Echt on der Visen shpront, perkont om hievn bren. Frezen ghord liem Prong asned ev nucht sedn Wernt. Jun Spearl och Worgden Spearl, un herant vurn yearant. Making the only time necessary for imagination each day, the only kind of principles necessary for survival of the soul are those that originate inside the minds of weeping friends. Make your only steps those that lead towards your personal fate, and forget the sorrows which are not yet yours. Make my roses red.

I can talk a little more now. Two, perhaps three or four crises have resolved themselves/ been resolved. That who will be behind the door thing? One of the contestants has been removed. As of now, due to newly discovered extenuating circumstances, I know for certain who will be behind that door. Things, as always, could change, but it sure is comforting to have at least one tiny stable thing in my life.


tennis shoe pretzels and peppercorn discoveries
hoses dancing and collars.
t-shirts worn on the inside and emotions worn on the outside make it all
the most wonderful rabbit hole
one wakes us up and carries us, another twirls us through our life.
one is rare and two is common three is strange and four is lucky five is unknown and six is confusing
one is wonderful

pencils cannot write two words
carry the sweetie in your pocket
crushed and shattered all the way down to heaven
lost among the twisted christae*, hidden amongst life itself.
I've found nothing of everything.

I've gone through a lot of confusion since I've talked to any of you, my crystal view has become a smothering abyss. Now I stand on the plateau, eager to descend.

peregrine (adj.): having a tendency to wander

peregrine (n): a swift nearly cosmopolitan falcon that is much used in falconry

All definitions from Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, 1975.



*any of the inwardly projecting folds of the inner membrane of a mitochondrion

I know it's been forever since I posted, my life has done several backflips and round-offs since then. I had my birthday, went on a European cruise, screwed up royally quite a few times, and have somehow wound up floating on a cloud. Don't ask me how I got here, the facts can't explain themselves this time.

295 x 24 = 7,080
7,080 x 60 = 424,800

Waiting has always been a question. As always, life has thickened the plot. Now I must wait to even find out who will be on the other side of the door. As yet, as of always, only one person, who has absolutely no idea that this sanctuary exists, has any idea what I'm talking about. I"ve always attempted to be opque and obtuse to the masses, and crystal clear to a select one or two. Now I hope no one knows what I'm talking about.

I have rediscovered a person I used to be in the last few days, or at least had glimpses of her. She was so long ago, and so far away. I'm afraid I didn't linger there nearly as much as I should have.

I meant to write so much more, but I've been blocked up solid, and now is no longer the time.



Every candle burns low.

Almost a stranger now, its been so long. Preassure is coming in from every direction, and freetime is but a distant memory. No light at the end of the tunnel yet, but at least I'll be 17 soon. Still haven't gotten around to getting my permit. I'm so lazy. Got my new phone at least; I don't feel so naked and unconnected anymore.


Death and pieces and searching for hope.
all the thimbles, thistles, water drops
Little gold boxes and scented brown paper.
feed bag wrapping my dime
Stepping lightly over the treasured thorns.
stacks mourning ever bound
Cold, hard, pale hugs from the moon.
crazing mountains The Voyces lay
Please don't treasure the flowers.


Not quite sure what that is, but I like it. I haven't written a poem in months, but today I seem posessed by prose.


I've been knowing where you lay, waiting for my turn. I've been hoping I won't be late, watching you turn around. I've been typing, staring, shutting you out. My mind is closed and watching you always. Edges and fringes and slivers of feeling. Sometimes at night it keeps me awake, crying and mourning and lusting to take my walls down. Messages secret, the wait is so long. Running, hunting, but your monotone days that I hate so much, I find myself hoping to find them true. Knots in my stomach, my moon is so far. I must protect my heart. Please don't take him away.


368 days is such a long time. Perhaps you know who I am, perhaps I've let you in that far.


Trying to scare me away,
turning my eyes,but
my mind will not go.


These fragments just keep coming- I suppose that's because its been so long.


Will I fall on a pillow?
Will you watch me fall?
Will you help me fall?Will you catch me at the bottom?
Or will you hold me and love me and keep me from needing that open window?
The mind is a tumultuous thing, very few know when it will spiral. So many won't see even after the crash. You are as blind as you want to be.

