Trying.

Life is weird.

Dear Best Friend.

I want to see your face, to speak so we can see heart-to-heart, to sit on a park bench somewhere and say that no matter what, I am always ready to be your friend. I will always be there for you, thinking about and praying for you.

I can’t save you from those murky depths. Perhaps my mistake was in thinking that I could, that I could find the solution for something so huge and heart-breaking.

For one who is so used to writing, I really don't want to write any of this down. Please, let us be able to talk, face-to-face.

I love you so much, Angela.
Yours truly,
Irene.

Funny Sort of Weather Patterns

It's raining and I'm writing, listening to the new and old favorites I've found:

Needtobreathe (Something Beautiful; Streets of Gold)
Neverending White Lights (Dove Coloured Sky; Always)
Ludo (Love Me Dead; The Horror of Our Love)
The Hush Sound (Eileen; You Are the Moon)

Someday I would like to deejay my own radio show. I lack the radio voice, but perhaps I can at least write out the playlist and enlist a smooth- voiced, witty friend to crack jokes between songs.

Something to add to my Bucket List, alongside Sing in the Opera and Learn Ballet.

Outside, the trees are kneeling, locked in an insane tango with the wind and rain.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros (Home)
Mika (Love Today; Big Girl)
Dan Black (Symphony)

More Midnight Ruminations

Trying to write a story...it's hard. I don't have time to really work on it to the degree I'd like because I just want to put it out there quickly while the idea is in my head, and I have learned that if I write an outline, it will never get written.

But the form and the style is not what I want or like. It feels...dry. Technical, like my journal instead of a story of two best friends and their varied lives. Ha...and my journal tends to be very technical. I leave my emotions alone for the most part and tend to my thoughts (they are separate entities, usually).

I think I blog better after midnight.

AND I JUST WANT TO FINISH THIS STORY, for once in my life. Characterization is just so freaking hard, especially when I'm patterning the story after real people. At least my grammar is impeccable.

For the most part.
Perhaps.
Indeed.

I have become somewhat of an ornithologist, a cursory one. Right now I am reading Hope Is the Thing with Feathers, a book about extinct birds such as the Auk and the North Carolina Parakeet.

And now I am going back to my story. Adieu.

Blowin' in the Wind

No new posts for a while because I started to live.
I started to branch out: in reading, in friendship, in music, in art.
Year 17 of my life is something else.

Also I discovered the healing balm of Gilead - journaling. It's what I've been doing every day, and I am working up to making it an art. I quote, I think through my pen, I doodle. I let the deepest thoughts, the ones I'm afraid to say out loud, flow onto the paper like riverwater through a dam.

Life is weird, you know. I think I'm going to delete this blog eventually, because I am new.

I started a new one on Livejournal, but I don't like it. Maybe I'll just re-archive this one..or something.

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer my friend in blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.


Yes, how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.