Echoes of the Past: piecing myself back together.
November 6, 2003
Experiments in Pure Psychic Automatism.
I discovered some "stories" and poems saved on my computer from like the first week of college, which is ironic because they're all pure psychic automatism type stuff and I didn't even know that existed back then. Ha. That's irony for ya.
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And now a story, because I'm tired of the same old poem:
It begins with an onamonapoea- KASMACK! but ends with a realization. Shallow beginnings beget shallower endings. Isn't love sweet? And Immoral? I should like to think so, how refreshing to think that way. And so this first paragraph, not even being a real one, rambles on nonsensically, for you know nothing of why this story exists... But neither do I.
Perhaps the KASMACK! at the beginning of this story was not hearable. That sound coincides only with a feeling, of love and lust and need and so on and so on and so on. Love is such a beautiful thing: two repressed beings coming together to form one psuedo-emotional antiChrist which eventually procreates, making even more psychotic nothingness. I know of nothing worse than love.
December 16, 2003-->
Black Butterfly
"She's locked herself in the basement again!" A far-off female voice yelled.
Slowly, the girl began to come back to life. Her dreary bedroom surrounded her, enclosed her, flooded her senses. Street noises floated up into a small window to her left, which was propped open by two small novels, both written by the same obscure author.
From another room in the apartment, a male voice yelled, "But we don't have a basement!" in reply.
The girl sat up, shaking her head at the idea of being somehow related to these lunatics. "Every morning, every fucking mourning."
As she moved to get up, her tiny cluttered room became slightly more surreal; a quick flash of change caught her eye, but she pretended not to notice. Her parents were still talking about the most random things in very loud voices as the girl dressed and moved around her room.
She grabbed her shoulder bag and closed the door behind her, entering the hallway. As the door clicked shut, a small drawing on the back of her door fell off, as the final piece of tape on the corner had finally given out. It fluttered to the ground and rested on a stack of books. The drawing, a dark scene with one solitary figure, became a butterfly for a split second- only given enough time to flutter it's wings once. But it happened. It happened so suddenly that no one, not even the girl's God, knew about the unnatural morphing of the picture- which is a good thing, since her God wouldn't have allowed it to happen. Gods generally frown upon magical occurances, since it lends validity to their existence. But the black butterfly happened when the girl's God (and everyone else's Gods) was looking the other way.
January 17th, 2004-->
Maya
I know why the caged bird sings.
Her song fills the prison
exploding
and flowing through metal bars
like water
dripping on the floor below
and falling to the heavens.
She sings as though she is free
But her songs have sorrow too
because her wings will never brush a cloud
and the chat of flowers will remain a mystery
to her ears.
Song is the only thing that is free
in her cage-
prison-
Except her daydreams.
Lovingly, she is kept.
caged birds' songs are full of beauty.
and so is she.
but little attention is paid to words-
Her cries go unanswered
Her wings touch the cage.
I know why the caged bird sings.
Because I sing too.
____________That Said...___________
Have you heard anything you've been saying lately?
Have you been listening to the conversations in your head?
Do you know where you're walking to?
Or are you just walking
so you don't have to stop?
words... or compostions?
write or wrong?
how far does blank page extend
how often does your pen converse
and when did you stop listening to it
direction drags you to the end
but there is none.
there are only more stolen words
only a given phrase
knotches made on a pencil
telling you how far to go.
just keep walking
until there is no more sidewalk.
what then???
The answer comes.
July 21st, 2004--> Written while working at camp, my nickname was Tangerine and I did a lot of cleaning (and met a lot of spiders).
Have you seen Tangerine?
meet eight-legged friends
while hunting
brooms, dustpans, and garbage cans.
wander along path
finding light
greeting sunrises at 7am
A month later-->
Okay, so I've been pondering, and I am terribly excited to be leaving camp in just a matter of days. I feel like I've grown less vibrant since I've been here, like I'm a muted tone compared to how I used to be. But perhaps I was never incredibly vibrant until now. Which brings me to the next idea: every life has a prologue and an epilogue, and then a story in the middle. Usually the story is the shortest, and the epilogue takes up almost one's entire life. I think that up until this point of my life, I was just living the prologue, and now it's story time. I just hope that my life is 1,000 pages long, and the prologue hardly exists. I want to die living.
August 27th, 2004--> A few days after I moved into my apartment with Nathan...
How many years?
Melancholy baby
your love is sadness, sickness, retreat
though the ocean never smelled so sweet
and under your nose the world turns a beat
words you compose become bleak and grey
but baby maybe it was meant to be
see EVERYTHING's lost... not just today
January 1, 2005--> Posted from an Internet café in Szeged, a small college town in Hungary, while I was recovering from the best New Year's Eve EVER.
