experimental writing.

Exercise #1 (attention to detail).

I stand here before the mirror. It is a 3 feet wide full length mirror from ceiling to floor. I stand here to inspect the destruction I have caused. My straight black hair is a stringy tangled mass with stray wisps sticking out at wild angles. My eyes are encased in deep, dark circles, my stubby eyelashes are inefficient in keeping the dirt out. There are permanent wrinkles on my forehead stretching from my left temple to the right. My nose is proportionate to the rest of my features, but it is still imperfect. My lips, neither plump nor stick thin, are turned down at the corners and cracked from the harsh winds. My gray pull over hoodie is ripped in several places and the zipper is no longer fulfilling its purpose. My dark blue jeans are caked with mud and torn at the knees. I am not wearing socks. I stand here wondering if perhaps I should capture this moment on film. This moment of inner chaos, clearly visible on the exterior. I stand here wondering why he had abandoned me on the side of the road 7 miles from my house. I stand here trying to remember all the hateful things he had spat at me. But I cannot identify exactly what it is I am feeling at this exact moment. Self pity? Contempt? Hopeless? I shun my feelings and return to destruction.

Form #1 (subtitles).
3 AM Ice Cream.
We sit apart from one another. I am staring down into my small bowl of vanilla ice cream, spoon poised above it. At 3 A.M., the diner is still buzzing with late night caffeine addicts. I can feel Andrew's eyes roving my face, perhaps searching for some sort of recognition- that I am here with him, and that I know he is expecting an apology. But I refuse to look up at him. The tiny dark specks in my ice cream are much more appealing to me. I feel stubborn and defiant. I dream that I am somewhere else where I do not have to deal with consequences. I am always dreaming of that place. This is why Andrew is always shaking me back to reality. This is why I will always fall short of his expectations.

The First Time.
This memory will never fade into the dark recesses of my mind. It will always remain where I have kept it. I met Andrew for the first time in late December. The snow had turned to ice and covered every inch of every sidewalk. I remember how I couldn't stop the rattling in my bones. I felt the cold invading every crevice of my body. I had avoided eye contact with him for as long as possible. I was paranoid that he could hear the frantic beating of my heart, but he simply asked me if I was hungry. We sat down to dinner, across from each other, and I was forced to look at him. I was indifferent to his appearance. I dreaded the rehearsed small talk that had to take place before the real conversation would begin. I watched Andrew's facial expressions- the way his eyebrows came together when explaining the details of his work, the way his lips slid to the side of his face when he was thinking about something, the way his tone of voice changed when he became serious. To my surprise, I found myself intrigued rather than bored by this stranger.

Throwing Up.
I am in my bathroom. I prepare myself by changing into a dirty t-shirt and tying my hair back. I don't feel nauseous, just overstuffed. The not-yet digested pasta from 20 minutes ago is already beginning to weigh me down. Throwing it back up was the only way I'd be able to sleep tonight. I kneel down on the marble floor, position myself over the porcelain bowl, and plunge my right forefinger into the back of my throat making sure to hit the uvula. I feel the food begin to rise but my stomach needs another push. My eyes begin to water and I take a small breath. I withdraw my finger and in mid-gag, take another plunge. I repeat this at least four times before I feel that most of the food I ate earlier is now in the toilet bowl, waiting to be flushed. The stench fills my nostrils as I stand up and turn the faucet on. I am calm.


His words and his actions have been carved into me, I cannot deny him nor forget him. Everything I write will always somehow be related to him, if not entirely revolving around him. It will all be fiction, but it will all be truth. He is a paradox.

stop for a second.

hmm first i need to construct a to-do list before my memory fails me completely, as is usual.

1. For Wed: essay questions for history final
2. GET PANTS HEMMED for (see #3)
3. Thursday: interview @ Fletcher & Co Literary Agency 78 5th avenue with Sara Wolski. & possibly coffee with Jules afterwards.
4. Friday: 11:30 A.M. academic advisement to register for next semester;
ALSO inquire about transferring to 4-year and credit xfers. MUST LEAVE QCC AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
5. Get a move on with short story, most definitely do a re-write for beginning.
6. Consider possibly going christmas shopping, although i have no available funds to spend on gifts and I also hate the holiday season in its entirety. Christmas music makes me feel suicidal (overly dramatic, but true).
7. PA this weekend (try to avoid a screaming match with mother).
8. Study for finals, unfortunately. I know I'm going to forget that the Sun is 3 times as massive as the Earth (is it 3?), the quadratic formula, and that the Peloponnesian war was between Athens & Sparta (right?).
9. The Met, possibly, maybe next Tuesday ... though Bialo-Padin was adamant about the fact that I do not need extra credit.
10. GOSSIP GIRL TONIGHT<3

Hopefully I haven't left anything out. hm.

there was only dread.

i am not a fearless person. Nor do I claim to be.
I fear complete failure in my life, as I can define failure to be utter disappointment and the reality of living in it. If I were able to define success in my own terms- I am most certain I would fear it also, of what I would do after I have reached success, where the next turning point may be, if any exist.
I fear vulnerability. My predator sniffing out my weaknesses and using them against me, I would be facing a dead end.
I fear my rash decisions, which I still possess the ability to make them from time to time- forgetting to consider consequences and how much I am willing to sacrifice, or not sacrifice. To choose between right and wrong, convenient and inconvenient.
I fear my own emotions- for they sometimes prove to be the catalyst to my downfall. My emotions are sometimes fleeting, are sometimes stable, and sometimes prevail over logic.
I fear indecisiveness, and also not being given a choice in whatever situation presents itself.

i do not fear loneliness, though at times I do dread it.

