At the corner of your eye

Currently listening to "Lion in a Coma" by Animal Collective. Very experimental. Experimental is good, in more ways than one.

Having the ability to feel is like having the ability to breathe or eat. You do it everyday, but you don't realize how important it is until you lose that ability. Feelings are the cause of wonder, desire, curiosity. They give you hope, bring you down, eat you up, spit you out. They are the dense iron cores of our constantly searching souls, and they are the media through which these souls shamelessly yearn for that missing 'something'. But despite the synonymous meaning of feelings and life itself, there's one thing in this world that makes me wish feelings were non-existent, that they could vanish as quickly as they are conjured, and that's looking into someone else's eyes and seeing nothing but a broken heart. Chin up, yeah? Better times are a'coming.

Tactfully,
T.J.

Flight 3126

I ponder a poem
as I sit in my seat.
I clear up some flem
and fiddle my feet.

It's a quarter to five
til Flight 3126 leaves;
to tell you the truth,
I feel like Christopher Reeves.

Like a flock of damned sheep,
or a herd of damned calves,
we head in the same direction
but ba to ourselves.

I pick up my pencil
and let out a sigh.
He picks up his iPhone
and just wants to die.

And so the time has finally come
for us to all fly,
we close our eyes tightly
and pretend not to cry.

The voice of God is heard.
It's time for soul sorting.
"Attention," It says,
"We are now boarding."

1, 2, 3

There are three kinds of people in the human world. The first are your best friends. They freely give you their shoulders when you're weak and never forget who you are even when you sometimes do. The second are your enemies. They cause the need for shoulders and try to break you to make themselves. And then there are those who don't fall into either category. They are not your best friends and they are not your worst enemies, they are people who don't expect to become a big part of your life, but somehow still manage to. Like the flicker of a flame, they come and go quickly, but burn ever so radiantly in the little amount of time they do exist. They may end up being someone you hate or someone you love or just someone you know, but each of them teaches you a new lesson, offers you a different perspective, gives you a little fragment of themselves that makes you a greater person. You may be someone I will always try to keep in my life, you may be someone I will never understand, or you may be someone I don't really know what to do with. Whichever you are, you have left me with something I can learn from and grow with -- and for this, I thank you.

Thank you for the guidance and knowledge you've given me, the discussions about music, writing, film, existence, and organic chemistry. I will never forget the Wes Anderson movie nights or the philosphical musings we have over random events. You are the only person I've ever felt wholly comfortable enough with to share my deepest art, writing, poetry, thoughts, and insecurities. I only hope to have encouraged you as you have encouraged me to keep creating and searching.

Thank you for the late-night talks in the laundry room, the writing and pondering underneath the dim glow of Christmas lights, the feasts of twinkies, beef jerky, pickled cucumbers, and soy milk. You have given me a sense of faith and imagination when sometimes I felt like I had none. The night we watched in silence as the city awoke and turn a dreary gray will follow me to my grave. I await the future shenanigans we will carry out -- making amateur movies, struggling through H-NMR spectroscopy, and exploring the city by night!

Thank you for the eternal sunshine you bring into my life, the daily play-acting we partake in, the rhyme wars and the nights of funky-colored nail polish. There's something contagious about the way you live that makes me go to class (most days) and wait for the green before I cross the street. You have an uncommon perspective on life -- one of both innocence and sagacity -- that I try to integrate into my own. From our sink squats to our shower songs, I look forward to sharing more laughter, pain, and tears with you.

Thank you for the thrifting adventures, the awkward eyelashes, the laughter and positive meaning you've showed me. You taught me "eco-chic" and sophistication. You always manage to keep a happy disposition wherever you go and you were born with style. Here's to many trips to Crossroads and naps in Chemistry class!

Thank you for your energy and personality, the "that's what she said" moments, the looks and the bitch rants about you-know-who. You are always the life of the party and you know exactly what to say to make me smile even when I'm in the worst of moods. And you have an amazing voice! You are truly one of a kind and anyone would be lucky to have you.

Thank you for always being there for me, for discussing with me our unconscious and conscious dreams over boba, for keeping my secrets and listening to me when I felt like I had no one else to talk to. Whether having life conversations in British accents or breaking into the pier at two in the morning and getting caught, you've shared with me some of the greatest memories I have this year. Thank you for the ears you lent me when I couldn't hear myself think and the sense you knocked into my head when I had none of my own.

And finally, thank you for the sleepless nights we shared, the shooting stars we counted, the feelings of passion, lonliness, and confusion you taught me. You brought a new kind of meaning to my body, my existence, my experience as an 18-year-old girl. You made me feel special and scared and beautiful and worthless all at the same time. Because of you, I experienced emotions I never knew I was capable of feeling and had thoughts I never knew I was capable of thinking. Because of you, I learned how to channel my emotions into something great -- art, poetry, and written word. Because of you, I stepped outside my comfort zone, tried things I was so scared of, discovered myself as an individual. Sometimes I think what life would be like if I never met you, and I realize it wouldn't be much of a life at all -- there's a folly in the spotless mind. Truthfully, I feel what we had together helped us both grow as individuals more than as a pair, but whatever ends up happening between us, I want you to know that you've been the strongest catalyst in my journey to find me. And for this, I thank you.

Tactfully,
T.J.

Hazy yellow street lights

Currently listening to "Los Angeles, I'm Yours" by The Decemberists.

There’s something about this strange city that captures me. It’s not something concrete I can readily single out and describe, like the warm summer nights of Atlanta or the sandy shores of Miami. I don’t know, maybe it’s the absence of concreteness that I am in love with. The feeling that everyone’s here for a reason, but no one really knows what it is. The feeling of uncertainty and alienation, of moving together without direction. It’s like I’m on an endless road trip of self, forming new bonds and collecting new experiences like tokens, only to end up in the same place I started off. The car is full, but no one’s speaking. Just breathing, and occasionally blinking. We move in incarnate unison, but we stray in spirit. We’re not human anymore, just discrete aggregations of atoms, aimlessly searching for something beyond our own objective existence. One for one, all for none. But just for a single moment, the uniformity of our journeys, the sameness of our searches, the demands of our ids, bring us together, make us one. This single moment is what defines the very fabric of this great city. Yes, we are isolated. Yes, we are alone. But in our aloneness, we are one. We are the individual specks of light on the midnight city line, radiating in every color, every shape, and every size against a dark abyss. Some of us are blue Helio flames, making sure the world will know our names; others are hazy yellow street lights, easily forgotten and swept away in the hustle bustle of the city; and there are the few who come and go like ever-changing beacons of red, green, and yellow, giving us hope when we need it and slowing us down when we’re moving too fast. Our placement is arbitrary, our purpose elusive, but one thing is certain -- from this ambiguity, from this irony of solitude in togetherness, a sad collective beauty is crafted. As the city awakens and turns a humdrum gray, I realize in the few months I have slept here, breathed here, cried here, loved here, this city is my home.

Los Angeles, I’m yours.

Tactfully,

T.J.