Take the red pill.
I read my friends list to keep updated as to what's going on with everyone else while I'm away, but today as I read I feel that a lot of people are just really bored lately. All of the entries sound very tired, so I hope that it's just me making assumptions and thats actually not the case. Anyhow, though, I will be home in less than a week, so rejoice! I shall save you from your boredom... That is, if I am not sleeping for an entire bloody week when I get home. Today it has become official- Heidi is sick. I survive though, as we all must. We are in Szeged finally today, after our new year has gotten off to a not so fantastic start. Today was just a bad day, I was tired and cranky and sick, and Agi always takes it too much to heart when I am ornery (sp?). New years eve was bloody brilliant though, Zsofi (agi's friend) met us at about 7 at Buddha Coffee House (such a darling place it was) and we ran back to the hotel for a while. The city was PACKED, like a bloody warzone too with all of the fireworks abounding. Anyways, we got all gussied up (agi actually allowed us to put make-up on her) and drunk (opened the champagne a bit early). Then we went out to watch the fireworks at midnight over the Danube (which we almost missed because of the crowds) armed with a bottle of wine and plastic cups, and then to a techno club where we danced until 6am. Dropped Zsofi off at the bus station and went home and SLEPT quite late. But there are a lot of small funny stories that I have from last night, but as I stated last time, I loathe Hungarian keyboards. Oh, funny thing: directly after my last entry (about how tired I was) Agi and I went down the street and danced for five hours. I think I've been pushing myself a bit far, and I've developed a lot of vices (i.e. an incredible addiction to junk food and esspresso). But a new year, a new Heidi. My intuition tells me that 2öö5 is going to be the best year yet! Okay, must go make eggs and drink tea at Agi's flat, and then rest and recouperate. Viszlat!
January 24, 2005
Excerpts from my Journal written whilst in Rome and Hungary.
Welcome to my head. These are written amoungst many little doodles and drawings, and are only some choice writings, I left some stuff out. I am very happy that I looked through this journal today, for I feel that I've already forgotten how I felt when I finally found myself sitting on a brick in Rome. I am perpetually losing myself, Heidi sure is a hard chick to hold on to.
Dec. 26, about 6 am
Romeà Budapest
Train. Met three men from Senegal, who had just come back from a social issues conference. They were very interested in race relations in the U.S.; I had a strange feeling from them, though, there was a flirty vibe. Genova is cold. Train to Milan has just discovered about 4 inches of snow and it finally feels like Christmas, after the fact. I am glad to be leaving Rome, I did in fact dig it, but certain people make it less beautiful with their presence. Ouch, my feelings towards her are as cold as Genova. Cough. I should really stop saying that I get along with everyone… I do believe I jinx myself.
I really like the train, the transition from place to place is much more visible, and the ground is really a lovely thing. Don’t get me wrong though, I would still like those wings that I wished for at the Trevi Fountain.
Funny thing: our journey.
Strange Dream log- 12/31
Took forever to go to sleep, first dream I remember was slicing large chunks of ham and talking to my mom and one other person.
2nd strange dream: Sitting in a chair talking to a certain fellow (names left out of this one yo) when he suddenly tries to seduce me. He was massively sucking on my big toe (right foot), but I pretended to be asleep. He put a pillow under my head and left. I got up and was folding clothes and watching some really strange tv show, look out the window and the fellow is still there. That’s the strangest part though, because I remember vividly this, and I couldn’t see a person at all, but the door to the vehicle was open. But weirdness is that it was my dad’s truck, not the fellow’s vehicle. What in the devil does that mean, eh?
12/31
gyongy (o has oooomlaut)
The most beautiful Hungarian word as written by Zsofi
1/4
Strange dreams for the past two days à medicine induced realities abounded.
Lots of dreams in which I’m smoking.
Also a dream where I went to a club (with Agi? And maybe Zsofi) wearing Agi’s big black coat. Got stopped by a bouncer and checked for drugs and alcohol. For some reason, I had a bag of pot (more than an 1/8th, and I did know about it beforehand) in the hood of my coat. Bouncer took it. A few minutes later, I found him completely ripped off his ass, and I asked him if it was good shit or what. Exchange of grins, move into next room, where the bands are playing. Lack of memory at this part. Through a door, to outside area à sunny courtyard. Memory lapse. We are talking to boys, one of which is Hugh Grant, who, for some reason, is covered in mud on his face (it’s dried and cracked, like he’d been wandering a desert for a while), but his hot white suit thing (think old desert movies) is completely clean. I think the stranger thing, though, is that I noticed this, but did not find it weird at the time. We flirted around a bit before introducing ourselves. He says, “Well… I’m Hugh… of course,” with that sexy Brit finesse of his, and I wake up after introducing myself.
