Red was your colour.
If not red, then white. But red
Was what you wrapped around you.
Blood-red. Was it blood?
Was it red-ochre, for warming the dead?
Haematite to make immortal
The precious heirloom bones, the family bones.

When you had your way finally
Our room was red. A judgement chamber.
Shut casket for gems. The carpet of blood
Patterned with darkenings, congealments.
The curtains -- ruby corduroy blood,
Sheer blood-falls from ceiling to floor.
The cushions the same. The same
Raw carmine along the window-seat.
A throbbing cell. Aztec altar -- temple.

Only the bookshelves escaped into whiteness.

And outside the window
Poppies thin and wrinkle-frail
As the skin on blood,
Salvias, that your father named you after,
Like blood lobbing from the gash,
And roses, the heart's last gouts,
Catastrophic, arterial, doomed.

Your velvet long full skirt, a swathe of blood,
A lavish burgandy.
Your lips a dipped, deep crimson.

You revelled in red.
I felt it raw -- like crisp gauze edges
Of a stiffening wound. I could touch
The open vein in it, the crusted gleam.

Everything you painted you painted white
Then splashed it with roses, defeated it,
Leaned over it, dripping roses,
Weeping roses, and more roses,
Then sometimes, among them, a little blue
bird.

Blue was better for you. Blue was wings.
Kingfisher blue silks from San Francisco
Folded your pregnancy
In crucible caresses.
Blue was your kindly spirit -- not a ghoul
But electrified, a guardian, thoughtful.

In the pit of red
You hid from the bone-clinic whiteness.

But the jewel you lost was blue.

What really confuses me is being in a situation where I think, out of the blue, "it would be really weird if ___ showed up right now," and I have just enough time to wonder why I even thought of that person, and then he/she appears? Or when for no reason at all I picture people doing or saying something that has nothing to do with anything that's going on at the moment, and I ask myself why I even pictured that because it's so bizarrely disconnected from anything I'm experiencing in the real world, and my mind seems to answer that it's because I just had a dream about that recently -- and then it actually happens, even though it's completely unexpected?

Situations like this happen so often, many times weekly, even daily. And I should be used to it by now, but every time it totally messes up my mind. Like back in first grade when I'd have just completed a complicated picture on an Etch-a-Sketch and then somebody would accidentally shake it a little and even though most of the lines were left on the screen I just couldn't picture in my mind what it had looked like.

Or like when you see a tiny stray thread on the hem of a skirt and you try to break it off, but instead it pulls so the entire skirt is bunched up, twisted, and bruised-looking. And you wonder why you didn't just let it go.

God, this life is strange sometimes.

I've decided my primary goal throughout the summer is to become healthier. I'm going to drink eight glasses of water a day so I'm not dehydrated anymore (and so I stay away from the temptation of bowl after bowl of ice cream). I've also heard increased water intake is good for the complexion, another incentive to stick to this resolution. And speaking of healthy skin, even though I don't really care whether or not I look tan, I'm going to make myself get some sun every day because I know it's good for me.

I'm also going to do Yoga every other day. My muscles are way too inflexible right now -- most of them barely get used, and my leg muscles are so tight that I can't even keep my heels on the floor during the Adho Mukha Svanasana pose. My arms are so weak from not shooting archery anymore, that halfway through the routine they start shaking when I use them for support. I am determined to get more fit and more flexible. Plus, when I get good at Yoga, I can use it as a stress reliever. Which I am probably going to need next semester. I've decided that once I have had sufficient practice following instructional videos, I'm going to reward myself by signing up for a legit class.

And finally, to make sure I get enough exercise over the summer, I'm going to continue walking in the mornings and go jogging every 2nd or 3rd morning. I've never tried to go jogging before this summer, and the one time I tried it didn't go so well. But I'm going to not eat breakfast first next time. And I'm going to start with intervals so it's not as hard. The lower my expectations, the better I'll feel I did. We'll see how long this lasts.

