Bethlehem

"All those years, they were here first."

I went to Bethlehem today, the retro steel town nestled in a heaven-like basin of high mountains. It was for a German class field trip, and I was accompanied by the good ol' boys, Connor Herring and Ian Straka. Connor doesn't speak, and Ian speaks too much. He had way too much coffee, and so did I. I bought myself my favorite candle today from my favorite Bethlehem candle guy (at the Christkindlmarkt we go to annually). It is titled, ALPINE FROST, and it is heavenly. I escaped my brothers egg-cooking smell in my room and lit that jawn. I wrote a song, sortof. I had pierogies and they were damn good.

The End. daerhahsds

Installation 01.09.96

"I think she's the prettiest lady I've ever seen. Her hair, it has meaning and volume and such a sheen."

1.

I arrived at crisp sunrise on the back of my dark horse to the doors of Summer's Castle. Getting down from my horse, I was keen to avoid dirtying my fresh leather boots, for which the market had seen a pretty penny from me. I avoided eye contact with the mercenaries on either side of me, tarantula hands on their holsters. I made haste up the stone steps to the computer. I removed my leather glove and swiftly typed in my title and number. Upon opening the door, the cacophony of the crowd inside overtook me. Beggars, peasants, and mercenaries screaming and crying about insurance, wages, and legal matters. Some were drinking heavily from their bottles and some shameless ones were even fornicating. In fact, a great many were engaging in some sort of sexual act. The guards did nothing. I rudely pushed and shoved my way through the rather smelly group, assuming my needs and wants were of a higher standard. I came into the golden sunlight shining through the beautiful windows. The King Jasper and Queen Chloe were sitting, nay, laying in their gilded thrones, barely awake, mumbling denial and murmuring rejection. Their tired eyes suddenly fixed themselves on me, the son of a gun who deemed himself more important than the other village people and walked himself up to the feet of the King and Queen themselves. The slumped, unshaven King awoke out of his sleepy reverie and blustered his way into words.
"Markus! Grab this damned fool and throw him back to the groundlings!"
I was shocked, not knowing the rules of the royal hall, never having been there before.
"Forgive me, your Highness! Forgive me! I-", I stammered, but it was too late to save myself. Markus, the stoic figure seated in the dark, sighed and got to his feet. He firmly grasped my shoulders and literally threw me backwards with surprising strength, sending me into the air. I fell hard onto a wooden bench which tipped over and sent me rolling onto a group of lowly laborers, sitting in awe of the catastrophic exchange. I clamored back over the bench with eager energy and attempted to explain myself, silently forgiving Markus in light of the matters at hand.
"Forgive me, Royal Jasper! My manners were beside me! I come to you in much emergency! I ask kindly for your listening ears."
He made no response, his head propped up lazily by his fist. I took this as approval and I drew a long breath.
"Your Highness, I come unto you in great distress. I-"
"AS WELL AS THE ENTIRE BLEEDIN' VILLAGE YOU SELFISH PRAT!", shrieked an elderly woman from the crowd. I ignored her and the cheers she received.
"Beautiful Queen Chloe, I understand you have a soft spot for young men looking for love.", I boldly proposed. Her silken song of a voice...
"Even in your young testosterone years, you have lost your mind's keen edge. I have no heart for hormones."
"Oh...But, I have a fair woman in mind."
Jasper let out a deep laugh. "Boy, you've come to the King for a wench? You and your lack of brains can enter yon whore house and buy yourself a girl!"
"Jasper, have some respect for our noble boy here!", his wife snapped.
My sullen face grew a shining grin of hope.
"Come with me, boy."

But she didn't move. She led her glowing hand through the air and directed me to a chest beside her. I scaled the steps and reached for the box, but she snatched my arm with a firm but soft hand.
"Wait..." She feels my heart beat, and her eyes open. She produces a golden key from around her neck and unlocks the chest. It is filled with small bits of parchment. She motions me to take one. I took the smallest one I could find.
"Do not look upon it until you have left the castle. Good luck."
Her husband looked on, seemingly perturbed. My mouth agape, I folded my bit of parchment, slipped it into my pocket, and went on my way.

The sun glowed golden on my hands and I stood on the dirt road, feeling so much the cold morning. I mounted my horse. In the sunlight, I took the parchment and looked upon it. Digitally printed in ink were the numbers, 070496, and this poem:

Oakwood, cedarwood, ashwood,
He did and had done all he could,
But broken apart are they.

White and green and all over red,
She falls lightly on the bed,
But broken inside is she.

Never fear her gator tears,
Beautiful dove, graceful deer,
But a thorny rose is she.

Bedroom eyes lay into thee,
Done and done, you'll never see,
But a thorny boy are you.








 

Counsel Car. ****

"And I's been dying, the body found but my soul's left to drown."

I look for you in every passing car, and with every passing car I want an end. I'm finished drinking your cold water but I need to know how your story ends. So please, story time at nine for the sick childrens who've behaved well in their beds. I doubt that it very well went, or that it went or should have gone by. They will not let me leave? Maybe I'll settle in and sit this one through.

This boy, calls himself Crash Blizzard, has been sending me written messages, tells me how he used to know me as a child, tells me I'm his future and he is mine. He walks me through a hurricane at night to the apparition of a blue house that is but a swelling of the ground, cut in half by an earthly oak, with dim flickers inside. I can't see anything though, the rain's too heavy. He'll send me pictures of Nintendo machines and dusty carpets and Christmas lights and stained ceilings.

I love the Dirty Projectors. Their insane rhythms and beautiful melodies/harmonies have boroughed their way into my head.

Arabic coffee is keeping me sane, sunrise. I've been vandalized hanging there, my parents can't walk in because the press is taking pictures of the bloody scene. It's sad. Mr. Dunthorne's quavering voice as he makes the announcement, I've been hit by a car and I need assistance. You would be in my thoughts if I had any more to give. Hillary Clinton needs a song sung and maybe I can be chauffeured around in those black limos that take you all the way to Sea Isle City to dine finely with Caesar dressing all over. There is an answer. They delay me, wrapping me in red tape so I can't possibly be pulled from the wreck, blue depth. Nope, not a feeling. Some fool's been putting blindfolds around my head. Is that you, Michael? Is that you, Mommy? So, I've been calling the same number and knocking on the same door for years, my hands have gone numb and my ears have rung night and day from dial tones. I'm looking up in the morning, yelling about how I had to be the kid who fell through the cracks, but even I can't hear myself anymore so no one comes to help. I should just take this down and hang it on doors that hold in babes that can be saved who will grow up with toys of plenty and loving mother hens and chanticleer's arms around them before bed. Tuck me in.

 

I would love to sit and talk with you one day to figure out why you are or ever were thought to be someday a person of interest in and/or around the perimeter of my heartbeat and the meaning of this northern peak staring down and up before us.  

"I have given you my soul, leave me my name!"

Do you have the time?

"I'll see you along the way, baby."

Haha, but i'll never smile again so don't pick me up and suck my blood. 3 vials containing 16 little moons so they can see my heart and what's become of it. Oh, and your majesty calls upon me again. What will I be but damned to this darkest cave outside the village borders? This dance so still they put me on wheels, jingling skeleton rolled down halls and tossed into bed. I bled out a bloodless death years ago it seems, before I went to the woods to live deliberately and only with the essential facts: I can see and I can breathe. I'll lose each sense until the air rejects my lungs. A lost cause, blackened hands, put your arm out and let me find the vein. OH GOD, and there's the Secretary of State, giggling and loving me in the eyes! What will become of this? It hurts when angels dip down and tickle our ears and disappear after we fear that our hearts will peer around dangerous dear corners again. Fools! Look into my eyes and see your future. We see a lot of anger when they first come in, so we like to-----------

Wir bedauern, Ihnen mitteilen der Autor ist nicht mehr verfügbar.