So much is going on in my life right now, and I feel so completely empty. Such is the curse of dysthymia. You never know when it's going to pop up again. Matt gets deployed to Pakistan on Wednesday, he's going to be helping the earthquake victims. I'm currently planning how to graduate high school early, preferably by the end of this school year. I'm a semi-finalist in this year's contest, so my poem "Sacred Leavings" has been selected to be published in Eternal Portraits. I can pre-order it from the publisher for $50, guaranteed not to be undersold. Dunno why anyone would be interested, but I just thought I'd mention it. I'm not even excited about it. Would somebody come along and wake me from this surreal dream of no emotion?


"This entire sequence has the blurred and overlapping quality of a nightmare, Goya-esque. It is a walpurgisnacht, a bad trip, a surrealistic mixing of hallucinations. Time, space, sound are wrenched awry."

-The Great Gatsby, pg 100

Every day I rush online, I have to check my mail. I always hope there's something there from you. No new messages. So I go to Myspace, check my inbox, my bulletin board. Nothing there either. So then I check here, the most valued place of all, hoping against hope that something will be here. But my hope is always empty. I hope every time the phone rings, but it's always my mom. No one else ever calls me, even when I call them and they say they'll call me right back.

The rose has represented love for an eternity and longer. The reasons why have always been obvious to me, but I thought others might need to be enlightened. Roses and love both have thorns- they must be handled carefully, or pain will result. Roses and love are both so painful if you make a mistake- many people swear not to handle them again. Roses and love are both so beautiful- it makes the risk of pain worthwhile. There is more, but I'm not quite sure how to articulate it. What I do know is that I have always been obsessed with roses, I surround myself with them. I'm a romantic: for me, love cures all. I melt at the sight of roses. If you bring me them, my heart is yours. Period. Well, almost. But it's a really, really good way to make me soft in the knees.

I wish you were here, to hold me tight. I wish you were here, to smooth my hair. I wish you were here, to kiss away my tears. But you aren't, so I hold my blanket instead. John Bear'd comforts me, for he is stuffed, and always there. I miss you most in the middle of the night, I miss you during the day more frequently. My wishing never goes away, for the next time I hear your voice, or see your smile. This is about you, I'm sure, for I'm afraid only a few read this blog. But I'm afraid it is not for you. For more than one fits the words above, yet I fear only one knows who they are. I miss so many people, even the ones I see every day. I miss the connection we used to have, the friendship we used to treasure, the long talks on the phone talking abut nothing at all. So many fill my heart. Will you come, and help me heal it?

A tear drops on to my cheek, and I lay down my head to weep. I work so hard, often long into the night, perhaps in to the morning. I slave away, I teach myself the concepts. Every day I struggle on, every day I force myself through. I don't want to learn today, I just want to lie down and cry. It's so hard, this path, this thing I must do. Working for myself is hardest of all. athey used to push me, cajole my, plead with me, drag me on to school. Now I do the cajoling. Every day, I wake up and say "I can't do this another day." Every day I get out of bed and go to school. It was for them. Now it's for me. I don't have to make them proud, I don't have to win the awards. Not any more. Student of the month. President's Student Service Award. Honor Roll. First place ribbons. Lunch with the principal. Who cares? Not me. Not anymore. I am me, and that's all the success I need. Happiness isn't even required to be successful. Retaining your true identity is. As long as we are faithful to ourself, we can run forever.


Katish connects us through the miles.

Ol Spearl tuKatse.

Each word is a whisper of my heart, a murmur of my soul.

Ol gan selan reyla fayela.

Into these pages I have poured my heart and soul since April 7th of 04. I doubt that any but myself have read every entry, but to do so is a fabulous adventure. Jonathan guided me to these pages, and he did so at a most crucial point in my life. The second entry, written on the day I established this blog, starts "Yesterday I attemped suicide for the first time." At that time, I took it for granted that I would try again. I assumed that the pain would never stop. And I was right. What I didn't believe is that I would ever be able to handle it. But I can now. With the help of my friends, who are always there, even when I think they aren't. And with the help of my parents, even though I usually reject their efforts. But I love them, and they know that. I know it hurts when I push them away, but I'm growing up now, and I know they understand that too. So with their help, and the help of many others, I have moved beyond my pain. During that process, I have evolved into a different person. I love more deeply now, and I've come to understand a couple things a bit better. I know everyone has their pain, and perhaps I've had more than my share. I used to think that I was weak, beause I was floundering in the vastness of my pain. Now I know that that was strength, not weakness. I survived, but what's more, I flourished.

Once again, I ask that you please comment or leave a tag. It fills my heart with joy to know that somebody cares, that somebody's interested. What's more, I frequently go back and read my old comments and tags, and relive that same feeling. Here, I have a record of the people who've helped me through. My thanks go out to you.