I feel sad for him, I decide as I watch him fight against the wind. Does it make me a bitch, that I forced him out of my house at two in the morning during a snow storm? Probably.
But he deserved it.
Cheeky bastard,
living off cranberries like that
Feeling uptown, lying down
Hitting yellow and drinking cosmos
Unlikely
Hot and smooshed and just so frilly
Frilly, like a dress
Annoying, living under wraps
Like him
And me
And us
Because we are
Under wraps, I mean
Secret.
Keys and houses and flower pots
Empty of seedings
Though he is full
Of them
And so am I
Hot and bothered, as they say
Cool and frigid, he claims
Trees and bushes and trails
To magic waterfalls
Obscured behind the lies
The feelings
The guesses and the guests
Hiding
From me, or because of me, I don't know
His mother, scowling
She can't see me
For him
For anyone
Frankly, it surprises me
That she can be loved
And I cannot
But he always was a momma's boy
Oedipus reborn and retitled I suppose
I really shouldn't give a Freudian shit
But I do
Because, even if he can't for me
I can for him
And do.
Yelling daisies and flaming whores
Circling round him like bees
Stinging
Flying
Ready to bite
I hate bees
The bug spray never works though
I'm not powerful enough
He doesn't use me
Doesn't acknowledge me
Until we're alone
Just us
And suddenly I'm queen
And none of the others matter
Because nobody does
Except him
And me
And us.
I wish
But it never comes true
Ever
And then I admit it
Hurts, stings, burns
Wish he could see me
For all that I truly am
Instead of what I could be
Could do
For him.
Under him, around him
Surrounded by him
Always have been, always will be
Stay
Always staying
Never going
Though I should
I should go, should run, should flee
I should fly
Because I can
Leave him
Though it would be hard
I need to do it
He can find me if he likes
But I have to save my pride
To heal my heart
To live
Finally
What I've been denying myself
Since I first fell under his spell
Under his body
Under his soul.
Now I'm on top.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Been a While
April 29. I had no idea it'd been so long since my last update. I could write another list of music I bought on Wednesday in preparation for my long bus rides on Thursday and Friday, but I don't feel as if I have the energy. (It was the Civil Twilight CD, a few random songs by The Tragically Hip, a bit of Paramore, some Temper Trap, a little Keane, and, sadly, a Kesha song.)
Honestly, the past month has been crazy as hell. The missed period of April hit me last week, thankfully, or unthankfully, depending on how you look at it. I took a number of important exams and my brain was subsequently turned into mush, though I did earn some awesome Chinese and Greek food with a bunch of my mates after the exams. I've had a bunch of newspaper meetings, and my last column was head of our section. It was quite a funny article, if I do say so myself. There've been a few parties (one earlier today, for instance, until it was destroyed by the weather). I had to get my car smog-checked, hosted a GLEEkEND, sat through an awards night in which I was only mentioned thrice, distributed books, hit Disneyland hard, and then slept and slept and slept.
Seriously, I slept from 2:30 yesterday afternoon to 5:30, woke up for ten minutes, fell back asleep. Awoke at 2:34 am, continued to lie in bed for a while because there's not much to do at that hour around here, fell back asleep at about 4:40, and woke up for good about 9:32 this morning. (All in all, about 17 hours of sleep).
Still, I feel exhausted and am forbidden from sleeping because if I do it will 'throw off my pattern' or something like that. Like I care. I have a headache, my body is still trembling, and my head still spins oddly (my neck hurts like hell, too).
This is probably a boring post. I really can't tell because I'm a bit out of it, nor do I really care. I tried to write glamorous at some point today and wrote grammar instead. I don't know.
On a side note, I'm going in for a beta-job. And I've been accepted. Just waiting my first assignment now. Exciting.
I have a spectacular bruise on my right knee from tripping and doing one of those whale/worm rolls back to my feet until it looked like I hadn't fallen at all. I couldn't see the bruise through my tights, though, and thought I'd only scraped it.
I also scraped my arm diving for a volleyball at the aforementioned party today. And shoved cake frosting in some guy's face, which was entertaining for our table.
I'm not actually sure anyone reads my blog. I suppose I don't really care, either. So I can honestly just write about whatever the hell I want to, even if it makes no sense to anyone else.
One of my partners for our final project in Calc 1 left for the weekend. The project is due Monday at 9:35 am.
A lot of people have been saying hit in the face lately. One of my friends did get hit in the face Thursday night during one of those crazy parties I mentioned. Luckily, no black eye for her. And I hip-checked someone for being a bitch to me. It felt good. At this point, I'd almost been up for 24 hours, so I was exhausted and prone to a quick ignition. It was also the point at which everything was funny as hell. And watching the sky turn light was disorienting, as was coming from dark insides to bright outsides.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, too uncomfortable to sleep properly. Bought a new pillow, helped a bit, but too uncomfortable.
Home, and crash.
I want to crash again, and I just made my bed with clean sheets, but other people won't allow me to sleep. So I write and complain and just ramble on. I think the name of my blog has something to do with rambling thoughts, so this post actually fits my purpose. If I ever really had one.
I got a letter today. I need to respond. Perhaps I should be working on my own letter or even my next article for the paper instead of blogging.
John Donne the poet is especially good. I've decided this recently. 'The Broken Heart' and 'Sweetest Love, I do not Go' are my two favorites from him.
I post-it-noted all my books for August. I'm only taking 70 with me, out of all of them. Seventy seems like a bit number, but some are plays, and they're thin. Speaking of, we're acting out Cyrano de Bergerac this week. I'm expecting great things.
I've been making lists like crazy lately. What to pack, what to bring, things to do, things to not do, scheduling things on my iPod calendar so I don't lose my lists, who to send something to, people to call and the reasons why, who to expect, things that have amused me. One of my lists is three pages, with three columns per page. It's a what to bring/what's needed list. For August, when I move to the coast.
This weather is throwing me off. It's May. Last May was sweltering. Now, it's not even seventy degrees and it's pouring rain and gusting winds like a nor'easter or hurricane. In California. Which is unnatural.
The salsa from tacqueria is amazing, by the way. Went on Wednesday evening before the stupid awards night. I don't think I'll ever be able to eat pretzels and peanut M&Ms together ever again, not after this week.
I keep thinking it's Monday, though it's actually Saturday. Luckily, I'm not the only person thrown off. Many of my friends are also experiencing the after effects.
I want to write. Something serious. Or funny.
Anything, as long as it has a plot.
Sadly, I haven't been able to write anything interesting or complete since... the beginning of March.
That isn't writer's block--it's writer's wall. Or disappearance. Or loss. Or, I don't know, kidnapping.
The plot penguins and bunnies and all other plot-like creatures have bounced on my mind once, only to disappear into waving fields of tall grass and creeks and things they can easily hide amongst.
I miss them. However, I did buy my pillow recently. It's a plushie and a pillow, and a giraffe. Giraffes remind me of Hannah, the best friend I've previously written about. So it's a memento, and a useful thing. It's like a magic sleep-inducer. I've been carrying it to my couch and to bed with me recently and curling around it weirdly. It's too small to spoon properly, though, and there's nobody there to spoon me, so it must do to keep me warm and comfortable. I named it Elmo in response to another friend naming his elephant pillow Carl (my suggestion, after Marteen was dismissed for being too similar to Martin).
Names I'm thinking of:
Schuyler (or Skylar, depending on the sex)
Caelyn
Brett
Kyrie
Quentin
Nathaniel
William
Zephyr
Anthony
Emmett
Gabriel
Brandon
Kale
Last names I like:
Banagher
Delachaise
McNally
Cwen
They've ordered pizza, and I feel like throwing up. I'm still not allowed to sleep. I guess it is early. But I was awake for over 24 hours on Friday, so cut me some slack.
Cars:
*Aston Martins
*Audi
*BMWs
*Mercedes
*Saturn
*Porsche
*Mini Coopers
*Volkswagen
*Dodge
*Lexus
*Toyota
*Volvo
Ferrari
Lamborghini
Ford
GM
Love caters to a lucky few. I'm not among them at the moment. I have more unlucky stars than lucky ones.
My eyes keep closing of their own accord.
I believe I'll take a shower and disappear into my bedroom. I don't care that I'm not allowed to sleep--there are locks for a reason.
G'night, early birds and night owls.
~ hyacinth
Song: 'Science of Fear' by the Temper Trap
Honestly, the past month has been crazy as hell. The missed period of April hit me last week, thankfully, or unthankfully, depending on how you look at it. I took a number of important exams and my brain was subsequently turned into mush, though I did earn some awesome Chinese and Greek food with a bunch of my mates after the exams. I've had a bunch of newspaper meetings, and my last column was head of our section. It was quite a funny article, if I do say so myself. There've been a few parties (one earlier today, for instance, until it was destroyed by the weather). I had to get my car smog-checked, hosted a GLEEkEND, sat through an awards night in which I was only mentioned thrice, distributed books, hit Disneyland hard, and then slept and slept and slept.
Seriously, I slept from 2:30 yesterday afternoon to 5:30, woke up for ten minutes, fell back asleep. Awoke at 2:34 am, continued to lie in bed for a while because there's not much to do at that hour around here, fell back asleep at about 4:40, and woke up for good about 9:32 this morning. (All in all, about 17 hours of sleep).
Still, I feel exhausted and am forbidden from sleeping because if I do it will 'throw off my pattern' or something like that. Like I care. I have a headache, my body is still trembling, and my head still spins oddly (my neck hurts like hell, too).
This is probably a boring post. I really can't tell because I'm a bit out of it, nor do I really care. I tried to write glamorous at some point today and wrote grammar instead. I don't know.
On a side note, I'm going in for a beta-job. And I've been accepted. Just waiting my first assignment now. Exciting.
I have a spectacular bruise on my right knee from tripping and doing one of those whale/worm rolls back to my feet until it looked like I hadn't fallen at all. I couldn't see the bruise through my tights, though, and thought I'd only scraped it.
I also scraped my arm diving for a volleyball at the aforementioned party today. And shoved cake frosting in some guy's face, which was entertaining for our table.
I'm not actually sure anyone reads my blog. I suppose I don't really care, either. So I can honestly just write about whatever the hell I want to, even if it makes no sense to anyone else.
One of my partners for our final project in Calc 1 left for the weekend. The project is due Monday at 9:35 am.
A lot of people have been saying hit in the face lately. One of my friends did get hit in the face Thursday night during one of those crazy parties I mentioned. Luckily, no black eye for her. And I hip-checked someone for being a bitch to me. It felt good. At this point, I'd almost been up for 24 hours, so I was exhausted and prone to a quick ignition. It was also the point at which everything was funny as hell. And watching the sky turn light was disorienting, as was coming from dark insides to bright outsides.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, too uncomfortable to sleep properly. Bought a new pillow, helped a bit, but too uncomfortable.
Home, and crash.
I want to crash again, and I just made my bed with clean sheets, but other people won't allow me to sleep. So I write and complain and just ramble on. I think the name of my blog has something to do with rambling thoughts, so this post actually fits my purpose. If I ever really had one.
I got a letter today. I need to respond. Perhaps I should be working on my own letter or even my next article for the paper instead of blogging.
John Donne the poet is especially good. I've decided this recently. 'The Broken Heart' and 'Sweetest Love, I do not Go' are my two favorites from him.
I post-it-noted all my books for August. I'm only taking 70 with me, out of all of them. Seventy seems like a bit number, but some are plays, and they're thin. Speaking of, we're acting out Cyrano de Bergerac this week. I'm expecting great things.
I've been making lists like crazy lately. What to pack, what to bring, things to do, things to not do, scheduling things on my iPod calendar so I don't lose my lists, who to send something to, people to call and the reasons why, who to expect, things that have amused me. One of my lists is three pages, with three columns per page. It's a what to bring/what's needed list. For August, when I move to the coast.
This weather is throwing me off. It's May. Last May was sweltering. Now, it's not even seventy degrees and it's pouring rain and gusting winds like a nor'easter or hurricane. In California. Which is unnatural.
The salsa from tacqueria is amazing, by the way. Went on Wednesday evening before the stupid awards night. I don't think I'll ever be able to eat pretzels and peanut M&Ms together ever again, not after this week.
I keep thinking it's Monday, though it's actually Saturday. Luckily, I'm not the only person thrown off. Many of my friends are also experiencing the after effects.
I want to write. Something serious. Or funny.
Anything, as long as it has a plot.
