incandescent

artisian

I am really bad at lying

I'm impossible/terrible at lying. I can't hide anything. pretty transparent, what you see is what you get. (though I 've been told by guys that I'm hard to read because I'm so nice to everyone). whatever. I'm not a real impressive person. I think and hope I make people feel comfortable because I'm real and don't need much to be pleased. I'm not very eloquent and have trouble connecting thoughts and words. I love words, and to write, a lot, but verbally seem to have trouble getting across what I want to say. It never comes out right. I don't know why I wanted to write about that.

high music, tune it all out

"i get the news I need on the weather report... heeey let your honesty shine shine shine" _s&g

Gardenstate, I heart Huckabees.

Wow I had strange dreams last night-- something about the Hendricks (trey) having our station wagon and a RIP tombstone that was fake or on a cake with blue piping and he didn't die.

let it pass on the side of the road, what a friend could tell you now...

i feel thin and transparent-- see through and hollow-- empty, flapping in the wind-- blown and hollowed out by the slightest breeze-- flopping and dragging about with a hollow blank stare-- not connecting, feeling insecure. and awkward and afraid and uncertain and sad and empty

california and outside

I love being high but I’d never consider even trying drugs. Who needs to when I could run trails under blue CA skies in the open space where you break over a ridge and see some lush valley surrounding a glistening lake—or when I could ride an OLD red bike through Novato all day, listening to Mutations. [if I had to chose this would have to be my favorite Beck album, winning on it’s mesmerizing tunes and stellar lyrics—listen closely and be amazed]. And the nights here—did you know the sky can still be BLUE long after the sun has gone down? And the stars ever shine and a cool wind constantly sweeps through the hills and valleys from 4pm on. The hills form massive round blocks of darkness—a stark and strong silhouette, and it feels juicy and purple and cool and it’s bliss, and my eyes flutter with delight and I wonder 2 things: who thought up insulated, temperature controlled houses and buildings, and why anyone needs chemicals to alter their mental state and to escape- for me it’s music, exercise, and OUTSIDE--- it’s always been all about natural light, natural air—I always open and roll down window and avoid artificial light/temperature as long as possible—I think it’s my constant longing to be outside—and when you live here where the weather is so great, it’s amplified—my room growing up was on the corner, so I had 2 windows- the front window went floor to ceiling and I kept it open to let in tons of light—my parents had to come shut it for me at night because I’d leave it always open even when changing clothes—the other window was above my bed and I liked to leave it open when I slept—naps especially—in the fall—after an early cross-country meet when I had already run my guts out, showered and eaten by 9:30am—then I’d sleep, letting the crisp autumn air rake over my clean exhausted body as the crinkle and scuffle of wind blown leaves soothed me deep into the best nap I’ve ever had.

last year

Although I must say this time a year ago I was in my hardest and worst semester (among anyway—maybe only slightly worse than that which preceded it) it was the one in which I discovered music—an onslaught of beautiful, sad, nonsensical, clever, intricate, original, poignant, lovely, honest, deep, flippant , talented, high-inducing songs that rocked my world—lost and gone forever and several from beck among the first and foremost and they made me float and escape—soar above my wretchedness—TRANCENDENCE—ah that’s the word—everything I so longed for, all that desired and satisfied me hinged on this one mysterious word-- in some way shape or form to rise above the mess to slash past my constant fears, shame, and intense feelings of hate and sick despair—it was nursing school, yes, but school alone could have not such effects—constant inner turmoil that had once resurfaced to plague me, veering further out of sane control and yet never fully off an edge, though often I thought I had reached it—never abandoned by the Lord though I felt a thick gray fog separating and knew I deserved it and much more—it all seems such an insanity of the past—like a strange dream or movie or parallel universe. And yet remnants persist, fragmented shards of the past, showing me it was all too real to forget.
I realize that in some small way, I liked my suffering, I sought comfort in it’s warm familiarity and sharp edge and think back on it’s embrace in awe, a daze, and in almost fond memory. The curse that walked so closely with me, it became my friend. And it’s tough even still to part ways…

Entropy and panic. Drowsy oblivion and warm satisfaction.

Crossing the Golden Gate, turquoise water dotted with white sailboats, glistening in the non-humid California sun—no sign of fog today! Sitting next to a guy who’s reading esquire—a 2.5 hour journey via public transportation—oh, hold your breath, we’re going through the rainbow tunnel—Ok breathe—what a view of the bay from up on this hill and of lovely houses on the hillside, windswept trees and stark cliffs, ahh. An actual successful bus trip. Good times….. falling asleep on the bus the 2nd time to take 54. seeing the same guy and sleeping hard most of the way home.
There’s something about living (and making it) in a big city that feels good—new and exciting- growth and change—progress and learning—independence and stillness. I like how alone you feel on public transportation.

Transcendence and glimpses.

Psalm 119:76-77
“May your unfailing love be my comfort according to your promise to your servant. Let your love and compassion come to me that I may live, for your law is my delight."


The sick feeling of something rich and warm (brown and red like yesterday) ending (orange and sad like Saturday evening) and my vacillating emotions (blue purple and gray swirls)


Life is so funny. It just sort of passes, and one day you wake up and you’re living it. You’re living in California and have been for three months, or whatever, and you think. How did I get to here?

The one with the nice voice

Psalm 145:18
"The Lord is near to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth."

Flashback scraps:
Blankets of cold air falling, tangible in the room
Far out-dad
I like reality with melis. Can’t believe she’s my sister.

Psalm 119:81 "My soul faints with longing for your salvation, but I have put my hope in your Word.”

Psalm 119:94
“Save me for I am yours."