the
following
is a collaborative endeavor
geared toward the collection of perception
and personal reference
on the socio-
psychosynesthetic idea that the human personality
can be compared to the concept
or the reality of a specific
or generic type of
color.
the beginning of each entry defines who is
talking but no names will specifically be given.
there's a truth i've been looking for for a very long time.
a color i've been mixing with so many others to try to create the exactly correctest blend that is the shade of a genuine love.
turns out it has pins in its hair and eyes that change from day to day.
this is a book of her.
i think the most supremely adequate thing about her ways is the fact that she's enough to spare.
so many, in fact that they always fall from her sides as she walks, everywhere she goes. so any given way you walk is a supremely adequate way to be going just so long as she's been there before you.
she's enough ways, in fact of fact to build a universe for her to be.
there is a branch lying across the riverbed. the kind of branch that's more of a tree, but we call it a branch because we'd rather it be a piece of something that still may be alive somewhere than a completely dead thing, but though we know what we know, we walk with hearts for toes sometimes so i doubt anyone's going to say anything.
therefore, the branch that is actually a tree, but is a branch is lying across from one bank to the other and it is precarious. the kind of tree − i mean branch, sorry − the kind of branch that he wouldn't walk across if the distance below was more than eight feet from the bottom. but because it's only a foot, he risks it.
it isn't really my place to be talking about him, by the way. just to make sure you appreciate this and me, as i'm stabbing him in the back with every word.
if he only knew... (my head shakes while i say this)
the mostly reason this factor applies is that he's in the same room as i and i'm talking about him. two bouts perhaps, in fact.
and it is very rude, as i suspect, to speak of someone as if they are somewhere away from you. though if he's in any way at all, i'm sure he's okay with it, considering all the ways around here seem to come from her.
he walks lightly above the water on the branch that is actually a whole tree. mist from earlyday stays because it knows he needs it for the kind of thinking he is about to embark his brain's eye on. because less the distance there is to see, more the distance you feel there is to cover. but at the same time, it seems not seeing all the far away makes it more gettable.
he was always made of color.
even when it's raining.
even when it's dark and the light is only from the tips of cigarettes and cell phone screens, he was always made of color.
i say "was" because now he's more of a shape than anything.
by "more of" i actually mean only.
i am in the distance because i always am. i don't even think he knows who i am, but i've been watching for long enough to know exactly why he's crazy. and exactly why he's even more drunk on life than is a newlywed.
color is not a complicated concept. we are made of color most of the time. when we aren't color we are something to take its place but while it can be managed, we're mostly color.
i deeply breathe and wonder about the correctness of the game of poker, because it seems like that makes sense.
it doesn't though, because that has absolutely nothing to do with walking across a branch that's actually a tree, thinking hard in the think-worthy fog.
he walks across the branch that is actually a tree and pretends to skip an invisible rock as it pretends to fly from his hand at a perfect angle to ricochet off the surface... pouncing from one place to another place to another place like every way she walked already rippled that song for her or from her or at her.
and it supremely adequately strikes rings across the ground that's actually water.
my point of view flutters, always invisible to the world and always locked on the side that nobody knows is there. that, in a way exactly, is the purpose behind it and me.
he walks with hearts for toes and i flutter with no things to call me anything at all. i am only words. he was color and is now a shape, but of this i understand because i'm the one who understands why he is crazy.
and drunk. on life maybe. but still drunk.
he walks across the branch that's a tree and ethereal acoustic adjective nouns verb across the world after they ambient themselves with each other. music puts itself awake and carefully, it carefully is adequately genius.
he walks and his imagined rock is done soaring so now he thinks in the fog on the branch that's a tree. i am likely a thought process and wish for nothing but to be done. it is a questionable affair.
he steps off the wooden wood and onto the earthy planet that it is lodged into at both ends. he walks, ruining the perfect silk of mud on the bank with his heart-toed prints of feet and wishes he could be like me and flutter through the world; not affecting or effect or any other -ffect there is.
he knows that i break rules because i can. because there is no wall or wall or wall or wall or ceiling or floor for me to ever have to turn around. i always just keep moving... keep fluttering.
however, this also means there are no corners to touch with my lack of fingers on my lack of hand on my lack of arm and body.
because i likely am a thought process and he is a shape that was a color.
he walks on the earth and presses his hand into the breeze and fog like it's a surface of visco-elastic polyurethane foam, molding to his face and body... remembering his shape... remembering his effect as he passes through a world where i leave no trace of thought but the thought i am and was and will be. always. and never.
that isn't supposed to sound stupid.
he steps through the grass on the bank and listens to the water be.
the grass is to his waist and he holds his hand out to pet it behind its ears as he walks, communicating with the world that he effects while i slip ahead to find what he's after.
he is walking lightly, pretending to be silent but he's louder than even quiet.
he suddenly stops... the shape of him holding itself up and down both at once and for twice the life of me, he rides the stillness like a wave.
eyes lock on It as It sits on a boulder raised above the field of grasses.
he has no shoes on, and the hearts on his toes are beating a rumble on the ground that he effects. i am hoping to be done soon.
and he suddenly sprints toward It... running in a crescent that calls itself graceful, he slides the sword at his belt from its place and cuts off blades of grass as he runs, his blade low and held to the side, both hands are clasped around its hilt and he is as swift as the night. only twelve hours swift, with an eternity of the world worlding and the galaxy galaxying and the universe universing across the plane of "be."
he affects the world.
i do not.
It sees him in the last moment, approaching like the wind, and ducks / slides off the boulder to evade as he leaps over It, the sword cutting gashes through the fog.
his feet lightly come to rest on the ground as his legs curl to his chest for only a second before he leaps again, slicing through the grass, to run, his feet with hearts for toes feeling the earth as he affects the world around him.
It starts running. because he has a sword. but that's the only reason.
i am likely just a thought process but that doesn't mean i can't tell something what to do. i place my lack of hand on his should and am there for the duration of the pursuit.
his color runs. It does not understand why. It does not understand why not, because neither are reasons enough to cause a reaction.
his color screams and runs from him like autumn from winter, every shade of It abstract and ready to be whatever the motive will call for. because that's what color is for. It just doesn't know it when It's lost.
i want to be done. i'm tired. i don't want to be a likely thought process and am ready to go back to not being. it is always pointless.
his point is in his hand though. and it has a hilt and a metal presence.
the grass flattens in prints of feet as, like the silky mud at the bank of the running water, he wishes he didn't have to ruin just to get from here to there but he affects the world and always will. i do not and never will.
he lunges the sword straight ahead of him to pierce the empty. his color keeps running back the way he came. they come to the bank and his color runs across the branch that's a tree as he leaps into the air from deep within the grass. he kicks his own color in the face and he feels it just as much as It does. they both topple and the wet strikes, worming its fingers from the liquid floor.
he fights; It thrashes; water jumping around, excited.
the struggle ends. his color suddenly understands and a poker face does not answer any questions about the queen of hearts for toes.
i want nothing more than to be done as he affects the world and i still don't.
it isn't a lot to ask.
this is still a book of her.
before i start, let me back track to the beginning; i suppose that requires me initiating a start − some sort of motion forward to change directions, but your eyes move this way against these words so let them stop and snap back to what's about to be said...
