I forgot nothing but the feeling

Today I reread my saved texts. Deleted a few. Still not any of the ones from Dave. They're too beautiful and remind me that he's more than apathetic. He does feel, did feel, and I inspired it. I didn't remember what it felt like to get those messages, but I remembered the words.

In career development we keep talking about goals and future careers. I got the same Myers-Briggs test score as Wasiq, Kevin, and Steve G. They said we had long term goals. I know Was and Kev do, but not me. I want to have a goal, but not a job.

"I switched my fake crush from you to Jimmy on Sunday. My offer to make out with you continues, but not the rest of the sexual harassment."
-Chloe, to Big Was

AIM Prose that Became Poetry

I was going to go in the guy's and graffiti there
but I don't know what yet
not poetry
but close
it's not my poetry, btw
it's famous stuff
but not really
because nobody reads poetry
so it's not really famous



*sigh*
I don't belong in garnet valley
I'll find my place
and then I'll walk out of it into the next



I really like people and it makes me sad sometimes that nice people are sad and I don't understand any of it
I feel so young and naive and I don't know why I walk all the time
but I enjoy it
I shouldn't be up this late
but I was writing a letter
and now I'm crazy
er
I have to go to bed

things I wrote on my hand today

in a dark and confusing world, you burn brightly

if you die in canada, you die IRL

T.H. White's MERLIN

Jimmy Carter was attacked by a giant swimming rabbit

I baked them a cake shaped like the internet

Rationalizing the familiar is easy

male inflatableable sex toy $40

Honor Honour Monty Python promote surreal humor humour

What time is it?
Now.
That's a boring answer.
No it's not.
It's the most interesting answer imaginable.

let the poets cry themselves to sleep

meerkats can play rugby

this graffiti is fleeting human contact
both of us lost
but for a moment, lost together
I wonder who you are*

*coming soon to a bathroom stall near you

Perspective

This weekend I have spent a significant amount of my time with people. Friday was probably the best day of 2009 for me so far. Stasi and I started talking on my bus, and didn't stop until we fell asleep sometime after midnight. Our conversation ranged everything from futures and ideals and philosophy and boys and sex and family and memories. It was so easy to talk. It flowed constantly, including while sharing a bowl of mac n' cheese and then two little slices each of cheesecake. I was sad to realize it was the first time I'd ever discussed philosophy in depth, and that I wouldn't feel comfortable speaking with my "closer" friends. We have many similarities, and I think her life is very exciting, if because of its extremes. I am comfortable in my nerdy happy medium, but I have no scars, I have never broken a bone, I've never gotten drunk, and there aren't any exciting boys in my life.

I talked about Dave a lot, bleh, but she really helped me to see the apathy. I knew it was there, he listed it in his favorite things, and I in my least favorites. But I didn't see it applied or directed towards me, despite the obvious. Thanks, Stasi. :]

My only thought for the last two days

I wish I could honestly say this quote:

"I love my past.
I love my present.
I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and
I'm not sad because I have it no longer."

edit: I can say it

Some Songs

Wish You Were Here: a beautiful, sparse guitar duet by Pink Floyd, the words are gorgeous and the music divinely warm and simple.

It was the first riff I learned on guitar because Matt taught it to me some Monday after drumline practice freshman year. It made me think about him for a while afterwards.
"I was dueting with my uncle and we played Wish You Were Here and it made me sad. :(" -Dave
It is the most important vinyl album I own and the basis for the mural on my door.

American Pie: piano and guitar, it's got nonsensical lyrics that sing of lost love, an inability to help others, and a love of fading music.

The first full song I learned to play on guitar, I've screamed through choruses with Katy Creppon, in Sarah's basement, and hope to with new friends as well.

Soco Amaretto Lime: guitar and harmony and a vinyl scratch, this song made me cry for the memories I won't have and adventure and wondering if I will ever again be young and love in the same time.

Jeff showed it to me after the Power Pit Reunion, and I cried in front of him for the third time in less than a month.

You Can't Always Get What You Want: English chorus, guitar, lonely trumpet, Mick Jagger, and one hot maraca, it's the epitome of my quiet longing and belief that it'll all turn out alright or dead.

The only song featured on [H]ouse twice, it was my personal motto for a long time.

Hallelujah: piano and vocals, it doesn't really matter who's singing it. The words are Biblical in nature, and sometimes I don't understand, but when I do, it's tragic.

The times sung together my first year with the pit, innumerable. Coffee House and private moments of mourning, this is the most important song of my high school career and summary of freshman year.

Golden Slumbers: Abbey Road, a piano and strings and childhood idealism and the dream that someday I will not wake up alone.

