TEDxBoulder!

Well, my dearest sweet teas, I have some news that I am over the moon to share with you. I will officially be volunteering for an independent TED conference this Saturday! If you haven't heard of TED before, I suggest you go to their website: www.ted.com ! TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design and goes by the slogan "ideas wort sharing." Pretty much they have a huge conference every year in California where amazing minds give absolutely astonishing speeches. Bill Clinton, Jane Goodall, Steve Jobs, Sarah Kay, and so many more people have talked at these events. In fact, the talks are so popular that you can watch them online! (Again, I highly encourage you check out their website: www.ted.com).

So this Saturday there is going to be an independent TED talks event and I could not be more jubilant. This year's theme for the event is "Edges and Experiences," which is right up my alley. On the TEDxBoulder website they even have the Kurt Vonnegut Jr. quote, "I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can’t see from the center.” Honestly, what could be better?! 

I have a volunteer meeting today at six (AND THEN WE GET FREE FOOD AFTER YAAAY) and Saturday I want to go at 10 am to help with the stage/set, and then later at 3:30 to help with the tickets and just everything. I even got my awesome friend Nellie to sign up and volunteer with me!

Plus as volunteers, we get into the event for free! I may explode, I cannot control my excitement...

So to inspire you all, I present you with the first TED video I ever saw, Sarah Kay's "If I should have a daughter..."

Heartbroken

Lying in a heap on the floor, I am the pile of garbage you never bothered to clean up, the dirty laundry you never bothered to wash, the disgusting carcass you never bothered to bury. My eyes are red and stinging as my stomach sucks in suddenly, ruggedly, my throat dry and breaths coming out at an uneven pace. I am cracked lips and aching limbs, two hands lay in an x across my chest. I am torn to shreds.
Here I am and there you are. Your smiling is sickly sweet, a swift poison spread through my veins. Your laughter interlaced with hers causes my body to stiffen and creak. I am frozen solid, to the point where any movement would cause me to splinter into thousands of sharp pieces. I just hope that if that happens, a piece of me gets stuck in your eye. That way you'll be the one with tears streaming down your face, not me.
I am a mask. While I hate the cause of your smile the fact that there's a bounce in your step means I have to learn how to swallow my pain and let my lips spread wide. Anything for you, I'll say, I'm so glad you found her, I'll cheer. An empty outstretching of arms and a broken kiss on the cheek. I am just another cog in this machine.
Emotionless. I am empty.

second thought

Sometimes I miss meals because I'd rather be alone in my dorm room than go eat alone. I hate being alone, but I'd rather be alone in solitude than alone in a crowded room. Besides, I seem to be a second thought. I feel worthless. Am. I am, I am.

Today

Today the devil danced with me.
Put my own heart in my hands and told me to squeeze.
Geometric spurts of my conscious mind gone and my libido taking over, ruby red lips pressed tightly against my hips.
A devilish deed, the tucking away of our emotions in drawers.
Open your eyes, as wide as the yellowing moon. Talene.
You and your tongue and me.
My libido taking a bite out of a juicy plum. You dripping down my chin.
Succulence.
A devilish dance,
our chance at sin.










(a poem I wrote a few days ago)

Scene

You. Me. A dark room. A light room. A dimly lit room.
You. Me. Other people. Everyone is talking. Quietly, loudly. A girl is straddling the boy I used to have a crush on. But then there's you.
You. Me. Everyone out.
"Clear out, everyone, we're going to the basement to play beer pong."  you say.
You. Me. I get up and pretend to go. You pretend to go. You herd everyone out. Close the door behind them and lock it. Body language.
You. Me. The door pressing into my back, I can feel your pheromones tickle my nose.

"So... now what?" I let a smile spread across my lips. Sly. I feel sly, like a fox, I am the fox.

You. Me. You lean in.

"I have something to tell you... A secret." you say. Your eyes catch the few lights that are on. Christmas lights that are strung, little globes causing your eyes to sparkle.

You. Me. 

You. Me. You lean in. I lean in.

You. Me. Countdown to impact... You. Me... Five... Four... Three... Impact.

We kiss. Lips against lips. We. Lips fighting to steal each other's breaths. Your lips hugging my bottom lip, my lips hugging your top lip. We.

We back up to fall upon your bed. We. One lump of two. Your hands grabbing at my hair, my hair getting in our way, us wiping it away, Never stopping. We.

We tickle each other's lips with our tongues, biting here and there. Nibble. Your hair isn't long enough for me to grasp, to hold on to with my life, so my hands shake and stretch down your neck, scratching at the surface of your freckled skin.

We. We are one. Tossed and turning in blankets. A dance among the stars, I end up on top. Hips edging into yours, lips still stuck together, my teeth holding onto your bottom lip, pulling, digging softly into the surface until we're apart. Less than a second. We.

