the world is a sad sight.

I'm listening to The Postal Service as I write this. I am hoping it will inspire my poetry rather than feed it so they sound too similar...Here we go...
ASYLUM

I like to tweak my mind
and turn thoughts upright
Forget the fight
the way we behaved last night

Influence our sleek tummies
Anorexic girls trying to get chubby
Sucking on sweet fruits
belittling their snow boots

Broken heads and beat-up hearts
We should have stopped this before it starts
Inappropriate photos on Polaroid film
escapes the beholder who pushes pins in her wrists
awaits the reaction shes grown to resist

My head bobs out of the frame
My eyes blink as my vocal cords go insane
My fingers snap to ignore neck pain
Then I smile frequently as I get the blame

She cant help but to wash her hands
and eat only food that has been canned
Afraid of the sun so she gets no tan
her feet haven't even touched the sand

We swallow our pills
with cheap water that spills
down our chins
She thinks she grows fins
Tells me that *they* make her
walk barefoot in the winter

I nod my head
because the tics don't fall dead
Sleep is my reverie
for me to escape the mentally
people who
collect my spit
(and they plan on cloning me with it)


Okay so I've come to terms that I really suck at photography in the winter. I also need to be able to drive so I can actually go places to take pictures at. I really hate not being able to photograph anything because that's the only thing I'm somewhat good at...I can't do sports or clubs because I'm sort of afraid of people and I can't interact well. I like to write but no one appreciates that. I want to be known for something. I want that to be photography. I don't want to be stuck at home all the time being sad with nothing to do.

I hate how I get all "prettied up" for a picture then cant manage to get a decent photograph. I hate it. So. Much.

Does anyone read my blog? I sort of wish someone would cause then I wouldn't be keeping all of this inside.

i want to be good at something.

I don't like being unrealistically boring. I so wish I was genuinely good at SOMETHING. I mean I am good at some things like...
-stealing pens from people
-hoarding owl things
-saying "yes" to everything
-having creativity block
-attracting boys then being myself...
-laughing at the wrong things
-being nostalgic
-being nostalgic
-being nostalgic
-being REALLY nostalgic
-repeating myself
-washing my hands
-blinking, snapping, smiling
-hitting myself in the head
-forgetting which light switch is which
-having the "wrong" opinions
-staying up too late
-getting too close to the wrong people
-wishing for the impossible things
-forgetting
-getting dreams and reality confused
-writing, erasing, writing, erasing, writing, erasing.

Also, I have GIMP editor because I'm too cheap to get Photoshop and I was wondering...how in the world do you get layers to blend so well with the original picture??? Uhm yeah thats all. Just wondering. (:

kthxbye.

equality will matter.

I've posted 3 times in 1 day. I'm not really succeeding in proving how boring my life is. I suppose I just have a lot to say. Not really specifically about my life but how I wish it would be.

I am sitting here, watching Billy Maddison (Adam Sandler is AMAZING) and I think wouldn't it be amazing to do a collab with another photographer on flickr? I think that would be the coolest thing ever. Maybe I'll do that when I can drive. That is if I ever get around to driving. I don't want to drive. I'm terrified.

I've also come to realize that I so stole Cari Wayman's blog layout. Sorry!

Today I met a very amazing person.
It made me realize how judgmental people can be.
It made me realize that so many people reject the some most kindhearted people.
It made me realize that "one day equality will matter."
He said this. I believe it now.

Poems are soon to come, I guess. If I can think of any. I'm having a series of blocks. Writersblock, photoblock, moviemakersblock, shoppingblock (or maybe its just my lack of money), and lifeblock. Ha.

I gave up on painting months ago. I am not too good.
Thats all. Bye.

Uninspired Days.

I am constantly reminding my mind that everyone goes through those patches of freakishly uninspired days. Today is just an extremely rough patch. I don't think I can really "capture a moment" anymore because I spend too much time trying to make the moments happen.

A lot is on my mind...believe me. So much more than photography. Boys, health, feelings...and they all fall together somehow. A boy likes me but doesn't know the real me and if he knew my uhm condition then I don't think he would want me and that, well, hurts my feelings. It makes me feel unwanted.

I want winter to be over. There is nothing beautiful about winter except for the snow and lights which are rather hard to capture if you are me. If I keep going out at night trying to capture bokeh photos with me sitting in the snow in shorts and a t-shirt all winter...it'll be the death of me. I swear.

I might start writing poems about my picture and maybe you'll get the real story behind them...sound good? Great.

screw tumblr.

*imagine there is a photo here until i figure out how to add them...it wont let me...*

I can't figure out how to use tumblr so I'm just making a blog on here. Its always been much easier to understand.

I am rather drawing a blank because I’m trying to type elegant, breathtaking words that will make no sense whatsoever unless you are in fact me. Lately the nostalgia that has seemed to stitch my spine together and hold me upright has flawed and tumbled into the cracks of bone because I cant stand up anymore without a crutch. I have the sickening sweet feeling of longing for someone whom I’ve never met or never had. I tend to talk about this “nostalgia” quite a lot and it may appear that I seemingly mean to but I do not. It just is a natural feeling that has lived with me for forever. I have an attic space filled with nostalgia it seems; pictures of missed loved ones that never existed, poems to a more-than-a-friend friend that I never had (but more than possibly dreamed of having) and whimsical dress up costumes which I don’t know why they are up there. Of course this attic doesn’t exist except for in my mind. In fact, it probably is my mind. Believe me, I am not trying to be lonely. If I were it would be easier to surrender to the fact that I am alone. Does that make sense?