem as though the world is not around them at all. And if one stares into the sky, especially at night, it will seem as though they don't exist and yet they're exactly where they need to be. And if one takes the time to read or look into their own surrounding life, they will see what exactly needs to be said and what needs to be done. And if one takes it a step further, they can come to terms with their humanity and recognize what is beyond their power and how much faith and effort they need to possibly make a move on it. And if one knows where they stand, they can stave off the unexpected failure and see exactly how they move through life. And if one sees how the world around them moves through them, they can accept the terms they've come to and appreciate what their hands can do and even what they cannot. We're all human and we need to see it. Not everything can come of our hands, but knowing can sometimes be enough. With knowledge there is respect and a sense of freedom. And by keeping faith and moving toward anything, no matter how unattainable, we can at least have something worth craving all to ourselves. Unfortunate as it is, we're all not getting anywhere near it at all. We're futile beings.




Look alive.

He asked me to lie

And I told him the truth.

I was ready to post all this cool stuff and all my crazy ideas when everything came to a crashing halt. I met Kirsten today via telephone.
All I can say is...psh, I told you he was dating her. Even through that, as freakish as it sounds even to me, I bet somewhere in that big vacant space of his, something for me waits. One of my best guy friends said to me, it's either that he never loved me or he's too scared to love me, creating the almost indestructable idea in his head that he no longer loves me. Apparently, that's what fear does to a man. I wouldn't know because I'm not a man. And I don't think any guy who feels that way deserves to call himself a man either.

He asked me not to compare him to my other ex.
I did anyway because, fuck, he's acting just like him. Everyone thinks my ex prior to Anthony was all about going out with my best friends, which did happen twice, but they forget everything that came between and henceforth. There's was a lot of name calling and verbal abuse. There were other women even before my two best friends. They didn't last, but one of them hurt me in particular even though it was some insane love for a 14-year-old trapped in Ohio (also where Kirsten is from, ironically). Patterns repeat and as much as I'm ready for them, I somehow can't deal with it as planned. I'm aware of the differences, but all I tend to do is gather from past negativity and act upon that instead of working with what's going right.
And you know, she says she doesn't want problems with me. I guess I can believe it. There's no trust, just belief. But dammit if it doesn't hurt to hear her putting him in check the way I used to. Not that I put him in check 24/7 like a control freak, but it used to be my job...if that makes sense. She says she doesn't want problems. Honey, you're not as sweet as 'honey' would imply.
No. You're vinegar in my mouth.
Get out.

"It's okay. We're just dating. I'm not falling for her like that and she's not going to fall for me any time soon."
You said it yourself before...you're kind of a liar. This is the last lie you will ever tell if ever I find out it's a lie. At least be a friend. I don't expect him to lick my boots but I expect decency, you know.

"You're a scary lady. You became intimidating"
That's just what Andy said you were thinking. You know, Andy is exactly right. It shocks me how he knew before Anthony even said anything. According to him...when you feel you can't live up to someone, you shy away and feel like you're not in love, when reality the feeling is a lack of confidence and the thought that who you love deserves someone better than you.

I asked him if he was scared of me and he said no. I asked him if he was scared of love and he said: wouldn't you be if you were new at this?
I guess we really are on different platitudes. I've always known what I wanted in love and I always knew that it probably wouldn't perfectly fit the description I expected, but I've always known who was a right choice for me. If only people could learn to trust love and their partner...well, things would probably be easier. There are certain things I've yet to understand about myself, but as for things normal people don't understand, I seem to understand them better than most. It gets frustrating. It gets painful.

A complete 360 of emotion is never possible. I at times have felt that it was attainable because I was supposedly feeling it, but when I took the time to examine why it was happening, I realized it never happened at all. I was just numb and unfocused. When people are confused about who they are and what they're thinking, they never see the only person that can give them answers is themselves. So we sit around hoping the answers will just appear even when the big book of answers and definitions is becoming rust in our hands. The only thing that confuses me is him. When you have no other method of finding ease than to gather answers from another who is answering questions about themselves, hold on to faith. Any sort of faith at all. Trust me, the person you're waiting for will never talk.
It's a long day coming.
He's still silent.