We're back at it. Kissing. No words. No thinking. Just feeling. We.

We're just bodies. Losing clothes, my top, your top, your pants, my bra, soon nothing. We.

We are one. 

Underneath

Scared. Empty. Hollow. So scared to let people see how hollow I am, a hollowed out hole with no end. My stomach curls into nothingness. Underneath I'm tabula rasa, a blank slate, a pit without the pendulum. I shiver in the cold, due to a lack of clothing, a lack of warmth, a lack of anything to hide behind. Underneath I'm naked, but of course. Frozen solid. I don't even have a heart, underneath, no bright red apple to bite into, no juicy flesh to run down my lips. I am the cold, grey world, the bare trees and empty stars. I am the lack of light, the blur between good and bad, the idea upon your tongue that you cannot find a word for. I am the abstract. Your skinny wrists mingled with golden claws, carrying you off. I am the unknown, what you do not know, where you do not know you're going. I am going. I am scared and blindfolded, going with my arms out and eyes closed. I am holding my breath without realizing it. Unable to breathe. Scared. Empty. Hollow.
Underneath.

My tongue is on fire. Sluuuurp. Sluuuuuuuurp. I swallow. I'm starving. My stomach hurts from how hungry I am and my eyes droop from how tired I am. Will I last until my sushi arrives? I sure hope so. Because I'm starving. Although I honestly feel like doing sit ups. Sluuuuurp. Starving. Sluuuuuuuurp. I'm listening to one of my favorite songs. I'm tired. No straight thoughts. Running in circles. Stomach hurts. Good night.

my favorite poem (something to smile about)

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

-e e cummings

I feel fat fat fat fat fat. Bloated and fat fat fat fat fat. I went to the gym today. One, and, two, and, three, and.... And I still feel fat. I did a lot of push ups. My stomach is gross though. So fat. I feel so fat. I am a giant slug, sitting in my own goop. Wallowing in my own self pity. I'm absolutely disgusting, the little boy that sneezes on you and doesn't apologize, as snot dribbles down his face. I want to take a vacuum and suck everything out of my horrific stomach. I hate my body. I'm not ready for other people. I don't fit in. I don't fit into my body or face or me. I don't fit in here. I just hate... I hate me. I hate me. I want to sleep forever.
I want to sleep forever and ever and ever.
I am forever fat fat fat fat fat.

I'm trying to stop using the word "like," in my daily speech. Some girl in my class just used it more times than I can count in a few sentences and I'm sort of disgusted. Phonaesthetically, it just sounds terrible. Words are worth more than that.

tired

I am stuck in a rut. Thighs sweating, glued to plastic chair, the painful feeling of the peeling off of a bandaid. Eyebrows arched, head hanged forward, rubbing at temples, hands sweating every time they touch something. Fingers stretched. Wide.
Heart racing, head in hands, eyes fluttering, heavy, almost shut. I want to fall asleep, twisting neck back and forth, wringing out wrists, wringing out thoughts of you. Where is the rain when I need it most? To wash you right out of my hair. Look out the window. Musk. Heavy air, hot and heavy air pressing down on me, on my shoulders. Hunched.
Inside is a hurricane. I swallow. Eyes shut tight, eyes opened quickly, nothing. Try again: eyes shut tight, eyes opened quickly, nothing. Nothing, nothing nothing. stomach churning arms aching i can feel my heart beating up against my body trying to break free. drumming fingers along the keys, letting out a sigh. i need fresh air, i need to get outside i need less punctuation and less worries and less thoughts. i feel my feet rooted into my socks into my shoes into the carpet beneath my feet aching my whole body aches from being so deeply rooted in you
i miss you i miss you i miss you
why didn't you pick up the phone last night
There's an empty space where you once were.

curtains are hung, people are hanged.

