lang fiend

so our zine is finally taking off. shooting off like a rocket and soaring upon the air waves and universes of different peoples interest. It's making me nervous. (nervous nervous hella hella nervous nervous) I had to, sorry. So many people are requesting to get a copy. I can feel the excitement building up in my stomach and I know its not the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I ate. I like the feeling of accomplishment. We took a little break after finding out our printer ran out of ink, especially cause those damn cartridges are expensive as ballz. But we got right back on our feet when people started questioning if they were ever going to get their copy. We liked the feeling of being wanted. We liked finishing what we started. And that's where we are now. Sending em out by friday and starting the next issue. It makes us all hectic and frustrated with each other but in the end it makes us smile and hug each other because we know this was all our hard work. DIY FO LIFE!



Hopefully this keeps going like this.





ALL HAIL LANGUAGE FIEND!

a million words in one pose

You always see those pictures on the internet or in your grandparents year books, or in your own baby book, or maybe even one that you took of a still moment in your life. When I see these pictures I wonder how long the pose was kept. If someone walked in would they stop posing this way? Or would they make even more of the pose? I will never know unless I was there.

I look at these and I laugh a little inside because I know I've had these moments. Where you wait for the camera to actually capture that certain moment in time. It's quite funny actually. I feel awkward when I have to wait to hear the click. It makes me regret taking the picture. Sometimes I wish people took pictures without anyone knowing so that the picture has more of a real sense to it. Something real about it will make it more intriguing. Who knows? Maybe someone's taking a picture of you reading this. (In a non-creepy way of course) And maybe they'll see the reality of it all.

where to begin?

History keeps repeating itself. I'm seeing the walls collide and I'm feeling the pressure of a million tons of rubble falling upon my surroundings. I don't see the perfect dance floor anymore, with the silky dresses twirling. I see the blood line the walls and I see my face in broken glass. I don't truly understand what it means to be apart of it but I know I'm becoming a follower. Sometimes the followers have less work to do and less thinking to do. So i'll just watch my surroundings and make sure my feet don't slip into any worm holes.

It takes a while for me to understand the thought process when it comes to writing. I finally feel like I'm understanding where all these images and metaphors are coming from. Maybe it's the right place for my mind and all it's unknown paths and roads to some continuous vertex filled with tons and tons of ideas. I can never control when it comes out or where it comes out. I'll find myself sitting outside of a school at 9 o clock at night and notice that a couple beats will instantly drag a story out of me. I pictured this whole novel type thing that would sort of make my mind this machine that would control every thought but as soon as it ran onto 4 pieces of lined paper, it was instantly gone.


I tell myself that the sound of the trumpet beating in the darkness and the headaches will only become one with eachother and i'll be comfortable but sometimes its hard to listen to both. I never know when one will overcome the other. I wish louis armstrong would play louder and stronger with more soul when he appears in my head. His tunes are always slow and soft but I think it's because I make him this way. I always wish someone was sitting with me at the small table pretending to sip a cocktail with me because it would make the scene so much more comfortable and then the dream fizzles away as quick as I can get up from my seat.


I'll never find out why my mind does this. I'll talk to myself in it. I'll create small pictures. I'll have conversations that will never actually happen in reality. But when they wanna come out, they come out as fast as a car going 120. No one really understands what writing is to me. It takes out the stress and it takes out the anger. Even if the person I truly want to read it never does, I still feel like the words get across the page with feeling and when I read it, I no longer contain those feelings. Its just a story, and I am not the master story teller anymore. I will only tell stories of the past and none of the future or present.



So here I am once and again, and maybe not for a while spilling out what i can find in myself for this moment in time. It'll be all i got for a while.

I keep writing in long intervals. Lately my life has consisted of nothing but stress and love. Finals are over. My senior year is half gone and i suppose that the end will go even faster. Well at least i hope so. Something about this school makes me completely disgusted. I dont have a huge group of friends. Most of them dont even understand me. Ive felt like the girl from the tv show my life as liz except a little less weird and a little less hatred for society. My best friend makes it better yet hes not by my side everyday. Bestfriend/dating partner? I dont know what to call him other than the best guy in the world.

Im excited for the show in two weeks. Itll be me jesse and the vivianne girls. Second show, should be good. Itll be my little vacation.
Arizona sounds like heaven everytime i think about it.


Maybe things need to speed up to the end so i dont need to worry or be stressed anymore.

im watching a barbie movie...

