Summer Heat

june 19 12:26 a.m i would like to proudly report that i am genuinely, purely, innocently happy.

Hands to the Universe

meeting those who:
open eyelids
encourage expression
cause that feeling of comfort inside, that feeling that is so rarely is sparked these days.

thanks.

Linger On

It was somewhere along the route between Ithaca and White Plains where we stopped at an old, run-down gas station. The air conditioning in our silver outback gave the false hope that the atmosphere was cooling- that my things weren't going to stick together when I exited the car. With the opening of the door, I was confronted with the brick wall of humidity, and reality sunk into my pores. I entered under the sign that read "Country Store" and gave the girl working at the counter a slight smile. This was the kind of country store that smelled of beer and stale cardboard, where the candy packages are coated with a shallow layer of dust. I patrolled the candy isle; halloween theme peanut butter cups, "limited edition" starbursts whos limit was much too long ago. I chose the sweet&sour gummie lifesavers because they looked interesting, took a water bottle from the refrigerator, and payed the girl $2.61. My Dad was in the distance of the parking lot, slumped with low spirits as he has been since his accident. I sat on the cracked picnic table and allowed my lungs to fill with the heavy air, thinking about all that dusty candy in the Country Store. What happens when we, ourselves, become dusty? Even if our package is outdated and expired, can't we still be sweet and satisfying underneath? I don't want to be a limited edition, something that will soon be of interest to no one.

I returned to the car and basked in the fresh air conditioning, as it dried up all my reality. Back on the road, moving from point A to point B. 'Lingering on' as life often does, accumulating dust until our time here expires.

Mixture

My Dad has been using the same shampoo for as long as my nasal senses can recall. I used to find the smell putrid, and would fan my face in a desperate desire for the fumes to dissipate. But tonight, as I was bogged by amsco cards and the haunting conscience of all the things I was neglecting to do, I found nothing but pure comfort in this smell. It reflected everything I love about my dad and everything bright that my future holds. I did not want these feelings to dissipate, not at all. I clung to the fumes for as long as they remained in the air, clinging to this feeling of hope and happiness.

This morning I returned to the halls of highschool after the week's vacation. Minutes after entering my hallway, I was consumed by hassle. Pressure, sticky unwanted warmth, sagging spirits, as if it was causing every junior physical pain to be present in that hallway. I was surrounded by, and witnessing physical pain. Realizing this I felt the need to keep moving, and escape. On my way down the hall I almost stepped directly on a puffy white face, belonging to a thin boy in a flannel tshirt. He lay motionless on the cold hallway tiles, and every surrounding face remained motionless as we all starred in horror at his limp body. This kid looked like a corpse. Laying in the middle of our cold, painful junior hallway. And not one person thought to seek help. If this incident was filmed, it could have been used as a documentary of stereotypical highschool behavior. Being concerned with little more than your own well being. I felt the need to escape this horrifying place where compassion is a phantom, nonexisting feeling. 7 weeks to go.

I guess I can sleep now. Now that I am tired. I am so tired.

My Neck My Back

I just got invited to a beer pong tournament via facebook, prize is $222. Thanks Anya Lake<3<3<3

I cannot get this song out of my head, its just too classy.

Adjust

I just came home and found a basket full of discounted easter candy on my bed. And I also drove home listening to Arcade Fire. These were high points of my day. Aside from those, I remain disconnected. Indeed, we're just a million little gods, causing rain storms turning every good thing into rust.

Sir, Keep On Believing

I am sleeping with my eyes wide open. Wide awake to the sense of touch, or the lack of touch for that matter. Touch is vibrant; it lets you know you are alive even when your brain is sinking into the abyss of daze. My hands were made to be clasped, my shoulders to be hugged. I crave that sense of connection, belonging to the mold that forms between two bodies.

I have found three friends in unexpected places this week. These friendships aren't going to last through the year, much less through my lifetime. These short surprises of companionship are what excites me most about highschool though. All three of them brightened my days, and I will remember them and their impact most at the end of this week.

The Penalty by Beirut