because it's important to know before you actually feel it start. trust me.
you're made of skin, of bone, of compounds, of chemicals, of neutrons balanced with electrons and protons and somewhere in there a neuron comes into play and your dentrites lead through all of this to your squishy you; the one you protect with your you made of skin of bone of etc...
connecting in between these yous is another you that exists independently of the you you protect with shields and swords and the you you protect with words and laughter, this is what gives each you their chance to control the other.
if it really worked that way.
this another you is split or exists in five forms, independent but dependent on each other for power...because it's all a balancing act...each with a task set at hand for it, that it does and leaves all else behind, this you is mechanical but still soft and supple to dynamic range, it knows what it feels.
if these abstract flowery words haven't made it clear yet i'm talking about sense.
these five yous, they are your senses.
what you physically feel, taste, smell, hear, see across each respectable spectrum that is allowable to the human mind for each given dimension, trust me there's some we can only dream about. and we all do, whether we know it and trust it or not.
each of these five yous report back to a master you
(think queen bugger in Ender's Game, if you've never read it stop reading this and read that. trust me)
one that takes all this data in, sorts it and holds for a long enough time for you to deal with it...
each sense takes in everything it physically and possible can.
every noise that happens around you that vibrates a hair in your ear
it takes
every piece of chemical compound that brushes your fuzzy pink membrane
it takes
every smell that travels in through those holes in the middle of your face
it takes
every chunk of teeth trash that breaks down your tongue molecules over and over again
it takes
and every light that reflects or refracts or simply exists and glows its way into your eyes
it
takes
every single thing
with the tens upon hundreds upon thousands upon four quadrillion to the 10th remans sum that come into it...
it can only hold something for about five seconds before it gets thrown out.
that's when the point of this whole long—winded and seemingly unimportant rant comes in; the you that really decides what the BIG YOU
(the one you call you when someone hurts your feelers and you post a bulletin on myspace about it)
sees and reacts to.
what i'm talking about is...
perception.
this you that will from here on out be called perception, it goes through everything that's come in and been sorted, and decides what you need to actually know about. through schemas and past experiences and key words and lots and lots of boring things that then send the cleared stuff to your you about five hundred billion times a day,
which in the end adds up to one big ultimate truth...
for something to actually make your you stop, halt all production on the factory floor, stop the presses, and make you take enough notice that it isn't an everyday occurrence and it isn't one thing among five hundred billion but one IN five hundred billion,
means that it is a rarity among singular existences
a never spoken truth among forbidden stories
a behemoth among giants and
in the case of this story, the case of this rant, it is but one thing.
color.
now we can start.
[i look both ways.]
it comes in it's shape of the second but moving and swaying never holding longer until the next sometimes fraction of the next before hitting another shape and holding just long enough for your perceptual hands to hold and touch and taste and feel it leave but fall back in in full force...
when it's pure, it's easy
you see it and hear it and feel it and know it but you can let go of it and you can objectively avoid it or let it in
it's still just an aesthetic blessing to your perception
but then one day...
it hits
and hits freaking hard
...slipping through the cracks in your fingers and the cracks in your hands and the cracks in the wrinkles of your palm into the cracks of your veins and flows up into your you holding and pouring and just overwhelming its sense of sense...
mixing with your own, it's suddenly not just something pretty
something to not just look at and stop and behold but to just let haunt your mind
once it mixes, it's in your body
and you feel it pull and you feel it twinge and feel it twist
and you feel it lift you beyond where you've been
ten feet tall and growing
..and now you're drenched and now you're lost and now now you're truly found — found in this moment found in this light of — not spectrum; of — not frequency but of sense but of mind but of per freaking ception and it's filling and it's pulling in its tide and now. now you're in it. you're drowning but drinking in it...
its beautiful in these moments
it's the highest you've ever felt but the most scared you could possibly imagine
you'll wonder what you ate to make your insides feel like they're preparing for the salamanders
and bonzos waiting surrounding the door
and your only option is to freeze yourself and throw yourself in firing
to let go and lose yourself in it so you truly thrive in
truly swim in it
..and now through the gate you've reached air you've felt this engulf you and you felt your you consumes something it's never witnessed before not through light of this world or the heavens pouring from above to your trenches below, digging in your defenses for the war you'll celebrate before it's over; a holiday lost in splendor and snow of fallen color, reaching for your own...
you feel like you've found your tone
its all over you but you can't remember how you looked underneath
andyou'llneverwanttolook
because your eyes drink in this tone like it's the last water it'll ever see
starving for every pixel
...and it finally comes to fruition, truly realized in its essence and it's been catalogued and had its very own schema—like mold built for it so when it comes again, it gets the express pass to your inward most workings, the part's always under construction because being done means you're easy to travel between and being done means you're not the you you build in this looking glass, and the color is all you can drink in...
it becomes a part of your chord
a 7th to your 3rd and a 5th to your 1st
defining the color of your sound without any others needs to make pull
they'll just add shades of bright and dark
but this color
it's set in your stoney foundation
being built upon only for decoration
...but then it drifts for but a second and steps out of your light for only a moment and here your color — it's missing its tone and here your chord — it's missing its overtone and here, here your you is missing its s that made the y and the o such a waste of time because with u and s what else do you really need? you feel it escape because you never thought you'd ever lose it for even a second...
your tonal center begins to swell
and out leaks the left overs of what it's left behind
this color gone but only for a second
and you've lost the tone that made your red purple and your yellow green
your C a C7 and it cries with beautiful dissonance
the dark bringing out the light
and out pours the leftovers
hoping covering yourself in it will bring it back
...awaiting the day it returns you open and open wide wider than you ever realized you ever had doors for and when it comes back it'll crash and swell and when the light bursts for a spectrum will return of another world you hold all to your own all your self all to the us you've replaced your sense of you with because this us is what makes your you so you and this us is all you could ever feel for...
drowningbutdrinkinginityouvefoundpieceinthisdissonance
it isn't like i am anything special.
i come from where i come from and i exist because of that but it isn't like i am anything but a division that's still in one piece.
i'm mad. i'm really mad. because i'm still going. i don't know what else he is after.
all i want is to be done. to be over. to be finished with this. he has his color — i don't know what else he wants of or from.
now he is everything he wants to be and he affects the world in every way he knows how...
breathing in atmosphere... ingesting the liquid floor... believing in everything at once.
i don't know how much clearer i can be in this world built to keep me silent and filled with decibels both at once and at twice, as at for twice the life of me −
she sits on top of a mountain. a stupid mountain.
with stupid rocks and stupid trees and stupid bushes. no brains at all.
stupid animals walk around with stupid feet making their stupid sounds and being stupid.
i wonder if it's possible to be negative when you're so completely totally correctly right.
like the person who finally actually does figure out which color is the best...
is it possible to say anything else is your favorite if you know that that one's the best?
in the same way, he walks up the stupid mountain from far below after walking across the stupid plain or plane of far away, now armed with his sword, his color and the shape of him... ready to be filled with always as he will fill her with love.
i pilot my view of points or point of view and sit (by sit i mean be) there waiting and i feel like i am one of those annoying idiots at a restaurant that stands there and waits ten minutes to ask for a water cup while he leans on the stack of water cups.
so the barista has to move his hand out of the way to pick one up and hand it to him.