Thanks Be To You.

"You've got to wait for me."

Well, here it's been near 2 months and still no sign of 15 moons' glow melting blue swellings away, the soggy, wooden construct standing firm. But crooked smiles and baby blues are somewhat something but are killing me again, with love.

And then I went to sleep and all was washed away for 10 hours.

Blog of Lanterns!

10 little moons shine dim on the old girls and new girls and us ones in between. I'll go and I'll keep going until it's good. No more use for sleep. No more use for smiles. But cute.

Sandra Dean.

"In a little while, I'll be gone. The moment's already passed. Yeah, it's gone, and I'm not here. This isn't happening."

Little moons don't even dry up the moist eyes.

Blog In Black and Blue. ***

I'll spend absolutely no time thinking on glass eyes of near best fit in place of fooling with and skipping stones of plenty on damned shores. But willingly will I, with the greatest indifference or shining reluctance, depending on who I am on and during those aforementioned days, look below unto polluted waters, pulsing and bubbling fastly over stones into pits or tributaries and lakes further along, grasping loosely concrete or steel, recognizing whole-heartedly that what is before me is death so quick and aquatic, but cold anxieties that used to flood channels in my eyes are frozen beneath palaces built by queens and kings occupying steadfastly land with endless acreage. God, I am scared but curious: Do your random euphorias fall like feathers on spots like hanging boys and bloody bathrooms? God, I am falling in slow motion.

You will clench my heart between your fingers if you so wish, and this I surrender to with shaking hands and flooded eyes and cold palms. You will trample over bridges and let my loves and my lost fall into chasms that I cannot see anymore. I am present in the presence of blue and the bright whites. But red lines guide me into halls and wardrobes of German blondes and hairless rats. These cats will kill me if they have to key their way into my skin with gilded claws and silver needle teeth.

I fear the laughing man with photos of families and bamboo reeds and nice shoes has mastered the arts of mastering the artwork of those minds who need saving and can be saved, but cannot, in the end, save a rock at the bottom of the ocean. Well, damn, that artist has thrown his pencils and paints in the well and walked off into great fields of foolish blades of dead grass. Maybe horsemen will find the deserters and bring back shrouds and things and make their own sortof art from black coal and woman's red blood.

What will their canvas be but a wooden frame?

Signs and Wonders.

"My mind's at the gate, looking for an escape."

Today was skipping rocks on foolish waters. I accomplished nothing besides a horrible diet. I awoke at 4PM, weary from a week of no sleep. I spake unto Joelle, learned what "equally yoked" means, took a shower, and started watching the final Harry Potter movie when Nick knocked at my door (I had planned to hang out). He drove me and his mom and brother to his house, and we brewed some Pumpkin Spice. His mother was sweet enough to get me a box of Wegman's brand Sweet n' Low. I suppose the distinguishing trait is the use of saccharin. What a cool name. It's nice to use a heavy German inflection with that word. Wow, you must be shocked at the lucid storytelling I'm spitting right about now. We walked down to Giant, laughed at a cardboard cut-out of the Cake Boss, got some donuts, debated over which brownies to buy (never bought any), had the attendant help us with 15 cents we didn't have at the pay area, bought a small Nesquik, then sat around and watched television. Oh, I also watched Nick play his fancy new video game, L.A. Noire. You are an L.A. detective in the '40s. It's very well-animated and the stories/missions are interesting. Typing the word interesting is very easy. My left hand goes real fast in the middle, square motion. I'm listening to We've Got Everything by Modest Mouse, which is a very good song that I don't often listen to. They are very lazy with records. I am sure this isn't as interesting as last night's blog, but I am not as delirious and inspired. Well, I am eating some delicious chips. I have decimated this bag that my mother just bought tonight. It is Saturday night and that is depressing. My brother is going to a wedding tomorrow instead of chillin' with me, and that depresses me further. But,

though the stills flip back and under the blues and reds fool around with eyes I don't hold in front but they in the back in some folder folding under pressure of weights and measures preordained by parishes and governments local and state humming tunes of whistling death dixon ticonderoga forts juggling terrorists and red tape. What you do is, you wet the creases and your killing is done fastly and getting rear-ended by fjords where Nazi Zombies come frozen and angry. You, Communist! Stand up and face your face forward and let's get on this pumpkin pie grind. Yes, yass, yes.

My Favorite Words/Names.

Bar  Chocolate Rose Rosary Emily August Puzzle Mud Letter Bedding Building Hold Bald Saint  Ansel Forest Oliver Say/Said Bell Burns Auburn Autumn Crying Mother Brother Diner Photography

Teenage Dirtblog.

"Now I'm covered in blood, on the bed, and it's a familiar scene, because I'm pretty sure my mind ran down this line again only last week."


Phew, barely my eyes are open or even capturing and showing off masterpieces of, I suppose, my living Luke. Bony blokes fire, I fire back though. Bearded bare-mouthed boys equivocate, I reciprocate. Still is lint settling on my feet and dust crunching on my hands, small sweeps and washing my arms off in blood. I whip cracking fingers in between warm breezes, spitting blood off through canyons of soft skin. Losing blood, clots along black borders in red lines from cats with keyed claws and keyed saber teeth or stuck on the story. So many panes I have to lift myself over and peer through, shining with wet glares. I'll take this card and that card and sign this and that until I have enough keys into bloody hands I can run up stairs to big women who think hard and see easy pictures. More mirrors to maybe let me see, stains in my shirt then perhaps that part of me. Soooooooooooooooooongs remind me of a world where by God that girl falls short of deathly notes written on my eyes with pins and spikes. The bricks got you crying until I realized all you cried was salt and I was a shaker. Is this more than you wanted to make me? By God, it was a movie. It was a major motion picture with no movements. Set it. Set it to hundreds of clocks and maybe I'll catch up one day. Just mess with my arms until they point the right way. Oh, that's big government if you don't mind me saying. Specks of halls and two dories swimming around until I gotta just go home. Big freaking locks and the bank parks wrong. Are you looking at the black mold? Maybe you haven't found the rusted nails, the glass angels, the Christmas papers, the fans, the toys, the tiles, the evenings, and the files. Long list with a rosary wrapped pencil bleeds through and out in folds of black coals tumbling around k-k-k-k-kisses beyond good measure. Maybe it was the polka dot pants that woke me up or the visible bullets. Aaaaarithmetic, baby. I'm real good, but this is muffins and cake along with sodas and baking foooooools greens. Gums filling teeths that gray and hit knees with stair steps and your godforsaken hair. Freckles call. God man, I was late to the party today, for Tell. Sometimes girls are things like bright lights, they keep you up at night. Phew, the polka dots and the glasses and the blonde and what the hell meaning of her faces in tiny shoes that cut callous armor. What did you say?

Mmm.

"This is something I have to do for myself."

You never end up seeing the red lines. They see you. So, I guess I was absent today. This makes me angry, confused, and nervous. I am writing from the comfort of my living room. We had to move the computer/desk downstairs for my brother, as he is moving into our upstairs middle room. We got ourselves a family again, I guess. Malcom is most definitely in the middle. Oh, how I wonder if the rocks will put aside their sharp ends and begin softening along with the hot steam. Proudly rocking between shores and gurgling salt. Black sheets underneath weights of deep blue.

