The only reason I keep up with LJ anymore is because I feel connected to Marie and Sofi and even Sophi (even though I talk to you/see you)...it feels like no time has passed since we've seen each other. Reading your posts makes me so happy, even if they're not-so-happy posts. I can hear you guys screaming in my head; I can hear Marie's giddy screech when something is funny or her monotone furrowing of the brow when something is irksome; I can see Sofi's genuine toothy smile when she's offering to be the designated driver...

And then it dawned upon me. I MISS YOU GUYS SO MUCH.

By the time I get everything out on this blank Internet page, it feels redundant. I hope I still got "it", and by "it" I mean the writing thing. Who am I kidding? Of course I do. I know life's going swell because my LJ has been empty lately. I prefer Tumblr, which allows those little bursts of blog every now and then, rather than full entries.

I don't think I'm outgrowing LJ; I think this is a very good oasis for flashbacks...it's interesting to read back on every entry and see how far you've come...

Yesterday was probably one of the most...retrospective days of my summer so far.

Everyone knows the past is past for a reason. Sometimes things run their course; yet the unpredictable chaos of life bundles everything together and spits it back at you.

What happens when the things that run their course have stopped running, looked down at the gravel, the crushed rocks, the dust coating their sneakers, then looked up at the spotted clouds, turned around gingerly, and run back? Run, run, run as far as those humble beginnings would carry them. What if there's a detour, with blinking orange signs, and the logic to cut around and go forth...but the feeling to turn around and go home? If you fight so hard to prevent something from being, when do you stop fighting? When do you let it just be? When do head matters become heart matters?

Catharsis. The emotional release of what is usually an audience; here now, we are two players. Two players, a tub of Rocky road icecream, a visit on a whim, some Marlboro Smooths, and a promise at a fresh start. I take an unsure, shaky step because it seems so unbelievable, so fragile that the wrong footing would take it all away again...maybe I was wrong. Maybe this isn't something re-running its course. Maybe this is a new course altogether.

I love you, best friend.

When things go out with a bang, there's hope that some pieces will fall back down to Earth; that the tremors will cause aftershocks allowing you to catch a glimpse at the destruction, to fix it, to make it better for next time.

But when things fade out gradually, like an eroding beach, there's no way around it...there's nothing left and it is obvious, everything has been addressed individually, time has worn it out painfully and soon you're drowning in what used to be warm shore.



Today was the Poetry Slam. I don't know why I performed this; Ms. Bolanos begged me to. So I did. (To be read aloud)

It’s called “a break”.

Hey Mister, your mistake.
Now sit and watch me break
Down.

You need time off, today
Just for a bit, you say
You’re going away
As in, you seem incapable
To stay.

I wallow in this game,
I am drowning in my shame
Asphyxiated.
Small wonder I’m so
Jaded.
She sends her love, yes?
HAH, I am
Hated.

Is this real life,
Is this just fantasy?
Sit back and
we will see.

Complacency:
How I love thee!
Thee, as in the word you,
As in the you,
As in the word,
As in love, the word,
But more than just a word,
You heard?

Sit and watch me break
Down.

They always said I was overdramatic
With thoughts and exaggerations, on the verge of spastic
It is my whirling frenzy
That allows me to see through this darkness.

Need a light?
No, it’s not nicotine I crave:
It’s my relationship I’m trying to save.

I need to learn humility.
I get this vibe from people, like they're not being straight with me, like I'm too conceited.

I've always had the fear of a low self esteem, which I've never had, but it takes the smallest things to make me reconsider my entire persona and all I have to offer.

I don't know if it was the .005% alcohol Smirnoff ice or the cheap slushies and the aluminum foil wrappers of mini York patties. Maybe it was the Indian man with the high pitched voice at the greasy burger bar, or sharing my chocolate milk shake with Anthony. It felt right; it felt like old times, but there was nothing old about it...there was a new sense of familiarity, an acceptance of who I am and the ones who take me as I am. There will always be a sense of longing, gossamer filaments of attachment to the past. The art is in learning to live anyway, and to free oneself of the overbearing shackles the past often shows.


