In the past, when someone wanted me to do something, and I didn't want to do it, I sucked up my feelings and went ahead and did it. And complained.
Now, if someone wants me to do something, and I don't want to do it, then I feel compelled to not do it.
That's good.
I'm doing what the fuck I want to do.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Dying Battery
IT is fucking 446AM. And I'm up. The past few nights I've been suffering from insomnia. Going to bed when the sun is just rising and the sky starts turning blue. Something about that just puts my mind at ease, and I find myself falling asleep with my face to the window.
This new environment- which really isn't new at all- is getting to me. I stay in an apartment in Brooklyn with family that try their hardest to act like they accept me when I know, lowkey, they're jealous of me, and loathe me being in their atmosphere. I keep to myself, spending hours upon hours on the phone and on my laptop, which thank GOD, I can now use fast, easy WIFI, unlike at that God forsaken college I attend, and it seems as though they even loathe that.
My cousin here... I want to say it. Er, type it. But it feels like as soon as I place my fingers over the appropriate keys my soul breaks a little. My heart beast faster, as though I'm scared, and pain clouds up my eyes. My cousin... he...
I read my blogs I posted previously. And before that, I read the blogs of a genius. She knows who she is. I don't think she realizes how much our brief communication today affected me. To her it may have been light, it could have even been meaningless- just a check up on ol' spitty. But to me... it quenched my heart. It got me to write again, instead of just skyping and tweeting my life away. It made me want to vent. And I thank her for that. You genius, poet, artist, photographer. You already know, I'll drop the L bomb on you just for the impact you had on my life, all with our brief connections.
My cousin... since I was seventeen... he...
Why were all my blogs about FUCKING relationships? Was I really so juvenile? My world evolved around who I was dating, whether my mate was a she or he, how she or he used me, abused me, etc. Like, WHY? Why didn't my mind attempt to release all the other pains I hold inside? Why didn't my mind attempt to talk about being FUCKING HAPPY? Why couldn't I write some imaginary shit that just came to my mind? After all, my imagination is what I love the most about myself. No one knows that. I just confessed it. I love the stories I create in my head. I love how all the ideas for a nice little novella bumrush me all at once. The plot and characters just begging to be thrown into a blank document in Word. Now you know something intimate. Wanna know something else?
My cousin, whom I'm staying with now... he like... does this...
So why did I just write about heartthrob? I was in COLLEGE, surely more was going on? Obviously, I wasn't ready to think about anything else. Such as my future. Where am I going in life? How the FUCK am I going to get out of Miles College, the HELL HOLE that it is? Yeah, I said it. YOU SUCK Miles College. If I can go back in time and go "la lala lalal la" when my homegirl mentioned, I really would, really really loud. I HATE it there. I HATE the authority figures down there that act like they're your DAMN MOMS and I HATE how they abuse their power. I believe in respecting my elders, but there, at Miles College... let's just say I NEVER cussed out so many old people in my life. Who thought it was okay to charge students as much as they do for NO WIFI INTERNET? The LIBRARY for Christ's sake doesn't have working internet. The shit is down every other day! But I chose to go there, and I'm chosing to go back next semester. But best believe, I'm getting my New Yorker Yankee ass the FUCK outta there. Sorry, Mason-Dixon line, but I cannot fuck with below you.
Now... see, now, we're hitting something. I'm getting hot and bothered, and my leg is going numb. I'm hitting sensitive spots that I should have been hitting previously. -mutters- all this LOVE shit. That shit wasn't LOVE! I don't know WHAT that relationship drama was about... but LOVE? No. Baby puppy infatuation with strong sexual attraction. I guess. I wasn't even all that sexually attracted to them, because they were slanging dick. And I, my friends, must not deny my strong attraction to PUSSY.
NO, I am not confused. I know what I want, who I am, what I am, when it comes to dating, fucking, how I dress, my race, all that. I love to love basically. I like dressing like a nigga, but I'm sexy as fuck as a girl. Either way, I can pull. And right now, I like being the female that my mother pushed out of her pussy. So that, I am. Simple. [Judge me. Whatever.] I'm a capricorn, I'm practical, responsible at times, ,and passionate. Endearing, sensitive but aloof when necessary, and sometimes at terrible times. I'm black, east indian, and venezuelan, repping two flags: the Trinidad, and the American flag. I can cook curry channa and potato and fried chicken, even though I hate fried chicken... actually I hate anything fried. If I eat some shit, and it looks like I'm wearing lip gloss by the time I'm done with it, I don't want it.
My leg is getting number. This is what venting is all about.
As you can see from each entry of my blog, I can be very self centered. Whatever. I am a GREAT FUCKING person. So I can write about myself all day and night. What do musicians write about? Zebras? No. Experiences in their lives. How THEY feel or have felt. I love doing that shit.
Okay, now I'm just trying to keep myself off of that God-forsaken topic.
Have you ever had a moment in your life where, although everything seems to be in order, shit just feels upside down? Unorganized, chaotic? Unsolved... Everything is sorted out and normal as hell, but you still feel completely incomplete and lost...
Everything is in place and yet, YOU'RE out of place...
That's how I feel right now.
I don't know who I am anymore.
But I FUCKING love it. Because, like, it gives me a chance to refind myself. To go through all the awkward stages of learning new things about yourself, and loving them. Or finding thing about yourself that you dislike, cross out, and replace.