Don't take any of this too seriously. I am not putting too much thought into it. So I have awful scheduling issues and my schoolwork is sortof put on hold right now. It isn't my fault anymore, not for the two dories or the red lines. Mrs. Shaw's 1st period Biology class is full, apparently. Walter H. White most certainly was depressed. Fugue state? Yes, definitely. Thursday. Yes, everything will be fine, you will be fine. 6 of the clock in the evening and I'll be speaking with a bearded, bespectacled fellow with a large wooden desk and bookshelf of knowledges and facts on interpreting young bloods. Moses throws up his hands and says, "Fooey!" to the black sea, instead the desk holds little boats to sail. But a kid like me, afraid of the ocean and all...can I float all the way?

Happy elephants, there is no such thing. The Wilsons have a thing for elephant figurines. Hopefully the fun I'll have with Michael tonight will somehow part the black sea. Chinese food, Halo Reach...haha. "I'm hungry".

Glass angels, you can see through them. And what's behind them isn't too promising.

Ladada. Ladada. Ladadada.

Rain Check.

So, this tall, dark fellow by the name of Robert calls me across the street (rudely, I might add). I go over, with my silly Stetson, iced coffee and all. He asks me what's going on downtown. I start to answer him, but he interrupts and asks me my name and how I am doing and introduces himself. He gives me a real crap handshake. He asks me where I am headed. Being real damn sick of Phoenixville weirdos, I say with brilliant mounds of attitude on top, "Home". He says submissively, "Oh, a'ight, I'll leave you alone then." But he doesn't, the lying bastard. "You got company?" I say, confusedly, "No?". I start to walk away as he asks me, "You want company?". I frown and shake my head. The entire way home I cursed him up and down under my breath. I said some nasty things. This is what these damned rocks have done to me. Can't see ships for miles, miles, miles.

Then I guess I'm floating downtown with fellows of some sort of knowledge and a high, gone kid asks me what's going on and I say nothing. Instead, I curse at him barely beneath my breath. Black sea.

It's a black ball, expanding like a tumor, pressing against Luke's soul, thinning out feelings and compressing thoughts and reality itself. A disease, but somehow I can't drop the savior.

Apropos proposal.

"Nothing really matters. Anyone can see, nothing really matters to me."

Some morning, I'll wake up in a world that is a world. I'll wake up, and I'll see lucid sun in my window panes. I'll wake up, and I'll be with myself. I'll wake up, and I'll feel. I'll feel love, I'll feel pain, I'll feel happiness. I will wake up, and I will know these men and women. I'll know them, and I'll see them with my own eyes. We'll all be the same, in old homes with our birds and our mother hens and our father fox. We'll all hold hands and laugh and sing together in the way the Whos do. I'll take off my glasses and see my brother. I'll break my own heart on my own time. I'll follow my heart on my own time. I'll learn from teachers and write down things that are important to me. I'll know the pains and let them flow. I'll see my mother and make her happy one day. I'll cry and I will look through flooded pupils the Moon and all its running blood. I won't spill a drop of mine.

Or maybe the bruises won't heal.

Little glass angels that peer down the cracks and the little mouse holes. I guess they are looking after me, but they are under the floorboards now. It's just me and the black mold. 6 days of night.

Sophomore Blog.

"I may be shy and not reply to your scathing review, but I'd rather subsist on venom than abstain with you. Oh, I'll be fine, sever this for all time, laugh it off when this ends. You can just go get high with all of your dumb friends."

Tonight was oil on the levy. I attended a football game with my good pal Nick. I opened my front door and he said, "Hello Mr. Wilson" and pretended to execute me via stomach shot. I found this hilarious. We arrived at the game, paid our dues, observed the excessive security they have nowadays (necessary, considering drugs, alcohol, fights, and teenage terrorism) and waltzed on over to the hordes of screaming children. And then the Elementary school kids. That was a stab at Freshmen, yes it was. We uncovered an underground sophomore marijuana ring and sought to exploit it in humorous ways. One of the ways was by yelling in a young woman's face that she was being manipulated by the boys, which she was. She didn't take kindly to that. I'm fainting slightly. I was just listening to "The Air" by Modest Mouse, which you should never listen to on an empty stomach. I touched Sophomores, which I often do. We joked about taking out the control room supervisor with piano wire to visit my good TV Studio friend Ian Straka. We put our hoods on and acted shady like modern mobsters or Breaking Bad-esque assassins. I am fainting again. We joked about cooking meth as well. Luckily, one of them caught the reference and they didn't take us too seriously. I was hyper as anything and spouting out drug lingo like it was my job. How I wanted to bust these chilluns. I say to them, "Yo Guys, I could be working for the local law enforcement and you would have no idea." They said nothing. I said this because a young, handsome fellow who likes to hug me was saying that he wanted no part in a party at this other sophie's house unless there was weed or alcohol. HA! Methacton. I saw Braden. I saw Ben. I saw Nikki. I saw some gone girl laying on shorts. I saw some Tony child I used to know. No, I didn't date him. He was from Barkley. Is this what Gotye has taught you? He was nice. Somehow they stopped hearing me. They tuned me out. They wanted my abandoned home, which I called a local meth lab (in Season 5 of Breaking Bad, they cooked meth in large middle-class home that were being fogged for bugs by a pest control company). I hope people realize I'm joking because Nick legit got Seniors to believe he was in the meth business today.  Oh, Hi. *smooch*. Oh, Hi. *smooch*. Oh, Hi. *smooch*. "Who's been bloody smoochin'?"

Anyhow, I ran over and raided the Moldy Palace with my new business partners and Sankt Nikolaus. We turned lights off and let Braden and the other two come look for us. And yes, they kissed and they kissed until their lips split. I heard them. I turned off the lights and left the room, and five seconds later I heard breathing. I mean, people normally breathe. But I could hear this from the other room. Why am I typing this? Sometimes, you gotta take full measures. "No more half measures, Walter". I had them in the palm of my hand. I gave them an inch and they took a kilometer.

Eventually we regrouped after I took to the floor in pain at the sight of another kiss on the bleeding lips of America's floodlight flagrantly flaming footholds of flirtatious fallacious flight. What? Haha. We went back, and Sir Pollack was planting one on the girl who feels comfortable in man laps. We saw this from the dark street, them underneath the outside school lights. It was insane. This kid, never thought he had it in him. I also never thought he'd be such a GOD-DANG fool and a rude little munchkin talking crap to his superior, elder and friend. Goodnight, sweet prince. You put some lump of female before a man, he calls you "gay" and walks off down the road. That's alright. It's Friday. I'm used to it. Now, don't go in my house or I'll paint it red for the new owners with your young bloods. I don't care how friggin' antsy you're getting in your pantsies. This ain't some Hotel. In fact, in means a lot to me. 16 years. What've you got? Do I have to walk you children home or make accommodations? I ought to smack every dang one of ya. Right upside the greasy, bumpy head. It's because they try. You know what happens? You boil down a month of getting to know people from the grade under you and trying to improve relations with everyone on a basis of acquaintanceship? You get me and you against the bleeding world. Maybe. Just maybe, you're one of them jawns that don't betray. God-fearing. All ya'll others can take the fences you press against squeeze your oily skin through it like them Play-Doh tubes. Then you'll be like slimy carrot sticks, and I don't eat vegetables. Keep to your own, that's the moral of the story. Or go older, because God knows St. Luke and St. Nicholas have skipped a maturation year or something. Maybe we'll sprinkle days of acting like womanizers who make out with brand news throughout the year to keep ourselves grounded. Sometimes My Little Pony is really their little pony and not your's. "You'll bleed to feed the demon in me if you don't change your evil ways and end this peacefully."

You can recycle plastic. You can't recycle friends. God, that was stupid. And that's all I got for the night, I'm exhausted. It's this, YGS #39, teethbrushing, then straight to the sack o' sheets. I hope someday I'll know a girl who doesn't make me generalize all women as "evil". IF THEY EVEN EXIST. And don't none o' ya'll old men come up to me and say, "You'll find the right one eventually." SHOVE OFF AND GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS, OLD MAN.

