Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Recent Past

I stumbled upon some journals written in my notebook in May. Some good stuff, if I say so myself. Well, more like interesting.
May 3, 2009.
This one was titled "High Expectations", and went somewhat as follows:
how i wish i could see the potential, the potential of you and me...
It's been quite awhile since i've recorded my thoughts. It's as if turning eighteen started yet another era in the lack of self-improvement area. Well, this is a battle, against the unchanging, against ignorance.. While for some reason I cannot clearly portray my thoughts, I certainly have much to say. Quite a bit has happened in the past month or so. April '09 certainly marked a time of development, major change, insight, self-searching, and the ever-present battle of being grateful or not.
School is-thank God-coming to an end, having but 15 full days left excites me immensely. I would be catching up on homework right now I seem to have misplaced all of my needed textbooks. Ah, well, there's always tomorrow. (That's my professional procrastination talking.)
...My mind is an ocean, a drowned organ, consumed with dreams, hopes, fears, and anticipation...
I still feel as though expressing myself exposes my ignorance. I'm afraid my expectations for myself are a bit too high, or maybe that's a good thing, I suppose.
(Ha,) I should get paid for sweet stuff like this, such pure artistic talent. Raw. Dave and the roses. Discounts for blondes(?)
*I left a doodle on the notebook paper, but am not feeling empowered to scan it to show. Imagine.. a sketch of two roses, leaves and vine. That is all.

Well, now that I've given that one, I have yet another I found while flipping through the journal.
10 de mayo
Hoy es el dia de madres. Tambien el cumpleanos de mi hermana naomi. Ella es trece. Vieja. :)
I can remember when i turned thirteen. I felt as though i'd officially arrived.. could view pg 13 movies, get a boyfriend and such. A nice age for sure. Not that in my eighteen years i would know what is "good". I have yet to know the best year, maybe this coming one. Definitely. Bangs might do the trick. Or travel. Ah, who am i kidding.
The blissfulness and wonder of ignorance & immaturity. I need to stop cutting myself down. Geez.
How I detest the monotonous, bleak lifestyle of a "high schooler". 10 more days and all will be complete. At least, en estados unidos.
...God, I love music. It speaks when I am speechless. As the mind soars, the tongue is paralyzed. God bless computers. And music, once again. So, as I don't know what to say, music fills the void. "We'll carry on", past scars, the death of all our friends, and this shoddy cursive (now clearly typed), that I could hardly pencil down.
I feel as though I over-analyze my life at times. Aver-analyze myself. It then holds me back, I'm afraid, from the full potential meant to be reached.
Oh, technology. A blessing and a curse. As is any item of addiction. Truly. Each opens up the mind, as it constrains.
*In this journal I then went a bit free, writing down whatever random words in whatever random order my mind provided. Here's a taste, but I am reluctant to give it all:
Jupiter misses the effervescent miracles as utter movement and monument. ..Figuratively ignorance speaks volumes on the subject style. ..Funny one plays pity by acting lethargic.
*Well, there you have it, some very odd stuff no doubt.
What does it mean anyways? If I knew, well, you'd have your explanation. As would I. And it really just means whatever the heck I want. I wrote it.
*I went on to write..
I'm in love with feelings wish are rushes of blood and smiley giggles. It seems more like a habit than anything, something I interpret as love. Ouch..
Curses for questioning existence, faith and love, only getting more questions in return. Forget thinking I'm no good at this. Lacking confidence makes for a rather bad mood. Lacking vigor and pitiless motions toward what? What do I live for again? (or who?) Not me. Yes, Me.
"What's my age again?"

So the two May journals I think are rather neat. As well as

No comments:

Post a Comment