stereonights

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

Nothing can stop us now.

I'm putting a lot of things on hiatus. I'll be leaving livejournal for a while. Best of luck to all whom I won't see in school or other places. God bless.

Meme.

Anonymously, write a comment to this entry about anybody or anything.

It was very nice. My parents were proud, and all my friends were there, and that really made it best. Wolfie gave me flowers. They're really very fragrant. These kind of light colored roses with red or orange tips are the ones that dry best. They look very nice. They don't get the color of dried blood the way red roses do, and they don't get the color of bile or dust the way white roses do.


Ah. I like performing.

If the walls in my room were covered with chalkboard rather than housepaint, I would write in neat little Asian girl script, over and over:

I WILL NOT READ JUUNI KOKKI. I WILL NOT READ JUUNI KOKKI IN THE DAYTIME. I WILL NOT READ JUUNI KOKKI IN THE NIGHT TIME. I WILL NOT READ JUUNI KOKKI WHEN I HAVE HOMEWORK. I WILL NOT READ JUUNI KO...

et cetera et cetera. I love to hate you for the MLP/twelve kingdoms infection you pass on to eeeveryyoneee.

If I don't stop comparing my mother to Augie's mother, I'll never be satisfied with my mother. Does having three kids mean you're three times as attentive to children as a woman with one kid would be? Whatever.

Come to the concert!
Dixit Dominus!
Community Church at Upper Ridgewood on the corner of Fairmount and Hillcrest roads!
8:00!

Why do certain individuals keep trying to make me choose adhesion to a broad and situationally useless standard over my own personal happiness and success? Okay. Conversations with my mother/father/stepfather typically go like this (a la the great Nate):

THEM: "So, what are you going to do in X college?"
ME: "Oh, well. Maybe music."
THEM: "No, I mean, what are you really going to do?"
ME: "...psychology?"
THEM: "Oh come on, that doesn't pay. What are you really going to do?"

And so on and so on until they suggest either engineering or business or some shit like that, neither of which I have any aptitude or desire for. Fuck that shit. I know exactly why they're not supportive of me. I know why they think I'm some failure derelict bad-choice-making morally retarded and misguided, lost, misguided youth. My parents and I really don't "hang out." When in my life will they stop equating academic performance to personal success and improvement? It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.

Astounding!

And to these people I have dedicated a sizable portion of my regard and respect and love: a lioness to my kit and cub, a mountain goat to my lonely moon on the mountain, and my king cobra, my keen and pretty black bird, whose crow calls herald the clean, dry dawn that will see me through this deserted in-between time.

( Freedom hangs like heaven over everyone... )

They got me to lesson twenty minutes late and picked me up twenty minutes late. It was enough time for me to hear Noah play a Hungarian Rhapsody. The AP Music Theory test is tomorrow. Noah is taking it too. We grumbled about that. Cosmo ordered the Czerny exercises for me. Noah laughed and said they were torture. We grumbled about that. It was slightly cool in Cosmo's house, but I was warmed by a large muff named Mario, who is a cat that sits with his tongue sticking out. Very unusual for a cat. The smell of Cosmo's house reminded me of being embraced by Gahl and Carson, of sleeping in Gahl's bed with our arms all tangled in our hair.

It really bothers me that my mother and her husband and my father have practically no idea that I'm musically inclined. I asked them again if they were coming to my performance on Wednesday, and they said, "Yes, your school choir, right?" They think it's another high school choral concert, which are awful regardless of how many good musicians participate. Our choir is number one in our division and we're awful. My family doesn't understand, really. I put in a CD that Cosmo gave me of himself and David playing Rossini. My mother said, "Who's Rossini?" This sort of thing happens all the time. My mother resents that she has to drive me to rehearsals and things. She has no patience for me while I'm working on these things. She'll be proud in a small and fleeting way when she gets the opportunity to show me off like a specimen, but she doesn't respect me for the work I do. And that's really more important.

She also doesn't do my laundry anymore.

I'm still, still, after a few months still coping with this.

(Partly because she gets offended when I try and "take over" her laundry room. I'm a damned fool for not having a coin-op in my closet.)

She also doesn't cook for me when her husband isn't around.

(Should I be offended at this?)

My father hardly knows me anymore! Spectacular! It only took four years for the distance between us to decrease by three hours and increase by a vast number of personal differences!

(Truth be told, it's because I have no time in my schedule for him. Isn't that sick?)

I need to get out of here.

The mission is be good to them always, love them and learn from them, but most importantly liberate them from yourself. I have done my best and feel closer to completion in that regard than I have in a while. Children can be cruel by virtue of their natural processes, and their sudden withdrawal from my side can leave me feeling cold. The past year has been a warmer time, where I've been touched on all sides by little hands and faces, little bodies pressing into mine, surrounding me with a sticky warmth that, when the body is held perfectly still, feels nice. But anyway I've grown tired of standing still, have ushered them off to build sandcastles of their own, so that I can be free to move my arms about in great circles--practice for when I'll have my bubble-wands again, with strong bubble juice made from my own mother's dish soap. I'm ready to create my warbling orb legions, ready to let them sail on the wind and burst as they may upon the world, being fragile things. Still, the sudden departure, even contempt, in attitude taken by my vehement, impetuous brothers and sisters has left my flesh feeling cold. Be good to them always, and liberate them from yourself.

That I still take offense when my skin prickles coolly is a sign that I'm not meant to stay in that warm, sticky state. I was never one for being pressed on all sides by affection and affectation. Until a year ago, I wouldn't speak of the cold or of being cold, but would let it sink into my entire body until I was very chill and icy to the touch, but supple and content in the choice and ability to be such. To be such is to hold no illusions, and also to embrace, face, address one's doom, should it be lurking near.

MY HORSE WON THE FUCKING DERBY. I AM A GENIUS.

You're welcome. Oh but it comes so natural to me. You're in me at the core of me and I know you like the back of my hand because I am you, we're so alike and I'm so proud of you. Me, too, and what more can I say. Me too.