And that white dress she's wearing, you haven't seen her for a while...

I downloaded OpenOffice today so that I could finally re-access some of my old files that were in that format. I transferred the documents over to Microsoft Word--since I paid for that software--and in so doing stumbled across an old poem.

I re-read the poem a few times and made some "corrections". The poem was initially in a different direction, but feeling as I did then, with a combination of how I feel now, I changed a bit. I still prefer the first stanza to anything else, but I don't feel I can share just that with you without showing the rest of the poem. And I'm feeling the need to share.

So, here goes:

No Title


The pillow cover is stiff and smells of detergent still,
Fresh from the wash as of yesterday,
And it reminds my young mind how the scent of a person--
The scent of me--
Can be washed clean in an instant,
As though I were never there,
Sterilized, fragrant, pressed and folded, tucked into the cupboard,
Just another token from someone's sordid life.
And here I am, again, as a young girl,
Thinking about the death-feeling, close at hand,
Blankets are no comfort here against the coldness of mortality.
Darkness whispers and pulls me into its shadowy thoughts,
Until I cry bitter tears at the thought of my own life,
So lonely and broken and scared, even as a child,
Realizing how cold and empty is the world.

Somewhere amidst the dark there comes the sense of hope,
It is small, it is a fragile pinprick of light,
And even though my eyes pass over it occasionally, I see it,
And in it I found the scent of you--
Suddenly the night was full of deep mystery,
The warm wrap of primitive musk and sea salt,
Fallen, dreaming, past my mortal fears,
A smile flickering at the corners of my lips, so oft in the hard set of a frown,
That pinprick of light widens to a tunnel,
So that in my dreams I am upon a vast landscape of adventures,
Often returned to, often longed for, in waking times
And here I finally glimpse his face,
The hard set of jaw, darkness of eye and brow,
That lips curl upwards in the most beautiful expression of,
Openness, honesty, casual lust and a mind full of wonder,
Hopelessly I fall in love—with this dream.

This beauty I see is less physical, more a feel from deep within,
Settling my fears until they become a low hum,
Until I finally smile without reason to smile, just to feel happy--
Giddy with my dark-faced lover in dreams--
Whom I name, in my mind, after a god of love and passion,
Even though I know nothing of him, being a mysterious smiling face,
That brings me much joy even during the waking times,
And through torments, trials and tribulations that the world brings upon me,
I hold a secret inside of my mind which I pass into,
Each time my eyelids shut to the darkness of night,
In this I form the courage and the ability to love myself,
Mirrored in the blatant truth of his smile, the bond that I feel within me for him,
Though I may never know his name,
Or the real reason he smiles,
Still I can spin tales about him in my mind,
Wondering—as I have always done…
If he is real.

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

I also wish to share a song. Since I'm unfamiliar with the linking actual video to this site, I'll share the link to the youtube video of Airborne Toxic Event's "Sometime After Midnight". I quoted part of their song in my title for this post. As my step-father said, "I wanted to curl up into a ball in the corner for hours. How dare they. How dare they invade my life."

I don't have quite the same intense feelings as he did, but I do feel that this is a nice new piece of artistry. Please give it a try.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2YnDlEMXiU

Today was a great day at work again. My new shoes are giving me pains, but that's to be expected. Otherwise, life is peachy.

I'm also thinking of going vegetarian. I'm reading "Skinny Bitch". It may be corrupting me...

-Teigra-

Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Working at a bookstore is marvelous. I don't suppose that I've mentioned that before.

A lot of people that come into our store think that it is a lot like Powells books in Portland, but we're nowhere near the size. Powell's takes up an entire city block! Hard to imagine. I asked my co-worker about it today and he said that their mathematics and engineering section alone is about the size of our store--and our store is not small.

Today went by like a dream. I entered books, entertained, helped customers, talked about books, shelved books, talked a little politics and dream interpretation with my co-workers, and generally had a good time. I can't believe I worked a full shift and I barely feel it.

...