John Reeves

"I watch my neighbor's son play with his shotgun in the street. I think I'll blaze all day and marvel at the mass of food I eat. It's strange, I'm skinny when I'm standing ,but I'm Buddha when I sit.  And if I'm truly so enlightened,  why'd I waste your time on it? As I look back at countless crossroads, in the middle where I stay,  right up the beaten path to boredom where the fakest f**ks get laid By the faux-finest finds, It's been that way. Gosh darn you, how you stay, with every scummy, crummy hour of the scummy, crummy day! These are my friends, this is who they have been for always. These are my days, this is how they stay. These are my friends, this is who they remain forever. This is how we stay." - Yellow Cat(Slash)Red Cat by Say Anything. I'm sorry, I had to quote this, despite its obscenities. It describes the silence of the past couple days and it is one of my favorite songs.

Today was chemical. Unlike yesterday, I wasn't tired beyond the point of being able to walk down stairs, so I actually went to school. For breakfast, I had a White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Clif bar. It was delicious. I love picking those out and trying new flavors. Least favorite = Chocolate chip. I continued to watch Willy Wonka in Film Studies. Gene Wilder is amazing in that, and his lines are priceless. In Math, the seniors (90% of the class) went to the auditorium or wherever they liked apparently, and we did our benchmarking math tests on the Mac laptops. It was surprisingly challenging, compared to the English ones. I actually got Below Basic on one section. This is unheard of. But overall I got Advanced because I got 100% in everything else. You don't really want to know this, do you? Ol' Toothless weren't at lunch today, subtracting from my overall mental well being. I had a Peanut Butter Crunch Clif bar. Dante L. Collazo, after staring at me while his My Little Pony figurines were laid out on the table, left us. It was just me and Braden, then he left as well. I followed him as to not be that kid. However, there is almost no Juniors in my lunch so I can be as weird as I want. This Freedom is something new to me and I love it, being older and independent. I can't be too much myself or even speak in front of my peers or Seniors. However, I could sing a ballad to a Freshman if I wanted to. Biology was a great time, considering we did a lab where several extremely suggestive jokes could be used. Too much fun with the German Gretzer and the Anglicized Kaufmann (Coffman) in das Double Lab. Ja? German was interesting for some reason. Maybe because it was all review and I actually knew what she was saying. We read a depressing poem about a delusional, dying child (Goethe). Ian and I discussed the hilarious Bad Lip Reading series on Youtube, where they seamlessly dub over politicians and make it look they are seeming totally random, often silly things. AP Gov't gets more and more interesting to me as more and more of our students fall asleep. Mr. Burns is dryly humorous, and for some reason, he endlessly entertains me with his extensive knowledge on political events. Apparently my sister had him and called him by the Simpsons character, "Smithers". Nick came over after school and we went downtown. We enjoyed Artisan's and he got some records from the Steel Eagle. I also saw Sinatra today in the halls. He is still as beautiful. Sometimes I think, somewhere deep down inside, there is a pure, unaffected, precious nugget of Frankie tucked underneath all the medication and fickle, harmful hormones. Then I wake up and smell the bloody Wolf. I bet you were wondering when I'd plunge into the mucky waters of deeply personal metaphors. Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all throughout this blog.

So, after the brick-laden paths downtown gave me enough Sun, I decided I'd drop in on Mike at Marly's. Unfortunately, I noticed a large white van parked diagonal in their small parking lot with a faded, metal sign on the back advertising the restaurant. I figured this Dolphins fan was the boss, Mike (not my brother), who is notoriously unfiltered in the nature of his diction, so I trotted on up the Reeves Park to enjoy the trees and their good friend, the Sun. A Freshman from my Film Studies class (the only other one who actually is interested in film) who is a fan of my BTTF shirts that I wore the first week said, "MCFLY!" as I walked by the baseball diamond he was playing on at the park. I waved, then slowly calculated my remark and cooled my pipes for social interaction. I yelled, "I THOUGHT I NEVER TOLD YOU TO COME TO REEVES PARK". He yelled back, "WHAT?", and I disregarded him with the condescending hand-wave. I sat on the stone stage and thought of writing a letter to the Borough asking them to repaint the concave wall with strange acoustics. Some students I am not too fond of scrawled their names across the back with pen. I watch the seats, the flag, the leaves and the Sun.

Minutes pass, and all the while I am listening intently to a rowdy group of 5 Elementary school children playing with a kickball. I consider chewing them out for kicking a ball precariously close to a slowly strolling group of 4 women, one adolescent, one infant, one adult, and one elderly. They were delicately striding along and circumventing the radius of danger created by the loud boys. They looked like angels. They looked like Temperance League women from the 1920s. Their cloud of estrogen had no noticeable effect on the boys. They kept on playing, even kicking the ball closer to the swiftly swimming swans.

Not long before my visit to the park, I considered yelling at a young man in his late 20s for yelling at his wife. They were both on bikes, the wife holding the leash of their thin, brown dog. They were attempting to cross a busy, rush-hour street. He looked like an aged Luke Wilson with a shaved head. Was that me from the future? I am not so callous in female presence. I wanted to yell at him, saying, "HEY JERK, SHUT YOUR MOUTH. YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, DON'T BE A BUTTHOLE." But instead, I cut his neck with a piece of glass and watched him bleed out as I kissed the pale, shaking widow passionately. This didn't happen. Don't contact the police, please.

Back to the chilluns. That's right, that's from To Kill A Mockingbird. I believe so, anyways. I say it all the time. Two of the children were dark, African-American boys who live very close to me. Their father is straight from Africa. One child was much lighter, and had a voice I kept mistaking for a young girl's. There was a rather scruffy white child nicknamed "Harrison", and a chubby child. The chubby child was endlessly complaining to the light child that he wasn't being his friend enough and that he wouldn't hang out with him and how Harrison's mom wouldn't let him in their house. I felt for this kid, because he was getting pretty worked up at one point, even crying. The light child was having none of it, and nonchalantly gave him bland suggestions on what he should do in the two hours before the football game. The chubby child was constantly yelling back, saying how his suggestions were simply impossible to carry out. They kicked the ball around, and the chubby child would occasionally get fresh in a increasingly tense communication with the dark chilluns. I watched and listened, wondering if this hopelessly attention-seeking, desperately socially inept child would bring back enough memories to replace the pieces of my mind that were lost in the fire. Yeah, I went there. Now, I know watching young children for inspiration and mental stimulation is an inner-city Hipster thing to do, and also creepy (I even switched to the audience bench seats when they decided to play wall ball on the stage) But let me tell you this: I enjoyed every second of it. That didn't help, did it?

I went back to the baseball-playing Freshmen, after almost telling the roller-blading girl on the stage to be careful. She was Harrison as well. I just realized how useless this story is. Ah well, it helps me relax and dump out my thoughts that are filling my brain to the brim. Oh God, what an overused metaphor. Disgusting! Palpably derivative! There, I saved myself with delightfully pretentious vocabulary. Speaking of pretentious, we looked at a sample of an AP English AP test. It was challenging, and the selection to read was about the diction of a rhetorical orator, and how you want to be simple and clear while having the voice of an intelligent person. WHAT A TASK! But really, my thoughts really do clog up my head after I drink coffee. Literary and narrative ones, that I need to write down immediately or they grow stale and banal when repeated over and over on my mind's record player until the vinyl burns. I discussed annoying, rude women with a lone Freshman, borrowed a cell phone to tell my mom where I was, almost played football, almost played baseball, all the while realizing being older doesn't always make you a Deity to younger folks, as it inherently should. My shoulders hurt. Not only do I carry my backpack all day, but then I slouch and type my eyes off. Alright, here comes the good stuff. I guess.

