Right now I'm listening to some Sufjan Stevens.

Sometimes I write poems that don't match my feelings
but there are worse things


Joy is a subtle thing
it slips by, unnoticed
like a middle name
skipped over
for easier
understood words

happy, content, adequate

we are astounded by
the sheer volume of joy
how small and how large
joy at the blush in someone's cheeks
and in the sound of their heartbeat
joy flowing through veins
landing like snowflakes in your mouth

we fear joy, yes, fear
because we don't know how to express it
no smile big enough
no hug warm enough
no twinkle in the eye, no spring in the step
capable of describing
joy. and now.

My life travels through cycles.
For a while I'm calculating, cynical
and then my mind wanders
and I write poetry and read novels
though I never read romances.
Take that that how you will.
But I think my mind has returned to the latter phase
and that's left me to do some musing

about ideas
and words
and their importance

and I realized.
I used to think inaction was cowardly
but instead it can be the exact opposite
at times, doing nothing is the hardest thing I ever encounter
closing my eyes and letting out a sigh
replacing the serenity I momentarily lost

I hate being angry
and I hate when my hormones have more control over my actions
than I do.



The pros and cons of a whimsical mindset:

everything is so engaging to open eyes
and carefully calculated composure is lost

I do some of my best thinking while I'm driving by myself. Tonight on my way home I thought of this; it's a little cheesy, but true:

My best day ever will be the day I lose a bet.
This may sound twisted, backwards, broken, or any number of things but "best."
But it's true, and it's true because in all of my life I've never gambled. Every decision I make comes with calculated odds. If the odds aren't in my favor, I don't play. These calculations have led me to great victories and even greater failures.

I never thought of myself as a competitive person. Perhaps this is true, or perhaps it is absolutely false and I've never allowed myself to conceive of myself as a competitive person. For example, cross country. I told myself all four years that I didn't really want to try, that I didn't care. But I recently realized that I most likely didn't try because I didn't know the odds. I didn't know whether or not I had what it takes, and I didn't want to try only to find out that I wasn't good enough.

My best day ever will be the day I lose a bet. Fall flat on my face. Fail. Because then, and only then, will I be allowed, no, forced to stand on my own two feet and prove what I am capable of. Only then will I be able to live a life free of calculations and self imposed restraints. And yes, without these restraints I will fall. Often. And then I'll stand back up and take another leap, and I'll go farther than I ever could.

I spend so much of my life stationary
my adventures go something like
"hey wanna go watch a movie?"
my entire life is spent watching others
galavanting about
doing
perhaps this is merely the plight of the youngest child
and it would all be different
if I were twelve, seven, or even three years older
I would be less of a constant
and instead an enigma
People would inquire
"what's she up to these days?"
and the answer would be endless
I want a life they'd make movies about
Perhaps not an action or a blockbuster
maybe an introspective indie film
at least that
but instead I sit down to a movie
and watch others live for me.

It reminds me of a song (I like the scrubs version best)
Waiting For My Real Life To Begin

Today it snowed
every time like the first
fat flakes hesitating in the sky
muffling the world with a
profound silence
only broken by
a shudder of the house
an ancient creak
like an ice cube
in a glass of hot water
one of the loudest silences
you will ever hear
your lungs expanding
flakes whispering against your eyelashes
and brushing your cheeks
hush.
it says
and we barely dare to breathe

A friend of mine showed this to me about a year ago.
Sorry about the swearing, it's worth it
Enjoy:
Wizard People Dear Reader

So Wonderful.

we are six small dinghies
bobbing in the surf
just off of shore

and you might call us in
and you might pity us, out there
but the current doesn't keep us

for on land reality breaks
harsher than the strongest of waves
and the breezes carry more than light and sea

perhaps we'll moor together
catching in our nets music
of sea and sails and sun

because out there
no one decides if you're worth it
just the sea

I'm going to be vague here, and I know it
but naming numbers and figures just might result in me actually getting what it is that I want

and I'm not sure I want that.