Sadly, I haven't been able to write anything interesting or complete since... the beginning of March.
That isn't writer's block--it's writer's wall. Or disappearance. Or loss. Or, I don't know, kidnapping.
The plot penguins and bunnies and all other plot-like creatures have bounced on my mind once, only to disappear into waving fields of tall grass and creeks and things they can easily hide amongst.
I miss them. However, I did buy my pillow recently. It's a plushie and a pillow, and a giraffe. Giraffes remind me of Hannah, the best friend I've previously written about. So it's a memento, and a useful thing. It's like a magic sleep-inducer. I've been carrying it to my couch and to bed with me recently and curling around it weirdly. It's too small to spoon properly, though, and there's nobody there to spoon me, so it must do to keep me warm and comfortable. I named it Elmo in response to another friend naming his elephant pillow Carl (my suggestion, after Marteen was dismissed for being too similar to Martin).
Names I'm thinking of:
Schuyler (or Skylar, depending on the sex)
Caelyn
Brett
Kyrie
Quentin
Nathaniel
William
Zephyr
Anthony
Emmett
Gabriel
Brandon
Kale
Last names I like:
Banagher
Delachaise
McNally
Cwen
They've ordered pizza, and I feel like throwing up. I'm still not allowed to sleep. I guess it is early. But I was awake for over 24 hours on Friday, so cut me some slack.
Cars:
*Aston Martins
*Audi
*BMWs
*Mercedes
*Saturn
*Porsche
*Mini Coopers
*Volkswagen
*Dodge
*Lexus
*Toyota
*Volvo
Ferrari
Lamborghini
Ford
GM
Love caters to a lucky few. I'm not among them at the moment. I have more unlucky stars than lucky ones.
My eyes keep closing of their own accord.
I believe I'll take a shower and disappear into my bedroom. I don't care that I'm not allowed to sleep--there are locks for a reason.
G'night, early birds and night owls.
~ hyacinth
Song: 'Science of Fear' by the Temper Trap
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Singing Along With The Radio
A list of songs I recently bought:
1. "Rome" by Phoenix
I love this band. I really enjoy their music. 'Listomania' was my favorite song for quite a while. Very catchy, French, and I like their lyrics. Lyrics are a big part of music for me. A little techno-y, almost; alternative at its best.
2. "Chelsea Dagger" by the Fratellis
This band was first introduced to me at a music ensemble concert at my school. One of my friends and his bandmates performed a song of theirs, and I really liked it (the song was 'Henrietta' which I recognized from Made of Honor the movie). I like the guitars from this band, and the lead singer has a voice exactly perfect for my friend David's. Plus, back-up vocals.
3. "Dressed In Dresden" by the Hundred In the Hands
iTunes indie-alternative music recommendations for April. That's where I found this one. I thought it sounded interesting, and I was right. The music is fun to drive to, and they remind me of something (though I can't pinpoint what it is exactly, at this moment). They're a little eclectic, but I suppose it depends on your point of view.
4. "Written In Reverse" by Spoon
"The Underdog" was the first song I heard by this band--guess which movie? Since I discovered them, I've loved them. There's something about the lead singer's voice that attracts me. And this song? The discordant piano chords and strange guitar riffs, the rough edge of Britt Daniel's voice, and the idea behind the song lyrics too. The music is, overall, the best part of this song, though. I appreciate the differences between songs.
5. "Coffee Girl" by the Tragically Hip
Another FanFic recommendation. I found it in one of those smutty stories--this one by hunterhunting--I read, and got curious. Looked the band up, listened, and fell for them. This is a song perfect for writing to, or about, or with. It's calm, yet alive, and it's a great introduction to this Canadian band. Have I mentioned I love Canada, Toronto specifically?
6. "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand
I recognized this song from my youth. I'm not sure how old it is, but it's been out for years now. The other day in Gov. and Poly. we were having a debate over music because somebody's phone started ringing to Muse (which I love) and Carp said she hated them. Logan accused her of liking Franz, and she, predictably, loved them. So, out of need to know what my beloved band was going up against, I looked them up, heard this song, and bought it because it was part of my past.
7. "Fallen (Acoustic) [feat. Hayley Williams]" by Death In The Park
Have to admit, part of the reason I bought this song was the cover art. It's cute, actually. Oh, and Hayley William's. (In case you don't know, she's the lead singer of Paramore). Another attractive factor is that it's acoustic, and for some reason, this always strikes me as more honest and heartfelt (electric is more energetic, not for pondering so much as enjoying). There's some kind of instrument in the background that I can't quite pinpoint, but I love the effect it has on the song too.
8. "Float On" by Modest Mouse
Old song, I know. Well, older. It's not Dean Martin, after all. Still, love this song. And I knew all the lyrics before I bought it. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised I didn't have it before. But when we made it our graduation song for this year, I figured I kind of needed to buy it just for nostalgia purposes for my future. Also, love the message in it. I seriously need to Float On right now.
9. "All Good Things" by the Weepies
Yet another FanFic influence. Gondolier's story this time. I looked them up last year when I first started reading, didn't like them that much, and left them. Then, yesterday, I found it somehow extensively through iTunes, listened to this song, and fell in love. Great harmonies, pure voices, and I do enjoy the whale on the album cover. Don't know why I didn't like them at first.
10. "Hello" the Glee Cast Version
I'm a Gleek, it's true. When they first played this song (originally by Lionel Richie) my breath caught in my chest. I don't know if it was Jonathan Groff's voice that made me die a little, or how good Lea Michelle sounded with him. Still, it brought tears to my eyes. I love piano, and I loved the lyrics. Also enjoyed the introduction of the cello and various other instruments.
11. "I'm Shipping Up To Boston" by the Dropkick Murphys
Recommended to me by my last date--we got to discussing music, and I mentioned Flogging Molly and Mumford and Sons. He rebutted with this. And I listened.
I love Irish rock. Must be something of my heritage partying in my blood. Very rough vocals, different style than that of my usual alternative. It's very good for an introduction to the Green Isle's musical contributions.
12. "The Calculation" by Regina Spektor
I've heard her name a lot. When I went to the California State Summer School of the Arts last summer (a creative writing course), everyone was discussing her latest album. I had no idea who she was. And it was only yesterday I decided I would look her up. Of course, my love for piano hooked me immediately (is it pathetic I can't even play?). Also, something in the lyrics made me smile, if only because I suck at math and this song is a cute way of saying that.
13. "Moments Between Sleep" by VersaEmerge
I'm not sure how I found them--browsing, probably. Still, I enjoyed the song. The band reminds me of Paramore and Flyleaf. Soft female lead who can toughen up when needed, lively guitars in the chorus, and the potential to make for good writing music.
14. "Queen of the Furrows" by the Tragically Hip
Same band as above, but this one reminds me more of Mumford and Sons, a British band I love. A little folksy, alternative, with the pure vocals and tangible accent. Something about accents sets my bones on fire. This band has a bunch of albums out, actually. The two songs I chose are from their latest albums. Again, lyrics are great too.
15. "Aha!" by Imogen Heap
Like Regina Spektor, I'd heard her name before. Never checked her out. I'm sure she was also recommended in some story--it seems like in.a.blue.bathrobe would like her music. I think she may have mentioned it once or twice. Still, I liked the song. A little creepy music, interesting vocals, and just an overall kind of mood-setter. Reminds me of Coraline and Nightmare Before Christmas, somehow.
16. "Sad Sad City" by Ghostland Observatory
Okay, now this one I'm sure was recommended by in.a.blue.bathrobe. I listened to it for a while on playlist, but never bought it until yesterday. A little obnoxious, techno, synthesizers, ect. Really, it's just a strange kind of song, but it's fun and a good distraction from everything else bugging you.
17. "Between Sheets" by Imogen Heap
This one is more of a lyric song for me. There aren't very many lines, but the ones existing are good. It's softer and more piano-driven than 'Aha!'. Something about the song touches my 'emotional frontlines' and I really loved the way she sang it. The piano and more natural sound works really well for this one, and it's one of my fast favorites.
18. "Flash Delirium" by MGMT
The Justice remix of 'Electric Feel' has long been my favorite song by them--I think it still is. But as with all MGMT, this is an interesting song. And the cover-art is funny and cute to me. Something also reminds me of the fifties, though that might just be me interpreting things oddly. If you've heard 'Excuses' by the Morning Benders, it too reminds me of the fifties.
19. "In My Head" by Jason Derulo
Yeah, I gave in and bought this. My memories of this song are fun, whether singing along with the radio pumped up in sunny spring, or dancing with my friends and date to this song, there's something catchy about it. Really catchy. It's my only excuse for buying this. And it makes me want to get up and dance, or vacuum along to it. (I like poppy/lively songs for vacuuming).
20. "Like a Prayer" sung by the Glee Cast (still, love the Madonna version too)
This is one of those songs that everyone loves. Madonna. But with a Glee-ful twist on it. I was just excited because it showcased a lot of the characters' vocals instead of just two or three. Kurt sang, for instance, and I love Kurt (he's my favorite character, the gay-fashionista-soprano with family issues that make me sad for him--plus, he's damn strong to deal with everything). Okay, Kurt rant over. Still, enjoy the song. And the choir. It was the closing song of the second episode this season.
21. "Letters from the Sky" by Civil Twilight
Begins with a little piano, kind of haunting voice, violins, and then it gets louder and falls into alternative. The lyrics, as with many a song, make me want to write. And I will, someday. They're a new band I heard about on the radio. It was a contest between one of their songs and some Rob Thomas song, and I liked Civil Twilight a lot better. So I remembered the name, looked them up, and chose this one because I liked the title and the sample. Lyrics, still, I think are a lot of my attraction.
22. "The Distance" by Cake
Something about this song is just motivating. It's not new, obviously--I knew it five years ago. Still, I found it and decided it's one of those songs I just need. Horns, guitar, and inspiring lyrics too. Plus, it's Cake. And who doesn't love Cake (the food and the band)? I like both.
Anyway, those are my musical recs for the day. Take a listen to some, expand your horizons. Or comment and help me expand mine. I love looking for new music and finding great bands.
~hyacinth
Guess I don't need to recommend a song, do I? ;)
1. "Rome" by Phoenix
I love this band. I really enjoy their music. 'Listomania' was my favorite song for quite a while. Very catchy, French, and I like their lyrics. Lyrics are a big part of music for me. A little techno-y, almost; alternative at its best.
2. "Chelsea Dagger" by the Fratellis
This band was first introduced to me at a music ensemble concert at my school. One of my friends and his bandmates performed a song of theirs, and I really liked it (the song was 'Henrietta' which I recognized from Made of Honor the movie). I like the guitars from this band, and the lead singer has a voice exactly perfect for my friend David's. Plus, back-up vocals.
3. "Dressed In Dresden" by the Hundred In the Hands
iTunes indie-alternative music recommendations for April. That's where I found this one. I thought it sounded interesting, and I was right. The music is fun to drive to, and they remind me of something (though I can't pinpoint what it is exactly, at this moment). They're a little eclectic, but I suppose it depends on your point of view.
4. "Written In Reverse" by Spoon
"The Underdog" was the first song I heard by this band--guess which movie? Since I discovered them, I've loved them. There's something about the lead singer's voice that attracts me. And this song? The discordant piano chords and strange guitar riffs, the rough edge of Britt Daniel's voice, and the idea behind the song lyrics too. The music is, overall, the best part of this song, though. I appreciate the differences between songs.
5. "Coffee Girl" by the Tragically Hip
Another FanFic recommendation. I found it in one of those smutty stories--this one by hunterhunting--I read, and got curious. Looked the band up, listened, and fell for them. This is a song perfect for writing to, or about, or with. It's calm, yet alive, and it's a great introduction to this Canadian band. Have I mentioned I love Canada, Toronto specifically?
6. "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand
I recognized this song from my youth. I'm not sure how old it is, but it's been out for years now. The other day in Gov. and Poly. we were having a debate over music because somebody's phone started ringing to Muse (which I love) and Carp said she hated them. Logan accused her of liking Franz, and she, predictably, loved them. So, out of need to know what my beloved band was going up against, I looked them up, heard this song, and bought it because it was part of my past.
7. "Fallen (Acoustic) [feat. Hayley Williams]" by Death In The Park
Have to admit, part of the reason I bought this song was the cover art. It's cute, actually. Oh, and Hayley William's. (In case you don't know, she's the lead singer of Paramore). Another attractive factor is that it's acoustic, and for some reason, this always strikes me as more honest and heartfelt (electric is more energetic, not for pondering so much as enjoying). There's some kind of instrument in the background that I can't quite pinpoint, but I love the effect it has on the song too.