Little rocks skipping across the water, sinking or floating. It doesn't matter really, because we are on this stage together. Just don't let the girls fall off.

Yeah, that's all you get today, I'm afraid. I'm going to the football game. Perhaps I will see Ponyboy, Steely-Eyes, Sinatra, Oblong, Ms. Jackson, the Pollack, Knocker, Casmay, Apoh, Mr. Place, Sir Cadigan, Bueller, Dory, My Heart, the Mother of Capitalism, the birds, etc. These are just nicknames for people. You know who you are. I guess.

Vexed to rest on you. This was a strictly informative, overlong, boring, desperately dull (reference) blog. I'm sorry if you read this far. "That's mighty linear, sheriff" "Age will flatten a man, Wendell".

Age sure will. Teenagers will speak the word to the children as if someday they'll remember the big kid who told them of pains and trials and tribulations and suffrage, and they'll think twice before they take hits from the bong, because Low Lifes do that. (I wrote that on a Biology table). No country for young men. Sometimes, you just need to come home. Sometimes, even the lucid and the exciting wake up to find a world like a dream. Unbelievable, fake, imaginary. My body moves without the little man inside's permission. Not even sure who I am anymore. Oh God, I used another one of those jawns. Saved by the colloquialism. I step on steps, I caress the bar, I rub the pavement, I let my eyes burn in the glare, I let my mouth move, but all I hear is her. "Desolation of the soul" - Howard Moon, discussing the Icy Tundra.

Some Blogs...

"When I see stars, that's all they are." - Some Nights by Fun.

The transitional period, where I float over the Rocks carefully, with little birdies tweeting softly nearby, waiting. Don't you dare let me fall again. Because this Ocean is very wide, and very deep. The blue birds and the black birds, the song birds and the swift birds. I awaken in the wake of the salty water Waves, and find myself sinking. The sweet Songs can't be heard from under the surface, and no Fish swims in this crashing and foaming Sea. But then again, God is the sun. And I can still see clearly the light of Day.

Brass blares and I cough and I spit. The barnacle being with no blood clutches my wet coat and lays me gently on the bunk. The Boat turns around and we're heading for shore. Rain, rain, goes away. Sun, sun, paints the day. With cap and Beard, cigar and smile, he drops anchor and curtails my stay. "Gotta go home", he says. "Be with life, for Earth needs your step". Soaking Isle of thick sand, sagging under overcast skies. I can hear music. Boop on the beep, and all that. Smoking, breathing lives, walking the boards and talking in hordes. I look around. I am sure the boat will be back again on another Stormy day, and with it, it's Captain.

Today was a major motion picture. The activities fair was interesting. I joined German Klub and SADD. Frau Tavani has always wanted me in the club because of my inherent, excellent German skills. SADD is Students Against Destructive Decisions like drinking and driving, texting and driving, smoking, etc. I am very passionate about this. We had thumb bands that said "RememberAlexBrown", immortalizing a boy who lost his life when he was texting and driving. It cut off my circulation for a while until my finger was amputated. And also, that smiley. And also, that traitor, across the way, reminding me of pain. Also, the monster Wolfman for whom I have major contempt and Luke Wilson fury. The GSA (Gay-Straight Alliance) tried hard to recruit me (they need boys). I would share my opinion on those females and their group, but it is controversial and far too Freudian to be taken seriously or nicely. They gave me Skittles and a business card, which remains in my breast pocket. I considered Photography Club. Come to think of it, I probably should have signed up for them. The hour we were given didn't allow enough deciding on my part. Perhaps the Gazebo Literary Magazine as well. I made jokes about how the singular man running the Business Club table could use his completely and blatantly clear table as a metaphor for a small business that could become a large enterprise. Seniors got in the way. Ultimate Frisbee's table was crowded with annoying and often rude people trying to join the group. It was insanely well-received. Then we all gathered round and were filmed, yelling "WE ARE PHOENIXVILLE!" I was in the front-most position, so I'll be seen by seers.

The Wolf, smiling, brings its steaming, soaking prey into black woods at orange sunset in its yellow teeth, frost water underneath. The Hunter stands, helpless, in the clearing, looking at the blood-smeared ground. He can smell the iron and feel the warmth of the pre-existing life. For whatever reason, he is struck with choking emotions at the picture. He knows that what the town calls "Animal", with all its flaws and faults, loves to be and deserves to BE. He takes off his cap, packs his gun away, and calls it a "Day". Because not many know how to resuscitate those delicate mammals with the white freckles. But he thought he could have saved her if he had just taken the shot and been off before the pack had time to organize and attack. But he thought he could have held her and have her feel human warmth, human love. But he calls it a "Day" until what they call "Night" falls. Then he lies in bed and calls out its name out to the clouds loudly, "LIFE. LIFE. LIFE."

Do I have to say much else? I can edit this and turn it into a real work of art. A genuine masterpiece. Mr. Hoffman says, "Love = to experience someone as real to you as yourself." I thought I loved this guy before. He's probably my favorite teacher of all time. So far, anyway. Animal Crackers are starting to make me sick. I am sick, after all. I am clogged into the infinite plane. Woah, that sounded cool. Death before decaf. I had a double espresso today. I did a guitar cover video today. I did well, with a couple of mistakes sprinkled on top of the Bon Iver cover cake. So many YouTubers do Bon Iver covers, it's ridiculous.

Uncle Brian is in the hospital with an enflamed pancreas and father lies around burning his throat open with ulcers and physical stress. Those are the Wilson updates of the day. Sound familiar?

I love you all so much. But that's probably the coffee talking. So, love the coffee back. You have no choice but to be trampled underneath the feet of my coffee-bean army. How unfortunate for you and your ICED TEA.

Love you. Goodnight. Hope you have a fantastic week.

Life from the bad seats.

Piledriver Blog.

"You think you're Jesus Christ. You think you're Jesus Christ. You're not my Jesus Christ. You're not my Jesus Christ." - Vexed by Say Anything.

Hello. How are you? My name is James J. Swollenkopf.

Today is congestion. Last night I shamelessly enjoyed McDonald's and eagerly picked out new flavors of Clif bars for breakfast this week. My sister rudely came to our house unannounced yesterday and ate everything we had. My head seems to be densely packed with rubber balls, pressing against my skull walls. Also, my nose is endlessly leaking. What is this? Nick gave this to me, the lousy Pollack. We've been playing this old, insane PS2 game, Burnout 3. You go about 300mph down a road where you can't see anything ahead of you and you try and make people go off the road. And when they do, they go flying. It's ridiculously fast and hilariously hectic. We love it. We call it "boop on the beep" because I once was talking during the game and got distracted by the game's insane events and ended a perfectly focused sentence with the completely ad-libbed line: "You know, like, boop on the beep." I realized what I had said and we cracked up.

I had my first AP English quiz today. I believe I did well, except for one part about "stasis" which I completely blanked out on. In Film Studies, the nerdy Freshmen lisped and ranted about baseball and we discussed camera movements, and I read an interesting description of the opening scene of Scarface from the textbook. Calculus H is always funny. And she's always more beautiful than I can comprehend. In lunch, we moved from our crowded four-seat nook next to a column, thanks to Mr. Furlong and his trailblazing seating ideas. We moved to a much bigger, empty table, and moved it against a column. Me and Braden Bowdish love our stone columns. And the sweet little birdies that flock and tweet around our chick-magnet faces. Ich habe Schnupfen. I need to watch that Honey Boo Boo show more often. It's like Chicken Soup for the Soul, and Lord knows my soul's been out in the Winter air too long. The good book and the bad book. That's why I didn't fight for her. Anyhow, I connected with a young blonde boy from the microscope days about his sketches he draws of interesting, contemporary houses in Biologie. Just hold this, for a second, please, kind stranger. Hold it with your arms and keep it safe while I tend to the bike lock.