I must live in this world, as all others do, and not just as a dead soul.

oh, words.

they mean nothing.

you can't always be a free spirit, you know.

i'm still scared to let people in... perhaps more ashamed than scared.
i... am ... not that good of a person.
virtues, values, goals ... in retrospect, they never meant anything to me.
and now i want them all... i need them.

he didn't let go of me because of where his life had taken him, that moment at that time... he said: "the point of no return has passed already."

empathy.
the capacity to recognize or understand another's state of mind or emotion.
em+pathos.
if i am passionate about life, i should not have an issue with being an empathetic person. To feel what he feels, to think as he thinks, to know & understand.
because knowing is greater than understanding. . . to feel, essentially.

what i know is this: i don't want to hide from him, and this encompasses all aspects of myself- my life, daily activities, aspirations, even the things i know i should not be doing or thinking. i want to be able to express myself to him, fully- as he does with me.

[SPOTLIGHT]

Our hearts set in concrete.
Molded together.
“Do you think we’ll always be this way?”
I peer up at his moonlit face and await his response;
His words tumble out, clumsily at first,
But he catches his breath, starts over.
I drown in his words, holding his gaze.
I’m here, I’m listening, I’m yours.
His fingers interlock in mine through conversation.
“it was hard, we were both upset. But also relieved.”
Relief… release… surrender.
I’m still unsure of how I felt.
My eyes wander off, searching through the darkness for clarity.
An epiphany.
Stability for my emotions.
I come back to him and his hands cradle my face.
Forefinger brushing aside loose strands.
I watch his lips move up & down, but only a whisper escapes:
“I love you.”
Repetitive motions lose substance, meaning.
Those words have not.

fairytales.

She met him in the fall. The leaves were already turning- auburn and crimson, lending their bright shades to the delicate azure skies above. It was almost dark when she received his phone call, half dressed, staring at her reflection in the mirror while relaying directions to her house. He says he'll be arriving shortly. She stumbles around her room, throwing open drawers, rifling through all of her clothes. "What is he wearing? What am I going to wear? Will he care what I'm wearing? It's just a friendly date, right?" Right. She doesn't forget how cold she tends to get in movie theatres. She throws on a sweater and jeans, grabs her navy blue pea coat and purse, and rushes to the door. Shoes, shoes, shoes. No, converses? He calls again and says he's outside. "oh god, he's here." She fumbles with the doorknob, losing her balance as she bends down to tie her laces. "Why do i always feel so uncoordinated?" She calms the tremors in her hands and lifts open the cellar door. The cold breeze rushes at her face, cooling her nerves and refreshing the air in her lungs.

Flashback.
Her whole body is shaking, her face covered in salt water. Vision blurring, she pulls away from him. She's searching for strength, forcing the words out from between her lips, "we shouldn't see each other anymore." She feels him tense, his eyes staring straight ahead, "are you sure that's what you want?" She nods her head, yes. It's time to leave him now, she pulls on the door handle and lets herself out of the car. He follows. She doesn't want him here, outside with her. But he does what he feels. She tries to walk towards her house, she wants to cry alone. He doesn't allow it. His hand closes around her wrist and in the next moment she's breathing against his neck. He pulls back to look at her face, "Why are you doing this?" ... "I have to, we can't be with each other, not this way." She looks up at him one last time, presses her lips against his, and whispers "I love you." She kisses him full and tries to release herself from him. He grips her harder, clenches his teeth, "TAKE IT BACK." Her breath catches in her throat and she's gasping for air, furiously shaking her head, no, trying to get out of his grip. He repeats it again, "take it back." Quieter now, calmer. He's not giving up so easily. She stutters one last plea "I have to go, please, i have to go." He let's go and she feels him watching her as she walks deeper into the shadows.

How could she have prevented herself from falling in love with him? Even through all the warnings and precautions, serious talks about where their relationship was heading. How could she have avoided all of the emotions he makes her feel? Everything happens for a reason.

He was waiting for her to join him, he had already fallen.
Love is eternal, he says. People are not.

He tells me to stop writing. Live life. He's a big supporter of life, experiences, conversation. There's a difference in being introverted, and being a self centered hypocrite. How can you criticize others of their actions when at times you act exactly the same way?
I hope he still believes that I love all of the things he tells me, no matter what they may be and no matter what the tone of his voice is. I know that sometimes my facial expressions give him the wrong idea, as if i don't want to be there with him. I know that sometimes my body language portrays my manner as defiant and arrogant. But the thoughts in my head are the complete opposite. I want to talk to him and tell him and express myself of all the things I am always so afraid to admit out loud. And most of the time, my words come out a jumbled mess and I say things I don't mean. But don't we all, at some point or another.

faith.

i want to write.
it'll come soon.