8. "Float On" by Modest Mouse
Old song, I know. Well, older. It's not Dean Martin, after all. Still, love this song. And I knew all the lyrics before I bought it. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised I didn't have it before. But when we made it our graduation song for this year, I figured I kind of needed to buy it just for nostalgia purposes for my future. Also, love the message in it. I seriously need to Float On right now.
9. "All Good Things" by the Weepies
Yet another FanFic influence. Gondolier's story this time. I looked them up last year when I first started reading, didn't like them that much, and left them. Then, yesterday, I found it somehow extensively through iTunes, listened to this song, and fell in love. Great harmonies, pure voices, and I do enjoy the whale on the album cover. Don't know why I didn't like them at first.
10. "Hello" the Glee Cast Version
I'm a Gleek, it's true. When they first played this song (originally by Lionel Richie) my breath caught in my chest. I don't know if it was Jonathan Groff's voice that made me die a little, or how good Lea Michelle sounded with him. Still, it brought tears to my eyes. I love piano, and I loved the lyrics. Also enjoyed the introduction of the cello and various other instruments.
11. "I'm Shipping Up To Boston" by the Dropkick Murphys
Recommended to me by my last date--we got to discussing music, and I mentioned Flogging Molly and Mumford and Sons. He rebutted with this. And I listened.
I love Irish rock. Must be something of my heritage partying in my blood. Very rough vocals, different style than that of my usual alternative. It's very good for an introduction to the Green Isle's musical contributions.
12. "The Calculation" by Regina Spektor
I've heard her name a lot. When I went to the California State Summer School of the Arts last summer (a creative writing course), everyone was discussing her latest album. I had no idea who she was. And it was only yesterday I decided I would look her up. Of course, my love for piano hooked me immediately (is it pathetic I can't even play?). Also, something in the lyrics made me smile, if only because I suck at math and this song is a cute way of saying that.
13. "Moments Between Sleep" by VersaEmerge
I'm not sure how I found them--browsing, probably. Still, I enjoyed the song. The band reminds me of Paramore and Flyleaf. Soft female lead who can toughen up when needed, lively guitars in the chorus, and the potential to make for good writing music.
14. "Queen of the Furrows" by the Tragically Hip
Same band as above, but this one reminds me more of Mumford and Sons, a British band I love. A little folksy, alternative, with the pure vocals and tangible accent. Something about accents sets my bones on fire. This band has a bunch of albums out, actually. The two songs I chose are from their latest albums. Again, lyrics are great too.
15. "Aha!" by Imogen Heap
Like Regina Spektor, I'd heard her name before. Never checked her out. I'm sure she was also recommended in some story--it seems like in.a.blue.bathrobe would like her music. I think she may have mentioned it once or twice. Still, I liked the song. A little creepy music, interesting vocals, and just an overall kind of mood-setter. Reminds me of Coraline and Nightmare Before Christmas, somehow.
16. "Sad Sad City" by Ghostland Observatory
Okay, now this one I'm sure was recommended by in.a.blue.bathrobe. I listened to it for a while on playlist, but never bought it until yesterday. A little obnoxious, techno, synthesizers, ect. Really, it's just a strange kind of song, but it's fun and a good distraction from everything else bugging you.
17. "Between Sheets" by Imogen Heap
This one is more of a lyric song for me. There aren't very many lines, but the ones existing are good. It's softer and more piano-driven than 'Aha!'. Something about the song touches my 'emotional frontlines' and I really loved the way she sang it. The piano and more natural sound works really well for this one, and it's one of my fast favorites.
18. "Flash Delirium" by MGMT
The Justice remix of 'Electric Feel' has long been my favorite song by them--I think it still is. But as with all MGMT, this is an interesting song. And the cover-art is funny and cute to me. Something also reminds me of the fifties, though that might just be me interpreting things oddly. If you've heard 'Excuses' by the Morning Benders, it too reminds me of the fifties.
19. "In My Head" by Jason Derulo
Yeah, I gave in and bought this. My memories of this song are fun, whether singing along with the radio pumped up in sunny spring, or dancing with my friends and date to this song, there's something catchy about it. Really catchy. It's my only excuse for buying this. And it makes me want to get up and dance, or vacuum along to it. (I like poppy/lively songs for vacuuming).
20. "Like a Prayer" sung by the Glee Cast (still, love the Madonna version too)
This is one of those songs that everyone loves. Madonna. But with a Glee-ful twist on it. I was just excited because it showcased a lot of the characters' vocals instead of just two or three. Kurt sang, for instance, and I love Kurt (he's my favorite character, the gay-fashionista-soprano with family issues that make me sad for him--plus, he's damn strong to deal with everything). Okay, Kurt rant over. Still, enjoy the song. And the choir. It was the closing song of the second episode this season.
21. "Letters from the Sky" by Civil Twilight
Begins with a little piano, kind of haunting voice, violins, and then it gets louder and falls into alternative. The lyrics, as with many a song, make me want to write. And I will, someday. They're a new band I heard about on the radio. It was a contest between one of their songs and some Rob Thomas song, and I liked Civil Twilight a lot better. So I remembered the name, looked them up, and chose this one because I liked the title and the sample. Lyrics, still, I think are a lot of my attraction.
22. "The Distance" by Cake
Something about this song is just motivating. It's not new, obviously--I knew it five years ago. Still, I found it and decided it's one of those songs I just need. Horns, guitar, and inspiring lyrics too. Plus, it's Cake. And who doesn't love Cake (the food and the band)? I like both.
Anyway, those are my musical recs for the day. Take a listen to some, expand your horizons. Or comment and help me expand mine. I love looking for new music and finding great bands.
~hyacinth
Guess I don't need to recommend a song, do I? ;)
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Literature that Works
A list of books and plays I've thoroughly loved, in no particular order, for no particular reason:
1. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
What I loved: Rand's descriptions of her characters were amazing to me. I understood them within a few words from their mouths, or based on the reactions from other characters within the novels. Dominique Francon is actually one of my favorite female characters ever, and I admire Howard Roark for staying true to himself in the face of society.
2. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
What I loved: Honestly, Lord Henry was witty and I was both shocked and pleased by some of his comments. I also admire Wilde's referencing of the gay masters of the arts--Shakespeare, Michelangelo, ect. had male lovers, and their works are mentioned as pride in Wilde's own identity. The lesson behind the book was a real hard hitter too, though I can luckily say I'm not at all vain as Dorian was.
3. The Importance of Being Ernest by Oscar Wilde
What I loved: The epigrams, aphorisms, and word play in general within the novel were hilarious and amazing. I was also able to reconcile my guilt of Bunburying after I read it, though it made me a little wary about being caught. I just like Wilde's work in general.
4. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
What I loved: It took me a while to understand, but once I did, I loved it for the complexity of the society within the book, the many different characters, the contrast between our world and this one, and the way the essentially Utopian society was formed off of our society and degenerated into a distopian novel.
5. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
What I loved: The Little Prince himself. The lessons learned in this book. "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." The fox, and the discussion about stars at the end made me cry. It was a whole new world after I opened my eyes to it. It will also forever carry the memory of the loss of a friend and the way a class came together that morning to keep moving through it.
6. Paper Towns by John Green
What I loved: This book, on the surface, seems as normal as any other young adult book. But really, it requires a deeper reading, or more than one. I sped through the first time, laughing and crying, and slowed the second to analyze a little. Surprisingly, I understood much better and it both scared and reassured me.
7. Twilight and New Moon by Stephenie Meyer
What I loved: While I don't exactly like these books much anymore and I don't enjoy the writing at all, I loved her original plot. I liked her characters until I realized they were flat enough that I could replace them with anybody I wished for. But still, they have been the basis for many a good fanfiction story, so I have to appreciate that at least.
8. Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher
What I loved: This book made me cry and feel and think about how I treated people and what I could do but wasn't doing. It also made me analyze myself and think about selfishness and anger and sorrow. I'll have to read it again to see if I understand it better now that I have experienced a loss similar.
9. Tweak: Growing Up on Methamphetamine by Nic Sheff
What I loved: Despite the fact that this book was probably written while high, there are still passages with wonderful imagery, emotion, and clarity within them. If there were ever a book to put you off of drugs, this is it, and for this reason I will never touch meth. The autobiography struck home here.
10. Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
What I loved: The word play. I had to act it out with my class, and I enjoyed the opportunity to show off my fake-Cockney accent. Though I thought I sounded a bit Southern, everyone applauded my street-Britishness. However, I dislike Higgins and Freddie and I didn't think anyone in the book should have belonged together.
11. Harry Potter by J. K. Rowling
What I loved: The progression of the story and Rowling's writing. You can really see the author's growth from book one to seven. I admire her creativity in creating such an addictive and complete new world. Her characters are rich and rarely flat. Two "bad guys" were my ultimate favorite characters, and I loved that she made her villains so completely human.
12. The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
What I loved: The emotions presented in this novel were touching and terrifying. I also loved the way in which the author leaves the mystery of the main characters problem until the end instead of solving it nicely halfway through. The reader, however, can guess, and the character is emotionally engaging as well as worrying.
13. The Mortal Instruments Series by Cassandra Clare
What I loved: Jace. Clary. Alec. Izzy. Magnus. Simon. Clare's characters were amazingly real, and they were hilariously sarcastic. Jace, especially, is my favorite male literary character ever. Hard shell on the outside, but scared and lonely on the inside, and worthy of redemption. The impossibility of Jace/Clary also helps, and the reader has to carry a torch of hope for them until the end. Also, very dangerous, very well put-together world right within ours--chillingly good description.
14. Tithe and Ironside by Holly Black
What I loved: The fairies. I used to think they were cute, but now I realize they're dangerous as hell. Misunderstandings, mysteries, fear coating a mouth in metallic flavors. Admiring Roiben, and Kaye's cleverness and humanity. Again, a world within ours, to put ours in contrast.
15. Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen
What I loved: As with much of Dessen's work, though similar is structure and slightly in plot, her characters are refreshingly human. Fears and opportunities, relationships between friends, family, and lovers are explored. Dessen also has a way with finding the truth and making metaphors, with quotes a person can relate to and understand instantaneously.
16. The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo
What I loved: It was so different from the Disney movie I loved as a child. The poet isn't even mentioned in the movie, and yet is important in the book. Also, Lord Frollo--in the movie, he's the nasty monster right away, but in the book, I liked him. I suppose the contrast between book and novel really helped me appreciate the darkness within both.
17. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
What I loved: The satire, Darcy, learning about Victorian society, Darcy, the fact that Austen, as a woman, wrote this in such a way, Darcy... Okay, so I loved Darcy, especially when he was being a jerk and was just like 'I can't help but love you, damn it, now marry me and let's get this thing over with.' Also love how the truth of the effects of pride and prejudice were, and how Lizzie and Darcy don't have just one assigned to each, but instead are both.
18. Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare
What I loved: The plot was slightly twisted, especially the love between characters, but the humor was my favorite part. "Remember that I am an ass; though it not be written down, yet forget not that I am an ass." Hilarious play, in all ways.
19. Hamlet by William Shakespeare
What I loved: Shakespeare has a way with words, 'tis true. I hated Romeo and Juliet, loathed Macbeth, but enjoyed Hamlet. Really, I'm not sure why. I understood him, maybe, and approved of many of his actions. Hated the villains as I was meant. I don't actually know, but it's my favorite play by the Bard and is one of the works that made me remember he is appreciated and remembered for a reason.
~ hyacinth
Music Rec: "Hello, I Love You" by The Doors
1. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
What I loved: Rand's descriptions of her characters were amazing to me. I understood them within a few words from their mouths, or based on the reactions from other characters within the novels. Dominique Francon is actually one of my favorite female characters ever, and I admire Howard Roark for staying true to himself in the face of society.
2. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
What I loved: Honestly, Lord Henry was witty and I was both shocked and pleased by some of his comments. I also admire Wilde's referencing of the gay masters of the arts--Shakespeare, Michelangelo, ect. had male lovers, and their works are mentioned as pride in Wilde's own identity. The lesson behind the book was a real hard hitter too, though I can luckily say I'm not at all vain as Dorian was.