like: "here comes the airplane bbbrrrrrrr" and he claps and laughs big.
i feel like one of those.
one of those idiots who disagrees with the best color.
he walks up the mountain and his sword is suddenly a walking stick. this tip is getting dull because he keeps poking stupid rocks and sand with it, so he can lean on it. i think it's a waste of a good point.
because those are hard to make.
she sits on the top of the stupid mountain. i don't know if she knows that i'm here. she probably doesn't. nobody ever seems to.
i drift and float and move and act like this world is only here because i tell it to when in reality i'm not even in the world to begin with.
i am everywhere but inside the world.
but that doesn't make me necessarily outside it.
i feel like i'm losing momentum.
and i don't have a pointed thing to keep me standing.
then again i don't affect the world like he does and thus the world does not affect me.
i sketch the world around me with my number 2 pencil of perception, drawing it on his brain so it can affect him and i put things where they belong in ways that he will never understand.
color emanates. and the best one is not up for interpretation.
your favorite one is probably not it, either; so be ready for a disappointing thing.
i exist my way up the mountain aside from him and move ahead of his walking.
she's all the way up there...
i am likely a thought process, still.
color holds itself everywhere... affecting and being the affected. tell it what you know and it'll either politely disagree or tell you you're amazing for coming to that conclusion all by your lonelisome.
i don't get along with color sometimes. sometimes i do. but sometimes i definitely... definitely don't. right now, i don't.
this is because i thought it was the answer and apparently it isn't. it was the decimal he needed in order to do the equation to find the answer.
and the way color combines with itself irritates me. one color dancing with another color to make it a completely different color. how can either call itself anything if both are something else? every atom gets all filled with valences that wish they had a different number.
so it frantically scrounges for it,
wantingwantingwanting
never with a thought to other atoms.
this is why i disagree.
because i am noble.
i am a cynic. but i am noble.
color... sometimes is not.
tell it you understand. a voice becomes like the crescent of the moon. because a quarter moon is only a quarter moon for one night. to say its next sentence, it has to wait a whole nother cycle of people saying "a whole nother" like idiots with water cups because it is only alive one single night at a time, all the while the "dark side" is bright as day every single night that the moon is black to the side we see.
that's usually where the answer is. color is perceived and reality is such. but the dark side is usually lying with every zit of a crater.
they prove it with every shooting star. that's why they grant wishes. because they feel so bad for hiding all the secrets on the dark side that they feel they need to compensate.
<—————————— [gap] he walks up the mountain. the sword clicks every time the tip of it touches the rocks. i wish he would quit doing that. because i'm not going to sharpen it back up. points are for him to make and him alone. i've already made mine. i put myself on the floor and wait for him to get to the stupid top. she's waiting with me. i wonder how long she will be before she rolls her eyes again. this is still a book of her.
i didn't want to know.
conflicts keep bashing their fists against my face of reason and i still don't know what to do. especially when i don't know if that means the velocity involved is going to break the treaty between me and the asphalt.
i mean the asphalt and i. sorry.
he stopped a ways away because he needed to make it dramatic. just walking up to her wouldn't make any sense at all. he affects the world too much for that to be the supremely adequate way to be.
the wind is flowing his color, now sufficiently wrapped around and flowing in one direction, like the tail of a scarf being classy and elegant and dripping with autumn.
i carefully make a sneery expression with my lack of face. i move my point of view all around, in circles ready for anything to happen... ready to be finished being.
the circumference of all the aerodynamics, being filled and filling the world i step through with my lack of feet with lack of hearts for a significant lack of toes all emanates over and over again, trying to stay everywhere and move to all the places with a lack of it at once and once again, for twice the life of me, i don't know if i have what it takes to step that last step with my lack of leg.
but i have to.
because i don't really have choices like he does. he affects the world.
i do not.
still.
i keep still suddenly, just like that, and watch as he walks up to her, eyelids half-closed or half-open, or spread apart and significantly just the correctest amount...
he flows, comparatively graceful, for something that's constantly affecting the world around him as he does anything he could possibly do.
he checks himself by looking both ways, as is a normal thing for him to do. it always feels like a good first step no matter which language your head believes in.
my lack of body stretches and moves with her. she lets her supremely adequate ways fall at her sides while i throw my spare lack of heart at her reasonable features.
i tear the page
out and crumple it into an origami
boulder to avalanche it into the trash can.
i start it again but plan on tearing out this page too.
it changes it from wasteful to something aesthetic.
i taste the color with my lack of tongue and wish i hadn't, so i tear out that page too, the hiss of the one edge pulling away from the other like a fault line on a world in a universe with a spine.
a world filled with lines and paper cuts and
shut up
shut up
shut up
tear.
boulder.
avalanche.
the continent crushes itself under my fingerprints, leaving my mark from my mask,
because i did it.
i crushed the world and gave up on both sides of it because one side didn't satisfy. all my lack of bones shattered under my own hand and i wish (shut up) i could ever hurt you like you hurt me.
but both of my sides agree with the conflict.
and the bones in my lack of body all healed wrong because nothing was set the way it was supposed to be.
so his color and his shape walks while i am likely still a thought process.
and she sits on a boulder (her heart is made of paper) and he keeps writing his name all over it with the pen of his stupid stupid head. he looks at her with his eyes and stops walking.
two ethereal seconds before
the corners of his mouth pull up.
hers do not.
just like he affects the world.
i do not.
he throws the sword in a click and it supremely adequately stabs through the piece of sky, straightly cutting through the distance between him and her.
she does not flinch as the sword tip splits itself down the length of it before the tip gets to her face − it explodes and turns to a flock of tiny vibrant birds that fly outward and around her. it takes him a whole moment to realize that he himself is running in the path the sword just made.
her eyes are apathy and she sigh as he dives at her face, exploding behind the sword into thousands of birds, each more made of color than of anything there is.
i sigh with relief.
she starts crying.
because he affects the world. and she is a part of the world.
it only makes sense because i know the whole story.
i know why he's crazy and i know why he's drunk on life.
but i'm not
going to tell you because my purpose is over.
and i'm far too lazy to go above and beyond the call of duty.
i look both ways.
that's all.
it's in these moments that it's easy to lose your sense of self in color
feeling a loss or swell of color in your veins, the serotonin collide or trickle with your receptors to let your self be surrounded or devoid of it
it's in these moments you find yourself reaching for color in places, places you really shouldn't
addiction is a dangerous thing when abstract entities are involved
you meet, and the color hits and you feel a high you've never felt before; a love you haven't touched since dreams
you've found your one the color to blend and make your best color
but
don't
let
go
it's in these moments its easy to lose your sense of self in color
to let go of it and here
here you thirst and hunger for it, a new necessity among nutrients
your addicted to this perceptual blanket thats given you warmth
you're four and sucking your thumb holding to it for dear dear life
...then you wake up and you're twelve
and its still
freaking
there
there's beauty in this love, but when did it stop you from making your you
the you that can let go of it
and instead let go of your you
which never
should
of
happened
it's in these moments you forgot what was outside of self in color
to hold yourself
who am i to damn color?
