Regina

I never loved nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart
And suppose I never ever met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall
Just to break my fall
Just to break my fall
Just to break my fall
Break my fall
Break my fall
All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better
Better better better better Better better better
I never love nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost In the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words I hear in my mind
All this music
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart
Breaks my Heart
Breaks my heart
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind
All this music
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart
Breaks my Heart
Breaks my heart and it breaks my heart it breaks my heart and it breaks my heart and it breaks my heart

Don't Jump

Stand still. Don't move. And definitely don't jump.
Look. Stretch your sight. Pan the horizon. Collect with your gaze. Grasp the memories and hold them. Your arms may not carry all. Some may

slip

out of your grasp and fall. Just don't trip on the ones that lie beneath your feet.
Get ready. Capture and leave room. This is wholly yours to keep. Water sends its ripples. Colors are never stationary and the world doesn't listen to your Stop! Don't move! Stand still so I can catch up!
I can't catch up.

The Butterfly

The butterfly wanted a sweetheart, and naturally it had to be a flower. He inspected them. Everyone sat as properly and quietly on her stalk as a young maiden should. The trouble was that there were too many of them to choose from, and the butterfly didn't want to be bothered by anything so fatiguing. He flew over the the chamomile flower. She is called by some the French Daisy and she knows how to tell the future. Young maidens and boys who are in love ask her questions, and then answer them by tearing off her petals, one at a time. This is the rhyme they usually recite:

"With all her [or his] heart...

With only a part...

Not lost forever...

She'll love me never."

Or something like that. You can ask the chamomile flower any questions you want to. When the butterfly came, he did not tear off any of the petals; he kissed them instead, for he was of the opinion that you get furthest with compliments.
"Sweet daisy, dear chamomile flower, matron of all the flowers, you who are so clever that you can see the future, answer me: which of the flowers will be my sweetheart? This one or that one? Please tell me so that I can fly directly over to her and propose at once."
The chamomile flower did not answer. The butterfly had insulted her by calling her a matron. She was a virgin and hadn't been proposed to yet. The butterfly asked the same question a second time and a third, then he got bored and flew away to go courting on his own.
It was early spring. Snowdrops and crocuses were still in bloom. "How sweet they are," he remarked. "Just confirmed, but they have no personalities." Like so many young men, he preferred older girls. He flew to the anemones but he found them too caustic. The violets were a little too romantic and the tulips a little too gaudy.
Soon the Easter lilies came, but they were a little too bourgeois. The linden blossoms were too small and had too large a family. The apple blossoms were so beautiful that they could be mistaken for roses, but they were here today and gone tomorrow. "Our marriage would be too short," the butterfly muttered.
He was most attracted by one of the sweet peas. She was red and white, pure and delicate; and was one of those rare beauties who also knows what a kitchen looks like. He was just about to propose when he happened to notice a pea pod with the withered flower at its tip. "Who is that?" he asked with alarm.
"That is my sister," replied the sweet pea.
"So that is what she will look like later," though the butterfly. "How frightening!" And he flew away.
The honey suckle had climbed over the fence. What a lot of girls there were, and all of them with long faces and yellow skins. The butterfly didn't care for them. But whom did he like? To find out, you must ask him.
Spring passed, summer passed, and then autumn came. Still the butterfly had no wife. The flowers were dressed in their finery, but they had lost their fresh innocence and scent of youth. As the heart grows older it needs scent, odor, perfume to arouse it and the dahlias and the hollyhocks have none.
The butterfly lighted on a little mint plant with curly leaves. "She has no flowers, but she is a flower from her roots to the tip of her tiny leaves. She smells like a flower. I shall marry her." And the butterfly proposed.
The mint plant stood stiff and silent. At last she replied: "Friendship, but no more! I am old and you are old. We can live for each other, but marriage, no! It would be ridiculous at our age."
And that is how it happened that the butterfly never got married.
He had searched too long for a wife, and now he had to remain a bachelor.
It was late in the autumn. The rains had come and the wind blew down the backs of the willow trees. It was not the weather to be out flying in, especially in summer clothes. But the butterfly was not outside, he was in a room that was kept summer-warm by a stove, where he could keep himself alive.
"But to live is not enough," declared the butterfly. "One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower." He flew to the windowpane. There he was seen admired, and a pin was stuck through him. He was "collected" and that is as much as a human being can do for a butterfly.
"Now I sit on a stalk just like the flowers," he said. "It isn't very comfortable, probably just like being married: you are stuck." And with that he consoled himself.
"Not much of a consolation," said the potted plants who lined the window sill.
"But you cannot trust potted plants," thought the butterfly, "they have associated too much with human beings."