That jawn be infatuated with the one I first been with. Now here we are with piles of skin and peach fuzz, curly hairs. They came out in threes, not held in place, weakly by a tender head. We've started the new frontier and named it after you. Trick-O.

With the wrapped one in Study Hall I thought of the May Days. Love them and pray for them.

German was German and Advanced Government was hardly Advanced, but interesting. Little birdies around the birdhouse. Little do they know the squirrel's in town. And he forgot his nuts, baby. The Fall air and breezes were out today and they were absolutely heavenly. I convinced Nick to walk downtown and visit the shop of coffee. I got a double Cuban machiatto for my brother and delivered it to him at his job, retrieving my hat from his car. We had Wegman's chicken and Netflix at his house, from driving there, but he insisted on riding his motorcycle home, all the way from Collegeville. I was peeved, but it was a cold and exhilarating ride. You just wait until I'm a rhetorical genius. I'll be blowing you away even more than usual. This one is dedicated to the Spanish War for seating us. There, I've laid it out with pyramids of language to unbuild and decipher. What else do you want from me? I've explained my heartache to everyone I know now. Why is my window open? To let cold air in? Very well. See that he is accomadated.

(does this mean we don't get ice cream? I've been hanging around these loonies for 4 months now, I deserve a treat other than those tiny, powerful pebbles)

BLOG AT THEE!

"Have at thee, false Christ I've been dreaming on."

These days, I don't feel anymore. I have become a mindless, emotionless shell of a man. I'll mow your lawn, I'll slice your grapes for your high-end meal and I'll take out the trash on Tuesday nights. I'll hang out, I'll chill, I'll attend family dinners, and I'll go to Wawa with Uncle Brian. But I won't love, I won't hug, I won't cry, and I'll never desire again. Because everything that is quintessential to a teenage boy's life has been twisted, painted another color, slathered in poison, boiled to a searing heat, and shoved down my throat. And to think, this is only the beginning.

Oh, you were considerate, weren't you? Here, at the bottom of the ocean, I laid. I had sunk from the Light and the air to a black, endless Abyss. Then you showed up with your tiny, submersible machine. You poked and prodded me with your tools and instruments. I thought I was saved. I'd be taken back to shore and I'd see the Sun again. You opened up the pod bay doors, then shut them closed. Then you revved your engines and surfaced again.

Now here's me, drowning.

Breaking Blog.

"You brought me to my knees. Your art, it brought me to my knees."

Today was made of rock and roll. AP English was interesting. Film Studies was even more interesting, as 60% of the class was gone. Leaving me, a Latino girl with little to no knowledge on the English language, and the teacher alone. I had to take notes on a certain shot of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. I knew studying a comedy for cinematographic value was inappropriate, but not as inappropriate as the crude sex scene which was nearly unbearable to watch in that dark, quiet classroom atmosphere. My face was in my hands. No one said a word. Calculus was pleasant. Mr. Hughes is a polite, tall, humorous man who reads us things from a small book of life tips and refers to us as a "family". He must love mob movies or something. Lunch was incredible. I got the Freshman that sits with us to leave our table, leaving an empty seat for passersby. This includes chicks, and that's about it. Haha, oh misogyny. I had a young Mexican boy say "Heisenberg" and he sounded very much like Tuco Salamanca from Breaking Bad. Biology made up for its last two boring weeks of nothingness with a microscope lab, no matter how stupid the questions in the packet were. I got to see cheek cells of a young blonde boy who is the younger brother of a girl I once wrote a poem about. I was heavily caffeinated by a bitter, searing hot cappucino and feeling smitten that night. She was beautiful. German was ridiculous. We reviewed how to share preferences, me and Ian Straka reminisced about 7th grade, and Robert Miller made fun of my comment on hipster cred I made yesterday. I explained to him that my hipster reputation would be ruined if we were both seen to be wearing similar glasses. This school is only big enough for two Ray-Bans wearers. AP Government and Politics was interesting. To me, anyways. Most students in that large class signed up because they heard it was easy. Easy college credits attracts everyone. I printed out a current event on increasing U.S. involvement in war-torn Syria. Nick had to work today, so I walked home by myself, with no way of obtaining coffee. I ate a large mass of Animal Crackers and watched Boardwalk Empire until I fell asleep for 15 minutes and laid on the couch in half-sleep for 30 minutes. Me mum came home, and I told her to take me to Artisan's and added that she had no choice this time but to say Yes. Haha. I was dying, you understand. Literally, my brain was fading. I am fully awake now, and I am shirking my homework duties (they are simple enough). "You've got those tired eyes all the time". I like doing vocabulary.

Lights.
One bright.
One broken.
One beautiful.
Sirens.
One loud.
One quiet.
One sharp.
Flowers.
One blossomed.
One drooping.
One colorful.
Fish.
One swift.
One fierce.
One curious.

My eyes are growing into mini-cameras and my budget is low. I want to direct, I want to write, I want to film. It's ridiculous how much my life has become a movie. A living motion picture. A moving movie. "Know that you will be my downfall, but I call and I call and I call."

Nelson Van Alden, played by Michael Shannon, is my favorite character in Boardwalk Empire.

(This blog entry is fondly dedicated to a reader of mine, one Elizabeth Delany. She's a friend of mine. If you see her, greet her cordially and treat her to dinner. She enjoys Maggiano's. Also, buy her a large jar of sweet pickles. She loves them jawns.)

Blinded By the Blog.

"And surely, everything has blackened."

Today was water. I had no AP English, as we all sat in the auditorium waiting for the photographers to set up the cameras and lights and things. I heard her name and heard her laugh. I screwed up their photo seat and that me smile enough to last until the flash. They told me to scoot over, so I moved the whole seat. I mean, their directions were terrible. So, I smiled slightly more than last year. Appropriate, though my hair looked awful. "I'm standing on a stage of fear and self-doubt. It's a hollow play, but they'll clap anyway." Italics make quotes from young bands seem classical and respectable. I love old pictures. I want to go back in time so bad. See the Wilsons from the '60s and '70s, led by father Thomas Wilson, the almost gentle giant of the 1920s. Marcel A.Viti was an important Italian man who helped him in business. I am listening to One Direction, because you've got that one thing. You think young Brits would have more sophisticated grammar. Nothing has blackened, actually. I just wanted to quote D.a.t.H.

 

Soft and sacred, sweetly speaking.

 

ew that doesn't sound cool at all.

 

 

Me and Nick wanted to visit both antique shops today, both old and new. We cashed some coins and walked downtown, only to realize our journey through the humid brick halls of steel town was useless. However, we had a pleasant visit to Artisan's. Very pleasant. Thank you, Mathematicians. Because that's just who I am this week. The new antique shop looks legit. We debate over the identity of the interesting coat in the window. They replaced that God-forsaken Hookah Lounge, and Al Basha's red sign still hangs there, big and intimidating, though too high to notice. I should be doing homework, but this stuff is so easy. Checks and balances. I laugh in his face. Wooden houses and coffee-doused. I am soaking wet like the Micks of the '20s, in the beans. Mmmmm.

 

The Soft V.

Gliding O'er All.

"Look at me, Hector."

