Goodbye Boulder: Dec. 7, 2009

This is paradise.
Smoke coming from the chimney, snow covered flatirons, stillness.
My wounds, my hopelessness, my experience, my love, my isolation, my guilt, my meaningless have all been settled, worked out their contradictions.
....And here I am, the molded result. Overwhelmed with the beauty I keep discovering in everything.
I have become established in something that depends on the optimism I recieve from experiencing the empty.
I am too grateful for words for this place, for who I was and said goodbye to.
And who I am that I embrace.
To be calloused is apathy- a constant routine that starts and ends in the same way.
I thank my God for breaking through the stone and mending.
For exposing myself to me and for teaching me the beauty in scarring and healing multiple times.
I am fully uninhibited and free
Grateful for everything that has and will come
I'm thankful for this place, this mecca, my own roots.
I am reluctant to leave yet ready to plunge into the epitome of what I do not know.
Embrace every part of this amazing life, search for the things that are hidden by normalcy
And never settle for comforts

Plunge, embrace, forgive, isolate, re-integrate, be still, be overwhelmed and motivate.
This is life, I've fallen hard for it
I'll never tire of its wonders
I've lived and I now love harder than I ever have.

it's 7 degrees outside

It's crazy how fast the seasons change
One day, you're overwhelmed with fulfillment and gratitude
and the next you're left void of it all
Callousing yourself is much easier than re-opening and exposing
It took a couple days to warm up to the idea of it
And one to become vulnerable to it
One hour to forget all the scars, warnings and lessons
A minute to fall in and believe in hope, idealism and love.
One second for the pit to reappear and to be slapped in the face with reality.
An hour to sit in self pity
And one minute to be forced back into cynicism.
A second try, a second go
Hurts less, lives shortly
A sturdier reminder that hope always succumbs to reality, inhibition, pride and fear.
Things of this sort are only meant to happen once.

cold nights: July 2009

As cheap as a lighter as delicate as a cigarette. Delicately let the smoke sit in my mouth, careful of quick circulation. An intimacy to fool us both and give us a taste of smoke that is long lived. Quick things with a nature such as this are romantisized memories that grow into passionate ones the more we tell them. Empty words of poetic pursuit and with empty touch and a deficit of inspiration. Once it hits, it will surely be gone

april 12, 2009

Passion- to feel everything to the extreme
if you believe in something, devote your life to it. Activism is being alive- be active with everything- childhood is meant to trigger passion, a child excites at the site of a butterfly, why does that passion get channeled into logic with age?
to be a kid again...
to run through forests of tall trees with blinding sunlight. Catch frogs in great revines. Mysterious fields of grass taller than me. The unkown was far greater. Logic was not yet learned- not yet understood. Creatures of emotion, adults filled with kindness. Hiding in meadows, climbing unclimable trees, chasing invisible tigers, drinking water from streams. Inhibited.
Sitting on wooden fences with pulpy orange juice popsicles.
Ferries in trees. Enchanted forests, houses in trees, eternal springs.
Sleeping on beaches, sliding on hills of snow. Disillusionment, imagination and discovery.

inspiration: Tolstoy's inauthentic vs.authentic: november 10, 2008

I saw a painting this weekend of a man in two different realms- one of confidence, comfort, ambivalence and unconventionality. The other in fear, confusion and a passion left unsparked.
Maybe this was him all along, a dichotomy, a contradiction to his core. A being left to different impression. Moldable. A lack of opinion and vigor. Is he an illusion even to himself? Is he capable of destruction to more than himself?
How can a heart experience trauma induced by someone who is no one... a moldable ideology.
I will never be simple minded, submissive or conventional.
I cut all my hair off, shed myself of feminine expectation. Why do people challenge expectation? to remind themselves that they are no longer tied to ignorance- that life is real and pain is truth. They reject conventionality to seek what is genuine and tough. Embrace the raw, the organic.
How I've changed, how I've become calloused. But how freeing it is to no longer be tied to good impression and expectation, no longer having to adhere to a pedestal.
And now the youth in my face is gone, I am left whithered, . The sparkle has darkened and the wheels of idealism have stopped.

beauty september 14, 2008

my idea of beauty has significantly changed. Overcast and forlorn. Stillness and colorless. A deficit of people. Isolation. Now I am generated
I miss the feeling of innocence and naitivity before I had the courage to venture into myself. I miss the complete dependency on those who gave me life- the feeling of tangible security and protection.
But now romance is no longer found in a human- capable of fault but rather in something constant that neither touches or responds and is therefore incapable of causing pain. Something that does not reciprocate. Something that is me at my best, my calmest, my most enlightened moments.
The mountains, the willing movement of branches, the blanket of thick grey skies. Nostalgia. Silence, slow motion of life. Time to breathe, to think, to understand. God whatever and whomever He is is this. Something too great to fathom. Too peaceful to repay, too beautiful to describe. Too great to touch. The unknown is me and becomes known through the overwhelming beauty and power of nature- of God.
Through this realization, I understand time and its fragility. I see it all at once- the stages of a short life:where I came from and where I will end- where the ink in my pen will bleed its last.
Losing my passion is losing myself.

