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[27 Feb 2007|02:36pm] |
Very Very Seriously,
at this point it would neat of you to call me. I'm curious, about you now. And I think we could could gain a lot from each others perspectives. I could understand if you don't want to, and understand if you don't ever. But I do think it would a positive thing. (for both of us indefinetely)
-Dani
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| /ˈrɛlətɪv/ hypocrite |
[13 Jan 2007|12:01am] |
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mood |
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 at least I know I'm okay |
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rel·a·tive /ˈrɛlətɪv/
–noun
1. a person who is connected with another or others by blood or marriage.
2.something having, or standing in, some relation to something else.
3.something dependent upon external conditions for its specific nature, size, etc. (opposed to absolute).
4.Grammar. a relative pronoun, adjective, or adverb.
–adjective
5.considered in relation to something else; comparative: the relative merits of democracy and monarchy.
6.existing or having its specific nature only by relation to something else; not absolute or independent: Happiness is relative.
7.having relation or connection.
8.having reference or regard; relevant; pertinent (usually fol. by to): to determine the facts relative to an accident.
9.correspondent; proportionate: Value is relative to demand.
10.(of a term, name, etc.) depending for significance upon something else: “Better” is a relative term.
11.Grammar.
a.noting or pertaining to a word that introduces a subordinate clause of which it is, or is a part of, the subject or predicate and that refers to an expressed or implied element of the principal clause (the antecedent), as the relative pronoun who in He's the man who saw you or the relative adverb where in This is the house where she was born.
b.noting or pertaining to a relative clause.
[Origin: 1350–1400; ME relatif (n.) (< MF) < LL relātīvus (adj.); see relate, -ive]
When did it become okay to pick and choose what is bad or good in the world when bad and good are relative? I think you (and I'm not talking to my journal this evening) could agree with this.
I asked once "Do you even know me at all?" I am yet to receive an answer. At this point I don't care though, because I realized that I told you who I am. My only problem now is that I don't think I know who you are at all.
One thing that i just cannot handle in my life is liars. And to quote " I will leave you from my life if you do that." I found that you were doing so much more with them than you claimed, not that i care, but you did it and hurt them. You hurt them for quite a while. I just don't understand how you lied to me, to everyone, or why. I never did that to you. These things make me question your integrity to the highest of degrees.
I dislike having to keep remembering that I don't care what everybody thinks they know about me.
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| A subtle response and more. |
[18 Dec 2006|02:37am] |
"What is he running to? What is he scared of? Is there something better out there I am just not seeing?" E. R.
-I run to be with my happiness. I run to the other side of the river where I am not ever going to settle without seeing the unknown. I will walk the grass with the satisfaction of having tasted a new sap or grain.
-I am afraid of nothing. Fear does not exist outside of insecurity, and I have a large warm place in my heart where that is supposed to lay. I am afraid of nothing.
-The more one clings to the familiar, the blinder they become. In me you would never know the things you could see, and with you, I was stifled and sad. My energy did not flow through clean channels while living a life symbiot to E.R.
I was afraid. But now... I am afriad of nothing.
And there will be no more talk. No more explanations of myself (because they are unnecessary), and no more doubt. I am happier in these moments of my life than eye have been since I was six years of age. I have the best family (as non blood related as they are) one could ask for. And as it seems, lately I have been constantly surrounded by an ever increasing energy that provokes laughter and positivity in spite of any of my situational problems. I know for absolut sure that I am quite happi, beacuse of myself (and the way I make my life work) and because of my friends.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am living in a house that acts much less like a home than a storage unit. And for this I have written a Poem about my "hoem"
-The Storage Unit-
I arrive and instantly feel the coldness of the locks and steel doors that protect my private things. The small brick corridors bleeding claustrophobia. I touch the walls and am consequently corrupted by their cancer. Oh what these walls have seen!
I seek a key to save myself from this wretched hole, this vile clouded headspace. I find my key and open my personal place, only to find it has been ransacked and invaded by some unknown terror, some wild beast. What thing could do this?
I soon come to realize that the current state of this "establishment" is not at all where one might consider keeping their "precious things." Outside in the corridor I hear a wail the sixe of a planet that seems to have been uttered from a keyhole. It is the beast, the creature from which I must flee, but I remain to reflect upon its face the I, that I am.
I have collected my assortment of things and am locking the rusted door shut. I lock it not to prevent further invasion, but to keep the new found emptiness inside the hole, just there... Inside the hole. I adopt a more comfortable pace in leaving the building, so I may look deeper into the cracks that form its foundation. In no small measure, I can see the marks I have made on this place and the ways I have taken a part in its corruption. In doing this I am comforted in knowing that I no longer kick deficiencies into the walls I worked hard to create. I only observe them and reflect.
In my frequent and much continued absence-s I realize though, that the bricks and steel have only rotted and rusted continuously. Selfishly I am relieved, to understand my inhabitance is not the current cause of such progressively violent decay.
I exit the building completely.
In the latter of my observations I became content with my participation in progress. I existed, I created, I planted neutral seed, which grew different directions during seasons of different winds. I knew that it was I who had manifested my part in the cracks and relative consequences within the great and rotting closet. I leave forever this closet of negativity, doubt, suppressed energy, and hatred. And in retrospect and realization, I take solace in my journey, I take heed from my lesson learned, And in all I take the time to enjoy my new found lack...
of a Storage Unit.
