The suspension of disbelief, such an innocent principle. Go to a movie, go to a musical, go to a concert, and lose yourself. Lose yourself in the imagery, the costumes, the magical fantasy world you watch. and enjoy yourself. And appreciate the time, work, energy, creativity, talent that went into making these things. And then two hours later, go home and reflect. You were moved. You felt something new, or familiar, or soothing, or raw. And you left your life, your grounded earthly normal life, and flew up above it for a moment. You forgot about your problems, your faults, your limits, your failures, or maybe you found comfort or empathy about these things. and this is all very innocent. and nourishing.

But what if you were to continue to suspend your disbelief for a week? a year? a lifetime? Is reality so terrible, so frightening, so unbearable that you must constantly strive to avoid it at all costs? Are you satisfied here, in never never land? Are you fulfilled? Do you feel loved, appreciated, seen, understood, worthwhile? Do you want to feel these things? or maybe all of these things are exactly the monsters you're hiding from.

I'm a little cryptic. I'm a little lost. I'm a little jealous. I'm a little jaded. I have no interest in being swept away from my life. My life is too short. and I don't want to miss it. I want to be known, deeply. I want to love and to be loved and to build. and I can't pretend there's not pain. To fully live my life is to embrace the pain. Sometimes I wish I could just forget like you. Detach. Break off into pieces and leave the hurt pieces in a room, locked and hidden from the part of me that floats around dancing and flirting and smiling and dreaming.

and sometimes I just think, maybe you're onto something. We live and die alone at the end of the day. We lose everything eventually, and it's true: life is so hard and unbearably dull sometimes. Why not make believe it's just a pretty picture?

Maybe it's a solid plan. Until I think about the end. The certain death we have to face. Reality hunts us down, and even if just for a moment, it seizes us, clings tightly onto our hearts, and you must see it. But at that inevitable point it's too late to do anything about the fact that you have nothing to show for your life. and to me, that moment would be more terrifying than all these difficult things along the way combined.

It's worth it to live here in reality. It's hard. It's complicated. It's boring sometimes. and maybe you would just suck at it ultimately. But at the end you can still say you tried. and you lived. and you were honest.

I miss my life. So it makes me ramble.

signing off, from dance camp, the land of the lost.

People like us, we get by through the day,

Surviving the city way better than most.

We go through the motions from nightcap to nightcap

Here but not here, with the heart of a ghost.

People like us we meet up some night

In a room full of strangers who call themselves friends.

It feels like a dream but it's too hard to tell

Where the dream begins and the real world ends

Less is more.

People with furrowed brows, hands on hips, talk about objects. talk about grandchildren.

I'm in a trance deep inside a high school yearbook. I'll take their word for it, but I don't know about any of this. I'm pretty sure we're doomed. You'll make it. I just wish I knew how to fit.

I get overwhelmed, distracted, confused, hypnotized, fascinated by rooms full of objects sometimes. We're always fixing and searching, buying and selling, moving and planning. I am such a suspicious character, with my resting and pondering. I'm trapped and selfish sometimes. Aren't you?

I wonder what you'll say. Crafting magic words into a solution for us. Stirring up the perfect potion countries away. I wish you would just say yes. yes. okay. I'll do it. I'll try. Because the saying is the least of it. Say it, and get it out of the way so that you can get on with the doing. The more words the farther away we are, and I know it's hard because words are all you have right now to do your bidding. But all the right words wont make it work if it can't work. and usually, it doesn't work.

but how I hate to disappoint.

Where is it she goes?

What is trust? If I trust myself truly do I need it with others? If I know, beyond a doubt, that I am all right, I am complete, I will suffice with just me, then what does it matter if he is to be trusted or not.

I can't give it away again. to be smashed. I just can't. and I have a sinking feeling. dread. and what do I dread more? Learning that it has all been an illusion? again. or having to face the people I love after revealing to them that it all fell through. again.

Is my intuition really just a self fulfilling prophecy? Could I see a good thing if I had it? Will I ever have it?

There are some days I just feel broken for no reason at all.

silly girl.