to praise it one second and cast it asunder the next
well color isn't my enemy and neither is its ambience
because without it we'd all dwell in darkness and our iris' would be out of control big
any flash of vibrance would blind us
leave us imprinted with our last vision of light
of color
and to never let go
always reaching for it never growing beyond it
nononono
color has never been the problem
it's the self that wraps it's strings around it
plucking it's e around its neck to make it glow
and here's where id repeat that same line for poetic effect
but this isn't poetry and this isn't art this isn't even expression
it's inter—freaking—action with the self you'll throw aside for color
self has been in your life as long as your you has had eyes to open and gouge for light
but color
it's the rarity we kill ourselves for
the one we decide this me is a commodity for
the one that decides when i'll laugh when i'll smile when i'll cry when i'll love when i'll fall on the ground out of passion or exhaustion when i'll reach for light or shroud one's self in darkness the one we'll abandon all sense of rigidity and belief for
because suddenly color is beyond all of that
color is all you need when you haven't had it and now, now you're bathing in it
when it's wine for drinking and bread for breaking
they'll always be more in color
a miracle upon sense
"it's all ok"
you've thrown your body in the pit abandoned your limbs for the belt that holds yourself together
your self you thought you still had
until the colorless...
those wicked damned...
they walk in and tell you how unhappiness and neglect of your inward most city streets isn't
isn't what love is
you've lost yourself in color and forgot the connection that drove the color
the selves that connected the road for the color to crash through
and it's torn your support beams and snapped the cables
and you've sunken in the bay
the color now keeping these selves glued
you're just too close to tell you aren't you
and they
they sure as hell aren't them
the self you fell in love with
the one you opened yourself for
and now you've realized...
changed yourself for
your
self
for
the second that happens, this isn't love
it's color addiction
and you're selling your self for endless hits
if you can realize this and pull out the color
tear it from limbs and string out your veins
then you're truly a self worth saving
but if you sit and argue, that this love is true love and i haven't lost my self in it no no it's just been so long we've changed and we need to get back back to how things were before, if only i could change these few things...
diving up through air
damn that gravity
always pulling me this way and that
if you're still sitting hold onto color, ignoring your self
you don't deserve it
one day you'll grow and this color will be gone and you'll realize you don't even remember the self you were
the beauty you shed like sweat in the crack of the pools surface
the light you sent out merely by being
its
gone
unless of course, your color, this color, the one you've found and reached and grasped and become one with and now mixed with
unless this color for you is still rooted in self
and you know your self is yours and their self oh it's there's
you know you've never once lost who you were and compromised it for a color
well if that's you, then you're drenched in luck
a one truly beyond color
beyond love and plaster
growing from self
growing from connection and you've been in my head this whole time and here you finally are you're the exact person i know i need
down to every giggle and sarcastic aside
even the traits i couldn't imagine
if that's you
you're painted with colors blessing
i
know
i
am.
i rhyme a bit too much....
I will plaster you on the wall, with all the breaks and falls, and all the sunsets missed with me locked in my resolve.
See you raining from your eyes with a devoted sense of style, i'll watch you pull the pin you'll watch me turn and smile.
Stars are out tonight to burn the guiding light to wish us all the best to make sure we're alright.
With all the pretty pictures our minds' eyes have had to show, with malice on our tongues and hearts not knowing which way is home.
Confusion is the key, and it all starts with her.
Stars have less twinkle than her eyes, guiltless even as she's making me weak, flawless in that I can't look away.
Captivating with no effort, I'm all fed up.
Couldnt take my eyes off them, and I know I've covered this but they deserve the second mention.
Now I know this is all seeming very foolish and impractical but thats what they do to me.
Playful and paralyzing, she's the most lethal of combinations.
I'm sure I would be willing to weather any storm cast at me just to be with her again.
That was then and this is now, and I have seen it all and i have said it all.
Tasteless, an earthen anguish of epic proportions. How'd the song go?... An entire song sung out of key and in the direction of us.
I can't stand to see yet another sunrise with you not here in my porcelain arms.
Beating hearts watch through pinholes of obscurity, a poke here, a stab there,
Ticks not ready to talk, swing, sway, swept under the rug. (Time cures all.)
We left ourselves exposed to a weakness we could never have accounted for..... Love?....
Aimed directly for the last remaining vessel, too bad they left our hearts for last.
Distracted and apprehensive, I was always looking for what I already had.
Incidental by nature, Prayers with knees touched to floor, another year to burn another selfish thought to ignore.
Free flowing effortless striking with no moments wasted hesitating, she screamed so softly, no debates worth debating.
Liquid Crystal Deformity, lacking the grace to be accepted by those not willing to show acceptance.
"it's funny how often bravery and stupidity coincide."
I'm a relentless soul with more guilt to bare and more strings to pull.
My strings weren't made to hold this heavy a heart.
Have you ever seen anything so confusing in your life?
There was once this spider web perched in the corner of my window sill, and it got me to thinking. We in so many different ways
are like that very web. Well me at least. We sit in our corner waiting for what we want most dearly. I mean im not saying i want to
devour a fly or anything.. forget let's just stick to what we know. Life is a game of simplicity and I was born to complicate things.
Flashes of sense come and go but it's my nature to ignore things of that nature.
and the truth is, love is only being. it doesn't mean hurt and it doesn't mean beauty. everything is love is only being.
because human thought it exactly that.
and human truth is exactly that.
and human senses are exactly that.
and human beings are exactly that.
so why is love so complicated?
because that's exactly how we like it.
that is the definition of sabotage and that is the definition of being unsure of the heart or of what it feels. a lot of what the heart says is a lie anyway.
which is why the only way to fly is with the love we don't tamper with.
that's only interpretation though.
i'm getting ahead of myself. i'll be back later.
"Love makes the world go round." That saying is so cheesy. Not just cheesy-cheesy but nacho-cheesy, which is way worse. But being who I am now, and what surrounds me, I realize how completely true this is, especially when it comes to my life. Love. It's such a beautiful thing, I just don't know how anyone could go through life not searching for it.
I don't really see how people could question what the purpose of life was. Philosophers come up with their theories which are good, religious leaders promote their ideas which are good, but I've always been the "cinderella-snow-white-fairytale-love-is-true-i-believe-in-happily-ever-afters" type of person. I've always wanted true love, I've wanted the nacho-cheesy story of two strangers meeting by chance. I don't see how there can be anything else worth striving for.
Luckily, I've found my Prince Charming, and not the one from Shrek... this one's a keeper. I could tell you our story and how we met and how we fell in love and how now we're going to ride off into the sunshine now but riding off is never where the story ends.
That's what bugs me about movies. You watch Cinderella have a rough life and you want more for her. Then you see her get a break and meet her Prince Charming. Obviously they wouldn't make movies about an average person who has an average life and meets an average man in a typical way and they live a typical life. No one wants to watch that. We want to see Cinderella and Prince Charming make out, fall in love, lose her shoe and dance at the ball. Oh wait... they didn't make out. Child's movie. But you know they totally would if they could. We all want to have a life worth making a movie out of. Oh, right.. the point I was getting to. Sorry. My bad. The point is I know the story. The falling in love part, but there is some sort of problem, then you overcome it and everything works out. Yeah, I got that. It's that everytime I walk out of the theater I'm thinking, "Well what now? They just go through life together in this world of love that they share?" That would make sense. That's what we want to think. That's why we hate Titanic, because you don't want Jack to freaking die. You want the typical-they will be okay and live together forever-ending. That's what everyone wants. It just ...it's weird. The entire relationship- the main part is the falling in love-beginning part. That's the exciting part. The only part that can be a movie. The next fifty years is what scares me.