It is astounding how a fragile little strip of paper-turned-Oriental-tradition can launch so much thought.
"Your efforts have not gone unnoticed." No smiley face, no mocking additive, no spicy duck sauce. Just raw reality and a convenient Irish friend. <3

Besides the fact that my left middle finger is taped to my ring finger (very bad jam, typing is a bitch), life is alright. The school week flew by, my evenings packed to the brim. If not, I put myself to bed early. Anything to distract myself from calling him.

It's been almost a full school week with no contact. That sounds pathetic, but it's true. It doesn't help the fact that I can't stop thinking about him, about us. Nevermind that Phil and Brandon have taken turns in their attempts to woo me; in return, I've taken turns being simultaneously polite and cold--there is always something wrong, something too perfect, something unlike us.

In the meantime, basketball is ending, I will be a godmother on Saturday, I lose myself in the steps, the lines, the songs that will soon become mechanic; I can finally renew a passion that, as my mom once said, isn't a guy: theatre. I don't think many truly understand my love for this art, the chance to explore the human psyche, the epic characters, drawing the parallels with yourself and a person on a page; the chance to indulge, arms open, in the adrenaline of the stage, the explosion of charisma and a booming voice...I wish it were more readily available. If I could act for the rest of my life, if "to perform" were my lifelong job description, I wouldn't work a day in my life. But this is impossible for the lifestyle I wish to live. "Starving artist" isn't my ideal dream life, because acting is something too many people do as a job, not as a passion.

And I do mean acting, as in, the stage--there are no puns intended here, I don't wish to live my whole life as a lie or anything like that; the world is not my "stage", I am not Britney Spears, I simply love the emotional release, the rush through my spine that comes with taking to the stage.


Yet, here we are losing ourselves in eachother, in a series of lifelong Acts.

Sorry, Frost, but I think it's cynical to wonder about the world's end via fire and/or ice. I tasted fire, my skin rigid from ice. Mind whirling, drinking in each resonating gasp... Roaming, roaming, roaming, clenching, arching, how very devious of you, darling, but the world will not end until you have been stroked by fire and fucked by ice. A la meme temps.









---------------------------------------------------------


I took the SAT today. I told myself that if I break 2000, I won't take it again. Somehow I think this may change. Whatever. Afterward, Sam, Steph & I watched Sex and the City for hours (I could live off that show) and Sam and I left in a very sexy mood.

Starbucks, my house, out for a GIRLS NIGHT which turned into an accompaniment of other welcome guests!

We were going to go to a party after sake, a party Roger told me about, but upon requesting the address Roger claimed that he "didn't want to cause problems" because his ex (who hates me) was there...DRAMA, really? Really. What the fuck.
"Do you want me to go?"
"Of course I do, I just don't want the headache this girl is going to cause me."
blah blah blah, insert exchanges here.
"No, I'm not mad, it just bothers me that I want to see you but have to worry about another girl?"
"And it bothers me that it bothers you because you are whining and won't just save me a headache, Thais."
"Ok Roger, I'll save you a headache."

I'll fucking save you a headache. I'm going to be strong and just not call you. Fuck, seriously? SERIOUSLY. I love you kid, I love you like 2x2= the square root of 16, now stop taking me for fucking GRANTED.


I feel so fucking guilty about this personal victory, but I loved it. Why couldn't I stop thinking of you?

I've never had a problem with guys. Never, ever, ever. Yet I sit here looking at my desktop background and I'm just speechless.

How do you tell someone you're madly in love with them? I don't even know how. If someone were to ask me for five reasons why, I wouldn't be able to answer.

