My mind is flooded with thoughts at the moment, and I feel I can't speak eloquently about them all right now, but I need to jot them down in some form. Panic is my least favorite emotion, and I feel it all too often. I wasted $45 today on a mediocre show that was filled with political bullshit, which is unfortunate knowing how much effort went into the whole thing by students, but it was cheapened to the point of burlesque, even lower, farce, so that I felt disgusted by the end and embarrassed for everyone else by the end of it. I feel strange today, like I'm on the brink of something, perhaps a xenith, that I have yet to identify. It isn't really positive or negative, just a vortex of nervous energy churning at my insides. I've had strange, vivid, panicked and highly symblic dreams lately. One where I'm living in an old house from my childhood, with myboyfriend and my little brothers, and one of them fakes losing his arm in a lawn mower, and when I find out he's faking, I start slapping the crap out of him. And another where my boyfriend and I are living in a tree house, and I'm meeting up with some old friends but decide to leave early because some old exes keep trying to come on to me. Then when I get home, I see my bf sweating in his sleep because he's nervous about said thing happening, and I relieve him by waking him and being there. The last dream had to do with looking like Silent Hill in a way, and being creeped out of my mind the entire time. I will recount the entire thing later.


Another realm

I sometimes wish I had access to the world of my dreams. I see a world inside when I sleep, though it is still rare when I come upon a dream that I wish I could return to. Instead I can only remember intrinsic details, and peer at them; as impressionist paintings. I wish I could go back to that house, with the several different rooms with the one garden-themed room that I can never find, and the caves, and that beach house, among others. I haven't remembered many of my dreams lately, and I definitely haven't been writing them down. And I don't know why my dreams have diminished in clarity so much, but I hate it.

Memories are a problem too. I often encounter sights, smells, or just auras of suggestion that bring me feelings of melancholy, of desire, or desperation, like they should trigger some related memory, but they don't, or at least, not ones that I remember. And then there are the pictures in my mind, those of which I will never be sure are really memories or dreams. A couple of them seem too bizarre to be real, but too clear to be a dream, but really I was too young to remember clearly anyway.


A Gossamer Heart

This world has been shifted
to include yet another,
This one introduced
makes yet one more tether.

one lone observer
who seeks to develop
finds a gossamer heart
they desire to envelop.

Both hearts a-clamor
create their own world
where each gossamer heart
may freely unfurl.



Even if we were to be separated today,
I could not say that my life would not be
affected by your presence.

I could no longer think of winter and the sea,
or of music in its entirety
without connecting you to it.

I would still remember
how your presence calmed my senses
and made bad moments tolerable.

I would remember
not saying your name most of the time
because I felt I knew you
without having to re-identify you.

I will always remember
how you loved me in my body
always with affection
and without constant grading of performance.

And of course,
I will remember
how I felt writing about
what I remember,
and wondering about
what you'll remember.


I like this part of it: 

I had always dreamed of someone like you in my world
yet never had I thought you would wake up in it
nor I next to you, immersed in yours.

But now I'm not sure if I should try to rewrite the rest of it, or perhaps separate it from the rest? I like the rest of it; it's just that they don't all jive together. But the first stanza I think is the best by itself. Perhaps I should make a little booklet of poetry. Which leads me to another question: should I include some old poetry? He's seen some of it, but it doesn't have to be from the things he's seen. I'll attempt another something now:

writing thinking coming alive

How odd it is
of all my poetry
that has existed
you had somehow
never appeared within.
Thinking back,
you should have been
most inspiring of all.
And yet,
I never once had thought to.
Was I only compelled
by negativity
to write as I did,
somehow not concerning you?
Or was it fear,
you being near
to my heart,
of judgement to my art?
No matter.
Or perhaps,
it is the fact
I had not felt the need to seek you
in writing,
you are there,
a hopeful constant,
in my ever-morphing life.
That I had no need to wonder,but I do.
And so,
for you,
is my pondering
over you.

Another one:

What silly sounds of affections we make,
whether miao, mew, or meer.
Why are we sometimes caught up in these sounds,
 present to each others ears?


A Valenti-No, an "I Love You" Poem. Screw Valentine's.

This is a first attempt at writing some truthful poetry to my love, which while not being mushy, will still somehow make a pillow out of his heart. :P This may or may not change between this page and the final draft, but you may not see the final draft anyway.

starchildren universe science mind truth perspective world

I had always dreamed of someone like you in my world
yet never had I thought you would wake up in it
nor I next to you, immersed in yours.

We humans tend to
cannibalize sensation,
my hands to feel as yours,
to live vicariously through vibrations,
or pulsations,
or whichever manner through which we connect
with our star-stuff.

Extractions of extractions,
cosmos, gaia, anthropos, anima, eros?
The extent, the order,
of which I may never know.

Yet, anxious I am not.

For what the universe
knows to be uncertain,
This one knows
she holds an interesting person.

I'll save this for now.



I saw the moon tonight, while driving back from picking up some dinner. I knew it was supposed to rise at about 6 tonight, but when I came over the hill to come face to face with her, I practically cried at her brushed golden radiance. Even now I see her as she watches me write; she creeps through a thin gauze of clouds, spreading her refections into spectacular displays deep azure and golden metals, a blue tiger's eye. I never know what to make of these moments emotionally. It always seems surreal, and I'm never sure if something is trying to reach me, or if I am reaching for it. Happy moongazing.


I have a feeling that I've been battling a little bout of depression lately. I have before, but I've never been terribly busy and around another person 24/7 while one came about before, and I've found out in came out in different ways this time. I almost didn't realize that I had been until I started coming out of it. I had gotten new reprtoire from my teacher to learn over the break, not only to get ahead for next semester, but also to judge how self-motivated I coukd be. Didn't work very well, I have one piece half-learned, and that has less to do with my practiced skills and more with my tonal memory. :/
Now though, I've noticed I suddenly want to take dogs on walks, am planning things fiscally for next semester, and am attempting to pull myself back towards the piano. I'm also trying to see if corrective dentistry can be afforded this semester. With having 22 units this semester, it probably isn't wise to attempt having a job, but I may try anyway. I have no money otherwise.