I’ve decided that I do in fact believe in fate. When we were at the castle, and decided to turn around, started to walk back the way we came, it was fate’s hand that Agi stopped us and told us that it’s more beautiful to see another street that we haven’t been on yet. And somehow, we ended up right at the Hungarian House of Wine. It’s no Snow White fairy tale, but hell, it works for me. I feel like my mental state is finally almost recovered, but my physical still has a ways to go. Anyways, though, I wish fate would guide me to that one magic boy already, though I don’t imagine he would have a sign in front of him like the House of Wine. ‘THIS IS IT, HEIDI! YOU BLIND IDIOT!’
Oh well, there’s always Paris.
Sighhhhhhhhhhhhh
5/1/05
Saw the most lovely sunset in a bus from Szeged to Veszprem yesterday, and a thousand stars on our way to Budapest in the car. Today I saw the sunrise over mountains in Milan, while the moon still lingered above. Always remember that you are Blessed.
Sunrise over mountains…The most beautiful thing I have seen thus far. How many adventures have I already had? Today was bittersweet, for I shall perhaps never see Agi again, but then again we always take that chance in saying goodbye. Still, the memories are beautiful, and so is Agi!
1pm-ish
Got on the wrong bloody train. I have so been in damsel-in-distress mode since I’ve been here. Luckily it’s a train, so they can’t throw me off. And it’s going where I need to go, so we SURVIVE through tomorrow. Hmm, though it’s just been discovered that this train maybe goes faster than it should… Now I know why I paid the extra 8 euros, and I don’t like it. I dig slow trains, especially today. If I didn’t have to get my luggage from Amy’s, I’d go straight through to the airport and sit in the plane until it left on Friday. That’s how much I’m ready to stand still (underlined). Bah, being sic, alone, and tired in a foreign country makes for one bitchy Heidi. I made an emergency run to the vending machine for Kinder chocolate before the train left, because I’m so frazzled. How terrible is that??? Sigh, at least it wasn’t….. Haven’t had that since we left Pest, so being sick really does have its benefits. At least when we get to Rome I shouldn’t get too lost, I know that city OK for being there a week (note: I ended up getting lost that night for about 3 hours in the city). But back to trains. Oh I could spend the rest of my life living on a train and be happy for it. Though I would have to change trains every now and again, to keep the view fresh. But TRAINS!! Yes sir.
Ahh, the hills! I could lay on them for days in the sunshine. And do somersaults through all of them until there were no more hills to do somersaults on.
I heart trains and hills forever.
So much for hearts and hills, now the train isn’t even going in the right bloody direction! My God. What a day. Back to where we came from hopefully someone will tell me where I’m headed soon
Optimistic thinking Point #1 for Heidi à At least I got to see Florence through a window. And it was beautiful.
6/1/05
Finally found myself in Rome sitting on a brick step. Wonder how I got here. ß So far away from home?
Blow as deep as you want to Blow.
I Hereby, forevermore, Devote Myself to Madness
Frantic frequent visits to the local barbershop
To shave my head in order that I might one day- receive a lobotomy
Motion through the notion that there ain’t nothin’ to it man
It’s just life
Just
Like a can of soup
Or a swatch of fabric
That breathing machine over there don’t mean a thing
Unless you’ve got the instructions manual
And
A hammer.
Hmm, first attempt at spontaneous prose proves more difficult than it seems. Perhaps I need to study the ‘list of essentials’ more. But I have indeed decided that I will from now on devote myself to madness, in a sense. What’s the point of living if you’re just going to grow old and open an antique shop (reference to “Howl”)? Eh? I found myself amoungst a rubble of old Heidis while in Rome, and have decided that she is too valuable… I can’t afford to lose her again.
In related news, my vacation has taken yet another interesting turn. Tonight I spend the evening amoung a crowd of the city’s forgotten, those who sleep wrapped in true madness and despair, in the train station, while I am nestled safely in the train station office of Termini, tanks to my favorite new person, Mauriccio.
Sigh. This entry is getting long and nostalgic, but it's really only for me (no one else need read it.)... I'll probably post another one with later entries, and a BRAND NEW entry tonight. It's monday night, and winter break, I'm allowed to be thoughtful.