3. The Importance of Being Ernest by Oscar Wilde
What I loved: The epigrams, aphorisms, and word play in general within the novel were hilarious and amazing. I was also able to reconcile my guilt of Bunburying after I read it, though it made me a little wary about being caught. I just like Wilde's work in general.
4. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
What I loved: It took me a while to understand, but once I did, I loved it for the complexity of the society within the book, the many different characters, the contrast between our world and this one, and the way the essentially Utopian society was formed off of our society and degenerated into a distopian novel.
5. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
What I loved: The Little Prince himself. The lessons learned in this book. "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." The fox, and the discussion about stars at the end made me cry. It was a whole new world after I opened my eyes to it. It will also forever carry the memory of the loss of a friend and the way a class came together that morning to keep moving through it.
6. Paper Towns by John Green
What I loved: This book, on the surface, seems as normal as any other young adult book. But really, it requires a deeper reading, or more than one. I sped through the first time, laughing and crying, and slowed the second to analyze a little. Surprisingly, I understood much better and it both scared and reassured me.
7. Twilight and New Moon by Stephenie Meyer
What I loved: While I don't exactly like these books much anymore and I don't enjoy the writing at all, I loved her original plot. I liked her characters until I realized they were flat enough that I could replace them with anybody I wished for. But still, they have been the basis for many a good fanfiction story, so I have to appreciate that at least.
8. Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher
What I loved: This book made me cry and feel and think about how I treated people and what I could do but wasn't doing. It also made me analyze myself and think about selfishness and anger and sorrow. I'll have to read it again to see if I understand it better now that I have experienced a loss similar.
9. Tweak: Growing Up on Methamphetamine by Nic Sheff
What I loved: Despite the fact that this book was probably written while high, there are still passages with wonderful imagery, emotion, and clarity within them. If there were ever a book to put you off of drugs, this is it, and for this reason I will never touch meth. The autobiography struck home here.
10. Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
What I loved: The word play. I had to act it out with my class, and I enjoyed the opportunity to show off my fake-Cockney accent. Though I thought I sounded a bit Southern, everyone applauded my street-Britishness. However, I dislike Higgins and Freddie and I didn't think anyone in the book should have belonged together.
11. Harry Potter by J. K. Rowling
What I loved: The progression of the story and Rowling's writing. You can really see the author's growth from book one to seven. I admire her creativity in creating such an addictive and complete new world. Her characters are rich and rarely flat. Two "bad guys" were my ultimate favorite characters, and I loved that she made her villains so completely human.
12. The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
What I loved: The emotions presented in this novel were touching and terrifying. I also loved the way in which the author leaves the mystery of the main characters problem until the end instead of solving it nicely halfway through. The reader, however, can guess, and the character is emotionally engaging as well as worrying.
13. The Mortal Instruments Series by Cassandra Clare
What I loved: Jace. Clary. Alec. Izzy. Magnus. Simon. Clare's characters were amazingly real, and they were hilariously sarcastic. Jace, especially, is my favorite male literary character ever. Hard shell on the outside, but scared and lonely on the inside, and worthy of redemption. The impossibility of Jace/Clary also helps, and the reader has to carry a torch of hope for them until the end. Also, very dangerous, very well put-together world right within ours--chillingly good description.
14. Tithe and Ironside by Holly Black
What I loved: The fairies. I used to think they were cute, but now I realize they're dangerous as hell. Misunderstandings, mysteries, fear coating a mouth in metallic flavors. Admiring Roiben, and Kaye's cleverness and humanity. Again, a world within ours, to put ours in contrast.
15. Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen
What I loved: As with much of Dessen's work, though similar is structure and slightly in plot, her characters are refreshingly human. Fears and opportunities, relationships between friends, family, and lovers are explored. Dessen also has a way with finding the truth and making metaphors, with quotes a person can relate to and understand instantaneously.
16. The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo
What I loved: It was so different from the Disney movie I loved as a child. The poet isn't even mentioned in the movie, and yet is important in the book. Also, Lord Frollo--in the movie, he's the nasty monster right away, but in the book, I liked him. I suppose the contrast between book and novel really helped me appreciate the darkness within both.
17. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
What I loved: The satire, Darcy, learning about Victorian society, Darcy, the fact that Austen, as a woman, wrote this in such a way, Darcy... Okay, so I loved Darcy, especially when he was being a jerk and was just like 'I can't help but love you, damn it, now marry me and let's get this thing over with.' Also love how the truth of the effects of pride and prejudice were, and how Lizzie and Darcy don't have just one assigned to each, but instead are both.
18. Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare
What I loved: The plot was slightly twisted, especially the love between characters, but the humor was my favorite part. "Remember that I am an ass; though it not be written down, yet forget not that I am an ass." Hilarious play, in all ways.
19. Hamlet by William Shakespeare
What I loved: Shakespeare has a way with words, 'tis true. I hated Romeo and Juliet, loathed Macbeth, but enjoyed Hamlet. Really, I'm not sure why. I understood him, maybe, and approved of many of his actions. Hated the villains as I was meant. I don't actually know, but it's my favorite play by the Bard and is one of the works that made me remember he is appreciated and remembered for a reason.
~ hyacinth
Music Rec: "Hello, I Love You" by The Doors
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Hannah
*not really edited or pretty language, I must admit; I don't even know what I was trying to say*
The person I consider myself closest to in my life is my best friend, Hannah Gabrielle Maxon.
We've known each other since I was twelve, and our friendship has lasted through a lot of obstacles--including an eighteen hour time difference when she and her family left California to try life in Australia. (As you might imagine, I was depressed for about half a year, until they came back).
But being friends with Hannah has taught me more than any of my other friendships. I think there is always one relationship in your life, romantic or platonic or familial, that changes not only your life, as does every small thing to touch it, but also your heart and your mind and your personality.
Before I met Hannah, I was... well... a full out bitch and a fake. And totally unaware of it. But those first few weeks of eighth grade so many years ago, when I was the new girl, she reached out to me and reminded me that sometimes, being yourself is the best option. I liked to think I was just shy back then, but that's not really true--I've always been outgoing, when I want to be. It was more of an excuse for hiding myself--the me I now know--than anything else.
Whether I was afraid of being rejected by my new peers or I thought I was so much better than them that I couldn't give them the honor of being real, I put up a front--carried a book around with me at lunch and breaks to discourage talking, gave them the bitch-brow whenever they did something I thought was weird to actually do in public, behaved like all eighth graders actually do.
But by the third week, I'd realized something--honestly, I envied these people around me, especially that weird Hannah girl. She was smart, if a little ditzy; tall and blond, just a tad awkward; funny and really strange, but seemingly quiet. And yet, I got the feeling that she was just living her life. Unlike me, she wasn't concerned about what other people thought of her or if she should really want to make friends people. She didn't think as much as I did; she just lived.
It took about a month of knowing her before I finally started letting my guard down. By the time we hit May of the next year, she was my closest friend in the world and I'd finally lost the walls around me, let myself out of the cage I hadn't even been aware I'd built. I wasn't afraid to laugh at jokes that shouldn't be funny, we talked in book-speak for kicks and giggles, I fought and made up with her all the time.
It was different with Hannah. There wasn't any drama involved. With my other friends, I held grudges--oh did I hold grudges. In fact, I used to make my friends write me letters when they apologized for something, because I wanted them to put as much remorse and effort into apologizing as they had put hurt and annoyance in me; it was an even trade in this way. But with Hannah, I'd usually be mad for a little while until she tried talking to me again and got me to start laughing, even when I didn't want to. We can always make each other laugh; in fact, I was employed to come with her for her senior pictures simply for the express purpose of making her smile genuine, as my laugh is prone to do.
The longest I ever stayed mad at Hannah was three days--this after she told me she and her family were moving out of the country within the next three weeks. Mostly, I was shocked by this. I didn't believe her, actually, but after getting confirmation from her sister and her mother, I was forced to accept the inevitable: for the second time in my young life (halfway through ninth grade, at this point), I was going to lose my best friend. I began to wonder if I smelled at this point--she assured me that wasn't the reason, but recommended a new body spray anyways in the hopes of cheering me up.
I don't remember much about the end of freshman year. I know I got in fights with the friends I had left, found a new clique, and withdrew back into myself again. I was clinically depressed, my grades dropped, and I checked my email daily for the latest news from Willoughby Girls High School.
Hannah and her family moved back one week before the beginning of sophomore year, two days before Hannah's fifteenth birthday. I spent at least an hour with her every single day until school began, hanging out at her cousin's house, a cousin I really liked because he could play guitar, was funny, random, and a little weird.
By this time, I could admit I liked weird. By this time, I could admit it was because I was weird (and still am).
As another of my friends still says, when Hannah was gone, it was like I had been trained to behave in polite company; when she returned, I was out of control and crazy again. I laughed more, I made up retarded jokes and stories for fun, and I let myself be who I wanted to be.
Years later, as Hannah and I loom on the point of a larger separation, I know that, really, things won't be all that different. No, I won't see her four to six times a week, and no, I won't get to hug her younger sister (my adoptive younger sister), and I won't get to hang out with the cousin beyond a few times when we go quading out at the ranch, but...
Hannah and I are like sisters. We have the same reactions to many things, we notice random details at the exact same moments, we call each other when the other is driving past our house by coincidence; my personality and mannerisms have been taken on and changed by her, until I feel as if I've been two people in my life: Hyacinth without Hannah, and Hyacinth with Hannah.
The Hyacinth with Hannah is here to stay, even when we end up chasing different paths in a few short months. I've been altered so completely by this strange girl that I'm a completely different person than I was before that awkward August day when we first met.
In fact, because of her, I'm me. The real me.
Hannah is my non-blood-related sister. Our friendship, like the ocean, is constantly changing and always vastly obvious, even when fighting. Unlike the strings that bound me to Marissa, the threads holding me and Hannah together are plated in such strong coating that scissors will never fully break them; instead, they'll glow softly for the rest of our lives, and perhaps afterward.
And when she ends up getting married in however many years, after she's a successful international businesswoman, I'll be her Maid of Honor, giving the tearful speech about how I've never known a more wonderful person, and warnings/promises that I'll be the first in line to kick her lucky husband's ass if he doesn't behave himself--this between, of course, the tale of that time when we were younger when we made up Jeremiah's long complex story at four in the morning, and the silly way we used to turn and double-team people who tried to get us to stop fighting each other. As if we would ever stop fighting (or loving) each other; it's the funniest part of our friendship.
~ Hyacinth
Music Rec: 'Jump in the Pool'--Friendly Fires
The person I consider myself closest to in my life is my best friend, Hannah Gabrielle Maxon.
We've known each other since I was twelve, and our friendship has lasted through a lot of obstacles--including an eighteen hour time difference when she and her family left California to try life in Australia. (As you might imagine, I was depressed for about half a year, until they came back).
But being friends with Hannah has taught me more than any of my other friendships. I think there is always one relationship in your life, romantic or platonic or familial, that changes not only your life, as does every small thing to touch it, but also your heart and your mind and your personality.
Before I met Hannah, I was... well... a full out bitch and a fake. And totally unaware of it. But those first few weeks of eighth grade so many years ago, when I was the new girl, she reached out to me and reminded me that sometimes, being yourself is the best option. I liked to think I was just shy back then, but that's not really true--I've always been outgoing, when I want to be. It was more of an excuse for hiding myself--the me I now know--than anything else.
Whether I was afraid of being rejected by my new peers or I thought I was so much better than them that I couldn't give them the honor of being real, I put up a front--carried a book around with me at lunch and breaks to discourage talking, gave them the bitch-brow whenever they did something I thought was weird to actually do in public, behaved like all eighth graders actually do.
But by the third week, I'd realized something--honestly, I envied these people around me, especially that weird Hannah girl. She was smart, if a little ditzy; tall and blond, just a tad awkward; funny and really strange, but seemingly quiet. And yet, I got the feeling that she was just living her life. Unlike me, she wasn't concerned about what other people thought of her or if she should really want to make friends people. She didn't think as much as I did; she just lived.
It took about a month of knowing her before I finally started letting my guard down. By the time we hit May of the next year, she was my closest friend in the world and I'd finally lost the walls around me, let myself out of the cage I hadn't even been aware I'd built. I wasn't afraid to laugh at jokes that shouldn't be funny, we talked in book-speak for kicks and giggles, I fought and made up with her all the time.