In My Life: The Beatles' most sentimental work by my standard, and once hailed as the greatest song of all time, it is a very thin song with vocals and warmth and harmony.

Landed: piano, a drum set, a bass and Ben Folds' voice, it's about redemption and leaving and being welcomed back.

My favorite song by Ben Folds (that is not a cover of Bitches Ain't Shit), I've seen my clouds come tumbling down countless times.

Mr. Tambourine Man: the most lyrical poetry I've ever come across, the guitar is simple and the harmonica sad.

I want everything beautiful and free in this song.

Love Reign O'er Me/Baba O'Riley: I couldn't pick my favorite The Who song. They've both got memories.

Samson: quiet piano and the unattainable voice of Regina Spektor, I can never be the first one to love you.

Us and Them: the second riff I learned on guitar, it's a beautiful, swirling culmination of every beautiful instrument and sad thought I can muster.

It's only barely my favorite song from my favorite album for reasons I won't explain. It would be The Great Gig in the Sky, if only because someone I admired and found solidarity in and was jealous of in 9th grade loved it.

Farmhouse: a beautiful song with enveloping guitar by Phish and lyrics so simple and comforting.

It was playing when I finally escaped Dave bearwrestling, and it made each think of the other though that was found out later. I couldn't believe how perfect it was and is. There are several by Phish I should include, but I'd have to thank Dave for introducing me to them. I feel like I can't like them on my own.

Thunder Road/Born to Run: The Boss has more "American" lyrics of freedom and young love than all the novels of experience I've yet read and I cannot choose. Whether guitar, piano, or mad saxaphone, they are wonderful for their own reasons.

In the Sun: featured on Scrubs, a solitary guitar, and vocals warm and cold at the same time, there are memories I can't stand to think of.

Going to California/Tangerine: my favorite by Led Zeppelin, they're of a quieter guitar than many of their other rockin' hits, but the lyrics are more for me and childhood escapism

Old Man: by Neil Young and the Stray Gators, it's a simple guitar and a wavering voice singing of growing old and the differences and change of age and idealism

It was the first and only song my dad has sang with me to some degree of completion. I was singing it as I came home the first time I snuck out.

Stolen: a blatant pop song with a strong guitar, drums, and vocals by Dashboard Confessional.

I played it for two hours the day I broke up with JoeKat, determined that I would give it a try and not end what had given me so much happiness. This summer made it all the more a reality, because when the last week of the gold and glimmer was replaced, I intended to break up with Dave to save myself heartbreak. He fell in love with me, and ended that notion.

Some I loved before the memories, some the memories made me love. There would be many more from Pink Floyd, Phish, and The Beatles if I was going into songs that should be appreciated with all reverence, but these are the best. Probably another 30 would be needed for me to accurately depict the summation of my musical choices with importance, but I left out blink-182 and Bright Eyes because there are a lot that I feel like I shouldn't be so attached to.

Stuff

Stuff I want to write about, random crazy things I've been thinking about, sad things I don't want to think about, and general thoughts perusing my head:

I'm going to write a short story about the aftermath of "the rain." The rain where it was raining men (Hallelujah) and every woman found their perfect love. What would happen to the men who had to find out that they weren't perfect for anyone?

If no one could lie to you. Not that they'd have to tell the truth, but if everything they said became truth. Not stories, but things they told to you as fact. Like fortune cookies. Steve Goff got "you love sports, horses, and gambling, but not to excess :)" What the hell? Or maybe just if every fortune cookie told you the truth, no matter how it was presented.

I know you meant it, and I loved you before and because of it, but I honestly don't think you'd be capable of breaking his neck. I feel like I never told you I loved you, even if it's not like that.

Sometimes I feel like I'm making friends. Not real friends necessarily, but who I would like to talk to more and make it official. Also all the people who I've really liked before, but know I don't fit in with.

My little brother kicks ass. Literally and figuratively. I wonder about his personal character when he's not with me. I don't know where he gets his money.

I think I may have found my person to talk philosophy with. Looking back, I wonder how we all fit together, and who the next one will be. It's really strange to think about it, but I really like all of Dave's ex-girlfriends. He's got good taste in girls. We should form a club.

Vocab Vednesday is going to be awesome! I'm super excited for our first word, "calamity." Mad props to Matt and Dimitri Martin.

Vegetarianism appeals to me as part of a kind and efficient existence. However, it seems right that as an omnivore I should not deny myself meat. Once I go to college, I won't buy myself meat, as it's economically better, healthier, and generally more convenient. If someone offers, or it's Thanksgiving, I will indulge. Best line ever "it's a cookbook." The episode ends with, "Sooner or later, we'll all be on the menu." What a great fucking show.