On a brighter note. Today I bought the album "Taller Children" by Elizabeth and the Catapult. They did a brilliant cover of Leonard Cohen's song "Everybody Knows", which I immediately fell in love with. I wasn't crazy over the rest of the album, because I didn't think the lyrics to their own songs were anything amazing, but it was still enjoyable to listen to and I have a feeling it'll grow on me.




Everybody Knows

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died

Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you've been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you've been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it's now or never
Everybody knows that it's me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you've done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it's moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows

And everybody knows that you're in trouble
Everybody knows what you've been through
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary
To the beach of Malibu
Everybody knows it's coming apart
Take one last look at this Sacred Heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows

<
rant>

If there is one thing that hurts more than anything else, it's when my mother can't stand to see me happy. It's when her endless thirst for drama, conflict, and war comes running after me, teeth bared, long after I've backed away from the challenge. It's when I'm accused of "romanticizing" the life she's forced me to live, because I've brought resilience out of the wreckage of the past two years, and begun to pick up the pieces as I learn to survive on my own -- because I'm finally starting to realize that I'm the only person I'll always be able to rely on for the rest of my life. It's when she repeatedly informs me that I've made her life hell. It's when she starts to shed tears for her own entertainment, and makes me feel overcome with guilt even though I am the one being victimized. It's when she denies the words that are etched across my mind for the rest of my life. It's when I tear myself away from the temptation of apologizing for nothing, of trying for the millionth time to make everything better, and instead trudge to my car to face another day knowing that our relationship will turn out the same as the one she has with my estranged grandmother. It's when I lie awake at night staring at the rocking chair she used to sing me to sleep in when we were mother and child, in that different life we had fifteen years ago. It's when I wish I had a mother to give me advice and hold me while I cry and believe in my dreams. It's the sick jealousy I feel when I see my friends' mothers, and the guilt that floods my mind when I become aware that I am jealous. It's the embarrassment I feel when anyone asks.

If there is anything I have learned from all of this, it is never to become that person. The person who thrives off of other people's unhappiness, who stumbles through life bruising other lives. I will never be like that. I will never do this to my child.

< /rant >

In response to this post by Susanna at Dreaming as the Summers Die:

I feel like my life is a house whose front door hardly anyone uses. Other souls come climbing through the windows, waltzing in the back and side doors, slinking up the cellar stairs, seeping under cracks and creeping in through crannies, scuttling around the attic and down the chimney. They never come out the way they came; they find another way, leaving a trail through my life, patterns in the dust on the floor. But the few who enter the front door -- who come into my life in the most obvious ways -- step into the foyer, wait, and are gone.

I was just thinking today about how some aspects of my character haven't changed very much throughout my entire lifetime. It's almost like my personality now is founded on who I was as a child and even a baby. I'm sure the examples I thought of are just strange coincidence, a pattern that only appears to exist, like the monkeys typing theory. But still, now that I've thought about it I bet there are some people out there who theorize that we are born as who we will be, that our personalities and character traits are already a part of our soul, that environment and circumstance have nothing to do with our development as a person. It's strange to think about. But anyway, here are the examples I thought of, just as curiosities:

• My first words were when my parents took me for a walk and I saw a bird fly past. According to the story, I pointed and shouted, "Bird! Pretty bird!" For my entire life, I've had a fascination with birds and anything with wings. When I'm bored, I can stare at a backyard birdfeeder for hours on end. I pick up feathers that I find outside and use them as bookmarks. Once when I was 10 I found a flamingo feather in the bird room at the Syracuse zoo and begged the zookeeper to let me have it. I have an inkwell on my desk with quill pens in it as a decoration. I love feather jewelry. And I don't really care that much if any other animal gets run over (yes, I know, that's terrible of me to say) but when a bird gets hit by a car, I'm depressed for the entire day. I saw a sparrow get hit by a semi-truck once on Route 369 on the way to class, and it was so upsetting I burst into tears and even now I sometimes see it replayed like a video clip in my head. It's one of the worst things I think I've ever seen. As ridiculous as that sounds. I think its because birds are supposed to be free from all the lowly things down here -- they're supposed to fly and sing and be careless and detached from everything. When I see an eagle or something soaring high above the earth, I feel weightless and alive, and the world seems right again. When I see a dead bird by the side of the road I feel dirty and corrupt and caged in by my very existence.
• The other interesting thing I noticed about this story -- if it is true -- is that immediately after speaking my first word, I strung together an adjective and a noun. Since then, I've gone through many plans for possible career choices, but I always come back to being an English major. Always. I wonder if it's possible to be born with one's brain wired in a certain way, so that linguistics come especially easy.
  

• My favorite movie as a toddler was Beauty and the Beast. Belle was pretty much my childhood hero. I always wanted to dress up like her in my "belle dress", and I had a bunch of mini plastic "belle dolls" from the disney store that I took with me everywhere I went. I think it's funny that I ended up being a lot like the character of Belle. I had a vivid imagination and was always daydreaming about things being different than they were, and I learned to read really early which is why I hated kindergarten and persuaded my parents to homeschool me. By the time I was 10 I had read the entire childrens' section in the Moore Memorial Library. I always dreamed about having a library like the one in the Beast's castle, with ladders I could swing on. I still want to have my own library when I get a house of my own. And there will be ladders on the shelves, just wait and see.

• My favorite color when I was about 2 years old was red. All of my coloring books were monopolized by red crayon. I wanted to wear red all the time, and I painted one of my belle doll's blue dresses red. I cried and cried when we moved from our red victorian house in Tully to the white one in Greene, and according to my parents, I had a tantrum when I found out we were moving and shouted "I don't want Carly [the daughter of the people who bought the house] to have my red house!!!" I swore I was going to have a red house and a red car when I grew up, and I told my parents when I was old enough to dye my hair I would dye it red. Well, I've never looked particularly good in red because of my skin tone, and truthfully I don't even care for the color that much anymore, at least in terms of clothing and accessories, so I hardly ever wear it. But I think it's really funny that my first car coincidentally ended up being bright red, and the first time I dyed all of my hair instead of just streaking it, it ended up being red (though that was mostly unplanned).
  

So I was wandering around Binghamton on my way home from Vestal tonight, shopping for father's day and just trying to think of stuff to do in general so I wouldn't have to come back here and be bored again... When suddenly I started thinking about books and got the distinct urge to write. I didn't know what, I just really really wanted to write. It seemed like forever ago since the last time I just sat down and wrote something worth keeping. So I hurried to check out and drove home in the rain with the radio blasting, thinking the whole way about how I was going to plan out some amazing plotline and write this really stirring, thought-provoking, philosophical, character-driven story that I would be so proud of.

Of course, I didn't actually plan it, I just planned that I was going to plan it. When I got home.

So now here I am, at home, staring at a blank notebook wondering what the hell I was thinking. And wishing I hadn't been in such a rush to leave Vestal so I could've remembered to bring some charcoal and chalk for my collage. Or remembered to get some cash from the ATM. Or gotten the hair conditioner I so desperately need right now. Or brought something back to wear to work tomorrow.

Couldn't I at least have had the presence of mind to stop at a Starbucks and write instead? At least somewhere where there are people around to use as inspiration. Instead me sitting alone inside this huge empty house and its silent, brooding atmosphere, staring out the windows at the gloomy rain-blurred view.

Now seems like a pretty good time to curl up on the couch with a movie.

Why do my days so often come to this?

All day today there have been trucks driving up and down our road delivering cow manure to be spread on the fields of nearby farms. The smell seems somehow worse this year, maybe because it's so rainy and overcast. Usually I can stand the slight whiff of dried manure in the distance, even, almost, welcome it as a familiar scent unique to the country. But this is so disgustingly fresh and overpowering that it has made me lose my appetite every time I step outside.