Sitting in a coffee shop, looking at my charming I have one of those "oh so thoughtful, you got the iPod in your ears epic song playing as you sit in the car and watch other cars pass you and watch with those cars all the other lives that you will never know this could be a music video" moments. Love is a weird thing. Being with someone else. All my life, I am the main person. It's my movie and I am the narrator, the main person. Yeah there are other characters of course but they all are staring in their own movies too. So when you fall in love... your movie changes. Now you, the star of your own movie, are with someone who is also staring in their own movie. But your movies combine and you become a part of something that is bigger. There are two main people in the movie of love (cheesy, I know, I'm sorry)... but at the same time you will never and can never stop being the star of your own movie. Sick of the word movie yet? Let's go with story. It's like our ..selves, ourself is the camera sitting behind your eyes and you are now the new star of "The Hills." Your story never stops and you will never not be the main character. So being in love changes that without actually changing that. You become a team. You are now a part of something bigger, all the while still being the star of your own life. You make up a half of something else even though up 'til now you've always been ... something. I don't know. The shiz. You are yourself. That never stops.
I'm not suppose to be talking about love here, I'm suppose to be talking about colors. Our personalities. Comparing the human self to a color. But I guess I would have to say that the color I choose for myself would be love. That is, if love were a color. And that color would not be pink or red or... freakin' magenta or something. My whole "world" is surrounded in "love" it makes my little spinny globe thing go 'round.
People are different colors. And colors are a big deal, you can do lots of fun things with colors but as a girl, I learned very early on that one of the "rules of being cute" is that colors MUST match. One person goes with another the way one color matches another. (Someone very wise, once put it like that- simply put.) It like the shape of people, the shape of a couple. That there colors. You know when you see a tiny little stick man walking with his... may i say... plump? wife. It just doesn't add up. Colors. We have to match up our personalities. You wouldn't wear red with orange. So if you're a red, don't even think about being with an orange- the color, not the fruit, of course. There are some colors that are just so pretty they match with anything else. Those are the dangerous colors. They're hot. Like black. It's slimming, it goes with everything (except brown... does not everyone agree? think that... but everyone says about black "Oh black goes with everything." ....Anyway.) Black can pick any color to be with (except for brown in my opinion, but it's totally up to black). Black can pick any color to be with. But if its smart, it will pick white. Because that is the ultimate combination. So yeah. Colors. We are different colors. So our story, the part that will be made into a movie is finding the color that will match you for the rest of your life. I guess I will just get back to you in fifty years and let you know how riding off into the sunset was and how the part after the epic "I will always love you babe tears are shed amazing kiss in the snow storm" scene and the color choice i made went.
I'm that color you'd like to wear but can't pull it off because it's not you. Please... stop trying. Wear your own color. Two people can make one color. It's not one of their colors, it's not the others either, but it is its own.
Some peoples' color is more beautiful in solitude.
Then again...two semi-mid-average colors can make a gorgeous hue.
I'm more than happy to share my color with you.
As long as I get it back at the end of the day :)
A devout Baptist became my friend in midst of my trying to achieve a very specific goal. In one conversation he looked at me and told me “Reach for the stars, hope for the trees.” He’s a great friend, and even though we have different beliefs, it’s comforting to know someone who loves God, and loves his word like myself, and lives their life as respectable as I try to.
I have many homes.
Sometimes I jolt through eyes, when some facet of
that particular spiriting pleases me, and sometimes manytimes
I am seen within La Mar, which is the sea's prettier name.
Watch for me flittering in wavesinkings
and bubbleswirlings and all other watertwistings and
shimmercrashings and (I move so many other
ways that you do not have names for);
Someone asked me once if I ever reside in words.
The answer is no, but I use them as traveling channels.
They often guide me to new already-homes without letting me tumble.
"Be like I do," Luna whispered to me once, but I could not breathe
to that toomuch amount of air.
I am very small, but besides that characteristic I
do not have much use for a shape. Or you could say
I have use for all shapes; I'm not picky since shape itself is arbitrary.
I cannot say this sentencely, so...
!snow snow-snow:snowsno(w)!
I make music when others are around, but you have to use your eyes.
I am unphysical in the sense that my soulmate is unsolid.
That being said, I'll tell you my favorite dance step.
It's all based in yet and completed in across, making loops
around about. My teacher is beyond.
Please don't scare me. I'll disappear without winking.
I flickered once, in a shatter.
I do not mean to startle,
conflicts keep bashing their fists against my face of reason and i still don't know what to do. especially when i don't know if that means the velocity involved is going to break the treaty between me and the asphalt.
i mean the asphalt and i. sorry.
he stopped a ways away because he needed to make it dramatic. just walking up to her wouldn't make any sense at all. he affects the world too much for that to be the supremely adequate way to be.
the wind is flowing his color, now sufficiently wrapped around and flowing in one direction, like the tail of a scarf being classy and elegant and dripping with autumn.
i carefully make a sneery expression with my lack of face. i move my point of view all around, in circles ready for anything to happen... ready to be finished being.
the circumference of all the aerodynamics, being filled and filling the world i step through with my lack of feet with lack of hearts for a significant lack of toes all emanates over and over again, trying to stay everywhere and move to all the places with a lack of it at once and once again, for twice the life of me, i don't know if i have what it takes to step that last step with my lack of leg.
but i have to.
because i don't really have choices like he does. he affects the world.
i do not.
still.
i keep still suddenly, just like that, and watch as he walks up to her, eyelids half-closed or half-open, or spread apart and significantly just the correctest amount...
he flows, comparatively graceful, for something that's constantly affecting the world around him as he does anything he could possibly do.
he checks himself by looking both ways, as is a normal thing for him to do. it always feels like a good first step no matter which language your head believes in.
my lack of body stretches and moves with her. she lets her supremely adequate ways fall at her sides while i throw my spare lack of heart at her reasonable features.
i tear the page
out and crumple it into an origami
boulder to avalanche it into the trash can.
i start it again but plan on tearing out this page too.
it changes it from wasteful to something aesthetic.
i taste the color with my lack of tongue and wish i hadn't, so i tear out that page too, the hiss of the one edge pulling away from the other like a fault line on a world in a universe with a spine.
a world filled with lines and paper cuts and
shut up
shut up
shut up
tear.
boulder.
avalanche.
the continent crushes itself under my fingerprints, leaving my mark from my mask,
because i did it.
i crushed the world and gave up on both sides of it because one side didn't satisfy. all my lack of bones shattered under my own hand and i wish (shut up) i could ever hurt you like you hurt me.
but both of my sides agree with the conflict.
and the bones in my lack of body all healed wrong because nothing was set the way it was supposed to be.
so his color and his shape walks while i am likely still a thought process.
and she sits on a boulder (her heart is made of paper) and he keeps writing his name all over it with the pen of his stupid stupid head. he looks at her with his eyes and stops walking.
two ethereal seconds before
the corners of his mouth pull up.
hers do not.
just like he affects the world.
i do not.
he throws the sword in a click and it supremely adequately stabs through the piece of sky, straightly cutting through the distance between him and her.