I don't know how to tell someone they smell terrible and should shower more often. Do I do it anonymously? Other people agree with me, so I think something has to be said. It's incredibly pervasive and offensive to be near them for any period of time.

My reading has seemingly been all intertwined and self-referencing recently. Perhaps it's because I've been reading very leftist literature. Music has been an interesting change for me recently. I've been listening to rock and loud music to drown out the other thoughts and I'm enjoying it. However, many of my new music choices are mildly influenced by people I don't associate with at all.

I was totally serious watching that hilarious movie. Next time, just you three, we're gonna think it's even funnier.

Pirate seems like an ideal occupation, if only the Robin Hood kind of pirate stealing from oil tankers and rich assholes. It's the freedom of the wild seas, a collective anarchy, and all the booze and wenches. Being a girl gets you really appreciated I should think.

Being sexually harassed makes me feel pretty.

Sometimes I try to reconcile my philosophies and it doesn't quite work. I want to live the beautiful ideal that I am best to determine what is best for me, an anarchy. And yet, I would give my control to the boy who introduced me to this philosophy. Communism can only work with enough people. But I don't want to force people to join, otherwise it still won't work. I don't want to waste any time not doing what I want. However, it doesn't matter what I want if it absolutely takes someone else to complete it. If I do everything in my power to do what I want, it may still come down to someone else's affirmation. Be silly. Be honest. Be kind.

In my entry, "Questions I Should Ask" I don't remember who I was going to ask seven of the questions, but think they were important.

Romanticism and Decisions

Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote in the Romantic Period about the Puritan Period. I was very much aware of Romanticist ideals. Being very much conflicted with how I incorporate the emotional extremes and reckless abandon into my life, I will not stand to give up the luxury of reason and logic. Mr. Longo asked if anyone had to make an important decision recently, in an attempt to give an example of the reasoning vs. impulse response. Hurriedly, I raised my hand. The moment returned rushing and quiet. Those seven important syllables came back to perch upon my lips. Of course, there was more than those seven, but the only ones he heard. The fear and trembling doubt collapsed over me in a movie version of my choice. It was the perfect example of logic vs. being swept up in the beautiful ideals of passionate Romanticism. Longing so painful, so grating and drawn out, finally eased and the vision of a perfect sidewalk in June. And yet, apprehension, hesitation, fear. I wanted to give everything, but logic made that sudden positive/negative chart. "Wrong place," glared the headline. "There will always be time," said the sub-header. The only two whims of logic, and I spat out the most important words of my life. "Would you like to share?" Asked Mr. Longo.

"Nope." And he moved on.

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry describing the fear of what will happen after he stopped loving me. It is undated, but was written sometime after October 13th, 2008.

I fear that when there is no more love and awkward interactions and memory remains, he will leave with indifference, reducing me to a good girl and a good fuck and I will go about with my pain and heart broken love for what could have been no more. How he will maybe move on, and I will run to Matt in spite. I could not bear in my soul to hurt one in efforts to hurt the other.

P.S. At this point I was pretty certain I was going to fuck Dave. "Never the time and place and lover all together," to quote. "Run to Matt," meant to publicly associate my grieving self with Matt so that Dave would be jealous. However, I knew I couldn't do that because it could potentially undermine his relationship, and I would never have intentionally subjected another girl to my sad fate.

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry that describes my dissatisfaction with my relationship with JoeKat entitled "She's no Baribie™" and, remarking on how devious I had been, I now planned to be. It is dated Sunday, September 28th, 2008.

My mom wants a picture of us, and I think she's going to get another circumstantial accident. Or nothing at all. There's nothing of Joe, but he's a fuck up and fucked me up. Too goddamn awkward to kiss me in public. Dick. Made me feel like a common whore. It's because I'll actually FUCK You! That's why I'm scared. Because I don't want to wait and I won't regret you.

P.S. "Fucked me up" is referencing when he told me he loved me, then took it back less than 24 hours later. Tomorrow will be the last reminiscent day.

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry describing that I didn't believe when Dave told me I looked good or made him happy entitled, "FAITHLESS." It is undated, but was written before Friday, September 12th, 2008.

I can't list the ways you make me happy you just do. I feel guilt over my lack of trust.
"
beautiful
gorgeous
hot stuff
everything happened that was supposed to
this ... [picture] illustrates my feelings for you
You make me feel so awesome
That was awesome
You make me very happy, Chloe
I let you turn me into a Communist
Your named was just carved into a big house's driveway
Wish You Were Here
"

P.S. I did wind up believing it eventually, but still not entirely.

