We're Chained.
It's amazing what you re-discover when you're walking home at two thirty in the morning after being away almost six aching months.
The delicate shattery frost covered everything. The trees, the street,my breath, the moon, my thoughts. With the lustre that only december can bring, I embracingly reminisce over my development in this ghostown, similar to the way I embrace the air stinging my throat as I suck in life.
There were so many points where I thought I'd drown
so many points where I lied when i didn't need to.
but it made...this.
whoever this is.
dancing singing fool that pirouetts in the street and hides how much she loves living.
Music pulsates through my phone, saving me. That was my key to surviving this place. Diving into the blissful escape music brought me. Beethoven's Concierto in A didn't bother me about the lies I keep in my family. The Pixies never questioned my motives. And Hendrix never, ever, ever, asked me what was wrong. He always knew, and the thread of hope that sweet, sweet rock and roll dangled in front of me kept my dream alive.
and now i live it.
everything is bliss.
I play music every day with some of the most talented people I have met in my life, and everything came together with such astounding clarity, I almost didn't realize what I was looking at, I thought I still had the same life. I almost didn't realize that this new life was the pane of glass seperating me from everything I used to be.
But what's to be said for good old lassen/plumas county? Their rumors, their scandals. The people are the only problem in this place. There's so damn few of them it's almost impossible to avoid confict. Where I'm at in my life is so far from that. My conduct is formed around the intent or will of the people I come in contact with, not the consequences or statistics of their accompolishments. That's where westwood and I have to agree to disagree.
At almost three in the morning, my soul is sick and tired but my mind is wide awake. My eyes are wide open. There is too much beauty in this place to hate it. I wish I was back home, but I needed to be here.
Sherrill's memorial party was on sunday. It has almost been seven months. I didn't cry in front of anyone. My mom decorated her tree in my westwood house, with all her beautiful ornaments that she loved so distinctly. It was like an open house of everything that was Sherrill. Her brother didn't speak to her a month or so before she died and everything was supposed to go to him but he didn't keep in contact, so now whenever I go into my Westwood house I see remnants of Sherrill's life. Her furniture, books, pictures, fucking christmas ornaments. All my mothers and my burden to bear because her own brother won't grow a pair and deal with it. My mom sold her car, is trying to sell her house but it's not working so well. I was so lucky to be raised by such strong women. Too bad one of them couldn't make it to see me graduate.
Enough about that.
The delicate shattery frost covered everything. The trees, the street,my breath, the moon, my thoughts. With the lustre that only december can bring, I embracingly reminisce over my development in this ghostown, similar to the way I embrace the air stinging my throat as I suck in life.
There were so many points where I thought I'd drown
so many points where I lied when i didn't need to.
but it made...this.
whoever this is.
dancing singing fool that pirouetts in the street and hides how much she loves living.
Music pulsates through my phone, saving me. That was my key to surviving this place. Diving into the blissful escape music brought me. Beethoven's Concierto in A didn't bother me about the lies I keep in my family. The Pixies never questioned my motives. And Hendrix never, ever, ever, asked me what was wrong. He always knew, and the thread of hope that sweet, sweet rock and roll dangled in front of me kept my dream alive.
and now i live it.
everything is bliss.
I play music every day with some of the most talented people I have met in my life, and everything came together with such astounding clarity, I almost didn't realize what I was looking at, I thought I still had the same life. I almost didn't realize that this new life was the pane of glass seperating me from everything I used to be.
But what's to be said for good old lassen/plumas county? Their rumors, their scandals. The people are the only problem in this place. There's so damn few of them it's almost impossible to avoid confict. Where I'm at in my life is so far from that. My conduct is formed around the intent or will of the people I come in contact with, not the consequences or statistics of their accompolishments. That's where westwood and I have to agree to disagree.
At almost three in the morning, my soul is sick and tired but my mind is wide awake. My eyes are wide open. There is too much beauty in this place to hate it. I wish I was back home, but I needed to be here.
Sherrill's memorial party was on sunday. It has almost been seven months. I didn't cry in front of anyone. My mom decorated her tree in my westwood house, with all her beautiful ornaments that she loved so distinctly. It was like an open house of everything that was Sherrill. Her brother didn't speak to her a month or so before she died and everything was supposed to go to him but he didn't keep in contact, so now whenever I go into my Westwood house I see remnants of Sherrill's life. Her furniture, books, pictures, fucking christmas ornaments. All my mothers and my burden to bear because her own brother won't grow a pair and deal with it. My mom sold her car, is trying to sell her house but it's not working so well. I was so lucky to be raised by such strong women. Too bad one of them couldn't make it to see me graduate.
Enough about that.