(no subject)
The first semester of CEGEP came and went with a flurry that both confused my perception of time and space and left me with a fountain of information that I didn't previously think I'd be able to tap into. I learned more than I thought I could in such a short time. Going to CEGEP kind of forced me into a state of maturity that I had once thought I had achieve but had really just kind of hoped myself into. I feel a lot wiser than I was a year ago. My soul has been through a lot since the last New Year, and this New Year proved to be just as full of information to process.
I don't know exactly how to say it all. I became a better singer, I became a more cynical person, I wrote my first song, and I dealt with the death of a graduate in my class. She died in Cuba, and the details of her death are still just a little fuzzy to me. I haven't quite wrapped my brain around the idea of her death. When I saw her in her casket she didn't look like herself at all. More like an empty container that could have contained anyone, but ended up containing her. Her features were expresssionless, and she wasn't breathing. God, she wasn't breathing at all. There was nothing moving her lungs and there was just no life in her. Her soul had gone to another place, and it was so sad. The room was filled with this tragedy that shooke veryone no matter how little they knew her or how much. The intensity varied, but it was still there, and it was still sad. It shook me into a startled contemplative moroseness. I didn't know what to do with myself. What does one do with the news of someone's death? Nothing. You can't do anything. Not a fucking thing.
It's been a month since she died and since that month I've found myself, once again, contemplating her. More like contemplating life. When I went back to Ottawa the most significant thing that happened was seeing Jordan. I thought that maybe, just maybe I was tricking myself into this almost mythical attraction I had to him before I went, and when I was there I could see that it wasn't mythical and that he was real and that I just didn't want to be away from him. That whole love makes you do crazy things made me wonder just how crazy I could be with those.... thoughts running through my head. It's been almost exactly a week since I saw him and I haven't thought about much else.
I wrote a poem.
Almost Cherubic
My skin is pale like forgotten
a surreptitious reminder of the glass case incidence
blood boycotting my body
abolitionists in sarcasm's clothing
peel at the swordstrokes and the skin is all the same,
Solemn and sacrificial
Sounds are limitless and words are cheap
your voice on the phone makes my heart squeeze cellophane
trembling into my fingers
it's arbitrary and lilting
purring into my ear, a carborator censure,
skeletal figures dance in my eyelids
hollow eyed incubus steal their way to unimportance
vacant thresholds wait for the morning
the tears haven't stopped.
I've been holding out until my form can curl into yours,
War tactics
battle fortress
- Of hopeless solitude
It's almost cherubic
just a little heathenistic
Self degrading sense of preservation
warning labels
too close might hurt, my darling
feign magesterial grace and the world might follow
stepping in line
successive to grace
swagger like alcohol so you can leave a scar
was that your plan all along?
Unused and self involved
encased in the sound of my trepidation
paper-thin membranes stretched thin to fit sickly flesh
paved like New York City
your breath leave the foggiest marks on my frame
I trace them feebly
The hum that drowns your dreams in information
It tastes like death in my mouth but I stay for the view
48 timelines -binary one's and zero's probing polygonal crevices
It's lascivious and high-maintenance
shrieking to a sigh
softer, so depressive
lemon yellow stucco walls hold disconnects like framework
wallowing is commonplace
delusional is where I want to be.
I don't know exactly how to say it all. I became a better singer, I became a more cynical person, I wrote my first song, and I dealt with the death of a graduate in my class. She died in Cuba, and the details of her death are still just a little fuzzy to me. I haven't quite wrapped my brain around the idea of her death. When I saw her in her casket she didn't look like herself at all. More like an empty container that could have contained anyone, but ended up containing her. Her features were expresssionless, and she wasn't breathing. God, she wasn't breathing at all. There was nothing moving her lungs and there was just no life in her. Her soul had gone to another place, and it was so sad. The room was filled with this tragedy that shooke veryone no matter how little they knew her or how much. The intensity varied, but it was still there, and it was still sad. It shook me into a startled contemplative moroseness. I didn't know what to do with myself. What does one do with the news of someone's death? Nothing. You can't do anything. Not a fucking thing.
It's been a month since she died and since that month I've found myself, once again, contemplating her. More like contemplating life. When I went back to Ottawa the most significant thing that happened was seeing Jordan. I thought that maybe, just maybe I was tricking myself into this almost mythical attraction I had to him before I went, and when I was there I could see that it wasn't mythical and that he was real and that I just didn't want to be away from him. That whole love makes you do crazy things made me wonder just how crazy I could be with those.... thoughts running through my head. It's been almost exactly a week since I saw him and I haven't thought about much else.
I wrote a poem.
Almost Cherubic
My skin is pale like forgotten
a surreptitious reminder of the glass case incidence
blood boycotting my body
abolitionists in sarcasm's clothing
peel at the swordstrokes and the skin is all the same,
Solemn and sacrificial
Sounds are limitless and words are cheap
your voice on the phone makes my heart squeeze cellophane
trembling into my fingers
it's arbitrary and lilting
purring into my ear, a carborator censure,
skeletal figures dance in my eyelids
hollow eyed incubus steal their way to unimportance
vacant thresholds wait for the morning
the tears haven't stopped.
I've been holding out until my form can curl into yours,
War tactics
battle fortress
- Of hopeless solitude
It's almost cherubic
just a little heathenistic
Self degrading sense of preservation
warning labels
too close might hurt, my darling
feign magesterial grace and the world might follow
stepping in line
successive to grace
swagger like alcohol so you can leave a scar
was that your plan all along?
Unused and self involved
encased in the sound of my trepidation
paper-thin membranes stretched thin to fit sickly flesh
paved like New York City
your breath leave the foggiest marks on my frame
I trace them feebly
The hum that drowns your dreams in information
It tastes like death in my mouth but I stay for the view
48 timelines -binary one's and zero's probing polygonal crevices
It's lascivious and high-maintenance
shrieking to a sigh
softer, so depressive
lemon yellow stucco walls hold disconnects like framework
wallowing is commonplace
delusional is where I want to be.