[edit] P.P.S. The picture was of fireworks when he was away in Pittsburgh

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry describing my conflicting emotions and fear of being involved with Dave (before he loved me). It is dated Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008.

I don't think I'm phenominally attached to him. In fact it's hard. I like the attention and the fun and fooling around, and Dave will be the best I have in high school. However, I keep having dreams and song interpretations that I'm going to hurt him. I may be giving myself too much credit though. My biggest fear now is that he'll say, "Kiss me hard, 'cause this will be the last time that I let you." So I try to remember our last kiss just in case. :(

P.S. I do remember our last kiss, and I was upset because I was scared that it might be, and it was a terrible kiss and I got his hair in my mouth. He won't remember it.

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry listing adjectives I was going to use while writing a song for Dave. It is dated Friday, October 10th, 2008.

Vegetarian, anarchist, tattoo'd, pot smoking, guitar playing, rock 'n' rolling, hilarious, genius, detached, Vonnegut reading, Canadian, photographer, artist, snowboarding, skateboarding, wakeboarding, surfing, swimming, peace loving, me loving, bandana donned, hot and handsome, music composing hippi

P.S. I didn't write him a song, and I didn't get mine.

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry describing my frustration at coming up with a pet name for how deviously enamored I was with Dave. It is dated Sunday, August 31st, 2008.

I hate the pet name game because words don't describe how physically attracted I am to you. It's not just your dark complexion, swimmer's body, or fantastic hair. It's also in the way you stand when you play guitar, or the various scars on your hands, how small you make me feel, and the stupid tickle of your neckbeard (Not that I'm endorsing it). "Hot" "handsome" "cute" "sexy" don't do any justice because each has other implications and whatever desire you arouse in me that's strictly physical transcends that. You are some fine eye candy though.

P.S. I'm not entirely sure why I wrote so many notes directly addressing him. Maybe I was planning to say it out loud or hoped he would find it someday. The ones addressed directly to him are the ones I can't post for the most part.

The Left Shoe

I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It has. I feel better.


I WILL NEVER BE SILENT
But I don't want comfort.
I want God,
I want poetry,
I want real danger,
I want freedom,
I want goodness,
I want sin.
I would live my beautiful ideal
R-U-N-N-O-F-T
It doesn't make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who's dead
Vivez sans tempo mort
Anarchy is for lovers
Please me and have no regrets
That's not fair! That's not fair at all! There was time now. There was all the time I needed...
TAKE RISKS
I'm a sucker for a happy ending
Going to California
Always do what you are afraid to
JUMP
As they have dared, so shall I
No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn
Each betrayal begins with trust, every man returns to dust
I'll never have the moon
TANGERINE
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high
There's no hope, but I may be wrong
Your hair down to your legs and your legs down to the floor
WASTE
And all a wonder and a wild desire
You've got to walk that lonesome valley You've got to walk it by yourself
I have beautiful dreams and a gorgeous reality
You're just jealous 'cause we're young and in love
Be Silly. Be Honest. Be Kind.
44/16=2.75
.. .--. --- .--- . -.-- --- .--
SOCO AMARETTO LIME
Fades to background of drums and gunshots
I WILL FIND A WAY
All things must pass. All things must pass away.
The cause of war is preparation for war
I came into this world, not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, good or bad
the most alive is the WILDEST
I long for you tragically, A.T.Chapman [I got this wrong]
We come spinning out of nothingness. Scattering stars like dust.
The blue ones are MAGIC
When a man cannot choose he ceases to be a man
Maple Street, in the last calm and reflective moment before the monsters came
Deep as first love and wild with all regret
Let there be truth between us forever more
NO LIES, JUST LOVE
The people I respect the most behave as if they were immortal and as if society was eternal
Be realistic
Demand the impossible
BARE FEET INVITE TROUBLE
This is the strangest life I've ever seen
Remember when you were young?
You shone like the sun
I'm feeling this
If I seem free, it's because I'm always running
The spirit gone, man is garbage. That was Snowden's secret
The Realms of the Unreal
FUCK YOUR CONTROLS!
This is not an EXIT
O for a life of sensations
I will trust what is deep is holy
This is a dimension of imagination
Thou art to me a delicious torment
I do not believe in god, because I believe in man
the passion you sparked in me one terrible night that persuaded my soul to ignite
I stepped on a dandelion and cried for all of the wishes that could have come true
Down with a world in which the guarantee we will not starve has been bought with the guarantee we will die of boredom
NEVER WORK
Poor people don't exist when times are good
'When it happens, it happens'
LOVE IS UNREASONABLE MADNESS
Stars and rain can be seen through glass ceilings
I AM ENJOYING EXISTENCE AS MUCH AS EVER AND REGRET NOTHING
Deep as first love and wild with all regret, O Death in Life, the days that are no more [not a mistake, I repeated it]
Reflecting on the time when this life shined
Shine On You Crazy Diamond
ALL MEN LOVE A LOVER
A+

there are a number of small doodles all over the shoe.
there are a number of sayings meant to remember everyone.
i'd tell you which one(s) are yours if you ask.
for the most part, if you recognize it and can associate it with me, its for you.
others are special and more secret.