But you know what it's like
having a goal
an attainable goal
something that might be possible
but for one fatal flaw
one person standing in the way, who
for a variety of reasons
you can't force aside,
shouldn't force aside
might regret forcing aside.

Yeah, I'm sure you know what it's like

And we just have to wait, don't we.

So I don't remember where I heard this but... quick sweep...
Nope, wasn't on a blog.
It goes something like this:

We all perceive ourselves in two ways,
the way We think we are
and the way we think others think we are.
We are, most often, the latter.

So if you mean to be honest but think you come off as harsh
then you're probably harsh

If you think you're eclectic but come off as disorganized and a little crazy
then you probably are


Question: If I then realize that I am not what I think I am but instead what others think I am, and I am aware of that fact, does it cease to be true?

I'm telling you, disorganized and a little crazy.

It sounds like sixteen symphonies all battling one another in perfect harmony. It swells in a grand crescendo
and half cuts out.
I slam my door. and it cuts back in.
The thump thump of the back left ball bearing blends with the tap tap of the snare.
and the passenger speaker quits
kick that will you
then gets back to work
and a lead singer with a voice that sounds like butter, if butter was good for you,
battles the defroster.
and his acoustic guitar sounds like the wind.
but that could just be the trunk.

No. Some songs are simply too perfect
to be ruined by an old car
and a crappy sound system


This one goes out to Louie, my Ford Contour and Radical Face for writing songs like "Welcome Home"
What good stuff

"Hello, I'm Wintley Phipps"
and an audible -woah- slides across the room
and a single guffaw, no, it was just the guff

I lean over the the person next to me
velvet pipes, I say

and one thousand and three people
sit a little higher in their seats
and one thousand and three people
who came here today
not to hear or heed
but to ignore
and maybe sleep

One thousand and three people who, perhaps,
just needed to be hit over the head
with a board
or a velvet pipe

maybe all they needed was to surprise us
well, they did

Congratulations, Mr. Phipps

Chaos, fire and fission happening at rates a thousand to one
all contained and displayed in blue green plastic stars

I remember you placed them so carefully on the ceiling
Orion's belt, cat constellations
and at night, when I couldn't sleep I would search those stars
for pictures and for meaning

I remember how those stars made you feel little, far away
and you erupted against childhood
ripping those stars down off the ceiling
taking small amounts of paint with them
leaving little black holes

And at first it scared you, those empty holes
but then you said it
It's the natural cycle of things
light and then darkness
stars get tired you know

And now at night, I lay in bed
and you're gone
and the stars are gone
and I'll tell you the truth
the darkness is worse than the insignificance.

No, I'm not eighteen
Not today.
But it seems everyone else is
and this is causing me to think about
where I have been
where I will go
and right now

not too long ago I wept about the perfect melancholy of childhood
the small disappointments that mean the world
but are merely reflections of it
speaking but never being heard
this doesn't go away with years

because now, older
childhood may seem trivial
but that should never be
because childhood is life
with training wheels and elbow pads

A while back I decided who I wanted to be.
Only to realize that my list of specifics
was comprised of the word "don't"

A list of things that I feared I'd become
A list of figures and places

Well, I have an update for that list
add to the end, right behind
"like everyone else" and "alone,"
put "where I am now"

because now seems to have a lot of pretending
now seems to waste a lot of time
now seems to be a lot like my list

We don't know when the first of the lasts began
all we know is when they began to feel acute
like an ice cube down your back.

Approaching the finish line, thoughts pulsed through my head
the ones the icebox told us to avoid
you must do this, one last time

They said, all day, they couldn't wait
for what? to avoid those icy days?
and the yellow leaves, and me?

Now I look ahead at empty hours
like empty pages to be filled
a daunting task

Today I saw the sun for the first time in weeks.
Well, besides yesterday.
And I lay in a warm beam like an old cat
and wished
and wished
that this day wasn't the last I was going to have
until snow heaves from the sky.

So much thought gets put into first impressions.
I feel the need to use the correct words, to make myself seem eloquent and chic.

Yet here I am.

Without. Words.

A first.