Last night I spent about two hours working on my story. Being alone has helped the process along.

I came to the realization that I'm not, for a long time--perhaps never again--going to get the solitary lifestyle I have been accustomed to for so long. I need to find a way to fit in my writing time without other people being a problem. So I've told myself that, ok, even if you can't write every night, you can at least have one or two nights a week when the boyfriend is not around and you can just go at it. And I need to abolish the "only at nighttime" trend I've been going through. Yeah, night is a really nice time to write for me, but there are going to be a lot more opportunities if I just take the time, any time, that is available to me.

... and it was bloody lovely, by the way. I forget. I always forget. I don't know how I do, but I can't seem to hold onto the memory of how great it feels when I'm writing, the keyboard under my fingertips or the pen in my hand, and just streaking across the page with words. Fully going at it, delving into it, half in this world, half in that one. There is absolutely no experience that I have yet had that can compare.

It's a lot like falling in love for the first time. Like spending time with your oldest, closest, most comforting friend. Like being somewhere new for the first time, but feeling like you've been there before. Like a dream.

I know that later it will get worse and I'll become agitated, but for right now it's bloody marvelous. I wish I could go on feeling like this for forever. This is what heaven would be like.

All my love,

-Teigra-

Everyone is watching T.V.

Yay, today my first textbook arrived, and it was my Anatomy text book, which is the class I'm most worried about. I just spent the last two hours reading through the first chapter and taking notes. School does not start until the 23rd, but I want to make sure I'm more prepared than usual since I'm taking on a course load of 14 units plus the part-time job.

Today is the second day of the boyfriend's week-long vacation to go visit his dad. I have to say, I don't miss him as much as I thought I would. Probably hasn't been long enough.

I forgot how much I enjoy solitude. There's something very satisfying in having no one to announce to, and to do as you will, whenever you will, as loud as you will.

Of course today, yesterday and the day before were all spent cleaning and organizing the apartment. We were still in the "just moved in" stage, and I've spent this time to find a place for everything after fixing the bookshelves to the walls so that--FINALLY--we were able to put up the books, DVD's, and video games that have been floating around the living room in piles and boxes for the last month. The place actually looks like a place now, all right and proper. It's a very nice feeling.

I'm beginning to feel the writing tingle again. I haven't really been feeling it for the last full year. Something about having a life interferes with ones dreams and ambitions. I mean, I'm very proud of myself for still going to school and actually getting off my feet after all the horrible things that have gone awry in my life, but I can't help feel that I've lost touch with what I really want this last year.

However, I'll allow myself a year off, so to speak, if that's what is required. This was a very hectic year, though not at all unpleasant... for the most part. Just a lot of moving around and changes in scenery, what with the boyfriend and all. Tuesday we celebrated our one year, looked at each other, and both said, "How is it that we've only known each other this long and we're living together??"

*shrug* I guess things happen. Not altogether mysteriously, but they happen.

I am getting a little bored of the "normal" stuff though. I prefer bitching about having writers block and not sure what color hair to make a character rather than bitching about AT&T and roommates. It all seems so dull when I look back at all the "problems" I was having compared to what I was actually doing. I do have an immense satisfaction and pleasure with just sitting down and pounding out on the keyboard, despite how distracted I'll get, and that there are "issues" within writing, and all that.

I forget--until I feel the writing urge again--how much it feels like the real me. That all this other stuff is a farce simply so that I can live a semi-decent life outside of my true calling. But I'm not sure... I am young, and I feel as though my maturity level is (unfortunately?) catching up with my age.

Sometimes I doubt my convictions. When I feel the swell and the need to write as I am now, though, I doubt nothing at all. It's as though a lens has been put in front of my eyes that lets me see clearer than ever before, and my senses become hyper-aware of smell, sound, feeling. I get loads of goose bumps.

Hrm. We'll see, won't we? If I succeed, I succeed, and perhaps people will hear about me outside of my immediate life and this little blog (with its cricket audience). Maybe, perhaps, maybe.

--Teigra--