philosophical rambling

It's interesting how timeless certain thoughts are. Jung once claimed that we have a collective unconscious, where the members of a certain species share a collection of personal experiences in similar ways. He described it as "a second psychic system of a collective, universal, and impersonal nature which is identical in all individuals." While I am unsure whether or not there actually is a collective unconscious, whether or not we do all share some universal nature, it's interesting to consider the fact that we do. Look at philosophers over time. In Plato's Allegory of the Cave, men are chained to and facing a cave wall. They live their whole lives thinking that the shadows coming from the fire behind them are reality, that this is the only truth. Yet, it is only after they break the chains and walk out of the cave that they can see what reality truly is. The same idea is illustrated in the theory of the brain in a vat. In The Matrix, people live their every day lives in what they know as reality, however reality is really them being harvested by machines which simulate reality for them. Again, it's when they are able to break the barriers of their false reality that they will be able to see what reality really is. This causes questions of one's consciousness and reality to arise. In Daniel Dennett's short story, "Where Am I?" the narrator undergoes a surgery that disconnects his brain from his body, but still allows him to function. The narrator then questions where his consciousness lies, in his brain or his body. He spends a significant amount of the story bouncing between the two, until his brain is cloned and he has to decide which brain is his true self. 
So what is the self? How can we know where are conscious lies? Where is our consciousness, who is our consciousness? How do we know if we are chained to a cave wall, living an illusion? Or being fed an alternate reality by machines? The reality is that we cannot know either thing. I believe that our consciousness and our selves are what we make them. In existentialism, philosophical thinking depends on the experiences of the individual. We will never know whether or not there is a God or some greater force, such as machines stimulating what we believe to be reality. Instead we have to make the conscious decision to believe in one or not. The narrator in Dennett's story struggles to decide whether his brain or his body is his self and his consciousness. In my opinion, Dennett's narrator is more aware of this classic struggle: mind, body, or spirit; than most others. The narrator has the ability to consciously decide what he wants to believe, because there is no way to ever know.

So where does that leave us? Am I the philosopher walking out of the cave, seeing the world for the first time? Has anything thing changed? Yes and no. I am consciously aware of my abilities as a single human being. I can make my own reality. I can choose what I want to believe. But can there be another reality I am unaware of? Yes. Because I would have been born into it and programmed to lack that awareness. All I can know is that my conscious mind exists. It's possible that my body isn't even real.

The real question is: will I try my best to wake up from an alternate reality if that's the case? Yes. I would take the red pill if given the chance.

let me know

It's interesting reading my writing. I can see the change. I can see the development. Recently my prose has been much more focused on simplicity and sound. It's a bit naïve. Rugged. My words are rough and stuttering. Period. Pause. Think. Countdown. One worded strengths, strong single words, carrying the writing on their backs. Simplicity is heaven right now. If you want me, let me know. I am a child, so raw and honest. So unaware. Too aware. I am a child who is too honest and too aware that everyone else is not. But I don't understand why. I am the naïve. Why would you lie to me? It's simple. Simple words. Simple responses. If you want me, let me know. If you want me...

Eyes shut. Eyes shut. Eyes shut. Eyes open.
You.
Eyes open and there you are and here I am, eyes open. Eye contact made. Countdown to conversation? 0, 0, 0. None. No conversation. No words spoken, no sound waves filling the air. Empty. Dead space.
No one can hear you scream.

bad habits

I like to kiss boys. I like getting their attention, I like making their heads turn. I like to look down and slowly look up, catching them with my gaze. I like when they tug at my hips, pull my body up against theirs. On my tippy toes, I like kissing boys. I like being pushed up against the wall and kissed. Behind the locked door, I like to kiss boys. Bite my lips and look you in the eyes and kiss you. Countdown to impact, one, two, three, it's just you next to me. I like the way you taste and the way your breath mingles with mine. I like to kiss boys and walk away. Kiss the boys and leave them wanting more. I like to kiss boys.

old but fitting

I miss the ground beneath my bare feet, raw slaps on the pavement eroding years of harsh grooves. The kind that make our bodies fit together, despite the fact that we were made apart. And the crooked teeth you’re always filing down, preparing for your feast of flesh. The things you’d do to quench your need, the things I need but cannot do. I miss the way the pavement comforts me, it’s harsh lines becoming soft pillows I can close my eyes and fall into. I feel alone, wandering in my shoes. My toes so close, yet so far from feeling you, from etching my story into your soft earth.

Oh, the irony,

Never thought I'd be the victim of a hit and run, never thought I'd be the victim of a lack of fun. Never thought I'd be the victim of a love triangle, but here I am standing, slumping, hiding my face. It's the worst possible kind of triangle, the equilateral, the strongest shape, the one architects and hipsters orgasm over. The one you have a tattoo of on your left bicep. The one you're going to have a tattoo of on your left bicep. Oh, oh, oh, the irony of this group of three. The two of you are too close for any of this to end well. But here I am rocking back and forth with my mind cascading down a waterfall. I had never been kissed like you kissed me, you with the tattoo, you who curled your arm around me and held me tight as I slept. But then you who will soon be matching in tattoodom, you give me a different kind of butterflies. You kissed me suddenly and in secret, the first chance you got to be alone with me. I don't know who I want. The boy who kissed my rough or the boy who kissed me soft. I want one of you to take control and go for it and kiss me again and again. Here I am craving more than just a kiss but promising myself to leave it at just that. I have far too many feelings to be getting myself into anything right now and we all know that. Besides, it was just a kiss.
It was only a kiss.

I've never been kissed like that before.