It was different with Hannah. There wasn't any drama involved. With my other friends, I held grudges--oh did I hold grudges. In fact, I used to make my friends write me letters when they apologized for something, because I wanted them to put as much remorse and effort into apologizing as they had put hurt and annoyance in me; it was an even trade in this way. But with Hannah, I'd usually be mad for a little while until she tried talking to me again and got me to start laughing, even when I didn't want to. We can always make each other laugh; in fact, I was employed to come with her for her senior pictures simply for the express purpose of making her smile genuine, as my laugh is prone to do.
The longest I ever stayed mad at Hannah was three days--this after she told me she and her family were moving out of the country within the next three weeks. Mostly, I was shocked by this. I didn't believe her, actually, but after getting confirmation from her sister and her mother, I was forced to accept the inevitable: for the second time in my young life (halfway through ninth grade, at this point), I was going to lose my best friend. I began to wonder if I smelled at this point--she assured me that wasn't the reason, but recommended a new body spray anyways in the hopes of cheering me up.
I don't remember much about the end of freshman year. I know I got in fights with the friends I had left, found a new clique, and withdrew back into myself again. I was clinically depressed, my grades dropped, and I checked my email daily for the latest news from Willoughby Girls High School.
Hannah and her family moved back one week before the beginning of sophomore year, two days before Hannah's fifteenth birthday. I spent at least an hour with her every single day until school began, hanging out at her cousin's house, a cousin I really liked because he could play guitar, was funny, random, and a little weird.
By this time, I could admit I liked weird. By this time, I could admit it was because I was weird (and still am).
As another of my friends still says, when Hannah was gone, it was like I had been trained to behave in polite company; when she returned, I was out of control and crazy again. I laughed more, I made up retarded jokes and stories for fun, and I let myself be who I wanted to be.
Years later, as Hannah and I loom on the point of a larger separation, I know that, really, things won't be all that different. No, I won't see her four to six times a week, and no, I won't get to hug her younger sister (my adoptive younger sister), and I won't get to hang out with the cousin beyond a few times when we go quading out at the ranch, but...
Hannah and I are like sisters. We have the same reactions to many things, we notice random details at the exact same moments, we call each other when the other is driving past our house by coincidence; my personality and mannerisms have been taken on and changed by her, until I feel as if I've been two people in my life: Hyacinth without Hannah, and Hyacinth with Hannah.
The Hyacinth with Hannah is here to stay, even when we end up chasing different paths in a few short months. I've been altered so completely by this strange girl that I'm a completely different person than I was before that awkward August day when we first met.
In fact, because of her, I'm me. The real me.
Hannah is my non-blood-related sister. Our friendship, like the ocean, is constantly changing and always vastly obvious, even when fighting. Unlike the strings that bound me to Marissa, the threads holding me and Hannah together are plated in such strong coating that scissors will never fully break them; instead, they'll glow softly for the rest of our lives, and perhaps afterward.
And when she ends up getting married in however many years, after she's a successful international businesswoman, I'll be her Maid of Honor, giving the tearful speech about how I've never known a more wonderful person, and warnings/promises that I'll be the first in line to kick her lucky husband's ass if he doesn't behave himself--this between, of course, the tale of that time when we were younger when we made up Jeremiah's long complex story at four in the morning, and the silly way we used to turn and double-team people who tried to get us to stop fighting each other. As if we would ever stop fighting (or loving) each other; it's the funniest part of our friendship.
~ Hyacinth
Music Rec: 'Jump in the Pool'--Friendly Fires
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Mr. Hyacinth
Physical description: green eyes, long eyelashes, average length dark-hair, about 6'2 or 6'3, lean or lanky, possibly a light smattering of freckles on his shoulder or nose, maybe a tattoo or piercing.
Personality description: funny, sweet, annoying at times, honest, sarcastic, conscientious, occasionally dorky, active, intelligent, headstrong, slightly protective, he knows I can handle myself, doesn't treat me like I'm lesser than him because I'm female, and lets me have my own views on things like politics and religion.
....poor guy....
I've never found him, sadly; this is just speculation. This is who I WANT Mr. Hyacinth to be.
Honestly, I doubt I'll ever find a Mr. Hyacinth to match this description.
The current almost-Mr. Hyacinth does have the green eyes, the dark hair, and most of the personality. Of course, he goes to private school and studies the Bible in class, so we have a little bit of friction (not the good kind) between us. Oh, and he barely touches me. Seriously, he'll hug and give me his arm, but the kid won't even grind on me while dancing.
When I imagined Mr. Hyacinth, I kind of imagined him a little hornier, truth be told. (Oh, I can't believe I admitted that).
I know I've spoiled myself. Because I read so much fanfiction, and many of my favorites are slightly smutty, I've deluded myself into thinking all men are sexy, sarcastic, and funny at the same time. Very few of them really fit into that category.
Honestly, I'm kind of ashamed I've put so much thought into creating him. Especially since ever guy I ever write looks like the above mentioned. And acts like him. Which is pathetic, truth be told.
Have you ever done this? Created a make-believe person so perfect for you that suddenly your real life guy doesn't match up? I think this is reminiscent of the Twilight phenomenon with Edward. I sailed that ship for a while, before I came into Port Realization and suddenly he was a character flat as a board, prudish, and chauvinistic. Er, yeah. More like crashed into Port Realization.
Sadly, I didn't discover Mr. Hyacinth in a book somewhere or in a coffee shop on Wilma Road. Rather, I took aspects of him from characters I loved, the guys I know in real life, and what I imagine men can be like eventually. Because of this, I sincerely doubt I'll ever find the boy as I have described him. I've screwed myself over, thanks to this.
Next thing you know, my life plan will go down the drain because I've set it up too perfectly.
In case you're wondering, I'm getting a 4 year degree in English, minor in Creative Writing; move on for my masters in English, preferably from NYU; get a position at some publishing company as an editor's assistant, move up; (somewhere along this timeline I've met and fallen in love with Mr. Hyacinth and now we're married, by the way); have my kids--two boys (William and Nathaniel) and one girl (Schuyler or Kyrie, depending on Mr. H); earn money to support everyone with my hubby; afford a brand new Audi dream car; live life between with fights and love and friends and love and cats and kids and books and love and Mr. H.
Yeah... not looking so likely to play out as perfectly as I want it to.
Damn.
But, I blame corporate America. And Disney movies I watched as a kid. They've crafted a type of life nobody actually lives, and now I'm stuck with unreal expectations. Oh, and I blame fanfic and the wonderful authors on there too. (I take no credit for this failure, by the way.) Mr. Hyacinth as described will never exist.
But, on the off chance he does.... don't hesitate to send him my way. I'll probably gasp for air and flutter and have a hot flash and then calm down and smile like I'm not insane. Which I'm not. Really.
... not convinced? Me neither...
*sigh*
Hopefully San Fran will be a welcome change for me and I'll forget all about him and manage to fall in love with an ordinary guy I can treat extraordinarly, rather than an extraordinary guy who doesn't exist and becomes ordinary.
~hyacinth (A Ms. lacking her Mr.)
Music Rec: "My First Kiss" by 3OH!3 (unfortunately, featuring Ke$ha)
Personality description: funny, sweet, annoying at times, honest, sarcastic, conscientious, occasionally dorky, active, intelligent, headstrong, slightly protective, he knows I can handle myself, doesn't treat me like I'm lesser than him because I'm female, and lets me have my own views on things like politics and religion.
....poor guy....
I've never found him, sadly; this is just speculation. This is who I WANT Mr. Hyacinth to be.
Honestly, I doubt I'll ever find a Mr. Hyacinth to match this description.
The current almost-Mr. Hyacinth does have the green eyes, the dark hair, and most of the personality. Of course, he goes to private school and studies the Bible in class, so we have a little bit of friction (not the good kind) between us. Oh, and he barely touches me. Seriously, he'll hug and give me his arm, but the kid won't even grind on me while dancing.
When I imagined Mr. Hyacinth, I kind of imagined him a little hornier, truth be told. (Oh, I can't believe I admitted that).
I know I've spoiled myself. Because I read so much fanfiction, and many of my favorites are slightly smutty, I've deluded myself into thinking all men are sexy, sarcastic, and funny at the same time. Very few of them really fit into that category.
Honestly, I'm kind of ashamed I've put so much thought into creating him. Especially since ever guy I ever write looks like the above mentioned. And acts like him. Which is pathetic, truth be told.
Have you ever done this? Created a make-believe person so perfect for you that suddenly your real life guy doesn't match up? I think this is reminiscent of the Twilight phenomenon with Edward. I sailed that ship for a while, before I came into Port Realization and suddenly he was a character flat as a board, prudish, and chauvinistic. Er, yeah. More like crashed into Port Realization.
Sadly, I didn't discover Mr. Hyacinth in a book somewhere or in a coffee shop on Wilma Road. Rather, I took aspects of him from characters I loved, the guys I know in real life, and what I imagine men can be like eventually. Because of this, I sincerely doubt I'll ever find the boy as I have described him. I've screwed myself over, thanks to this.
Next thing you know, my life plan will go down the drain because I've set it up too perfectly.
In case you're wondering, I'm getting a 4 year degree in English, minor in Creative Writing; move on for my masters in English, preferably from NYU; get a position at some publishing company as an editor's assistant, move up; (somewhere along this timeline I've met and fallen in love with Mr. Hyacinth and now we're married, by the way); have my kids--two boys (William and Nathaniel) and one girl (Schuyler or Kyrie, depending on Mr. H); earn money to support everyone with my hubby; afford a brand new Audi dream car; live life between with fights and love and friends and love and cats and kids and books and love and Mr. H.
Yeah... not looking so likely to play out as perfectly as I want it to.
Damn.
But, I blame corporate America. And Disney movies I watched as a kid. They've crafted a type of life nobody actually lives, and now I'm stuck with unreal expectations. Oh, and I blame fanfic and the wonderful authors on there too. (I take no credit for this failure, by the way.) Mr. Hyacinth as described will never exist.
But, on the off chance he does.... don't hesitate to send him my way. I'll probably gasp for air and flutter and have a hot flash and then calm down and smile like I'm not insane. Which I'm not. Really.
... not convinced? Me neither...
*sigh*
Hopefully San Fran will be a welcome change for me and I'll forget all about him and manage to fall in love with an ordinary guy I can treat extraordinarly, rather than an extraordinary guy who doesn't exist and becomes ordinary.
~hyacinth (A Ms. lacking her Mr.)
Music Rec: "My First Kiss" by 3OH!3 (unfortunately, featuring Ke$ha)
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Why So Serious?
I often wonder how people perceive me, whether they think me rude or sarcastic or funny or moody or serious... And then I'm reminded that my constant mood swings and flip-flopping emotions change their perceptions whenever they see me.
They can clearly see the smile on my face and in my eyes, insane though it may appear; the crease between my eyebrows and the anger glittering in my irises is a clear 'back off' statement; the clear and open-eyed look on my face means I'm listening intensely and thinking.
But in my writing, I'm not visible. There are not tell-tale hand tremors to be noticed by readers when I'm nervous, no teasing smirk to let them know I'm only joking and I didn't mean it.
Which is where my tone comes in. Or is it my topics? How I write? I set out not only to inform, but to make readers feel emotionally connected--whether they laugh or cry or, hell, anything in between, I want them to imagine themselves in the same situations, or form an opinion about something.
I've noticed the posts on my blog aren't... well, they aren't necessarily cheerful or funny. In fact, for some reason, I come off as serious in quite a few (in my own opinion). Some, because of my topics--I'm very reflective on this blog. Others, because I was feeling lame that day? I don't know why.
So for today, I'm going to try not to reflect on anything. Instead, I'm writing a list. A list doesn't even have tone, most of the time. Today, I attempt the art of toneless.
Of Things To Do:
*Call Jenny and set up a hair cut, possibly for Friday before the fashion show. Ask for Les' senior picture.
*Finish scholarship crap. Yes, crap. It's more annoying than an application to college itself.
*Make flashcards with derivative, antiderivative, inverse functions, integration of log(arithims) and natural logs, ect.
*Call Nick, plan fashion show performance
*Stop by Barnes and Noble (get gas first!)
*Get gas when I get money for my article in the paper... any day now, check, I'm waiting...
*Shave my legs
*Call Laurie about job interview results
*Congratulate Qutob and Mortensen on pregnancies
*Write both papers on Dorian Gray
*Write Ayn Rand final research paper
*Research prices/grants/loans for SFSU
*Proof-read/edit final pages/index
*Start new story?/continue old idea
*Wash Sharpie mustache off of index finger now that Zack can't yell at me about 'shaving' it off
*Find something else to do besides scan facebook, blog uselessly, read fanfiction, and ignore assignments
Better get started, I suppose.