she does not flinch as the sword tip splits itself down the length of it before the tip gets to her face − it explodes and turns to a flock of tiny vibrant birds that fly outward and around her. it takes him a whole moment to realize that he himself is running in the path the sword just made.
her eyes are apathy and she sigh as he dives at her face, exploding behind the sword into thousands of birds, each more made of color than of anything there is.
i sigh with relief.
she starts crying.
because he affects the world. and she is a part of the world.
it only makes sense because i know the whole story.
i know why he's crazy and i know why he's drunk on life.
but i'm not
going to tell you because my purpose is over.
and i'm far too lazy to go above and beyond the call of duty.
i look both ways.
that's all.
it's in these moments that it's easy to lose your sense of self in color
feeling a loss or swell of color in your veins, the serotonin collide or trickle with your receptors to let your self be surrounded or devoid of it
it's in these moments you find yourself reaching for color in places, places you really shouldn't
addiction is a dangerous thing when abstract entities are involved
you meet, and the color hits and you feel a high you've never felt before; a love you haven't touched since dreams
you've found your one the color to blend and make your best color
but
don't
let
go
it's in these moments its easy to lose your sense of self in color
to let go of it and here
here you thirst and hunger for it, a new necessity among nutrients
your addicted to this perceptual blanket thats given you warmth
you're four and sucking your thumb holding to it for dear dear life
...then you wake up and you're twelve
and its still
freaking
there
there's beauty in this love, but when did it stop you from making your you
the you that can let go of it
and instead let go of your you
which never
should
of
happened
it's in these moments you forgot what was outside of self in color
to hold yourself
who am i to damn color?
to praise it one second and cast it asunder the next
well color isn't my enemy and neither is its ambience
because without it we'd all dwell in darkness and our iris' would be out of control big
any flash of vibrance would blind us
leave us imprinted with our last vision of light
of color
and to never let go
always reaching for it never growing beyond it
nononono
color has never been the problem
it's the self that wraps it's strings around it
plucking it's e around its neck to make it glow
and here's where id repeat that same line for poetic effect
but this isn't poetry and this isn't art this isn't even expression
it's inter—freaking—action with the self you'll throw aside for color
self has been in your life as long as your you has had eyes to open and gouge for light
but color
it's the rarity we kill ourselves for
the one we decide this me is a commodity for
the one that decides when i'll laugh when i'll smile when i'll cry when i'll love when i'll fall on the ground out of passion or exhaustion when i'll reach for light or shroud one's self in darkness the one we'll abandon all sense of rigidity and belief for
because suddenly color is beyond all of that
color is all you need when you haven't had it and now, now you're bathing in it
when it's wine for drinking and bread for breaking
they'll always be more in color
a miracle upon sense
"it's all ok"
you've thrown your body in the pit abandoned your limbs for the belt that holds yourself together
your self you thought you still had
until the colorless...
those wicked damned...
they walk in and tell you how unhappiness and neglect of your inward most city streets isn't
isn't what love is
you've lost yourself in color and forgot the connection that drove the color
the selves that connected the road for the color to crash through
and it's torn your support beams and snapped the cables
and you've sunken in the bay
the color now keeping these selves glued
you're just too close to tell you aren't you
and they
they sure as hell aren't them
the self you fell in love with
the one you opened yourself for
and now you've realized...
changed yourself for
your
self
for
the second that happens, this isn't love
it's color addiction
and you're selling your self for endless hits
if you can realize this and pull out the color
tear it from limbs and string out your veins
then you're truly a self worth saving
but if you sit and argue, that this love is true love and i haven't lost my self in it no no it's just been so long we've changed and we need to get back back to how things were before, if only i could change these few things...
diving up through air
damn that gravity
always pulling me this way and that
if you're still sitting hold onto color, ignoring your self
you don't deserve it
one day you'll grow and this color will be gone and you'll realize you don't even remember the self you were
the beauty you shed like sweat in the crack of the pools surface
the light you sent out merely by being
its
gone
unless of course, your color, this color, the one you've found and reached and grasped and become one with and now mixed with
unless this color for you is still rooted in self
and you know your self is yours and their self oh it's there's
you know you've never once lost who you were and compromised it for a color
well if that's you, then you're drenched in luck
a one truly beyond color
beyond love and plaster
growing from self
growing from connection and you've been in my head this whole time and here you finally are you're the exact person i know i need
down to every giggle and sarcastic aside
even the traits i couldn't imagine
if that's you
you're painted with colors blessing
i
know
i
am.
i rhyme a bit too much....
I will plaster you on the wall, with all the breaks and falls, and all the sunsets missed with me locked in my resolve.
See you raining from your eyes with a devoted sense of style, i'll watch you pull the pin you'll watch me turn and smile.
Stars are out tonight to burn the guiding light to wish us all the best to make sure we're alright.
With all the pretty pictures our minds' eyes have had to show, with malice on our tongues and hearts not knowing which way is home.
Confusion is the key, and it all starts with her.
Stars have less twinkle than her eyes, guiltless even as she's making me weak, flawless in that I can't look away.
Captivating with no effort, I'm all fed up.
Couldnt take my eyes off them, and I know I've covered this but they deserve the second mention.
Now I know this is all seeming very foolish and impractical but thats what they do to me.
Playful and paralyzing, she's the most lethal of combinations.
I'm sure I would be willing to weather any storm cast at me just to be with her again.
That was then and this is now, and I have seen it all and i have said it all.
Tasteless, an earthen anguish of epic proportions. How'd the song go?... An entire song sung out of key and in the direction of us.
I can't stand to see yet another sunrise with you not here in my porcelain arms.
Beating hearts watch through pinholes of obscurity, a poke here, a stab there,
Ticks not ready to talk, swing, sway, swept under the rug. (Time cures all.)
We left ourselves exposed to a weakness we could never have accounted for..... Love?....
Aimed directly for the last remaining vessel, too bad they left our hearts for last.
Distracted and apprehensive, I was always looking for what I already had.
Incidental by nature, Prayers with knees touched to floor, another year to burn another selfish thought to ignore.
Free flowing effortless striking with no moments wasted hesitating, she screamed so softly, no debates worth debating.
Liquid Crystal Deformity, lacking the grace to be accepted by those not willing to show acceptance.
"it's funny how often bravery and stupidity coincide."
I'm a relentless soul with more guilt to bare and more strings to pull.
My strings weren't made to hold this heavy a heart.
Have you ever seen anything so confusing in your life?
There was once this spider web perched in the corner of my window sill, and it got me to thinking. We in so many different ways
are like that very web. Well me at least. We sit in our corner waiting for what we want most dearly. I mean im not saying i want to
devour a fly or anything.. forget let's just stick to what we know. Life is a game of simplicity and I was born to complicate things.
Flashes of sense come and go but it's my nature to ignore things of that nature.
and the truth is, love is only being. it doesn't mean hurt and it doesn't mean beauty. everything is love is only being.
because human thought it exactly that.
and human truth is exactly that.
and human senses are exactly that.
and human beings are exactly that.
so why is love so complicated?
because that's exactly how we like it.
that is the definition of sabotage and that is the definition of being unsure of the heart or of what it feels. a lot of what the heart says is a lie anyway.
which is why the only way to fly is with the love we don't tamper with.
that's only interpretation though.
i'm getting ahead of myself. i'll be back later.