My brother, informally dressed, just treated me to a four-course meal at his restaurant tonight, his night off. I got nervous when I was told a man was to propose to his girlfriend there, then I was told he was to go to the river and play her a piano song with lights and roses and friends. People stab me everyday with their tales. Either way, I had some wontons with crab meat, then a Hangar steak with risotto and green beans and that was fantastic. Some brawling females attracted the cops and an ambulance to the "Pick". Michael's friends were sweet to me. I like Denny. He drew phallic shapes on our Pennacotta dessert plate in strawberry syrup, which are usually butterfly wings, apparently. The couple was so cute, but they stab me hard. Phoenixville is so shiny. Maybe it's my glasses. I want to watch Submarine and cry. Right after school, when Nick was off to his first work day, I walked straight to Artisan's with my brother. I tried the new Cuban-style espresso, my first cup by itself. It was delicious. I was shaking and bouncing off the walls. We had a pleasant chat with Richard about Italians and their cafes. Then I went home and watched hours of Boardwalk Empire. That show is for adults. Sometimes I feel weird watching it. The misogyny of it hurts me a little bit when I go into my mind and imagine and think. When we were walking to his car, we talked about Sobo and how he doesn't understand my disdain with his character. We happened upon his home, and I kept walking. I was polite enough to call Mike afterwards and inform him of my location and safety.

"Spores" by Say Anything is also misogynistic but sincere.

Pennsylvania Luke. That's me, blue and yellow, as I cock my head to the wind to deafen the blows. Yellow in hollow-bodied anxiety, blue in bleak reverie. Sorry, was that too AP English for an informal blog to the one? Ms. Santry has a talking study hall. Too bad the only one is the non-screwed up Deni that the girl kissed. "Did you ever really stare at me?" My body flashes with humid heat. You're so little. I don't waste. Dementors suck the happiness out of you with their kiss.

Gee, I hope you don't mean half the things you say.

American Blog.

"My brain's the burger and my heart's the coal."

I just watched Boardwalk Empire's first episode in HD on demand. I was overjoyed to see that on the HBO listings, but now I am not so sure. It was confusing, depressing, and strange. I mean, that's all me, but I don't like the style. Too polished. I also watched American Pie. That was even more depressing, but for completely different reasons. I am listening to Say Anything like I have been for a couple years now. Chia-Like, I Shall Grow. "I discard all my feelings as the stars still scar my ceiling."

My heart has gone out of the frying pan and into the freezer.

It's Friday. I had no school today. I had a very satisfying sleep, if not economical (13 hours). I should be doing AP English homework because it's quite extensive. HA. Modest Mouse used to sing about complicated feelings and depression. Perfect! I'll be over here crooning along with Baby Blue Sedan or something. Help me. Coffee coffee coffee. Coffee is like a laxative for my feelings. It isn't always pleasant, but it's better than having them in my head. I wish I had feelings. Haha. Well, you know, good ones. Oh, "Admit It!!!" is playing. That'll do good for my angst.

Why'd you get yourself into those things? And then me? Sorry, friend.

Edward J. Kelly didn't have to deal with these feelings, I'm guessing. I'm just so sorry.

Braden and Jessica are no more. Secret Agent is off duty. She did well while she served. However, I may not need her anymore. The operation's been shut down.

Shut down.

The Last Blog of My Heart

"You're too tired to be in love."

I honestly sometimes think that my brain is controlled by a crazed German neurologist, tampering and tinkering with my emotions and thoughts to experiment on the teenage mind. He's a sick man. He's about 40 years old, with a white beard, round black glasses and a cigar in his hand. He's Sigmund Freud. He loves to watch me cry, loves to see me drift into dead thoughts and very much alive ones, loves to see me dance in pain, loves to watch me lie in painful and silent reverie on my rock bed.

Now that I'm done prosing it up, I'd like to report the facts. Today, I took an essay on my Summer reading even though I am still not finished On the Road by Jack Kerouac. I read enough to write the essay, though, but my language was a bit tired and my ideas sloppy. Ah well, It'll do. I had some coffee. Now my keyboard lies on the face of my AP English in a blatantly rebellious manner. I bought two bags of Animal Crackers at the dollar store when my dad gave me a twenty and said to go crazy. I was also wearing pink crocs. I also went to Artisan's like this and I saw people from school chuckling. I had also nearly broke my toe when it got caught on one of my steps. It still hurts. I'm listening to Coldspray. She's not laughing. She's not smiling at all, in fact. Hold my heart, I'm walking.

I'll swiftly scribble your name
So you can take all the blame

Blog Your Little Heart

"Did I drive you away?"

I am still not done my summer reading. I am sortof working on it right now. I'm rushing through this On the Road book by Jack Kerouac, which I just figured out is mostly a work of fiction. My mind is blown. But it is very good and I'm going through it fast. I have a depressing feeling of it being too late for me to do something. It's not too late at all. I don't think. Then again, I have several depressing feelings right now. But unlike yesterday, I have exuberant and bright thoughts to balance them out. However, without caffeine, I fear they will travel on without me into the haze of this year. I warn you now, this will be a prose-filled blog. I'm feeling poetic after reading a lot of this beautiful book.

No, this feeling of lateness is for certain. I feel dizzy. My brother isn't here anymore, and I want him to be. You know, just to cheer me up just a little bit more. I called him and he says it's too late and that he is not near my house. Something tells me he will surprise me with a short visit. Something. That same something tells me this powerful, deep down feeling I'm having right now is utter nonsense and will fade in the night hours when I'll sleep it away. But I can't accept that anymore. However, with the days that go by, it gets stronger in each fleeting streak it appears. Stronger and more durable, I'd say. You have no clue what I'm talking about, but it's darn important. I promise you.

"I jumped across for you. What a thing to do."

This is the way Luke feels for people. The real feelings are the one that drives him nuts in obsession, observation and decision. These sortof feelings are new to me, and they distract me from school work, bring me to tears at certain nighttimes, and bring about sullen overheatings of the mind. Thanks Jack Kerouac for giving me the voice of a lone wanderer rife with mixed emotions.

Yesterday was a living nightmare, in sadness terms. I love the way she helped me. It made me so sure, if not satisfied at the time. Today was much better. But still, not fantastic. However, tomorrow and Thursday will be different. I will try. I just need to get into this groove that hit me out of left field and crushed my spirit. I wonder if that someone still does what they say they did and what I am doing now. Feeling.

Sometimes I'm not sure I could sit there silently. I want to hear everything you know, think, feel, remember, hate, love, and are.

More chicken-cheesesteak tonight. I am full with emotions and greasy Italian food. Do you find that funny? Do you find me funny? I certainly hope so, I'm not sure I can take the silence.

Please. Give me a smile. Smile, and say you do.

That's Not the Way It Feels

Probably having the worst day of my entire life.

I hated my teachers, my classes, my lunch. I felt sick and tired and uncomfortable all day. Turns out Nick was in the wrong lunch, so goodbye to that fantastic idea. Then, at the end of the day, when I was vulnerable, I was rejected. I walked all the way home frowning. I came into this, sat around intensely depressed for a little while, then took a slightly helpful nap. I am not ready for this school year. Not one bit.

Untitled

"I was blindsided."

I need to read about 25 more pages in this cursed book before I can feel comfortable doing ridiculous and often funny things on my last Summer day. Leaving me with 168 pages to read later tonight. HA. Reading Like A Writer is somewhat bearable now, but I am often distracted.

I feel as if love is something that can't be avoided or attained altogether. It doesn't concern people, it concerns words. It doesn't concern actions, it concerns pictures.

I have had no coffee today. Somehow I feel this won't last, my brother wanting to hang out and all. It's been making me a bit crazy lately. And I don't need that in times of mounting confusion.

I've got a lot of change to cash in. Ulysses stares at me with a sorrowful glance, disappointed in me for not reading. Francine Prose, you slay me.

She is supposed to be teaching me about paragraphs. Clearly she hasn't helped me at all. Well, then again, this isn't hardly a novel.

I want to see. You know?