~hyacinth
Song Rec: "Gold Guns Girls" by Metric
They can clearly see the smile on my face and in my eyes, insane though it may appear; the crease between my eyebrows and the anger glittering in my irises is a clear 'back off' statement; the clear and open-eyed look on my face means I'm listening intensely and thinking.
But in my writing, I'm not visible. There are not tell-tale hand tremors to be noticed by readers when I'm nervous, no teasing smirk to let them know I'm only joking and I didn't mean it.
Which is where my tone comes in. Or is it my topics? How I write? I set out not only to inform, but to make readers feel emotionally connected--whether they laugh or cry or, hell, anything in between, I want them to imagine themselves in the same situations, or form an opinion about something.
I've noticed the posts on my blog aren't... well, they aren't necessarily cheerful or funny. In fact, for some reason, I come off as serious in quite a few (in my own opinion). Some, because of my topics--I'm very reflective on this blog. Others, because I was feeling lame that day? I don't know why.
So for today, I'm going to try not to reflect on anything. Instead, I'm writing a list. A list doesn't even have tone, most of the time. Today, I attempt the art of toneless.
Of Things To Do:
*Call Jenny and set up a hair cut, possibly for Friday before the fashion show. Ask for Les' senior picture.
*Finish scholarship crap. Yes, crap. It's more annoying than an application to college itself.
*Make flashcards with derivative, antiderivative, inverse functions, integration of log(arithims) and natural logs, ect.
*Call Nick, plan fashion show performance
*Stop by Barnes and Noble (get gas first!)
*Get gas when I get money for my article in the paper... any day now, check, I'm waiting...
*Shave my legs
*Call Laurie about job interview results
*Congratulate Qutob and Mortensen on pregnancies
*Write both papers on Dorian Gray
*Write Ayn Rand final research paper
*Research prices/grants/loans for SFSU
*Proof-read/edit final pages/index
*Start new story?/continue old idea
*Wash Sharpie mustache off of index finger now that Zack can't yell at me about 'shaving' it off
*Find something else to do besides scan facebook, blog uselessly, read fanfiction, and ignore assignments
Better get started, I suppose.
~hyacinth
Song Rec: "Gold Guns Girls" by Metric
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Anti-Nice
Today is one of those days--I'm alone, it's quiet outside, sunny if a bit breezy. Nice. Nothing bad happened today, nothing great either. In fact, overall, my day was just nice.
I don't like 'nice' days.
Call me dramatic, but I prefer my days to be memorable. I like to think back and pull a one-liner from a friend out of my memory, or recall how my first teacher of the day had one of his bipolar episodes halfway through class, or even snicker at the discussion about boobs we had while taking a test in Government and Politics. Or maybe the ink on my hands will have a story behind it, or the bruise on my shoulder will have a funny joke from my lab partner to match it. Hell, I'd even prefer my eyes to tear up as I ponder the depths of math I will never, ever understand.
But no. Today, I find my mind blank. I vaguely remember sleeping through my alarm clock and waking up to my brother's an hour later, copying Calculus homework in Lit while discussing themes of The Portrait of Dorian Gray (which I've yet to read), telling my friends that if I have to be around people I'd prefer to be within a foot of them, and attempting to cheer my almost-sister up during business publications.
If I think back to yesterday, I'm forced to conclude it was also a 'nice' day, because I have no memory of the first half of it. I tend to forget the 'nice' days. They don't have any sticky substance to prevent them from slipping out of the tangled cords of my mind--no sweet honey, no tart lemon juice, no gooey colorful putty.
Sure, I enjoy pretty weather when it's seventy degrees out and the sun is shining and there's a slight breeze--who doesn't like days like that? And yes, I admit I appreciate it when someone holds the door open for me out of kindness and I can smile at them in return. I even feel pleased whenever I find a shirt that I really love because it looks good on me and gives off the right vibe for my day.
But I enjoy the rain as much as the sun, because it's not as common and it has a beauty of its own. I appreciate it when somebody says something mouthy and I'm forced to use my sarcasm to insult them back for pissing me off. I feel pleased when I wear something that actually offends the delicate dress sensibilities of my friends because it's shapeless and comfortable.
I don't know. I just don't like 'nice' days. Bad days are better; good days are better. But nice? It sits in the middle, twiddling its thumbs airily, and soon drops out of memory, overshadowed by days following and preceding.
If I'm going to live this life, I'd at least like it to be as far from bland and nice as it possibly could be. That's all I'm asking for.
~ hyacinth
Song Rec: "Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly
I don't like 'nice' days.
Call me dramatic, but I prefer my days to be memorable. I like to think back and pull a one-liner from a friend out of my memory, or recall how my first teacher of the day had one of his bipolar episodes halfway through class, or even snicker at the discussion about boobs we had while taking a test in Government and Politics. Or maybe the ink on my hands will have a story behind it, or the bruise on my shoulder will have a funny joke from my lab partner to match it. Hell, I'd even prefer my eyes to tear up as I ponder the depths of math I will never, ever understand.
But no. Today, I find my mind blank. I vaguely remember sleeping through my alarm clock and waking up to my brother's an hour later, copying Calculus homework in Lit while discussing themes of The Portrait of Dorian Gray (which I've yet to read), telling my friends that if I have to be around people I'd prefer to be within a foot of them, and attempting to cheer my almost-sister up during business publications.
If I think back to yesterday, I'm forced to conclude it was also a 'nice' day, because I have no memory of the first half of it. I tend to forget the 'nice' days. They don't have any sticky substance to prevent them from slipping out of the tangled cords of my mind--no sweet honey, no tart lemon juice, no gooey colorful putty.
Sure, I enjoy pretty weather when it's seventy degrees out and the sun is shining and there's a slight breeze--who doesn't like days like that? And yes, I admit I appreciate it when someone holds the door open for me out of kindness and I can smile at them in return. I even feel pleased whenever I find a shirt that I really love because it looks good on me and gives off the right vibe for my day.
But I enjoy the rain as much as the sun, because it's not as common and it has a beauty of its own. I appreciate it when somebody says something mouthy and I'm forced to use my sarcasm to insult them back for pissing me off. I feel pleased when I wear something that actually offends the delicate dress sensibilities of my friends because it's shapeless and comfortable.
I don't know. I just don't like 'nice' days. Bad days are better; good days are better. But nice? It sits in the middle, twiddling its thumbs airily, and soon drops out of memory, overshadowed by days following and preceding.
If I'm going to live this life, I'd at least like it to be as far from bland and nice as it possibly could be. That's all I'm asking for.
~ hyacinth
Song Rec: "Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly
Monday, March 15, 2010
Broken Strings
When you meet someone, you don't really consider what might happen or who they'll be to you in twenty years, if you'll remember them on sight or ever know they continue to exist, living their lives.
There's a danger in this.
When we see people on the street, in a classroom, at a protest, we don't know who they are. And then you talk. And then you do know, at least partially. You know if you would ever want to talk to them again, and you may be either thrilled or disappointed when you realize you'll see them everyday at the same time or never again.
But when you see someone every day, you're talking to them, helping them and doing work with them, and somehow you're forming that bond between two people, that golden string that ties everyone together. It's a tangled thread, twisted around strands from other peoples' lives, forming knots to fix the breaks that may occur when someone leaves you.
When that girl you've been sharing classes with for three years commits suicide, that thread that bound you to her--the one that carries all of your happy and sad memories, the painful and the bright and the funny and the strange--frays, breaks, separates, cut by the scissors of the Fates, scissors weilded by a girl your own age, who has more power than anyone else in that moment.
And suddenly, you regret ever becoming friends. You regret all the times you teased each other in chemistry for being the worst procrastinators in the history of that school. You regret hearing stories of each others' lives, the tear-jerking and laughter-inducing. You regret getting help on your calculus, regret letting her say anything when analyzing a book, regret arguing over gay rights and health care and politics with her.
But most of all, you regret the things you don't know. You regret only ever reading a few of her poems, especially because they're shockingly pretty. You regret not knowing enough about her life at home, though you've heard some of the horror stories. You regret not knowing... you regret not knowing that she was suicidal to begin with.
You start to wish you'd known, so you could have done something, anything, to help. You feel guilty, guilty as hell even though it's not in any way your fault. You should have known. You should have seen something was wrong. But how could you have? When she was so determined to hide it from you, how could you have known?
There's no way.
One day, she's alive and well, laughing and arguing in your first class of the day. The next she's gone, and you figure she's sick again, as always, and will come back to class in a week with a sheepish smile and a 'Hey, everyone. What'd I miss?"
You don't find out until the morning after what everyone else knew the night before. Someone tells you as soon as you step out of your car, because you're far too cheerful to be aware of the situation, and the shock sets in, bone deep and cold and terrifying, paralyzing. It takes you ten minutes to realize you should be crying, five minutes to remember you're supposed to be breathing, three minutes to frame a coherent question without stuttering.
And when you walk into that classroom, see her empty seat, everything finally sets in, and you're more than surprised to realize that, more than anything else, you're angrier than you have ever been in your entire life.
How dare she put everyone through this, again, not two months after the loss of another classmate? How dare she leave this classroom without her input on the novel we all read and loved on Monday? What the hell drove her to this?
You spend an entire hour crying loudly, falling apart in front of classmates, and you don't even give a damn. Let them see, let them feel the same way you do. They do, you know they do, even if they can't show it. But you feel guilty again, because some are trying to help you, moving around the classroom to sit next to you, lend you the tissue box, hold your hand between theirs: Nobody should have to help you, because it should be your job to comfort, your shoulder to lean on. You're the strong one, the empathetic one, the compassionate one. You're not the one to fall apart when others are in need of help. This makes you angrier.
The school hires grief counselors for the second time in as many months. They're worse than the first round. They say the entire class is diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. They say you're going through shock, and that's the reason you've gone numb after four hours of knowing, two classes of seeing her empty seat staring you in the face, seeing the tear tracks down your classmates' faces.
The counselor they send into your first class the next day fumbles, tells everyone, "You may have known Marissa or Dillon..." You think? She sat right behind me, you bitch. Do your research before you try to help us next time. And stop using the white board, it'll stain and Qutob hates it.
You're angry, still, by the third day, but it's less fiery, less of a burning feeling in your chest. You feel hollow instead, as if the cavity between the bones of your rib cage is suddenly filled with a heavy nothingness, as if you're full of emptiness. You close your eyes, but your hands reach out to touch others, to grab onto their sleeves and hips and fingers, holding them close to you though your head urges you to let them go now: to forget, to leave them before they leave you, to cut the strings on purpose instead of having them snap surprisingly to leave the threads hanging, broken and frayed, when you least expect it.
Despite it all, you grow closer to others, use them to pull yourself out of the murky waters of depression, at least by a few inches.
And then, you write. Or you try. And fail. And quit.
The words stop flowing, the world stops spinning, you stop caring. Screw it all, you say. Important deadlines and papers? Not important. Classwork? Who cares. Making new friends? Not a chance.
You wallow and hope nobody else notices. They don't: they are wading through the swamp of life just as slowly as you are, trapped under dirty water and bloody banks with you. No one can help, because we are all submerged and there is no one on shore with a vine waiting to pull us out.
Until, finally, the image in your mind grows to be too much, the last few seconds of her life on repeat in your dreams, both waking and sleeping, even a month later. As you open your computer again, you open your words, and they flow onto the page willingly, only to slow two months later as you near the end, that crucial scene.
But, on a deadline, you finish, turn it in, post it.
Three days later, the floodgates open again. You can feel, you can cry, you can blame.
And you know that the first conversation you ever had with her has affected your life forever. When you first saw her, you had no idea things would end like this, or progress in such a way. But they have, and you are, utterly, impossibly, inexorably, changed.
The strings weave back together in a pattern not nearly as fine as before. It's obvious they've been cut and hastily repaired. But they go on, as your life must, because you refuse to follow the same path. You don't weild the scissors of the Fates, you refuse to control the strands of others' lives. No. You will go on, writing and remembering, until you draw in your last rattling breath, and your strings all snap at once, allowing you to fall, at long last, finally, toward the nest of thread spread underneath to catch you, the tangled threads of those you have lost serving their final purpose.
~ hyacinth
Music Rec: "Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol
Written: March 15, 2010;
Date of Change: December 1, 2009
There's a danger in this.