"Love makes the world go round." That saying is so cheesy. Not just cheesy-cheesy but nacho-cheesy, which is way worse. But being who I am now, and what surrounds me, I realize how completely true this is, especially when it comes to my life. Love. It's such a beautiful thing, I just don't know how anyone could go through life not searching for it.
I don't really see how people could question what the purpose of life was. Philosophers come up with their theories which are good, religious leaders promote their ideas which are good, but I've always been the "cinderella-snow-white-fairytale-love-is-true-i-believe-in-happily-ever-afters" type of person. I've always wanted true love, I've wanted the nacho-cheesy story of two strangers meeting by chance. I don't see how there can be anything else worth striving for.
Luckily, I've found my Prince Charming, and not the one from Shrek... this one's a keeper. I could tell you our story and how we met and how we fell in love and how now we're going to ride off into the sunshine now but riding off is never where the story ends.
That's what bugs me about movies. You watch Cinderella have a rough life and you want more for her. Then you see her get a break and meet her Prince Charming. Obviously they wouldn't make movies about an average person who has an average life and meets an average man in a typical way and they live a typical life. No one wants to watch that. We want to see Cinderella and Prince Charming make out, fall in love, lose her shoe and dance at the ball. Oh wait... they didn't make out. Child's movie. But you know they totally would if they could. We all want to have a life worth making a movie out of. Oh, right.. the point I was getting to. Sorry. My bad. The point is I know the story. The falling in love part, but there is some sort of problem, then you overcome it and everything works out. Yeah, I got that. It's that everytime I walk out of the theater I'm thinking, "Well what now? They just go through life together in this world of love that they share?" That would make sense. That's what we want to think. That's why we hate Titanic, because you don't want Jack to freaking die. You want the typical-they will be okay and live together forever-ending. That's what everyone wants. It just ...it's weird. The entire relationship- the main part is the falling in love-beginning part. That's the exciting part. The only part that can be a movie. The next fifty years is what scares me.
Sitting in a coffee shop, looking at my charming I have one of those "oh so thoughtful, you got the iPod in your ears epic song playing as you sit in the car and watch other cars pass you and watch with those cars all the other lives that you will never know this could be a music video" moments. Love is a weird thing. Being with someone else. All my life, I am the main person. It's my movie and I am the narrator, the main person. Yeah there are other characters of course but they all are staring in their own movies too. So when you fall in love... your movie changes. Now you, the star of your own movie, are with someone who is also staring in their own movie. But your movies combine and you become a part of something that is bigger. There are two main people in the movie of love (cheesy, I know, I'm sorry)... but at the same time you will never and can never stop being the star of your own movie. Sick of the word movie yet? Let's go with story. It's like our ..selves, ourself is the camera sitting behind your eyes and you are now the new star of "The Hills." Your story never stops and you will never not be the main character. So being in love changes that without actually changing that. You become a team. You are now a part of something bigger, all the while still being the star of your own life. You make up a half of something else even though up 'til now you've always been ... something. I don't know. The shiz. You are yourself. That never stops.
I'm not suppose to be talking about love here, I'm suppose to be talking about colors. Our personalities. Comparing the human self to a color. But I guess I would have to say that the color I choose for myself would be love. That is, if love were a color. And that color would not be pink or red or... freakin' magenta or something. My whole "world" is surrounded in "love" it makes my little spinny globe thing go 'round.
People are different colors. And colors are a big deal, you can do lots of fun things with colors but as a girl, I learned very early on that one of the "rules of being cute" is that colors MUST match. One person goes with another the way one color matches another. (Someone very wise, once put it like that- simply put.) It like the shape of people, the shape of a couple. That there colors. You know when you see a tiny little stick man walking with his... may i say... plump? wife. It just doesn't add up. Colors. We have to match up our personalities. You wouldn't wear red with orange. So if you're a red, don't even think about being with an orange- the color, not the fruit, of course. There are some colors that are just so pretty they match with anything else. Those are the dangerous colors. They're hot. Like black. It's slimming, it goes with everything (except brown... does not everyone agree? think that... but everyone says about black "Oh black goes with everything." ....Anyway.) Black can pick any color to be with (except for brown in my opinion, but it's totally up to black). Black can pick any color to be with. But if its smart, it will pick white. Because that is the ultimate combination. So yeah. Colors. We are different colors. So our story, the part that will be made into a movie is finding the color that will match you for the rest of your life. I guess I will just get back to you in fifty years and let you know how riding off into the sunset was and how the part after the epic "I will always love you babe tears are shed amazing kiss in the snow storm" scene and the color choice i made went.
I'm that color you'd like to wear but can't pull it off because it's not you. Please... stop trying. Wear your own color. Two people can make one color. It's not one of their colors, it's not the others either, but it is its own.
Some peoples' color is more beautiful in solitude.
Then again...two semi-mid-average colors can make a gorgeous hue.
I'm more than happy to share my color with you.
As long as I get it back at the end of the day :)
A devout Baptist became my friend in midst of my trying to achieve a very specific goal. In one conversation he looked at me and told me “Reach for the stars, hope for the trees.” He’s a great friend, and even though we have different beliefs, it’s comforting to know someone who loves God, and loves his word like myself, and lives their life as respectable as I try to.
It’d been very helpful in my personal pursuit to become a designer… because he used to have the very job I’m shooting for, but got demoted to work in the woodshop that I currently slave away in. The whole idea of designing has been my passion… Even when it comes to music, I’m designing a song, rather than writing a song, that’s probably why the lyrics are usually my least favorite part. It’s like the CAD notes on blueprints that are notched in with arrow-leaders to explain something that the builder would scratch his head at because he’s not a UCS code. Every song has a glow, and a color, and the design of the song makes it so that glow stays bright… or dark. The color of any song is a mixture of two colors. First the design of that song, and the way the minor and major chords progress into each other… The tone of the instruments that lighten or darken the dream it takes you in… the way the singer breathes in between syllables… the way the blend of sounds reach a certain boiling point that gives you chills up your spine… either triggered by something they said, the certain note they hit, the way the bass swooped down to the ocean, or it could have been you… which gets into the second color… your emotional/mental situation at that moment in time when you heard that song. See… colors don’t always blend which is why you don’t crave a certain song when you feel a certain way.
My childhood was a mix of sitting at the top step of the stairs designing houses in a graph paper notebook, and sitting at the piano making soundtracks to movies I would make up in my head. A lot of black and white and white and blue-squares and graphite. This is very important, because I am still that same person.
When it comes to my obsession with wanting to be a designer, I give a lot of that credit to my desire to be like my dad. Just like how I started drinking coffee when I was seven to be like my dad, and I feel my dad’s mannerisms in myself when I converse with people… I like it.
When I was about 8 years old, I remember looking out my window when my dad got home from work, and as he got out of the car, he looked up at the stars, and took a few moments to just stand there. That burned into my mind deeper than my first day of school.