I could go on complaining about it but I am not, in fact, in a negative mood today. So instead, as I am about to light a stick of incense, I have been thinking of smells that I do like. As far as I can think right now, these are my top ten:

1) Coffee
2) Campfires
3) Horses
4) Books
5) Leather
6) Tangerines/ Clementines
7) Lilacs
8) The Ocean
9) Cedarwood
10) Warm home-baked bread

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Discovered this recipe at Grace's yesterday when we were looking for something to bake for Great Gram's birthday. It's really easy to make, takes less than 10 minutes to prepare, and even though it takes a while to bake it's worth every minute. Maybe it's just me cause I haven't had homemade shortbread in I-don't-even-know-how-long, but I ate one of the corners as I was putting it on the plate yesterday and I thought it was the best ever.

So anyways here's the recipe:

Preheat the oven to 300.

Mix together:
1 and 1/4 sticks (10 tablespoons) unsalted butter
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons regular sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt

Beat on medium speed until fluffy. Then, gradually sift over the top while stirring:

1 and 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

Knead until well-blended. Press into 8x8 inch pan. Create a decorative pattern with a fork (insert all the way through the dough). Bake for 45-50 minutes, until lightly golden with the edges slightly darker.

Remove from oven and place on rack to cool. When barely warm, cut into bars or squares, almost all the way to the bottom. When completely cool, retrace cuts. If you like, you can sprinkle sugar over the top.

My world has been turned inside-out.
I hold my soul like a balloon, the inner workings of my mind reflected on its surface.

Some songs, new & old, that are currently on my ipod and get replayed pretty often. I've had a lot of people ask me lately for suggestions on music to listen to, I think we're all getting bored of our current selection since we have so much time to listen over the summer. Anyway, if anyone hasn't heard any of the songs on this list -- go listen. And if anyone has any suggestions for me, please leave comments! I too am on the lookout for some new music.

Here's my list (I've tried not to include too many multiple songs by the same artist, but in some cases I just couldn't help it):

“Eyes on Fire” – Blue Foundation

“Gila” – The Beach House

“Wishing Well” – The Airborne Toxic Event

"Sometime After Midnight" -- The Airborne Toxic Event

“Middle Cyclone” – Neko Case

"People Got A Lotta Nerve" -- Neko Case

“Comme des enfants” – Coeur de Pirate

"Violet Hill" -- Coldplay

--AND EVERYTHING ELSE BY COLDPLAY --

“Old Letters” – Company of Thieves

“Oscar Wilde” – Company of Thieves

“Daniel” – Bat for Lashes

“Flightless Bird, American Mouth” – Iron & Wine

“Cornflake Girl” – Tori Amos

“Winter” – Tori Amos

"Smells Like Teen Spirit" -- Tori Amos

"Mr. Zebra" -- Tori Amos

“Never Say Never” – The Fray

“Over My Head (Cable Car)” – The Fray

“Sleeping In” – The Postal Service

“Low Happenings” – Howling Bells

“Writing to Reach You” – Travis

"Why Does it Always Rain on Me?" -- Travis

“Bottle It Up” – Sara Bareilles

“Broadripple Is Burning” – Margot & The Nuclear So and Sos

“New Slang” – The Shins

“Girl Inform Me” – The Shins

“Funnyman” – KT Tunstall

“Hopeless” – KT Tunstall

“Again & Again” – Holly Brook

“The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance” – Vampire Weekend

“Tiger Mountain Peasant Song” – Fleet Foxes

“On the Radio” – Regina Spektor

“I Dare You to Move” – Switchfoot

“Who Will Save Your Soul?” – Jewel

“Cath” – Death Cab for Cutie

"Soul Meets Body" -- Death Cab for Cutie

"Quelqu-un ma dit" -- Carla Bruni

"Delilah" -- The Dresden Dolls

"Kingdom of Rust" -- the Doves

"Somewhere Only We Know" --Keane

"Stop Acting Like You Know More About the Internet Cafe than Me" -- Peachcake

... and, in case you didn't get the earlier message, anything and everything by Coldplay is absolutely brilliant. I only included the one song on this list because probably most of the people who are reading this already know that Coldplay is the first thing I would recommend listening to. I've been listening to all of their albums non stop for close to exactly one year now, and I'm still not tired of them.