You're gonna carry that weight.

Dead kings, many things I can't define

Religion...a composition of dead people and somewhat sensible ideals (sometimes) that we've grown to adore.
No, I'm not anti-religion. Bear with me here.

The thing I don't get is why people even bother fighting about it. While people may argue what I'm about to say is instigating a fight, I beg to differ. In fact, I'm preaching peace. I take responsibility if someone wants to start something. After all, I did open my big mouth. But I will not play a role in the degradation of someone else's belief system. I can only hope people will listen, think about it, and move on in any way they so choose. I'd prefer this to change someone's outlook, but I can't very well expect that.

Anyway, I begin by saying, why has religion suddenly been cluttered into two or three categories? All of a sudden religion has narrowed down to Christianity, Catholicism, and sometimes Judaism. Truth be told, everyone has a religion, whether it consists of a "God" or not. With that being said, there are two division of the argument I wish to address:

1. You religious freaks sicken me. I'm talking literally sickening me. I once saw a religious website so vile with propaganda, I threw up just a bit. It's dizzying to see all this hate speech on a site that's supposed to promote "the good fight." How the fuck do you figure that? Supposedly these sites and displays are meant to get people on the right path, but how can you win people over by tearing them apart? They're human beings just like you. Thou shall not judge, right? Or am I crazy? Lead by example if you want to make any sort of difference. Yelling and damning everything when it's not even your fuckin right is downright weird and absurd. You curse what you find "obscene," yet somehow you're free to obscenely promote your nearly fictitious cause with propaganda and hate--it doesn't add up. Trust me, it doesn't. Nobody fuckin cares if you think their religion is right or wrong. In fact, if you try to tell us we're wrong, you're just pissing us all off. Maybe it's just me, but I think that's a step backward. Also, stop with the paranoia. We have enough idiotic paranoia coming from the stupid fuck KKK as it is. No one wants to destroy Christianity. In fact, you fucks have beaten your "morals" to a pulp so much that we pretty much don't give a fuck about Christianity anymore. One more thing, and this has stopped every fanatical Christian (and other fanatics of other religions) that has ever crossed me: we (Catholics) were here first. And you know what else? I don't even care if we were here first. That's right, I don't care about your bizarre means of "religion." To each their own and leave everyone else out of it. Oh, and I'm sorry if we can't make laws based off your crap. We have an idea called "division of church and state," now back off.

2. Atheists. Oh, Atheists...shut the fuck up. You're just as paranoid as the fanatics. Stop bitching about how no one understands you. You still have mothers, right? If not, well, you understand yourself, right? That's good enough! It's all you fuckin need! I know there are weirdos out there trying to shove religion down your throat, but stop acting like you're always attacked for your beliefs. You're not. I highly doubt that everywhere you go there's some religion humper that sniffs you out and goes "Die, fucker!!" Unless you where a goddamn sign stating you're an atheist. Even then, as with people whose religions consist of a God, most people don't care. Stop calling religion shit, too, by the way. It's not shit, it's just the difference between you and some. Embrace your differences if you love yourself so fuckin much! And if you don't love yourself...then, I'm sorry. Maybe that's why you're so fuckin angry. Besides, if you want people to stop preaching to you, stop breaking them down. Religion gives some people hope. And hope is something you should never take from someone. It could be all that they have. Be nice. Honestly, we're not all the same. I'm Catholic, and though I mention it, really, as long as people are happy with the religions they choose, I'm happy for them! Diversity makes us great. You're not in kindergarten anyway. You don't have to push Little Jimmy just because he pushed you first. Move the fuck on and stop riding on religion's ass. People are free to have other beliefs than you...isn't that the whole basis of your own damn argument anyway? Dammit.