I'm Bored, You're Blogging

"I got this feeling in my blood that I want more, this ain't enough."

Today was, is, and will be a rewarding one. I can feel it. I woke up slightly late at 11:30AM, more than excited for Colton to see my new house and walk with me to Artisan's. This, however, did not happen, as he never answers his phone, has cross country, and is more of an early bird than I am. Apparently he gets finished around 5:30PM, which was 7 minutes ago. Perhaps I should call him. Yeah, I'll do that. I'll finish this later.

(later)

This day was so stupid but interesting.
I was so very bored until one of my brother's friends Lee came over so I could tune his new guitar for him. We had a tender musical moment. Once he left, I was bored again. I contacted a friend of mine, Tim, and he was busy. I called Colton 35 more times. I need to get these kids together on Saturday for a first and final hang out of the dying Summer. Then I took a walk out of boredom, caffeination,
and yearning for adventure. I walked up to the new middle school, wandered around looking Colton, sat on the high school bridge and watched the sunset, listened to the band practice (where Amy was), went into our old smelly house briefly, wandered back and forth in the nighttime and eventually went home out of worries that my parents were worried themselves. Then we got a chicken cheesesteak stromboli. We stopped by Gateway Pharmacy, I rocked out to One Direction in the car until i see some kids come out of the building. I notice a long-haired kid with cut off maroon jeans. Colton himself was hanging out with some Freshmen. I frantically unlocked the door, took the keys, and ran after him holding my hat yelling, "YOU COME RIGHT BACK HERE!" I met the group. Jason Miller wanted to hug me. I poked Colton in the chest and said I had been calling him all day. He said he didn't recognize the number and was freaked out by it. I was too caffeinated and excited at the new company to argue with his logic. My mom came out and I ran back to the car. We drove once by the HS and went home.

Now here I am, lamenting this strange and barely satisfying day. I happened to see Sydney Scavello who was overly excited to see me walking downtown, I had a tender IM chat with Ellie Delany wishing her a happy birthday and slipping in a compliment about adorability. My brother is visiting at this moment, and he shanked me with his knuckles.

I just feel like I need to sigh. Or sleep. I have a head ache, I am full of food. But there is nerves. So many nerves. 4 days. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

All Blogged Up

Times.
This poor 2/3 eaten scone sits next to me on my desk, looking betrayed. The iced coffee, fully consumed, looks empty but satisfied. These days are here, and I'm in a new house. I'm a new person, it feels. I have a Stetson hat and maroon canvas Doc Martens. But, you know this. You are me, I am you, the only two who read this through.

I was with Amy today. "I'm a sensitive bore." manana, mi amor. manana.

I'm listening to some hardcore Say Anything. (i.e. In Defense of the Genre) and feeling shameful of things not bitten and digested. By God, I am being as vague and poetic as ever. I can see my Phoenixville neighbors. They own pit bulls, motorcycles, and lots of beer. I want to put "PLANK TRIUMPHANT" on the walls in here. He deserves everlasting influence in my life, thanks to Uncle Tom. Nick is in New Hampshire, and I miss the fellow. He's my buddy, he's my pal. I need to slice up all the cardboard in the backyard with my dad. 'What a drag', they said in the 1950s. I'd like to know how to become a great writer, but Francine Prose thinks she knows everything and is some sort of comedian that is amazing because she reads books. 5 days to read this crap, and my other book. Sorry folks, I'll be busy. Hopefully I can get Colton over here tomorrow and Tim over Saturday to see this darned please. 8 minute videos to fall back on in times of doubt.

I am infinitely interested in the lives of my grandparents. I look to the campaign poster of 1969 with Tom Wilson's face on it, when he ran for judge. I think of my silent but always calculating grandfather on my mother's side, Robert Gill Geist. A German-American man, his head was smaller than mine is now and his cap doesn't fit on me. He seems to have the most influence on me. However, the Kellys give me my humor. That's my dad's mom's side. And so, the history continues with these two Wilson boys, Tommy and Luke. We keep the name going. We are the only lasting males. And we'll find romance, get married, procreate and the Wilson timeline will continue. If we have any boys. I am so weird right now. Maybe it's all the chapters of Trapped in the Closet i watched today. Maybe it's the coffee. Maybe both. I got my school supplies along with a beautiful backpack from OBEY, a faux-propagandized company. Lineage.

I can't let this go. It's so fun, and it means something real. I know it. Butterfeelings, butterflies, butterfingers.

Wonder if Nicholas found some long-haired gorgeous mountain girl and fell in love. God knows he needs that. He'd love that. But then we'd be off on our own paths. "There's still time to change the road you're on." I watched the Led Zeppelin concert The Song Remains the Same today. It was good. I showed Amy the delicious Stairway to Heaven solo. She had no comment.

'fraidy cat. wonder if she'll keep this up. did you expect that one, dear?

A Blog of You

Blog. It's been a while. "Yes, this is your conscience. We haven't spoken in a while." - Marlin in Finding Nemo. How are you? If you are reading this blog, you probably already know how I've been and the kind of crap I've been into. So, I'll start with the important things. It's almost the year of the tiger. Yes, Junior year, folks. Many people say it's the most difficult year. About 35 days ago, I started talking to a female. Yes, you may think, "Luke, you are almost always rolling in chicks." Yes, this is true, but this one is slightly more important. So yeah this amazing girl I was talking about (or that 'Female") is now writing this blog annnnnnd shes soooo awesommmme

Anyways, so me and this female, Amy Lynn Dundon, who was named by the nurse the delivered her, hang out regularly these days. In fact, I am at her house right now. Her mother and her are discussing things on couches. It's a nice, welcoming family, and I enjoy being absorbed so oddly into the home. She won't let me go in her room because it's apparently very messy. One cat is fat and homosexual and has a crush on me. Another is a female that is sick and thin. She hides from people. Things are....good. And confusing.

Another recent development in the dramatic epic of Luke Wilson's life is the Odyssey of homes. The bank snatched our house from under our noses. We were luckily able to get a 105-year-old classic Phoenixville home in a small alley behind Barkley Elementary. Me and my parents somehow got a massive sectional all the way through the house into the living room by ourselves. Last night Nick helped us get some other medium difficult wooden items upstairs or in the downstairs rooms. The attic is sealed off with dry wall, which is creepy. The steps going up to it are about a foot high each, making it look old. Anyhow, the feeling of moving and associating a different place with my conscious sense of "home". I feel my soul is in floating limbo between houses. It isn't, however, that far away. I'll be next to Barkley which will be filled with crazy loud children running around a little bit after I get home. That'll be fun and/or annoying. I have a slightly smaller room, but it has wood floors and it's on the second floor, the bedroom I've always wanted. It has an upright window and a cool horizontal window. The basement is really old and creepy. There is rings on the ceiling of it where they used to hang bodies. We have a fluorescent green porch light and a gross little backyard.

I am now in the middle of a large Dundon family meeting and in the juggling of casual conversation.

Sometimes things happen. They'll happen without you caring. They'll happen without you noticing. I wish that still happened. I wish things happened without my permission. I wish the control wasn't in my hands. I am a weak-willed, scrawny little man and I need others to make decisions for me. I am the youngest child. I am small. I want to sing Breathe Me by Sia. Because that's me. Wrap me up.

Now that the drama Kingdom is over, let's discuss schooling.
I am in two AP classes this year (English/Gov't+Politics) and hopefully I will have the same lunch period as Nick and/or Amy and/or Tim and/or Matt and/or Braden Bowdish and his pal Dante Collazo, the man with the coolest name ever made by circumstance and life itself. I'm pretty sure Amy and Nick have the same math class. That'll be interesting.

Things still happen.




They happen all the time.