-Hans Christian Andersen

Words

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

The matters of state seem trifling when you read them out of a book. In practice, they are much more daunting... much more terrifying.

The story is quite long, and I myself do not understand it fully. But here I relate it.

It seems a knave of the name Konnick, dwelling in the small southern province Slightly, has brought serious condemnations against my uncle. His imaginative accusations and over-zealous personality has begun to stir up discontent amongst even Gerald's most devoted subjects. That this is a potentially dangerous situation is made quite clear by uncle's constant adherence and concern with his subjects' peace and comfort. I have indeed, always thought uncle's devoted compliance to his people on the point of the ridiculous.
And so here, he is at a loss. As am I. And yet, to my astonishment (and the astonishment of Father as well) he seeks my advice.

Oh, lord.
My advice isn't worth horse crap.

Goin' Down!

Sock it to me...

Floatin' down the river

With a saturated liver

And I wish I could forgive her

But I do believe she meant it

When she told me to forget it

And I bet she will regret it

When they find me in the morning wet and drowned

And the word gets round

Goin' down

Goin' down

Coming up for air

It's pretty stuffy under there

I'd like to say I didn't care

But I forgot to leave a note

And it's so hard to stay afloat

I'm soakin wet without a boat

And I knew I should have taken off my shoes

It's front page news

Goin' down

Goin' down

I wish I had another drink

It wouldn't be so hard to sink

I should have taken time to think

Besides I got the picture straight

She must have had another date

I didn't need this extra weight

I wish that I could see the way to shore

Don't want no more

Goin' down

I'm goin' down

And now I see the life I led

I slept it all away in bed

I should have learned to swim instead

And now its really got me stumped

I can't believe why I jumped

I'd like to get my tummy pumped

I can't believe they drink this stuff in town

This dirty brown

Goin' down

Goin' down

I wish I looked before I leaped

I didn't know it was so deep

Been down so far I don't get wet

Haven't touched the bottom yet

This river scene is gettin' old

I'm hungry, sleepy, wet and cold

She told me to forget it nice

I should have taken her advice

I only want to go on home

I'd gladly leave that girl alone

What a way to spend the night

If I don't drown, I'll die of fright

My pappy taught me how to float

But I can't swim a single note

He threw me in to teach me how

I stayed there floatin' like a mama cow

And now I've floated way down stream

I know this has to be a dream

If I could find my way to shore

I'd never, never do this anymore

Il'l give you three, I've been down nine

I'm goin down just one more time.

Goin' down.

Goin' down.

Now the sky is gettin' light

An everything will be alright

Think I finally got the knack

Just floatin' here lazy on my back

I never really liked that town

I think I'll ride the river down

Just movin' slow and floatin' free

There's a river swingin' under me.

Waving back to the folks on shore

I should have thought of this before

I'm floatin' on down to New Orleans

Goin' to pick up on some swingin' scenes

I know I'll know a better day

I'll go down groovin' all the way

Goin' down

Goin' down

Dream

How creepy are dreams?

Once I had a dream about a dream. Seriously, in my dream I told about the dream that I'd just had.
Then I get this overwhelming sense of deja vu in my dreams. I keep telling myself (in my dream) that I've done this before. I've been here... hasn't this already happened?