Moving on from the notorious complainers, while you finish off your Easter, remember that there are other religions out there. There are some you've probably never heard of before. There are still tribal peoples who practice their own faith. Don't be myopic and see religion as only having a few faces of which seem to be taking over the world. Religion is interesting, whether you believe in it or not. Have a heart and let people practice freely. You've got to admit, some religions have very good ideals to live by. Practice them. If not the faith, practice the values. Again, don't forget the billions of other people in the world practicing their own means of religion. Hopefully then you can see that it's just human nature, even though it's in some people's nature to be scum.

My final note:
I managed to see Aalyssa today and it gives me great relief. I only wonder now what Anthony is up to. Every time he leaves, my time perception goes out of sync. I really have no idea how many days it's been since he left. It feels like he's been gone for weeks. Everything seems to be rising and falling, being mixed and rearranged and being pulled in every which direction time chooses at the moment. I don't know what I understand or perceive, and I can barely believe what's going on before me. Somehow, though, being left in the dark has instilled some extra creativity in me. I don't know what to say about that.
What time is it, anyway?
I probably wouldn't believe you if you told me.

I can see for miles and miles

I think I know what they meant by having magic in their eyes.
Well, it was partly drugs (but that doesn't come into play here) and partly mysticism--the kind you get when you feel the world is in your hands. It's when you know you can obtain anything you could want in an immediate sense. Maybe not all your dreams in one, but mostly anything you could want for the time being.

I reek of incense from going to The Psychic Eye. I hung out with an old friend from elementary school for the first time in ages. I tried to pretend I wasn't thinking of other people, but my love and the third man kept randomly passing through my thoughts. I worry about Anthony...and as for the third man, sometimes I still find myself wishing, even if it's not something I really want exactly.

I reconnected with myself today. Just being in that store made me think of all the possibilites that come from the world around us. I'm basically in a trance right now. I just keep seeing the things that were there and thinking on things greater than me. There's so much beauty, depth and meaning out there...and to think, we'll never live long enough to see and understand it all. It's bizarre.

I'm tempted to buy some tarot cards and rearrange everything I have to reflect on these ideas. I'm not going wacko religious junkie on anybody...I still want to be me, Catholicism (yes, I'm Catholic. Shut the fuck up.) and all. Speaking of which, tomorrow is Easter and I won't see my best friend in the universe because...well, I don't know why. My cousin means the world to me, and I got a slight chance to see her today--but her parents denied us of it. Ha, how depressing. You know, I've noticed, everything seems wrong with the world. I guess it's up to ourselves to keep our worlds straight. To be honest, at this point my life isn't so bad, I just think I'm completely scrambled.

You know, probably nothing I've said here makes any sense.
But in some way it means a lot to me.
I can't even fathom what goes on in my own head.
And somehow, I don't think that's important.

As long as I can see beyond my own input, maybe...well, I'm not entirely sure.

I'm too physically drained to be sure. All I know is where my heart is and where my creativity is taking me. Maybe I can close my eyes and see further. It's a contradiction to top all contradictions, but sometimes the unconscious is a better indicator than the waking world and conscious thought.
And maybe when I sleep, I can visit him for a moment. Bastardo.
Bastardo, bastardo, bastardo....

My eyelids are heavy.

Te amo, bastardo

It was one of those days where no matter how much noise there was, it seemed as though everything was quiet.

