Not the Baseball Player

"I will never say the things that I want to say to you. I know the damage it would do. I love you more than I hate my loneliness and pain."

"If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you."

"I will use my mistakes against you."

"When life hands you a lemon, say "Oh yeah, I like lemons. What else you got?"

Brief and Monotonous Thoughts

I'm going to wake up and wonder, "Why did I do that?"

Kira and I'll be checkin' stuff off my resolution list Saturday.

They switched the date of the dodgeball tournament, so now I can't be in it. I forced pull-ups upon everyone for nothing.

Being the only girl on HiQ makes me feel much, much more lonely than I thought I would be.

I have an idea for "art," that is more suitable as a comic. I drew it on one of the letters I keep writing.

Ceci tells stories with grandiose gestures. The word grandiose is always awkward.

If I had finished my art work on time, she would have given me an excellent sticker instead of 50 points off.

Birthday presents still haven't arrived yet. I am sorry. I don't even have wrapping paper.

I have a feeling I'll be crying on the same day, two years in a row, for similar reasons.

The canned food drive was totally lame this year. It makes me sad. Poor people must have very high sodium diets.

Mrs. A. is beckoning me, saying, "This is everything you could be if only you educate yourself! Let your ignorance die so you can grow!" And I think, "It is everything I want to be, except not that psycho," realizing this conversation is interpreted from gestures and gaps of logical mental functioning.

I spoke with my brother for a long time today. I missed him. I miss a lot of people. I am far away.

"We are each a beautiful snowflake that will melt in hell."
PfSC: 233 "Guest Comic" 249 271 277 reminds me of Stasi.

Chloe Who Is a Ghost Who Is Afraid

"There are no boring places, only boring people. Do something exciting! Jump in that fountain! Swim around a little! Take some coins!"
"But they are wishes."

Please, come up to my room where there are boardgames and conversations to be had. We can grow old together and retire and cure the common cold or invent a new ice cream flavor. Perhaps in our old age we'll wind up living in a mansion infested by lethal table settings and colorful party guests. I collect vinyl records, did you know? Yeah, it's pretty rockin'. Sometimes I place the needle on Pink Floyd and ponder the past or the death of Paul, staring at the posters above my ceiling. I've been meaning to get those glow in the dark stars for a long time. Also I play a little guitar. I'll improv you a song if you'd like. I can't guarantee it will rhyme, but it will be original and for you.

"the point is not the communication of truth, but the truth itself. No one should ever say, 'come hear this speaker.' But rather: 'there is nothing you can to make god stop loving you.' Or not saying anything at all and loving someone."

I miss when religion was easy. After I watched the Mummy on a very terrible evening for an eight year old, I was terrified of the scarabs. I would go through my bed-time routine. Brush teeth. Check. PJs. Check. Stuffed animals. Check. Check. Check. The last step in the ritual is to go and flick off my light switch. However, because my light switch is outside of my room, when I reentered my room, I wouldn't necessarily know where everything was. I imagined that the scarabs had been waiting under my bed and were pouring out across the floor. So, I would run and jump across them into my bed. Of course, they could still crawl up over my sheets and me, so extra protection was needed. I would curl up as small as possible, imagining myself encased by a clear, white dome on a blue floor. God would hold me there. But just so I felt safe, he would put all kinds of lions and tigers and bears around the dome so I could see him protecting me. It made me very sad to lose my faith.

"It's okay to do a thing and not know why."

My brother learned to snap today. He's not very good at it, but I am proud of him.

"You did what you thought was best, but it was wrong."

Writing this, I was listening to the moth, which contributed the quote below. The storyteller was fantastic, a woman of "multi-racial, multi-cultural" background who turned down MTV for stereotyping. It forced me to wonder what stories would I tell? Can I go on for ten minutes in an engaging fashion? "Rainy Day Adventure" is too short. I could recount the whole venture of "the pit." There's "Romantic Summer '08" "Adventure Summer '09." Perhaps the many years of HiQ or the emerging English class with Mrs. A. I want to know what stories everyone would tell.

"You better get a chiropractor too, so you can be neckrollin' bitch #1 and neckrollin' ho' #2."

Lux Aeterna

"You are seeing me on the best day of my life," because it is the only day of my life. The past is memory, and the future is that ever distant tomorrow. It has become a very strange thing, to dread going home. School and academic obligations are a bastion of productivity, education, and camaraderie. I'm busy, busy, busy, makin' plans, stuff to do. Surrounded by action and peers, I won't start crying without provocation. I won't waste my life in falling asleep. I do my homework this year, not because it will benefit me educationally, but because it is a distraction from emptiness. This void is increasingly filled by a preoccupation with beauty. Producing beauty is beautiful: art, literature, music. The occasional conscious thought is beautiful. The grand and magnificent cosmos is beyond my comprehension, but I try to appreciate it. This is still a life of emptiness, light and visions and ideas of the ethereal. Substance, contact, action seem like some other intangible dream, despite my efforts to be a productive and useful person. Form and functionality. Utility and aesthetics.

I've paralleled my division of art and function with my duality of reason and emotion. Everything I engage in is unsatisfying to the ethos and a gross outrage of logos. Out of my control is the burning desire to utterly indulge one extreme at the cost of completely smothering the other. As a cynical child, the life of pure rational is my utopia. As a feckless teenager, I demand the selfish satisfaction of my urges in a wild abandonment of reason. As a human, I am aware that I will never live the purity of these desires. Yet, despite this, I attempt to enjoy them simultaneously, to the destruction of both. It is a shameful embarrassment that yields no pleasure and scathes my companions.

This explanation is my excuse, my exemption from responsibility. I am childish and burdensome and still demanding more.

Science Fiction - Sci-Fi - Syfy

"You're the only ones zany enough to agonize over time and distance without limit, over mysteries that will never die, over the fact that we are right now determining whether the space voyage for the next billion years or so is going to be Heaven or Hell."

Vonnegut. Bradbury. Asimov. Clarke. Sagan. Imagination and language were given to these men to expand the mind and humanity of others.