When we see people on the street, in a classroom, at a protest, we don't know who they are. And then you talk. And then you do know, at least partially. You know if you would ever want to talk to them again, and you may be either thrilled or disappointed when you realize you'll see them everyday at the same time or never again.
But when you see someone every day, you're talking to them, helping them and doing work with them, and somehow you're forming that bond between two people, that golden string that ties everyone together. It's a tangled thread, twisted around strands from other peoples' lives, forming knots to fix the breaks that may occur when someone leaves you.
When that girl you've been sharing classes with for three years commits suicide, that thread that bound you to her--the one that carries all of your happy and sad memories, the painful and the bright and the funny and the strange--frays, breaks, separates, cut by the scissors of the Fates, scissors weilded by a girl your own age, who has more power than anyone else in that moment.
And suddenly, you regret ever becoming friends. You regret all the times you teased each other in chemistry for being the worst procrastinators in the history of that school. You regret hearing stories of each others' lives, the tear-jerking and laughter-inducing. You regret getting help on your calculus, regret letting her say anything when analyzing a book, regret arguing over gay rights and health care and politics with her.
But most of all, you regret the things you don't know. You regret only ever reading a few of her poems, especially because they're shockingly pretty. You regret not knowing enough about her life at home, though you've heard some of the horror stories. You regret not knowing... you regret not knowing that she was suicidal to begin with.
You start to wish you'd known, so you could have done something, anything, to help. You feel guilty, guilty as hell even though it's not in any way your fault. You should have known. You should have seen something was wrong. But how could you have? When she was so determined to hide it from you, how could you have known?
There's no way.
One day, she's alive and well, laughing and arguing in your first class of the day. The next she's gone, and you figure she's sick again, as always, and will come back to class in a week with a sheepish smile and a 'Hey, everyone. What'd I miss?"
You don't find out until the morning after what everyone else knew the night before. Someone tells you as soon as you step out of your car, because you're far too cheerful to be aware of the situation, and the shock sets in, bone deep and cold and terrifying, paralyzing. It takes you ten minutes to realize you should be crying, five minutes to remember you're supposed to be breathing, three minutes to frame a coherent question without stuttering.
And when you walk into that classroom, see her empty seat, everything finally sets in, and you're more than surprised to realize that, more than anything else, you're angrier than you have ever been in your entire life.
How dare she put everyone through this, again, not two months after the loss of another classmate? How dare she leave this classroom without her input on the novel we all read and loved on Monday? What the hell drove her to this?
You spend an entire hour crying loudly, falling apart in front of classmates, and you don't even give a damn. Let them see, let them feel the same way you do. They do, you know they do, even if they can't show it. But you feel guilty again, because some are trying to help you, moving around the classroom to sit next to you, lend you the tissue box, hold your hand between theirs: Nobody should have to help you, because it should be your job to comfort, your shoulder to lean on. You're the strong one, the empathetic one, the compassionate one. You're not the one to fall apart when others are in need of help. This makes you angrier.
The school hires grief counselors for the second time in as many months. They're worse than the first round. They say the entire class is diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. They say you're going through shock, and that's the reason you've gone numb after four hours of knowing, two classes of seeing her empty seat staring you in the face, seeing the tear tracks down your classmates' faces.
The counselor they send into your first class the next day fumbles, tells everyone, "You may have known Marissa or Dillon..." You think? She sat right behind me, you bitch. Do your research before you try to help us next time. And stop using the white board, it'll stain and Qutob hates it.
You're angry, still, by the third day, but it's less fiery, less of a burning feeling in your chest. You feel hollow instead, as if the cavity between the bones of your rib cage is suddenly filled with a heavy nothingness, as if you're full of emptiness. You close your eyes, but your hands reach out to touch others, to grab onto their sleeves and hips and fingers, holding them close to you though your head urges you to let them go now: to forget, to leave them before they leave you, to cut the strings on purpose instead of having them snap surprisingly to leave the threads hanging, broken and frayed, when you least expect it.
Despite it all, you grow closer to others, use them to pull yourself out of the murky waters of depression, at least by a few inches.
And then, you write. Or you try. And fail. And quit.
The words stop flowing, the world stops spinning, you stop caring. Screw it all, you say. Important deadlines and papers? Not important. Classwork? Who cares. Making new friends? Not a chance.
You wallow and hope nobody else notices. They don't: they are wading through the swamp of life just as slowly as you are, trapped under dirty water and bloody banks with you. No one can help, because we are all submerged and there is no one on shore with a vine waiting to pull us out.
Until, finally, the image in your mind grows to be too much, the last few seconds of her life on repeat in your dreams, both waking and sleeping, even a month later. As you open your computer again, you open your words, and they flow onto the page willingly, only to slow two months later as you near the end, that crucial scene.
But, on a deadline, you finish, turn it in, post it.
Three days later, the floodgates open again. You can feel, you can cry, you can blame.
And you know that the first conversation you ever had with her has affected your life forever. When you first saw her, you had no idea things would end like this, or progress in such a way. But they have, and you are, utterly, impossibly, inexorably, changed.
The strings weave back together in a pattern not nearly as fine as before. It's obvious they've been cut and hastily repaired. But they go on, as your life must, because you refuse to follow the same path. You don't weild the scissors of the Fates, you refuse to control the strands of others' lives. No. You will go on, writing and remembering, until you draw in your last rattling breath, and your strings all snap at once, allowing you to fall, at long last, finally, toward the nest of thread spread underneath to catch you, the tangled threads of those you have lost serving their final purpose.
~ hyacinth
Music Rec: "Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol
Written: March 15, 2010;
Date of Change: December 1, 2009
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Controlling Epiphany
Sunday March 14, 2010; 3:44 pm Pacific Coast Time (daylight savings time is back, dang).
I'm usually one of those outgoing loud friendly people you randomly decide to tell your life story to. I don't know what it is about me, but something draws people toward me. I often wonder if I have a sign on my back that says 'Professional Listener--FREE Services!'
Either way, I'll let you talk if I'm in a good mood. If you want to make a strange metaphor about fish while you're trying to get me to register Republican, go ahead. If something absolutely forces you to talk about your next door neighbor, who is a writer, I suppose I can stand and listen for twenty minutes. If you see me at a gas station and I half-smile at you because we're pump neighbors, feel free to tell me how you have been stood up twice by the same guy before leaving inexplicably.
At school, I'm the girl who can't help but answer the teacher's questions. I genuinely like my teachers and my peers and, occasionally, even my classes and the material. People may have the first impression that I'm a little awkward, but they change their minds after actually talking to me. I'm likable. And I like people.
Sometimes.
Other times, I just want to be alone. Usually, there are a few days per month that I just can't stand other people. I won't laugh at my friends, I'll glare at my homework, and I am ready to burst into frustrated tears and cutting words at any moment, if prodded in the wrong direction.
Which is where yesterday and today come in.
Yesterday: The day started off well--it was sunny and bright outside, if a little windy (thank the Delta Breeze for that). I got up late as usual, ate breakfast, pet my cat, and decided to take the Rottweiler for a walk.
The walk was nice. It got me away from my family for an hour and a half, because I followed a different trail than usual. In fact, I ended up at a friend's house, then at the skate park, before turning around to head home again.
After, I sat down, opened my laptop, and prepared to empty my head onto the white screen in front of me.
I was interrupted.
The little brother was conspiring against me. As he knows, I can't write a thing with people hovering over my shoulder. Some people are pee-shy. I'm writing-shy (and pee-shy, actually, but that's not the point). I quickly grew annoyed--after two minutes, I was prepared to bash him over the head with my beloved computer.
So I stood up and headed outside to count Rollie-Pollies in the grass where my mother was planting her spring pansies next to the tulips.
I didn't get any writing done all day.
Today: I got up late, ate breakfast again, chatted with the family, and sat down to write. I'd gotten no further than four sentences before I was being yelled at to get up--family bike ride time! (Mom's idea).
Now, I must specify that I'm not a fan of bike rides, or the gym, or running. I enjoy swimming and yoga and random dancing to music on my iPod as I vacuum.
And my family bike rides? They're long. The last one I recall was 27 miles down the American River in Sacramento. My butt-bones were so sore I almost cried when I sat down in the car to drive home again.
So I was a little resistant to the suggestion. But once the parental unit decides something, there's no getting out of it. They assured me it would be a short ride down to the river--a mile there and back, no big deal. We'd be home soon.
I knew they were lying.
And yet I found myself on my bike, whining after the next five miles of not-so-smooth river terrain had passed. Hills, ruts, grass, mud, rocks, sand... And every impact absorbed by my left wrist and my poor butt. Every time I tried to take another path I knew would lead me home, the family called out to me and forced me to continue on.
I was severely... annoyed... by mile six. It was windy as hell, chilling my sweat and my skin, and I made no secret of my discontent with the situation.
By mile seven, I was ready to cry in frustration. These sadistic people must want the family argument my mother had hopefully suggested we abandon when we left the house.
By mile eight, I had begun to ignore my family by leading the way, forcing myself to go faster even though my quads were burning.
At mile nine, I fell to the back of the pack and let them ride forth, because we had finally made it back to the safe, paved streets of town. I walked over the overpass, in no mood to force my tired legs to carry us forth, and used the downward glide to get me halfway to our neighborhood, passing my family grouped around the flat tire of my brother's bike. Ha. Served them right.
I returned home at long last, and found that my legs would barely support my weight after the tenth mile, two hours of hills and grass and bugs in my face. My Yankees cap was soaked with sweat, my hair nasty and stringy, and my skin was freezing to the touch. I told my mom she was a sadistic liar, pouted at her, and hurried upstairs to spend an hour in and under hot water.
I thank my lucky stars daily for plumbing and wonderful showers.
And now, as my brother asks me for the time, I can't even be bothered to answer. No, I can't even say three small words to him. In fact, all I can do is glare at him and hope he leaves--he has.
So maybe it's not just me. Sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time it's my situation. Maybe I'm spoiled and I like things under my terms, under my control.
Most likely, it's the second guess.
I'm a perfectionist, I know this. I'm slightly OCD about eggs and the way I shave my legs and how I eat my M&Ms and how messy my room can get before I'm sorting things by color, hanging by occasion, and folding by brand. Meanwhile, when my parents bug me about how 'messy' my room is, I tell them it's totally clean and they can't see it behind my closed door anyways, so why does it bother them?
I just never realized how much I liked control.
So my lessons for today?
1. Even when I'm not in school, writing is hard to accomplish with my family home at the same time. It's a miracle I can finish any story with their constant interruptions.
2. I can't trust my family when they say it'll be a 'short' bike ride. Even when I'm going skiing tomorrow and know I probably won't be able to even stand because of today.
3. I'm a control freak. Lovely. I've always wanted to know that about myself.
Alas, here I sit with a sinus headache, sore from my hips to my heels, unable to work on a story because my annoyance is too great. So I take it out on my seldom-used blog. And feel a little better, because I'm finally alone in the house.
Now they leave.
Nice, guys, real nice.
~hyacinth
Music Rec: "Shark In The Water" by V.V. Brown
I'm usually one of those outgoing loud friendly people you randomly decide to tell your life story to. I don't know what it is about me, but something draws people toward me. I often wonder if I have a sign on my back that says 'Professional Listener--FREE Services!'
Either way, I'll let you talk if I'm in a good mood. If you want to make a strange metaphor about fish while you're trying to get me to register Republican, go ahead. If something absolutely forces you to talk about your next door neighbor, who is a writer, I suppose I can stand and listen for twenty minutes. If you see me at a gas station and I half-smile at you because we're pump neighbors, feel free to tell me how you have been stood up twice by the same guy before leaving inexplicably.
At school, I'm the girl who can't help but answer the teacher's questions. I genuinely like my teachers and my peers and, occasionally, even my classes and the material. People may have the first impression that I'm a little awkward, but they change their minds after actually talking to me. I'm likable. And I like people.
Sometimes.
Other times, I just want to be alone. Usually, there are a few days per month that I just can't stand other people. I won't laugh at my friends, I'll glare at my homework, and I am ready to burst into frustrated tears and cutting words at any moment, if prodded in the wrong direction.
Which is where yesterday and today come in.
Yesterday: The day started off well--it was sunny and bright outside, if a little windy (thank the Delta Breeze for that). I got up late as usual, ate breakfast, pet my cat, and decided to take the Rottweiler for a walk.
