Adventures in La-La Land

Nothing like a lazy Saturday morning to clear your head and instigate laziness. I woke up late, made a gigantic breakfast with my mom, and pretty much lazed around, read, took retarded pictures of myself, and procrastinated. It was beautiful. I think there’s something to be said for just doing nothing. Even though I do like doing things, there’s a certain theraputic quality to letting your brain relax after a week of school and let it turn to mush for a few hours. That is the magic of Saturday. And I haven’t really appreciated it until now. This doesn’t even mean anything. It’s just another extension of my laziness. Now if you’ll excuse me, this is hurting my brain too much.

Recall

When my thoughts disappear, I do not think they are hidden somewhere in my brain. I think they are licked up and recycled. If my forgotten dreams are good enough, they are pushed into the brains of dying people, so that the last things they see are the things I forgot – those towering, glistening hidden things I knew once and lost. The faint touch and smeel of them is still on my hands, the punguent evergreen and forest water trickling over ancient rocks. The people will hear the music of rustling leaves, they will watch seeds of beauty grow into curling plants that sing in time with the moon. As the people die, they will chase rainbows in their minds. Because I forget everything, and have nothing, I do the only thing I can do. I give.

The Misunderstanding

They twist their fingers, weaving language and paint into twisted patterns that clothe those who understand. Their melody makes the waters sing again, even though it is but for a moment. If I sang along my throat would burn.

They spin the melody on golden wheels, name it “Art,” and send it flurrying into the heavens. It flies out of my reach. But if I touched it my fingers would burn.

The melody – “Art,” they say – soars higher and must break, shattering into pieces that fall into new earth. I reach out my hand hesitantly to catch some of the glittering shards. I bleed and I know.

They look at the shining ashes, smile sadly and walk back into darkness.

All I can do is pretend to see.

Pondering on my nonexistent memories

I have a really bad memory, so I can convince myself that things never happen.
Or my subconscious does the job for me. I have a really active
imagination, too, so sometimes when I look back on memories and share
them with people I had them with, they have to tell me it never
happened and it was all in my head. It’s also creepy because my
hearing’s not the best either, and I can hear people the wrong way or
not at all, so I have to construct what they might have said in my
head. Sometimes I wonder if things in my life ever happened at
all…and there are huge gaps in memory just of the past year or two.
I can convince myself that the past never really happened sometimes,
and it makes me feel really peaceful. Like, I know that would sound
weird, but whatever happened in the past made me who I am now, and I
can’t ever go back. It’s also convenient because it’s hard to stay mad
or hold a grudge when I don’t even remember what the problem was. It
gets annoying when I have to try and remember lines for a play or an
important message and I can’t. My head’s full of stupid trivia and
book plots, though, and though I can’t remember geometry definitions I
can remember that I saw an armadillo in Texas 5 years ago….or maybe
I didn’t…