For example, one day when I was 17 years old, I was standing in the front yard of someones very nice house in a very nice neighborhood overlooking the ocean in a distance. I was on a window-job with my dad, because that’s what we did for two years.. we washed windows.. which is why ammonia is a very very sweet smell to me, and not you… most likely. We were within a conversation and my dad started to cry explaining to me how (about 20+ years ago) right after his dad was stabbed in the back with a butcher knife and robbed, he managed to regain enough strength to smash a coffee pot on the thief’s head, and dial 911 on the telephone. The bright overcast sky all of a sudden felt like night time, and I felt as thin as the grey fog that was around the mesa the neighborhood was built on. Every song I listened to that night mixed with that color. My dad never cries and he asked me to not judge his emotional makeup based on that day… That was the day he found out we had 30 days to move out, because once again a landlord calls the shots… A few months later we moved to Oregon.
My favorite color has been ‘hospital green’ for years… it’s not teal, it’s not aqua, it’s not anything but ‘hospital green’ it’s an actual color, look it up. It’s more of a light blue than greenish anything. The funny thing is not every hospital will use that color. Not every nurse will have that certain shade, but when I see that color, I know it’s that color, and when it’s not that color, I know it’s not. Almost ‘verde cenere.’ It’s my neutral color. But it doesn’t really have much of a connection to a hospital to me, because I can’t stand to be anywhere near hospitals.. The bank smelled like a hospital the other day, and I felt like throwing up. When I’m not overwhelmed by something, when I’m not drowning in dark deafening blue because I just found out something I dare not explain in writing…. Or when I’m not listening to a song that becomes such a bright green you figure it’ll eventually be white by the time the song's over because you feel so blissful, that you don’t even care if everything walks past you as if you’re part of the scenery. Because we all are constantly dealing with something.. it’s true that many of us haven’t been our color for years. I know what it’s like (in my world) to be so overwhelmed by something that everything else is an attribute to that core. And it’s the first thing you think about when you wake up, it drags you all day long.. it holds you back from smiling when you see a familiar face.. it’s on the tip of your tongue when you’re in a conversation with someone about something very specific, and even though you’re paying attention, you don’t even care because it’s not as important as what’s on your mind. Your color is definitely absent then. You go through the color charts all day long, never feeling like you match anything.
I’m a dreamboat. A dreamer… My life is a daydream. Everything I experience, and hear, and see, and say, is glorified further in my imagination. I am constantly thinking about something very specific, but I barely ever say what’s on my mind…. Lately. My life is a constant sunset, with purples, oranges, blues, yellows and red, and everything you see at the beach and whip out your cellphone and snap a pix, and send it to everyone you think deserves something pretty on their 2” LCD screen, maybe give them a “<3” or something. It’s cute, and can be cliché, only if you explain it like I just did… Back up, My life is a sunset, it’s as beautiful as God painted it out to be, and I say that because when I’m at the beach and see the sunset… I FEEL LIKE MYSELF. And that’s a big deal to anyone right? Everyone looks for that one thing that makes them feel “right” and “okay”… it’s an art. It’s what I’m thinking about when I’m hunched over a piano. My color is ‘hospital green’ and my life is a ‘sunset.’ It makes perfect sense, I don’t think it will ever change either.
When it comes to ‘hospital green,’ I can’t really explain it, it’s just the color that I feel inside me. It’s a clean feeling, like a neutral feeling… it’s what you feel when you clean your room, and everything is organized again, and then sure enough you eventually start cluttering it up again. But it’s the clean feeling that you will always return to… When you make your bed, you have the sheets go back to it’s nice orderly manner.. It gets messed up, then when you want to make it again, you don’t flip the mattress over, you arrange the sheets a certain way, it’s ‘square one.’ If I was a doctor and sewed up a person and they walked away and never had any problems with that part of their body ever again, I would be feeling very ‘hospital green’ then.
Hospital’s are places of prayer, of hope, of dreams. People there turn to something greater than themselves… Whether it is the nurse, the doctor who knows “a lot,” the medicine made by people who know more than you, the machines that are designed by greater minds, and powered by electrical currents made by very smart people, or to powers beyond all of us… praying for peace, hope, safety, health… No one can deny that hospital waiting rooms are a place of prayer. I don’t know why people chose that color for hospitals. Not that all hospitals use that color, but it’s a general clean color. The reason isn’t the biggest deal to me, which is why I have never researched it. It just makes sense to me, and that’s all that matters.
love is color
love is!
love is?
love is:
and is absolutely purple
color is love
our color is experimental
punctuation
like peeling paint in an ancient
kitchen.
Color is light activating perception.
It is relative to preconcepts and coding between photons, electricity and organic synapse. Therefore, everything about you is everything about color.
This is why I am me and you are you. Because to the world, both of us are neither.
Kinda trippy.
A sparkling is a color-ing, not 'just a color'
Read the 'colorme' part of thecolorme as... the colorING of me
"thecoloringofme;" that is, one wordflash, one concept-thought.
Make it a verb, make it an ing
and thus I will be -I am- (for I cannot fathom unbeing) so.
"thecoloringofme;" that is, one wordflash, one concept-thought.
Make it a verb, make it an ing
and thus I will be -I am- (for I cannot fathom unbeing) so.
I have many homes.
Sometimes I jolt through eyes, when some facet of
that particular spiriting pleases me, and sometimes manytimes
I am seen within La Mar, which is the sea's prettier name.
Watch for me flittering in wavesinkings
and bubbleswirlings and all other watertwistings and
shimmercrashings and (I move so many other
ways that you do not have names for);
Someone asked me once if I ever reside in words.
The answer is no, but I use them as traveling channels.
They often guide me to new already-homes without letting me tumble.
"Be like I do," Luna whispered to me once, but I could not breathe
to that toomuch amount of air.
I am very small, but besides that characteristic I
do not have much use for a shape. Or you could say
I have use for all shapes; I'm not picky since shape itself is arbitrary.
I cannot say this sentencely, so...
!snow snow-snow:snowsno(w)!
I make music when others are around, but you have to use your eyes.
I am unphysical in the sense that my soulmate is unsolid.
That being said, I'll tell you my favorite dance step.
It's all based in yet and completed in across, making loops
around about. My teacher is beyond.
Please don't scare me. I'll disappear without winking.
I flickered once, in a shatter.
I do not mean to startle,
To me, color is an obsession. An addiction. I can't get enough of it and yet, sometimes I feel there's too much. Color defines the way I look at certain things. Just the right amount of it in something brings out the best qualities. It's like peering into those vibrant iris's of the girl you like. You just don't want to look away (which can sometimes make people uncomfortable.) There is no "best color" in my opinion, because perception is reality and every individual has different tastes. You, for instance, may like Blue, or Green, or various shades of other colors, whereas my color would have to be a "Orange Peel" or a "Tangerine." Both are shades of Orange, which I feel match myself. In some cases, however, the overpowering sight of too many colors, all clashing with each other can give a splitting headache. It's funny how something that most people ignore and take for granted can have such an affect on your mind and thought process. You match specific people and events in your life with certain colors, so whenever you see a color, your mind eventually thinks of that friend you have, or that special day that happened to you a year ago. You observe nature, and the many colors it keeps reveal themselves to you in a burst of light. Even your various friends pick clothes to match their moods. Color is everywhere. Why am I telling you this, you ask? To show that, even if it's occasional, stopping to really notice the colors in life isn't such a bad thing. Seacrest, out. P.S. You should read this again and mentally replace the word color with the word personality.
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