Observations I have made today:

- While baking chocolate chip cookies just now, I realized that:

• I always listen to reggaeton and Latino hip-hop on AOL radio while baking, but I never listen to it otherwise...
• While making anything with vanilla, I purposely let the tablespoon overflow so there's about twice as much vanilla as the recipe calls for...
• I can follow the exact same recipe and it never looks the same as when my mom makes it ...
• and I have absolutely no idea how to tell when stuff is done baking.

Also, a good story. On the way home from our trip to Binghamton, Grace and I were driving near the end of our road, by the farmhouse with all the horses, and there was this guy standing in the field near the road, next to a parked pick-up truck -- rough-looking type with a cowboy hat on, shielding his eyes to look at the horses, and as we drove by he turned to look at us, and we saw with amazement that he was actually wearing a black bandit mask!! It looked like he was plotting to steal the horses. I don't know what was actually going on but it struck me as hilarious and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to die. Just thought that was weird enough that it was probably worth sharing ...

Also. As I am sitting here typing this, a male cardinal is repeatedly flying out of the rhododendron bush to slam into the kitchen window. He's been doing this for 3 days straight. Apparently he thinks his reflection is another male cardinal. So far he's managed to dislodge the window screen from its frame, scratch up the glass window pane, and probably knock himself out a couple of times. Every few minutes he hits the glass so hard with his beak (which, amazingly, is still intact) that he falls, disoriented, to the ground and has to get back up to sit in the bush again and stare at the window reflection. It's so annoying. I think I'm going to go crazy if I have to watch this for another 5 minutes.

And in case anyone cares to know, I just retyped the word "rhododendron" different ways for 4 minutes, waiting for the spell-check highlight to go away, before I finally gave up and looked it up in the dictionary, which took 25 seconds. I am brilliant.

So yesterday I was trying on clothes and the memory randomly surfaced in my mind of how Amy and Joy used to tell Grace and I that we were fat, merely because the two of them were twiggy little 8 and 10-year-olds, and Joy later explained that she never actually thought we were fat, she was just jealous that Grace and I, both older, were more fully developed. All this time I'd assumed that she was speaking for both her and Amy, but now Amy unabashedly informs me that actually, she sincerely had thought we were fat. Thus turning a good laugh into a not-so-good discovery. I was horrified. I couldn't stop thinking about it for the next few hours. I felt really sympathetic for my past self, and, as a form of it, my current self.

Later on, we were playing ping pong in the top of the barn, and it was really hot up there so I rolled my shirt up and tucked it into my bra. I suddenly realized that Amy was staring at me and she goes, "Holy cow, where did YOU get ab muscles?? It's not like you ever exercise or anything!" Which, of course, was a very backhanded compliment, as it revealed the fact that she still expected me to be out of shape and, well, fat like she apparently used to think. But it also vastly improved my self image after her earlier comments. Especially since I hadn't previously been aware of the fact that I even had ab muscles.

And then I got to thinking about how hilarious it is that my sister commenting on my abs should make me feel so much better about myself.

So, to prove that I don't care how my body looks, I've since eaten 3 bowls of French Silk ice cream, and am currently devouring 6 oz of Dove chocolate with a cup of chocolate raspberry coffee.

Because that really shows everyone exactly what is important to me, right?

...Yeah. Now that I've admitted all this publicly on my blog, I can't stop laughing at myself.