Apparently, though, I can predict future events in my dreams. It sounds ridiculous, but only a week ago I had a strange dream in which a friend of mine was singing outside of a girl's window (other things were going on at the same time-- like a jumble of things-- you know how dreams go). He had the whole orchestral thing going. It was... weird, for lack of another adjective.
Anyway, just a few days ago this dude hooked up with a girl (in reality, not in my dream) he'd worked with for a while. Apparently the whole 'singing outside a girl's window' was code for dating or something.
Well, I think it's ironic.
Or whatever. I thought it worth mentioning.

Too bad it doesn't work for me. How cool would it be to predict real events in your own life?

Can't stop now?

Refuse of thoughts. blegh.

And yet another one of those days when I wonder what the hell I'm doing here.

It makes me tired.
physically, yes, but just... emotionally drained. Energy sapping out of every corner.

Another one of those days that makes me wish there were a spot on this earth between my two lives.
I have a feeling, though, that a place of escape only exists in sleep.
you know... when your brain turns off and submits entirely to your subconscience...
Even that's not the same, since somehow, my conscience life seeps relentlessly and disturbingly into my dreams.

Go the hell away!

I hate questioning. I hate it.
You're supposed to grow and mature through doubting and wondering.
Not me. I fight it every step, and it comes back and bites me in the ass.
There's another energy drainer.

Ugh.
Homework calls.

Goodbye

Pink tangent

I want pink hair.
I have a feeling, though, that pink just wouldn't work for me.
The type of people that have pink hair who say they're "asserting their individuality" are really just asserting how brave they are. Which is just as admirable, in my opinion.

The more I learn about my own heritage, about the Svedes and Germans... the more I wish I were Greek... or something like that. Like My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Tula was always so embarrassed. But how cool would it be to say "Opa!" and not sound like an idiot (or in my case, to have your roommate laugh at you... which isn't always a bad thing, it just means you aren't taken seriously.) I mean, my family is JUST as crazy, embarrassing and totally oblivious as Tula's and I don't get to run around yelling "Opa" and roast lamb on a spit. Obviously, you don't have to be Greek to have 27 cousins. Or to have to explain the pronounciation, spelling and origin (for people who are either totally blind or iliterate-- I used to get phone calls from soliciters asking for the "Eckersons"-- what the hell?) of the name you were given after your Swedish great aunt who apparently died at a young age. At some point I'm going to have to start spelling my name with an 'o': Honnah. (Maybe with two 'h's' at the end: Honnahh. Inevitably, though, that will just confuse people even more thoroughly.) My sister used to complain to me about her name. She'd tell me that the name Emily was such a common name, and not unique at all. Oh, right. Then maybe she'd like to go through life with people calling her 'Yohanna.' Bloody hell.

Well, that was quite a tangent. Geoff would be proud.

And now, quite to my surprise, I have just wasted thirty minutes of valuable study time.

Oh, woe is me, my life is so traumatic.
I shall swoon.

Summarizing

quoth anna,
"The saddest life is one summarized in a paragraph."

Mine Educations

And so back to education.
I am enjoying, really.
For the most part.
Some I just don't understand
And most likely never will.

Similar
To my friends
As well. We
think so
radically different.
Behave so
oppositely.
It's hard to believe
We can even stand
each other.
Life
must just be like that.

Hehe. This is fun.

It's dangerous. Seriously.

The only experience I have with baseball was when I was eight and my brother and I decided to play in the front yard. Basically, he threw the ball, I didn't hit it, and it went through the window.

Whoops.

Don't try to tell me that paying for that window built character. Don't even.

coffee just doesn't cut it

I am exhausted
With really no reason to be.
Still I can't bring myself to sleep
it's times like these
that remind me of that special resolution
I have always wanted to keep
to sap every moment out of each day
to feel like I am actually living them
and not just moving in a mindless, pointless
circle.
I always imagine
happiness and satisfaction
but
it doesn't feel so good right now

Tomorrow. Already?

Here it comes...

There it goes...

It's okay. It'll be back.
In the immortal words of John Mayer, if I keep waving goodbye, sooner or later I'll be waving hello again. It makes sense, but I suppose my arm would get awfully tired.