There are a million. There are a million, and when I look at a picture of us I see these million, billion, trillion reasons why I've loved you, why things have never worked out with everyone else, why I know in the end, somehow, I just know, it's going to be you and me. I see it in the trillion atoms that make up the two of us, which at times I think might as well be one of us. I want to love every single molecule that you are made of, I want to feel you and know you are mine, I want you to let out what I know you have inside because God knows I sure as hell want to. But it's so much bigger than God, or Hell, or Heaven, or some stupid teenage crush, it's those countless nights simply understanding each other so well, it's the fact that I say the most bull shit sounding things and realize why they have been made cliches--because they're so true. I'm a hopeless romantic. I know you better than anyone else. I know those eyes that were once so full of life; people say your eyes are black but they have no idea that your eyes color my existence and it's the most pathetic thing...I want to look in the mirror and see your eyes looking back, because even a reflection shouldn't hinder our connection; I want to know what really goes on behind those eyes, because I see it there, but I know you don't care anymore. The day it pours out will be the most beautiful, torrential rain I've ever experienced; I want it to drench me to the bone, straight past the ribcage and right to the beating. You are already there.

I teem with jealousy that you're accompanying her, and you know it, and I know you know it; I also know you would have preferred to spend your night lounging around with me, getting blasted off our asses, talking about nothing and you planting unexpected kisses on my forehead, acting like you're so oblivious that this amazing girl is irrevocably in love with you, but you know it very well. You know it more than anything, and that's why I love you.

I want you so bad.

Describe Desire


She concentrated intensely on the feeling of her jeans, snuggly hugging her smooth legs, pressed against the black leather of the seat. It was just black leather. Yet like everything else happening that instant, such a trivial aspect made all the difference. It was the hazy glow cast by the parking lot streetlight shadowing his strong jaw line. It was the way he lifted a lingering finger only to touch a button rather than her begging body. It was the lyrics penetrating her mind…why don’t we step out of line? She breathed. Concentrate. The pounding notes collided with the pounding in her chest. Something about her hands was suddenly intriguing. She looked up. He was watching her. Their deep brown eyes met for a moment too long—the passion was already ignited. Or had it simply been on hold? Those eyes. He looked at her, and oh was he a murderer. It was so trivial of a gesture— a simple glance. Yet if desire had words, Shakespeare would meet his match.

I love it when it's very late at night and you're driving very fast on the Palmetto, only to realize the few cars around you are also driving very fast, no matter the make or model.

"True love is giving all you have to someone you know you're going to lose"
-Ray H Wall

Forever is such a generic, happily-ever-afterish term. Like something out of a cliche love story.

True love does last forever. What people don't realize is that doesn't mean you stay together forever.


if happiness was an exhibit

I refer to you as happiness
Yet three syllables do not hold
Any meaning
Three little words hardly cut it
That little stream of sun
Kissing my cheek
Is a warmth matched only by your skin against mine
A teasing little satisfaction
A flicker of candle in this darkness
A peek of blue in a rampant storm
You are happiness
The state we are in naturally
Or do we pursue happiness
And so reside in some other state?
It depends on your preference.
Would you prefer to be
My natural state
Or what I seek?
Either way, you are the main attraction.

I want to know you. I want to know what makes you tick, I want to know the corners of your mind, I want to familiarize myself with every inch of your body. I want to lose myself in your scent, in you. My idea of you is a rough sketch, the outlines drawn, waiting to be splashed with color, corrected but never perfected. Paint for me, with your words and eventually with our interactions. Let's make love a verb. It's funny how the world works, almost tragic. When you don't want something, you stumble upon it. It tends to be so out of physical reach yet so close to the heart. I can see how this stereotype falters, though...simplemente porque no lo he pedido no significa que no lo deseo con pasión ardiente.

Life is a tumultuous whirlwind. Don't add hail to the storm.

I don't usually join communities since Mandi, but this one is worth the try.

Well, I have to be awake in four hours.

D.C. here I come. >_>

PLEASE check out this community!

( Car crashhhhh. )

the members are extremely sweet and very active (there's like, at least four new posts a day) and we want new members.

the mod's extremely active, too and if you join, I'll put in a good word for ya : )