I picture myself sitting at this long table. Beautiful settings on every seat. A tiny letter on each plate. But mine is laced with gold. In it is a beautiful poem that goes a little something like this:



It's time to break
the history has made its mark
the trees swayed and swayed
you make your mark
and all that's left is a sign
your standing at the edge
calming the waves of your hair
spewing out words from this sudden place
believing in this sudden god
worshiping this life
rocks tumble and your back to back
with the words you once said in your past life
the head stone lies blank and its covered in dust
let the words sharpen your wits
and let this poem give you something to read
now follow whats left
and the road will be yours
but from time to time listen and learn



I smile and I think about what it means. i dont know who wrote it or what else is in the envelopes but i know every single word is meant for me. My pretty gold laced poem is laced with golden words. It's how these days are meant to be and every word heads straight to the same train of thought.

Your different from the others. I let you run me down. I let you do so many things that I promised myself i would never let happen again after my last. I hate to admit feelings like this but its nights like these that make me feel so fucking vulnerable that there is no other way out of it. I told you stories of how I was betrayed and misused and you listened close. But now that your the one whos writing the new chapter it disgusts you to hear anything about them anymore. I listened to you tell me stories of heartbreak and good friendships that were long gone. I pleaded for something new and exciting and you always said it was right in front of me but i never wanted to believe it. You were merely a crush and i was just a friend to you. Until i found myself disliking not having you around to listen anymore. I liked when you called and argued aimlessly to make me mad but only to make me laugh five minutes later. You talked in a smooth way and everytime i made a notice about it you would go right back into your shell. I loved the chase and i hated never catching up until i finally did but the funny thing is that I still feel myself running. Your here, yes that is true. But im still running after you and i dont know what im chasing after. Is there some secret award thats gunna be handed out when it all ends? I cant tell but i think its worth it. 

Day 2

I question myself. I question myself alot. It's part of my insecurities that I have grown old with. It's part of who I am and I've come to accept it. My past has greeted my future, and my future has greeted my past. But there are times when I am alone and I often think about the times that my past was really good and I try to communicate with the people I've lost touch with. I maybe say a couple words, hand out a couple smiles, but they all have grown too distant to bring back. But there is always one person who even if there isn't much time in my life to think about, that always comes back. (even if i don't want him to) And it's nice sometimes, because a conversation with a familiar face always has decent things to say right? That's what you would think. And I learn and I learn that maybe there are some people you just can't be friends with. You can't be more than friends because honestly, you don't wanna be more than friends with them but the thought of a friendship is so dreamlike and unreal that it causes some interruption in reality that makes it a goal, a goal that always fails to become the present life. But then you have the people you have now. You ask when are you going to become too distant to bring back? too fragile to even hold anymore? too sudden to gasp for anymore breath that's left in the room? You search and search for the answers but you come across hidden messages. Secret symbols. I like to call them the neon lights. The neon lights have brought me nothing but tears. Happiness rolls around in the ending stages because you realize what a silly but helpful thing these guiding lights can be. But you hate them all over again when you see them set up right outside your walls. Your walls consisting of only your present and near future. It's a phase. It's a fad. It's what every one in life goes through but I've gotten used to them. I stare at the colors. I read them. I watch the chemicals swell up the tubes creating this off color that attracts people. I like to watch now. I like to know the next move that so when the lights turn off, I'm the one who's pulling the switch, and causing the light show to come to an end.



I'm that person. The person behind the show. Who creates the tension. Who creates the chemicals. And follows them with my nose. My eyes. My ears, and words. It's what I've always been good at.






At this exact moment, I wish I had another thing I was good at. Oh well right?





Yeah, oh well.

Beauty and pain.

day 1

So I've never been this really inspiring person. I have always been in the background, the girl you see trying to find her way in the middle of a really important shot of someone else's special moment. That's how it's always been. I've never had a story written about me. People don't tell stories about me, and they don't think about me. I have never heard a song about me nor do I have any type of anthem of my life. I am just what I am living and breathing enjoying what I can and becoming friends with friends day by day. I may have not found my place with the right friends but it counts just as much if it were with true ones. I have good days and I have bad days. I scream. I yell. I curse, and I tell horrible lies. I sing. I write. I play. I jump. I love. I'm in love. I have loved. I notice the wrong and right in the things I do before and after I do them. I come up with brilliant ideas and follow through with them. I come up with brilliant ideas and let them slip away from my mind, losing them forever. I call people. I hate talking on the phone. I am insecure. I have lost. But one thing is....




I have never cheated.





This whole little entry was about me and my personality and my wrongs and my rights. But never will I write about the me that's inside. I will create a huge wall and block off any horrible thoughts. I will never tell you what I think about before I fall asleep and when I see her face on the screen. I will never tell you what I think about when I see his face on the screen. I will never tell you what I think about when I see both in person, standing in front of me in some big over sized picture.







it is what it is.




final. and done.