As if I wasn't stressed enough with deadlines and writing news stories, my ex had to be his usual self. I got a call about 30 minutes before my 1:30 class started. It was my godson, Dylan. He's eight years old. He was crying his little eyes out--something a godmother doesn't want to hear. So what happened? My ex forgot to pick him up from tutoring. While my godson is on spring break, he still goes to these advanced placement kind of tutoring things that keep him mentally stimulated since he's smarter than the other kids in his class. It let out at 11:30 since it's spring break so they're giving the kids a chance to relax. Me being at school interviewing my ass off and getting ready to run over to do one last interview before just barely making it to class, I had to call Aalyssa, his mom, which shouldn't have been my fuckin job in the first place. Good thing Aalyssa was just getting out of the doctor's office when I called. I asked Dylan to call back in five minutes, and him being a good boy, he did and he was calm. I stayed on the phone with him until Aalyssa went to get him and thankfully she lives close to the school where he recieves the advanced placement thing.

I figure that was the end of it. Why wouldn't it be, right?
Oh no, as soon as I'm done interviewing and trying to chill out in the newsroom, talk about parties to come, and be worry free now that the interviewing was over I get a phone call. I answered to Dylan's voice, so I figured it would be just fine. Turns out, it was godmother to the rescue. I had to yell at the foolish twit that fell asleep when he was supposed to get his godson. Yes, he fell asleep.
But you know why that was "good justification"? Because he was going to wake up in a few minutes!
When does that ever fuckin happen? Everyone tries to say that, but you know fuckin what? That's a sorry excuse! How can you fall asleep and expect to wake up in a few minutes? You're not Penn nor are you Teller, so don't try it!

But it gets better.
Somehow it was my fault. But that can't be. I was working. But somehow it was still my fault because "I'm always working." And you know...yes, I am! I write for a freakin newspaper! When I've got deadlines, the days become shit with stress and an overload of work. So finally I ended up telling him to suck it even though he supposedly does a lot of things for us (well, damn! He must be a magician because I don't see a thing!) and he hung up on me as if I commited a crime against nature because I called him out on his damn faults. I know no one likes to hear it, but when you do something as irresponsible as that, brace yourself because you need to hear it if you do that.

After that I took it easy with Cristian by going to Jack In the Box with him and having a big discussion about interests and life stories and whatnot. I realized that I finally have new friends that are much better than those I've lost. It was pretty chill and it turns out Cristian likes a lot of the same music I do and he knows Led Zepagain (as do I). It's eerie how much in common I have with the newspaper staff. I'm guessing it's because we're all journalists. I mean, with any field, it takes certain characteristics in order to truly love and partake in the field. That's probably what happened to all of us. What's even creepier is how much I have in common with Pearl...we even have the same coffee brewer and the same breed of dog. Trust me, the similarities run very deep.

I haven't talked to my ex since about 3:30 p.m. Last time I called Aalyssa, she didn't know if he was there or not. That, in some ways, relives me. In another sense, it leaves me pacing throughout my little stressed out head. Yesterday I recieved a letter from him saying the boldest and bravest thing that has ever come out of his mouth: "You deserve someone better, not someone who's a scared little boy." While he was trying to get me to turn to others and make myself happy, it only made me come toward him all over again. No matter his idiocy, he always manages to say something truthful and heartfelt. He even says it at the appopriate times, but the degree of depth to his words has the opposite effect on me, as it would to anyone else. What makes things like this so different from everything else is that when someone can admit to you their flaws and try to push you into thinking how terrible they are, they show so much courage and care, that there's no way anyone can resist. I'm sure so many people feel foolish for being melted by someone's honesty, but really--there's nothing that can fight it. If someone cares that much, how can you not care back, especially if you loved them?

Yet I somehow can't take my own advice. I'm embarrassed because I'm so used to immediately rejecting those that have hurt me so strongly. But that's another thing, there's so many magnitudes of hurt, and really, he's never given me that much pain before. Never was any pain I've felt so intense that I had the urge to completely destroy him and cut him down. I wonder if it's because of my feelings...but I don't dare go there.

It's closing time for me.
My mind can't take any more of this sort of thinking.
It's time to put everything back in order...if only I knew how.

I think I love that idiot.
How could I dare?
How could I not?
Can I spare an answer?
Or at least a breath?
An idea?
A thought?

Sorry, we're closed.