I admire you

I desire you

and it doesn't help that your eyes are blue

It would not be fair

to require you

to feel the same

You just make me grin

you make me spin

I'm down you cheer me up again

I wish I knew

the moves to win

this kind of game

I don't want to break up anymore.

the end is near

Death. I think about it a lot. we should all think about it a lot, in my opinion. Not because it will make it any easier to deal with the death of a loved one. Not because we can escape the inevitable, but because we only have this one life, and it will end.

Everyone around you will die. Everyone you know, everyone you see on the street, every person you ever kissed, you ever hated, you ever worked with. Either you will know and live through their death, or you'll be dead yourself. They will expire. into thin air. their essence, their words, their dreams, their smile. gone. only a tiny fraction will remain, captured in photographs, in memories, in dreams.

Impermanance. The foundation of life. It makes everything seem so silly. Resentment, cruelty, betrayal, melodrama, anxiety, the games we play. all for nothing. we'll be gone soon.

So how magical, this world. this world of temporary beings. It's a wonder we can get anything done at all, us fragile humans with our momentary lives. Our breathing in and out. We live each day oblivious to our constant vulnerability. So often we forget, we hesitate, we refrain from loving and experiencing and expressing gratitude for all the things we are fortunate enough to hold even for a minute. The mundane things. The terrible things. The miraculous things.

Let's not rush it. Let's not waste it. Here we are for now. Let's drop it, and live and enjoy each other.

I really love you friends. We are so lucky, words cannot describe.

some days...

I remember the feeling of having such a great friend.

I fill with anger knowing you're no longer my friend. and it's your fault. and I can't forgive you.

I wish I could forgive you.

I wish you were still my friend.

I wish we could still laugh until we cried, I wish we could still talk about anything at length.

I wish I could know what you're writing now. what you're reading.

I want to talk to you, and then the rage comes again. You've made it impossible.

I remember you...

and some days... I forget. and then I really feel sad. Knowing how far away I am from that friendship. I'm light years away.

I have amazing friends. but you knew me best. you just did.

too sixy for my pants

Goodbye for now size 4

Personal Statement 2

I deleted a previous post. and I have some thoughts about it.

I realize the content of my "personal statement" was intensely personal and revealed some things about my brother's life he wishes to keep private and out of the internet world. I understand. I respect that.

It may happen that because of my loud mouth my brother might find himself one day in a less than desirable situation with someone he has just met who might presume things about him based on his past. Yes, that would be hard and less than ideal. However, hard and less than ideal is an inescapable part of life. Tough luck. The way I deal with things is to talk about them and get them out in the open. There are innumerable consequences to our actions. They're not all fair. Maybe this is one of them. But no, someone messed up and hurt a bunch of people, and I'm supposed to shut up about it. I'm supposed to heal and process in silence, and pretend like it's not still affecting me right now.

There's an argument (that I respect) that it's "not my place" to tell someone else's life struggles. I guess this is true, although it implies that it is indeed someone's place to tell. Presumably that someone is my brother, right? His account of his life is his right to share or to keep private. Is his account the best account? the right account? the only account that matters? the only account with the power to change society?

This brings me to my point, and the dire condition of human existence right now, which concerns just how oblivious we are of the effects of our actions on other people. My life is not solely made up of my choices, my actions, my failures. In fact lately, the quality of my life has been directly affected by someone's actions over which I have no control. I have no remedy. I have no defense. Would I have moved back to Indy if it were not for someone else's choices? Would I cry myself to sleep and find myself forgetting things I used to remember if not for someone else's choices?

I want to fly a banner that reads: YOUR ACTIONS AFFECT OTHER PEOPLE. They don't just make them cry or worry, or brush their shoulder for a second, fading into the past. Your actions and choices directly affect in a deep and experiential way other people's lives. No, I can't possibly know all the ways, but I can try to be more aware, and just because I wasn't the person who made the choices, or the parent of the person, doesn't mean I don't have a real experience and a story to tell. Sometimes, your actions do indeed become someone else's truth, someone else's story, someone else's life.

How will social stigmas ever dissolve if we do not tell our stories? How will humanity ever achieve something closer to open-mindedness, or true compassion?

That's all I have to say for now. I deleted the post.