tall grass: may 11, 2008

I know who I am with my skipped up CD's, my recently jaded view of reality... because now I see it the way I always should have.
The romance of it all, of tragedy, hopelessness, of the dry, of the mundane. It is not the romance of another I long for in complete nature and peace. It is the romance of life-the other side, the unconventional, the unknown, the adventure.
This is what defines me. This solitude in something so much greater than myself, than the people around me-the should's, the shouldn'ts, the surfaced quick satisfactions, the misleading intimacies, the security and passion in feeling the warmth of another.
It's in the complete sound of nothing! Of my feet placed in the grass, fixated on the mountains. The temptation of escaping- leaving and becoming nothing!... or joining everything else out there.
The comfort and hope found in the unknown-the untouched.
Mocking my comfort, rejecting the illusion of reality and routine. Trusting in nothing, hoping for nothing. Simply being.
...I want to step far away from routine, from building my life. I want it all to slow.
Thank God who brought me what I always desired, finding happiness in the mundane- in the simplest of things.
Define myself in my own interpretations and views of my ambiguous experiences.
Tranquility is a detoxification of life, of barriers that hold me from realization.
I am always in love. With certain aspects of life that we are socialized to overlook- the in-material.

tangents: march 3, 2008

Strange how intimacy and intimidation sound so similar yet have contrasting definitions and manifest themselves at different stages.
How can one become so intimidated to refrain from speech while becoming too intimate to speak or even breathe without the other person? Then moving to the latter of complete intimidation where fear of memory , comfort or complete cowardice leads you to become the strangers you once were?
Life is so complex, the older I become, the less I grasp it. It can be so familiar, so fulfilling and at times, so foreign and disconnected.
I've lived life in two extremes- in each forgetting who I was or what I learned. Life has two dimensions- solitude/deficit and abundance.
In each stage, I crave the experience I once had. To share a life of love, happiness and comfort does not allow for a life of freedom, discomfort and unfamiliarity. Life requires a constant sacrifice and cutting of spokes in order to experience each of the two at separate times. Fear conditions courage to face the unknown.
The sweet ain't as sweet without the sour, but when the sour is too extreme, there lies no hope for the sweet. You begin settling in a life of destitution from the ideas and hopes you once had. How can you grow when you've been so cut off from the things that encouraged and reassured you of who you were and who you wanted to be?
Memories then become trite when you forget the reasons and the emotions that triggered them.
Striving a new chapter, I shut them out, and forget how they happened and how they molded me.
Climbing pine trees, building tree houses. Sitting on top of that cliff in the grand canyon, all alone, so insignificant but feeling so beautiful to be a part of this life- of the little things that get so masked by the things that are irrelevant.
I know what it's like to feel that- so fulfilled, so healed so unbroken by the simplest of things that mean the world to you at that moment. Empty of the pollution and muck I am immune to and full of the purity and beauty of the unfamiliar.
I've seen things I should never forget- things that are fully mine that no one can share in similar interpretation and perspective.
Beauty of the pure life- of the things you can never retrace.
Memories are a gift and a fault. They can cause pain and ecstacy. Bask in them regardless. They define every nook of our being. They possess the power of identity and hold the code of growth.

January 2007

Infatuation is a binary of selfishness and obsession, in fact it is the furthest thing from love. It is cruelty to introduce the counter actor in this misleading emotion.
Life is not as good as it was promised. It is melancholy.
Solitude is the only honest prospect of it and investing in anything else will lead to failure and a downfall of naitivity.
I don't know what I want. I don't know what I need. I don't know what I love and I don't trust what loves me.
Life is a selfish routine, oh get me away from reality because this idealistic shelter I've created for myself is about to cave in.

feb. 5 2008

Instability is fear and fear breeds beauty.
I want to taste it, absorb it, feel it. I want to live! I want the mountains, I want the road, I want the mountains,I want the exotic, I want the discomfort. I want the adventure-the unknown

july 29, 2007

why are the stronger always left to carry the weak who, in turn, are too fragile to love more than themselves?
The weaker shed their false promises and the stronger are left to trust.
love is a faux beauty, double sided. Sweet and sour, an illusion. A quick comfort- an escape. It is human therefore it is corrupt.
I want to die a friend of myself, not a stranger to my own soul