The walk was nice. It got me away from my family for an hour and a half, because I followed a different trail than usual. In fact, I ended up at a friend's house, then at the skate park, before turning around to head home again.
After, I sat down, opened my laptop, and prepared to empty my head onto the white screen in front of me.
I was interrupted.
The little brother was conspiring against me. As he knows, I can't write a thing with people hovering over my shoulder. Some people are pee-shy. I'm writing-shy (and pee-shy, actually, but that's not the point). I quickly grew annoyed--after two minutes, I was prepared to bash him over the head with my beloved computer.
So I stood up and headed outside to count Rollie-Pollies in the grass where my mother was planting her spring pansies next to the tulips.
I didn't get any writing done all day.
Today: I got up late, ate breakfast again, chatted with the family, and sat down to write. I'd gotten no further than four sentences before I was being yelled at to get up--family bike ride time! (Mom's idea).
Now, I must specify that I'm not a fan of bike rides, or the gym, or running. I enjoy swimming and yoga and random dancing to music on my iPod as I vacuum.
And my family bike rides? They're long. The last one I recall was 27 miles down the American River in Sacramento. My butt-bones were so sore I almost cried when I sat down in the car to drive home again.
So I was a little resistant to the suggestion. But once the parental unit decides something, there's no getting out of it. They assured me it would be a short ride down to the river--a mile there and back, no big deal. We'd be home soon.
I knew they were lying.
And yet I found myself on my bike, whining after the next five miles of not-so-smooth river terrain had passed. Hills, ruts, grass, mud, rocks, sand... And every impact absorbed by my left wrist and my poor butt. Every time I tried to take another path I knew would lead me home, the family called out to me and forced me to continue on.
I was severely... annoyed... by mile six. It was windy as hell, chilling my sweat and my skin, and I made no secret of my discontent with the situation.
By mile seven, I was ready to cry in frustration. These sadistic people must want the family argument my mother had hopefully suggested we abandon when we left the house.
By mile eight, I had begun to ignore my family by leading the way, forcing myself to go faster even though my quads were burning.
At mile nine, I fell to the back of the pack and let them ride forth, because we had finally made it back to the safe, paved streets of town. I walked over the overpass, in no mood to force my tired legs to carry us forth, and used the downward glide to get me halfway to our neighborhood, passing my family grouped around the flat tire of my brother's bike. Ha. Served them right.
I returned home at long last, and found that my legs would barely support my weight after the tenth mile, two hours of hills and grass and bugs in my face. My Yankees cap was soaked with sweat, my hair nasty and stringy, and my skin was freezing to the touch. I told my mom she was a sadistic liar, pouted at her, and hurried upstairs to spend an hour in and under hot water.
I thank my lucky stars daily for plumbing and wonderful showers.
And now, as my brother asks me for the time, I can't even be bothered to answer. No, I can't even say three small words to him. In fact, all I can do is glare at him and hope he leaves--he has.
So maybe it's not just me. Sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time it's my situation. Maybe I'm spoiled and I like things under my terms, under my control.
Most likely, it's the second guess.
I'm a perfectionist, I know this. I'm slightly OCD about eggs and the way I shave my legs and how I eat my M&Ms and how messy my room can get before I'm sorting things by color, hanging by occasion, and folding by brand. Meanwhile, when my parents bug me about how 'messy' my room is, I tell them it's totally clean and they can't see it behind my closed door anyways, so why does it bother them?
I just never realized how much I liked control.
So my lessons for today?
1. Even when I'm not in school, writing is hard to accomplish with my family home at the same time. It's a miracle I can finish any story with their constant interruptions.
2. I can't trust my family when they say it'll be a 'short' bike ride. Even when I'm going skiing tomorrow and know I probably won't be able to even stand because of today.
3. I'm a control freak. Lovely. I've always wanted to know that about myself.
Alas, here I sit with a sinus headache, sore from my hips to my heels, unable to work on a story because my annoyance is too great. So I take it out on my seldom-used blog. And feel a little better, because I'm finally alone in the house.
Now they leave.
Nice, guys, real nice.
~hyacinth
Music Rec: "Shark In The Water" by V.V. Brown
Thursday, March 4, 2010
FanFiction: My Guilty Pleasure
So, I have an obsession with fanfiction. It's embarrassing. Quite embarrassing. Understandably, I have never told anybody in my Real Life world. When my mother asks me what I'm doing on the laptop, I tilt the screen further toward my stomach and innocently answer, "Writing," while I minimize the screen to reveal the open and untouched Word Document behind it.
The amount of time I spend on http://www.fanfiction.net is... well, I'm pretty sure it's about equal to the amount of time I spend in school. Which is pathetic and embarrassing. To make it even better, I'm also an author on the same site. Under this pen name, sadly. If you're curious, you can go read a bunch of really good fanfiction from my favorites list. It's mostly smutty and angsty. Which is about when I curl up and die of embarrassment, hoping that you don't know me from my Real Life.
But I happen to like reading it--I'm addicted for a reason, after all. It's... emotionally stimulating. Wait, not like that, sheesh. I mean... well, sometimes. Not that it's the reason I read! No, not entirely.
I read fanfiction because... well, let's start my list.
1. It's free.
2. A lot of it is absolutely amazing writing. Seriously, some of these stories are 450,000 words. Want an example?
3. They make me cry, they make me laugh uncontrollably, they keep me up at night thinking about the possibilities.
4. I like reading incomplete fanfics, because I like thinking ahead in the story and trying to predict the next twist in the plot. It's especially nice when I guess correctly. The complete stories, I love them, really, but the experience of reading them is not the same. I guess I just like the anticipation?
5. If the people on fanfiction are writing/reading this stuff and living normal lives, surely I can too?
6. Oh yeah... I write it myself and I like to compare my work to the work of others.
7. Review system. True, not many of the reviews are helpful for critique purposes, but they make me smile just the same. I like being able to talk to fellow authors and hear back from them, as well as hearing the thoughts of my own readers.
8. Some of these fanfic authors are real published authors! What a gem... read it for free before it comes out on shelves under different names!
9. There are so many stories, and finding the polished jewels in the pile of rubbish is tiring, but worth it.
10. Making friends with fellow authors. I beta, and somehow end up becoming pen pals with people in Canada and France and fellow Californians...
11. It's a place I can post ideas and see how they'll be responded to, even if it is a crappy story.
12. It's an escape from the chains and boundaries of Real Life. My life is so boring compared to these stories...
Wow, I didn't know my list was so long. I'm sure the list against fanfiction is just as long, though...
1. It takes up so much time! Seriously... I'm reading it whenever I can. Sometimes I choose it over my Real Life friends.
2. I have unrealistic expectations from my life and love now.
3. Since I started reading, I am now a smut-lover. And UST? Yeah, constantly searching for sources in Real Life, which is disappointing... because there aren't any.
4. I learn random things, spout them out at inopportune moments in Real Life, and have to blush and stumble my way through lying... "Oh, I just... read it somewhere." "Where?" "Er... um... I mean... I don't remember?"
5. I'm not losing any weight sitting on my ass reading all the time... And I'm lightheaded whenever I stand up from my reading spot.
6. I don't have nails anymore. I can't stop biting them as I read. At least while I'm writing they're occupied and I can't chow down nervously.
7. I would probably die of embarrassment if people from Real Life discovered my secret, read my horrible writings, and read the shockingly-smutty things I read every day and look forward to.
8. The fandom I live in... is probably the worst guilty pleasure of them all. I hate the books, the movies, and yet... the fanfiction is so irresistible. Seriously, what I read is better than the damn hardbacks that started it all.
9. I don't sleep when I have a chapter waiting to be read, or when I'm expecting reviews, or when I've just read something so emotionally charged that it keeps me up half the night imagining what might happen next or in the future.
10. I embarrassed of being embarrassed of it! What the hell?!
So yeah. Somehow, I'm thinking the good outweighs the bad. Not much I can complain about, now is there?
Unless you consider that instead of enjoying The Fountainhead like I've been meaning to do since January--I'm four hundred pages in and currently on hiatus because fanfiction is more appealing at times--I'm reading about the many different--better--versions of the two flattest literary characters of all time.
Damn.
~ hyacinth
Music Rec: Mumford and Sons - "Dust Bowl Dance"
The amount of time I spend on http://www.fanfiction.net is... well, I'm pretty sure it's about equal to the amount of time I spend in school. Which is pathetic and embarrassing. To make it even better, I'm also an author on the same site. Under this pen name, sadly. If you're curious, you can go read a bunch of really good fanfiction from my favorites list. It's mostly smutty and angsty. Which is about when I curl up and die of embarrassment, hoping that you don't know me from my Real Life.
But I happen to like reading it--I'm addicted for a reason, after all. It's... emotionally stimulating. Wait, not like that, sheesh. I mean... well, sometimes. Not that it's the reason I read! No, not entirely.
I read fanfiction because... well, let's start my list.
1. It's free.
2. A lot of it is absolutely amazing writing. Seriously, some of these stories are 450,000 words. Want an example?
I watch them twisting all around me,
I give them what they think they want to hear,
When thunder rolls in and lightning strikes hard
I tell them there is nothing to fear.
My thoughts run cold in daytime,
Whiskey heats up the night,
My heart beats loud when I hear her voice,
Singing baby won't you do me right.
I watch her every movement,
Her every twist and turn
The look she gives me sets my brain on fire,
Damn, what a lovely way to burn.
~Tropic of Virgo, by In.a.blue.bathrobe
3. They make me cry, they make me laugh uncontrollably, they keep me up at night thinking about the possibilities.
4. I like reading incomplete fanfics, because I like thinking ahead in the story and trying to predict the next twist in the plot. It's especially nice when I guess correctly. The complete stories, I love them, really, but the experience of reading them is not the same. I guess I just like the anticipation?
5. If the people on fanfiction are writing/reading this stuff and living normal lives, surely I can too?
6. Oh yeah... I write it myself and I like to compare my work to the work of others.
7. Review system. True, not many of the reviews are helpful for critique purposes, but they make me smile just the same. I like being able to talk to fellow authors and hear back from them, as well as hearing the thoughts of my own readers.
8. Some of these fanfic authors are real published authors! What a gem... read it for free before it comes out on shelves under different names!
9. There are so many stories, and finding the polished jewels in the pile of rubbish is tiring, but worth it.
10. Making friends with fellow authors. I beta, and somehow end up becoming pen pals with people in Canada and France and fellow Californians...
11. It's a place I can post ideas and see how they'll be responded to, even if it is a crappy story.
12. It's an escape from the chains and boundaries of Real Life. My life is so boring compared to these stories...
Wow, I didn't know my list was so long. I'm sure the list against fanfiction is just as long, though...
1. It takes up so much time! Seriously... I'm reading it whenever I can. Sometimes I choose it over my Real Life friends.
2. I have unrealistic expectations from my life and love now.
3. Since I started reading, I am now a smut-lover. And UST? Yeah, constantly searching for sources in Real Life, which is disappointing... because there aren't any.
4. I learn random things, spout them out at inopportune moments in Real Life, and have to blush and stumble my way through lying... "Oh, I just... read it somewhere." "Where?" "Er... um... I mean... I don't remember?"
5. I'm not losing any weight sitting on my ass reading all the time... And I'm lightheaded whenever I stand up from my reading spot.
6. I don't have nails anymore. I can't stop biting them as I read. At least while I'm writing they're occupied and I can't chow down nervously.
7. I would probably die of embarrassment if people from Real Life discovered my secret, read my horrible writings, and read the shockingly-smutty things I read every day and look forward to.
8. The fandom I live in... is probably the worst guilty pleasure of them all. I hate the books, the movies, and yet... the fanfiction is so irresistible. Seriously, what I read is better than the damn hardbacks that started it all.
9. I don't sleep when I have a chapter waiting to be read, or when I'm expecting reviews, or when I've just read something so emotionally charged that it keeps me up half the night imagining what might happen next or in the future.
10. I embarrassed of being embarrassed of it! What the hell?!
So yeah. Somehow, I'm thinking the good outweighs the bad. Not much I can complain about, now is there?
Unless you consider that instead of enjoying The Fountainhead like I've been meaning to do since January--I'm four hundred pages in and currently on hiatus because fanfiction is more appealing at times--I'm reading about the many different--better--versions of the two flattest literary characters of all time.
Damn.
~ hyacinth
Music Rec: Mumford and Sons - "Dust Bowl Dance"
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