summer.

i see myself in the big silver spoon
i'm upside down, though
my whole world is
carving out its insides
i love the sound it makes
like ripping paper
slurping and chewing its insides
it looks like guts
guts with white and black seeds
pools of translucent blood
at the bottom
a need for something sweet
with the illusion of a daily serving

mute.

my body's straining from sleep deprivation and now my eyes are straining in this horrid 6am light... it was like a movie. the timing, i mean. i had settled on my back, face and palms up, eyes painfully stuck open. i fixed the earbuds on either side of my brain. my finger hovered over the button and-- he speaks her name. my stupid heart stops and curiosity overtake the need to sleep. once again... i am vastly incapable of remaining content with myself. i asked him in my head" do you ever feel like you know exactly what and how you think but the next minute you're more lost than when you began?" or was it something more meaningful... i catch that glimpse and i feel swimming in the warmth of childhood. but i can't tell if i'm dreaming. can't tell if my brain is so over-active as to make my eyes believe they had seen a sign of love... and still-- i smile. i smile so hard my brain hurts. happiness-pain is the stuff of real love. and i can see i'll be just fine.

new leaf.

a big pair of fingers picked me up by the shirt collar and set me on the sidelines of my own life. then, i realized that i could simply... stand up and join the race. it's bigger than me, and not just literally. i've learned from my mistakes. it's bigger than me. i need to keep learning from my mistakes. it's bigger than me. i will keep learning. shadows can stretch much farther than they do at dusk when the sun goes down. i'll see my path. illuminated, but not by sunshine. that big pair of fingers, i think, must know of a big light switch. a big sunlight switch. it seems that time's only moving. slowly. but towards nothing. blurring your vision so that doesn't seem true, it's all you can do... i expect to be put ondisplat at any moment now. to look down and see the edge of a beautiful gold-leaf frame and below that a plaque imprinted with "la insistencia de la memoria" and below that a pair of organic hemp sandals attached to a pair of hairy feet and strong legs heaped in soft clothes headed by a face with wondering eyes. but he doesn't see me. and that's fine. this is my secret place.

untitled.

it's funny when i sift through old writings and other people's lyrics and blogs and books and whatever else my eyes can devour to try and find the truth that already lies in my own brain. writing the truth that's inside of me is so excrutiating. writing the feelings that fester in my heart and in my head is so painful. it's such a different kind of hurt. it's a thud and an ache i've never felt before. it's a pressure on my body on my soul. i see this beautiful crying girl in the mirror and i want to shatter her face. but i'm already broken. and she's already gone.

quote by yours truly

"i hate being quiet when my soul is so loud."

spring 2006 column.

Beads of water formed on the outside of a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. They reflected the sunlight and made the pitcher glow as if summer itself was contained within the glass.

We spread a blanket, whose pink flowers had faded from years of sun-exposure, but the emerald grass was so long and soft that we almost didn’t need to. Lying on our backs, faces upturned and eyes squinting, we played The Cloud Game. Finding bunnies and pirate ships in the magnificent cotton balls that floated across that sea of indigo was better than any television show.

Memories like that show up in my mind with a soft haze around them, like they do in the movies. I look back on those times with such fondness that, sometimes, I find myself longing to be four years old again. It was so much simpler back then.

I wonder how I got here: this clean, well-maintained classroom with computers lining every wall. Thirteen other college students click-clacking on their keyboards, hoping this column will be able to boost their grade before the end of the semester.

Wow, the end of the semester. The end of my first year in college. I’m going to be a sophomore. But it was just last week that I received my acceptance letter! It was just yesterday that I jumped for joy at the thought of attending my dream school!

Lemonade has been replaced by coffee. Clouds have been replaced by computer screens. Blankets have been replaced by my friend’s dorm room futon because "I just need a break from studying for finals."

Her name was Sarah, and she was my first friend ever. We grew up in houses on either side of Elena Drive in a quiet neighborhood in Laguna Hills, CA. I hardly speak to Sarah anymore. The occasional obligatory email is all that remains of our almost two-decade-long friendship. My family has occupied two other houses since the one on Elena. And none of them ever felt as "homey" as that one.

Raindrops cling to my car’s windshield as I drive up the 5 freeway toward Chapman University. They reflect the surrounding landscape, holding the world within them. But the images are inverted—turned upside-down—such a different world than what it used to be.

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sera X