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| I feel that... |
[08 Dec 2006|05:43am] |
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mood |
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 worry |
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music |
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Random gregorian chant |
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My insomnia is returning.
You know I remember The feeling. The slow hollow ache of the inability to sleep. This is in no way related to the lack thereof. It is based completely upon the inability to do.
If I do have it again, I will kill myself.
I'll give it three weeks, a pill trial, and error. Nothing else after that. I don't ever want to speak with them again. Maybe you will help me figure this one out? I am in a completely different world than I was the first time, and I cannot seem to figure out why now... They scare me these days. You remember them back from "xanga" with their faces that you could almost touch and their eyes that didn't reflect the light properly. The flashes of roaches in the corners of my eyes.
Please help me...
Please help me.
PLEASE, help me...
PLEASE DON'T WATCH THIS TO HAPPEN ME
I live a life semi-circled (there are not that many of you) by people that I think may be able to help me with this one. Last time all there was, was Emily. You know how we fixed it, how I didn't even notice until I was sleeping that I wasn't not sleeping anymore. Well, she's not a part of me that I can use for help now.
God dammit...
I can hope that you will not once again become the record of my troubles and only remain the record of my current outlooks and escapades. I never want to look back upon yet another diary of non-existent people, and conversations.
They are scary.
And you must understand, scary to me, is a big fucking deal.
Everything else is wonderful though.
-Dani
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[09 Oct 2006|02:50am] |
Honest now,
I don't understand why life must be so full of ins and outs.
up a n d Down
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| I really wsih I had the space to paint |
[27 Sep 2006|12:28am] |
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mood |
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 I guess... |
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music |
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Bauhaus - kick In The Eye |
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Really though.
. Explaining to you the sheer frustration I have when there is no room to do anything that might involve a mess or cleanup of any kind is terribly difficult. I am suffocated hre sometimes because of this... incessant cleanliness. I mean not that I am one to "judge" cleanliness, order or organization for that matter, but I am left with nowhere in my home that I can leave a drop of even the cleanest most paintiest free water, let alone inks and paints and dyes, and string, and feather, and bone, and whatever other media may tickle my pallette at the current moment. Even my music suffers because of this. The spaces that were meant purely for nothing but music and the creation thereof are filled with papers and junk and stored crap that none of us want or need. And I keep hearing Him say the same fucking god damned thing over and over again "We really need to get on top of this garage." Which tickles me, because "we" do not need to do anything. he needs to get his shit out or in or gone, or something.
And so... i am frustrated. i always look back in a year at the way I spoke the year vefore and i hate myself and everything that i was or am, or....... whatever.
My red haired lovers image crisis is reminding me of my own dissatisfaction with my wardrobe. Quite depressing really, soo many items of clothing and really nothing at all to wear.
Goodnight, sleep well
-Dani
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[14 Sep 2006|12:46am] |
When did I stop? Can you tell me? What happened to the drive I once had to be articulate and add a different sort of presence to a room. For some reason I stopped caring about managing myself, becoming more of what I wanted to be, and doing more of what I wanted to do. Excuse me though, not so much that I stopped caring, but stopped allowing myself the time of the day to do such things.
I feel like I am half of the person I once was should be today. Do you feel that way dear? Do you think I am losing touch with who i am and what i want to become?
...I am becoming Fucking Sterile...
I am happy with all of the things in my life that pertain to traditional existence. But in my non secular life I feel dissatisfied with myself, as if
.I.COULD. BE.
.DOING. . SO. VERY. MUCH.
.MORE. YOU.
.WHORE.
AfteR a while I begin to question myself... Am I even good at any of these things that I can do? And if so where the hell is the proof that I can even do them in the first place. And where proof is shown, it is always scattered like the beginnings of an idea, the inklings of a new story in a writers head before the bestseller, but I just cannot seem to find the fucking pen to dig it out my bones with. Maybe you can help me. If I just pour every thought into you, every idea, vision, dream, feeling. Maybe by feeding you these things in a constant manner i will begin to take the shape of what I feel I should be. And that is something sharpeR, with less intellectual fat and baggage. So yes, you will help I've decided.
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| 0500 hours |
[07 Sep 2006|11:26am] |
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mood |
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 content |
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music |
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none |
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Does anybody know what five in the morning actually means? That is the time of day when you can justbarely see the sun begin to rise from behind the trees and buildings of whatever town you might be in at the time. Waking at five is hard enough, try laying to rest at five. I need to stay more on top of livejournal it seems that it has slowly started becoming like, viable for what I want to do right now. No more promises of artwork to be posted, no more ominous musical projects, just a lace to do with what I want and what I want when i want to do so.
My communications class... I was asked where I would want to go for one month if expenses were not a problem and it could be anywhere. I gave my extemely honest answer... I would go nowhre, I would stay home and go to work, go to school, and spend time with Emily, (at disneyland).
This contentment a new and very strange thing...
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[05 Sep 2006|11:20pm] |
and I walked, through orchards of trees,
and they're caked, with the blood of the angel,
they had aged so grotesque, I felt them tear at me,
pry my shadow from skin.
.a dead child.
.with Laether wings.
.a sharp tongue.
.and fetid claws.
Looked at me and said," This age is rotting, and soon it will end."
Standing and staring at the dead gathered amass, a pulsing
grinding ripping sound, like flesh on broken glass,
{ i dream silently of rapture, of bones, of war, and famine, but these are self interest, it is the falling sun that takes my eyes this aeon.}
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