Well, it's that part of the night/day. When the blue comes out and the clouds try to find out where they fit in. Where the brick buildings of Brooklyn look magenta and maybe even pretty. Looks like it's time fly into my brain with my face towards the window...
and then we can tackle my cousin.
This new environment- which really isn't new at all- is getting to me. I stay in an apartment in Brooklyn with family that try their hardest to act like they accept me when I know, lowkey, they're jealous of me, and loathe me being in their atmosphere. I keep to myself, spending hours upon hours on the phone and on my laptop, which thank GOD, I can now use fast, easy WIFI, unlike at that God forsaken college I attend, and it seems as though they even loathe that.
My cousin here... I want to say it. Er, type it. But it feels like as soon as I place my fingers over the appropriate keys my soul breaks a little. My heart beast faster, as though I'm scared, and pain clouds up my eyes. My cousin... he...
I read my blogs I posted previously. And before that, I read the blogs of a genius. She knows who she is. I don't think she realizes how much our brief communication today affected me. To her it may have been light, it could have even been meaningless- just a check up on ol' spitty. But to me... it quenched my heart. It got me to write again, instead of just skyping and tweeting my life away. It made me want to vent. And I thank her for that. You genius, poet, artist, photographer. You already know, I'll drop the L bomb on you just for the impact you had on my life, all with our brief connections.
My cousin... since I was seventeen... he...
Why were all my blogs about FUCKING relationships? Was I really so juvenile? My world evolved around who I was dating, whether my mate was a she or he, how she or he used me, abused me, etc. Like, WHY? Why didn't my mind attempt to release all the other pains I hold inside? Why didn't my mind attempt to talk about being FUCKING HAPPY? Why couldn't I write some imaginary shit that just came to my mind? After all, my imagination is what I love the most about myself. No one knows that. I just confessed it. I love the stories I create in my head. I love how all the ideas for a nice little novella bumrush me all at once. The plot and characters just begging to be thrown into a blank document in Word. Now you know something intimate. Wanna know something else?
My cousin, whom I'm staying with now... he like... does this...
So why did I just write about heartthrob? I was in COLLEGE, surely more was going on? Obviously, I wasn't ready to think about anything else. Such as my future. Where am I going in life? How the FUCK am I going to get out of Miles College, the HELL HOLE that it is? Yeah, I said it. YOU SUCK Miles College. If I can go back in time and go "la lala lalal la" when my homegirl mentioned, I really would, really really loud. I HATE it there. I HATE the authority figures down there that act like they're your DAMN MOMS and I HATE how they abuse their power. I believe in respecting my elders, but there, at Miles College... let's just say I NEVER cussed out so many old people in my life. Who thought it was okay to charge students as much as they do for NO WIFI INTERNET? The LIBRARY for Christ's sake doesn't have working internet. The shit is down every other day! But I chose to go there, and I'm chosing to go back next semester. But best believe, I'm getting my New Yorker Yankee ass the FUCK outta there. Sorry, Mason-Dixon line, but I cannot fuck with below you.
Now... see, now, we're hitting something. I'm getting hot and bothered, and my leg is going numb. I'm hitting sensitive spots that I should have been hitting previously. -mutters- all this LOVE shit. That shit wasn't LOVE! I don't know WHAT that relationship drama was about... but LOVE? No. Baby puppy infatuation with strong sexual attraction. I guess. I wasn't even all that sexually attracted to them, because they were slanging dick. And I, my friends, must not deny my strong attraction to PUSSY.
NO, I am not confused. I know what I want, who I am, what I am, when it comes to dating, fucking, how I dress, my race, all that. I love to love basically. I like dressing like a nigga, but I'm sexy as fuck as a girl. Either way, I can pull. And right now, I like being the female that my mother pushed out of her pussy. So that, I am. Simple. [Judge me. Whatever.] I'm a capricorn, I'm practical, responsible at times, ,and passionate. Endearing, sensitive but aloof when necessary, and sometimes at terrible times. I'm black, east indian, and venezuelan, repping two flags: the Trinidad, and the American flag. I can cook curry channa and potato and fried chicken, even though I hate fried chicken... actually I hate anything fried. If I eat some shit, and it looks like I'm wearing lip gloss by the time I'm done with it, I don't want it.
My leg is getting number. This is what venting is all about.
As you can see from each entry of my blog, I can be very self centered. Whatever. I am a GREAT FUCKING person. So I can write about myself all day and night. What do musicians write about? Zebras? No. Experiences in their lives. How THEY feel or have felt. I love doing that shit.
Okay, now I'm just trying to keep myself off of that God-forsaken topic.
Have you ever had a moment in your life where, although everything seems to be in order, shit just feels upside down? Unorganized, chaotic? Unsolved... Everything is sorted out and normal as hell, but you still feel completely incomplete and lost...
Everything is in place and yet, YOU'RE out of place...
That's how I feel right now.
I don't know who I am anymore.
But I FUCKING love it. Because, like, it gives me a chance to refind myself. To go through all the awkward stages of learning new things about yourself, and loving them. Or finding thing about yourself that you dislike, cross out, and replace.
Well, it's that part of the night/day. When the blue comes out and the clouds try to find out where they fit in. Where the brick buildings of Brooklyn look magenta and maybe even pretty. Looks like it's time fly into my brain with my face towards the window...
and then we can tackle my cousin.
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