poem.

These nights, you see,
where I am alone and whole
and there is a white, hard
bone china chip aglow
against the blackened dark blue
and the vastness of the earth
and wholeness of the sky
is perfectly balanced
to my smallness, my tiny breath:

limited only by my bones,
I know, deep down within them
(even in the very walls of
this little prison!)
my mind is loosed as lightning
jettisoned with need
to that which is nameless
and beyond my tiny self:

so young, so small
and yet I know my clarity
is of a rare feathered kind
granted through genetic grace
and entrusted now to my
opened, expectant, faithful hands:

The wonder becomes truth,
and magic becomes that
soul-deep root of self
and knowledge.

I am
like the air in my own lungs,
lingering and reveling
til I can hold no longer
and must expel myself to the world
with safety, knowing that
in fearlessness
I will
be breathed in again
and therefore, I will breathe.

so there's this blog...

Once upon a time, I started this blog.

Why?

I never use it. I'm afraid people will find me and read about me whom I do not wish that they do so. (That was a Damon Runyon sentence. Neat.) But at the same time, I want to say things. And I want to say them so that sometimes people might say things back. But that's not the main purpose. I probably should use this to motivate myself somehow.

I may have mentioned I do "real" journaling in a "real" journal in "real" life with my own two hands and a pen. I prefer the feel of the physical act, especially if it is poetry that I'm releasing into the world. Prose comes too quickly to be in cursive: it MUST be typed. But cursive -- and poetry -- are reserved for my "real" journal. Which someday may be released to be read publicly, like Anaïs Nin. Love her. But there are things I want to say or ponder that sometimes do not belong in that journal. And nowadays they just don't get said, because I save poetry for that journal and bottle every other damn thing up and keep it to myself.

Maybe I should start saying them.

Friends say I should be honest. Really honest. I also think I need to develop a thicker skin. Be braver. And yes, the honesty is part of that. I've always considered myself pretty intuitive and pretty balanced. Apparently I'm not. I'm beginning to tip the scale back and forth and I'm not in control of it all yet. There are more things now than ever before beyond my control, and it's weird, because I didn't think I was a control freak. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just in that place between sanity and absolute retardation that everyone gets to sometime or another, usually around the time they graduate from college and are forced to 'grow up.' I thought I was growing up already. Apparently I'm not. I need to remember the things I taught myself when I graduated high school: The Beatles know everything and you just have to Let It Be, Come Together, and With A Little Help From My Friends, All You Need Is Love. (I'm pretty sure that was a legit sentence using Beatles song titles; I think I'm proud of it. It's true anyway.)

So then this is a new start. A new school year. My last school year for a while. Unless someone does actually talk me into grad school which I think is a bad idea because we're poor and I'm hungry to actually go out and work instead of talk about working like it's a future tense thing and it isn't actually happening yet. By 'work' I mean act. Really act. In real theatres with real directors and real people. And learn from them. All of them. Good and bad. I want to be overwhelmed with knowledge. But outside of the classroom. I want to expand and grow and experiment and act. And be the things I always wanted to be. Be the things that some little voice in my head told me I was going to do, way back in high school.

There are other things I want to do. I want to learn to cook a little more. By 'a little more' I mean a lot more. I'm not sure how to start that. I want to dance. I want to keep singing, keep strengthening my voice. I want to become a complete triple threat. I want someone to certify me in triple-threatdom. Seriously. I want to write and write and write and write for days with no end to my inspiration and energy and drive. I want to finish what I've begun and begin anew with the five other ideas in my head right now. I want to publish! OH GOD, I WANT TO PUBLISH. Even if it's poetry to start me off, that'd be brilliant. I want to travel.... but that has to wait. I have to live in the now and certainly the here.

This is going well so far, don't you think? Rambly, but well.

I would like to finish the pirate novel. I would like to do NaNoWriMo. I keep saying to myself I'll do it, and then I get there and go, "Oh, my life is always crazy in November, I'll do it next year." I wonder if it would be better if I do it after I've graduated, that maybe I'll have more time then. But everyone has a life. Everyone who WriMo's has a LIFE and a job and people to deal with that take up their time. Not everyone can lock themselves in a cabin in France like Colin Firth does in Love Actually and type on a real typewriter for days on end without stopping while a pretty chick from Portugal does the dishes for you.

Although if I did that, I would like Colin Firth to do my dishes.

I'm going to work on the pirates. I have not been strict enough with myself regarding the story. I must press onwards. It must be told.

Also, side note: I really really really do want to be Meryl Streep when I grow up. I saw a thing on TCM the other day where she was narrating a bit about Bette Davis' career, and how it inspired her growing up to be an actress, and then she received a Bette Davis award, or the same award as Bette Davis, or something like that, and it was so surreal, like, full circle kind of thing. And I thought "Like, I'm watching Meryl Streep while I'm growing up trying to be an actress. And Meryl watched Bette. Maybe I should watch Bette. Who did Bette watch? Who did Bette see?" I want to be Meryl Streep when I grow up. That would be cool. She's really amazing. I'd like to be really amazing. Even if I'm not, I can still dream about it.

Speaking of dreams... well, they're really weird lately. I HAVE TYPED SO MUCH IN SUCH A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME. Talk about off to a good start. I hope. Maybe. It's difficult being a small person with many feelings. Large feelings. Ambition is dangerous. Especially when you're not very confident and happen to be very emotionally charged.

Charged. That's the right word. Back to the pirates. Start small. Finish the novel, and take things from there.