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry about my feelings for Dave prior to him tell me he loved me. It is dated Sunday, August 31st, 2008.

Dave,
I'm writing this not so much for you as for me. I've no doubt there's a goodbye in our future, but you''ll still make me laugh, so it can't end that badly. Every day that thought crossed my mind, but I also remembered that I have you in the now and I'm going to have fun every day I get a chance to be with you. However long it stays fun, interesting, or exciting is how long I'll be here.
I'll do my best to keep you,
Chloe

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry about how distrusting I was of my body image. It is dated Wednesday, September 3rd, 2008.

My mom doesn't tell me I'm pretty. Only that at my age she weighed ten pounds less than me and she's glad I have the self-confidence not to wear make-up. I'd never get a word from my dad. So I'm having a hard time believing. I can't even believe that I'm arousing and/or inspiring good feelings. I thought the whole thing was a bet. I felt prettier and smarter and stronger without you.

P.S. I wrote the last part extra bold. Initially I thought that Dave was flirting with me on some sort of bet, most likely with Joe Marino.

Notes I Wrote

This is my journal entry describing the wonderful, wonderful things that happened to Dave and I since we started flirting around, entitled, "3 Months." It is undated, but written sometime after October 23rd.

July 5th: R+J I'm crushin'
July 15th: Ducks, grist mill, RHPS
July 19th: Night walk DAC
July 30th: First Kiss/Stigmata
August 5th: Girlfriend
August: Wonderful
<28th- Nightwalk, 22nd Cops. penis
September 7th: I love you
September 12th: Tuxeuhffblllehhph
September 20th: Alpaca
September 21: I love him too
September 27th: Cocksucker
October 3rd: Wordless hour
October 9th: Grist Mill

October 31st: Halloween
November-February: :]

P.S. The "<" part was written in the margin. I told him I wasn't going to fuck him before October and his birthday was in February explain the last entry. My first chance came very shortly afterwards, but I didn't because of loyalty to a friend, the way it might have sounded in the future, and the way I remember things and make association. So often I wonder if I should've taken it, but am glad I did not.

Quotes and Notes

Aw, sucks. i just bought you a forums account
-Jeff, on my favorite memory of 2009

Notes on "Notes I Wrote"

I have two journals that are physical, flesh and blood, pulp, glue and binding, diaries. That is not including the incredible number of note books, memo books, thought pads, and other smaller bound paper objects. They are what I write in during the dark and frightful hours of the night when it is simply my thoughts and I, unable to face a computer screen and permanently jot down my thoughts on something public. Hopefully most of that stuff will never see the light of day, but it's also where I wrote the sweet heart pangs of young love, and the fear it would be lost to me. Occasionally some of the scrawling are reasonable enough to commit to electronic memory, which is what the previous ones have been at some point or another. Over the next week or so, starting Sunday, I'm going to find and post at least one small entry a day. They're often a little incoherent or have spelling mistakes, as they were written in the throngs of emotion and usually darkness. The majority I still will be unable to expose for fear of retaliation or revealing myself to be a romantic twat with desires contrary to lust or logic. As everything recent and relevant is about Dave, that's where most of it will come from, but also some family life.

Dreams

A lost friend once told me that sleeping was a waste of time, a drain on your life, because nothing is accomplished during your respite. Occasionally, I would concede, though secretly clinging fast to my ideal of naps and sleeping in. Sleeping was the fastest way to pass boring hours, and the dreams that resulted were more beautiful than any reality I could have created in the same timespan. It is not to say I would waste my youth unconsciously whisked to a magical and frightening dreamland, but that my dreams have as much worth as my memories. Philosophically, the past is nothing but a personal interpretation, a collection of memories. There is, of course, "concrete" evidence the majority these events definitely happened, but for others, the only proof of existence is intangible recollections. If I am still loved in my dreams, and it is as beautiful and moving as past reality's, and brings me to tears when it is dashed by the morning's duties, then those "memories" hold a fonder place than the dull moments spent wandering my house in search of a spectacle.