this is too hard.

I can't figure out where I want to go to school.

All I'm asking for is a challenging, medium-sized university that's not a conservatory in a culturally-centered city with a good music school, a B.A. in Vocal Performance, and a minor in Spanish.

Is that so hard?

I've basically come to a revalation that St. John's probably isn't going to work for me. So what will?

NYU would be incredible. NYU would be amazing.

me likey.

Here's some stuff I wrote yesterday and today. Each is an independent entity.
I like them. They just came to me...god, that's so cliche.

(Disclaimer: this in no way reflects my life, chillax.)

but why should I write
of castles and kings when I
could write about you?



I could write of what I hear
of four in the morning
of hotel sheets and collapsed veins
of bruised arms
of glass ashtrays in pieces.



you left my sheets twisted and crumpled
and smoked salvia in my bathroom.
we both thought you God
but you fell so heavy
while I rose in drifting curls.


The last one's my favorite. It's actually structured. I don't have a damn clue how it happened.

soy perezosa. lo siento, mundo.

It's been a while. My good friend just read my entire blog today and showered me with praise, so I figured I'd update. :]

Here's what is going on in my life:

I went to Governor's School and it was completely incredible.

I am going to St. John's College in Annapolis, MD next fall come hell or high water.

I got dumped for the first time ever on July 19. I promptly wrote this poem:

why should I have anything to say to you?

let's be friends and

that wouldn't be fair to you and

you were so wonderful, don't think it's your fault.

you've said enough.

stop.

words are hollow and

mass-producing blank newsprint doesn't convey any information

multiply a null set and you still get zero.

the elevator smells sterilized

like clinical precision, like death in a hospital hallway and now I realize

that distance makes the heart wither, crumple,

tear itself into bleeding fragments of hope and trust and memory.

I can't even sing with any kind of feeling

because as my heart rends itself into shards

my breath stops

I feel my bones pushing through my skin

and the saline sting of hot tears as they

stain the music in my hands, as they

wet my cheeks that burn with embarrassment

while everyone stares at me like a caged animal, as they

fall like the rain outside this window

--which, by the way,

as it hits the fabric of an umbrella,

sounds just like fireworks popping, like

hot summer nights and

laughter and barbecues and

memories that continue to flood my eyes as the

puddles flood my shoes.

it's pitiful what reminds me of you--

the rain and

these jeans and

the bathroom mirror and

my tendency toward self-deprecation.

but it doesn't matter, NONE of it MATTERS

because analyzing past actions

doesn't change the consequences and

destroying the physical evidence

doesn't erase the scars and
ignoring the dreams

doesn't mean they won't turn into nightmares and

saying "I love you"

doesn't make it true.

grito con ganas

words fail they are

incomprehensible

as they rush and tumble

crashing on the rocks

insurmountable obstacles of language

the flood is frantic

and desperate

and wonderful

I shake and twitch and fidget with

emotion and anticipation that

well it doesn't make sense really

but

warm air like silk or

horchata, rice milk, sweetly and smoothly

flows and coats the throat and

embraces every pore and

I want to hug the air that touches gently

but never stifles as summer often can

I only need walls when

it is cold and empty behind them

there is too much music in this air

I dance and twirl and I

just can't help it I shout just to

relieve the pressure of being human

when this world is made for divinity

it's been a while.

This is what I believe today:

I believe that a woman has the right to do with her own body what she may, including aborting a fetus before the point of viability.

I believe that it doesn't matter whether or not I go to a great college; if I care enough, I will try hard enough to survive.

I believe that sex is completely normal and that, considering the health benefits, we might want to listen to our hormones.

I believe that we all have a dark side that will be physically manifested unless we watch horror movies and porn, or exercise vigorously.

I believe that marriage, though historically a religious institution, is merely a legal and contractual ball-and-chain and has no sanctity in modern culture that could possibly be destroyed by the private affairs or relationships between consenting adults of the same gender.

I believe that the ONLY thing of value that humans have created is music.

I believe that laws are only created by those who realize that they are too weak as humans to be morally acceptable without a mandate.

I believe it's a good thing I haven't posted in so long. It means I'm too busy being fairly pleased with my life. :]

I screw everything up.

shallow bitch
go on!

make decisions!

hurt people!

ch-ch-ch-changes.

I feel like my life is catching up finally with modern stereotypes of the average American teenager.

Pretty different things happening recently; some are good, some absolutely terrifying.

I am finally friends with I.S.; we talked some issues out a couple weeks ago and today had a wonderful conversation. His sister adopted a baby and now he's an uncle--I couldn't be more excited for him; I know how much he likes kids.

S might have HIV. He is six days older than me, and may have recently contracted a virus that leaves its victims with an average life expectancy of 33 years after contraction and that can turn into The Negative Connotation that is AIDS, thus shortening that 33 years. Why isn't there a cure? Duke University, the college/corporation that basically owns my hometown, is developing a shirt that refracts light around its wearer, thus acting as an Invisibility Cloak, but no one can find a drug to fight microscopic bodies that can't even survive in open air? This scares the hell out of me.

I am officially The Virgin in my group of friends. It has become a stretch of the mind to actually think of a close acquaintance who is not sexually active. This makes me feel pathetic. I know that losing that status at any time in my prior attempts at relationships would have been a disaster-- hindsight's nice like that--but I still feel like a child. I'm not NOT doing it for moral or religious or health or any other kind of reasons. I have no excuse. I don't want to rush it, but REALLY. I'm going to be 18 in a few months; this is pitiful.

J spent the night in jail for drug possession. Apparently people are pretty sketchy and the food sucks.

R is really good to me. Better than I could have predicted. Practically perfect in every...anyway. I'm worried. It is becoming more and more obvious that I am going to HAVE to tell my mother. I don't want her to freak out or feel like I've betrayed her trust. There are two directions in which that conversation could turn: one with the outcome I pray for, and the other as a screaming fight involving awkward questions about sexual motives and why he would want to date someone so far out of his age range. And yes, 5 years is not so much in most circumstances, but it's different! She's in high school!

It's not different. He cares about me. This is the first time someone has really cared about me like this, and if she destroys it...I will never forgive her.

On a lighter note, Hail to the Thief and Kid A are fantastic. This brings my Radiohead album rankings to:

1. Hail to the Thief
2. In Rainbows
3. Kid A
4. The Bends
5. OK Computer
6. Amnesiac
7. Pablo Honey

God knows that'll change by next Thursday. I wonder what else will.