Red Gloves

It’s indeterminable, really;

The weight of a river.

You clasped my arm with your red gloved hand

And held me under as the water soaked me.

Poured more of it down my lungs and opened my lips gently,

As you tipped the silver basin when they parted

And I found it funny how you felt weightless when I was drowning there.

I remember thinking that I wish you’d taken your gloves off

So I could feel you as you drowned me.

And I remember thinking that I like how you just sort of…

Dissipate, when you leave me.

How your clothes slip and your hair falls and your skin loses all of its colour.

The wind takes you then,

Splits you into the pieces and the fragments of the person that you are,

Spits you out like dust to scatter and swirl,

Like the way you blew through me.

Dirty and dusty and swirling,

But so completely perfect.

It’s funny, though,

Because they told me you were dead.

They handed me a box and told me you were in it,

But they’d nailed shut the lid, so I never knew.

But now you’re back and say you have cancer and are dying all over again,

Yet you’ve got your arm around another woman.

But you’re still wearing your red gloves.

I wonder if she knows what you use them for.

I wonder if she knows that the last thing you’ll touch with them will be me.

I wonder if she knows that as you lie over me, drowning me in the water, you’re only holding one of my arms.

That I could have stopped you.

I could have taken my other arm and pushed you away.

But instead I touched your hand,

And as you filled my lungs with river,

Tenderly, so tenderly, I pulled off your glove.

And I held your hand in mine.

Just for a little.

Just for a second.

Just until I died, and you left me there, to go back to her.

 

At least she knows to look sad.

At least you do, too.

The Wires

A vacant highway, and you’re there, and they’re gone.

But the numbness is there. You’re not alone, you’ve got that. You’ve got the numbness.

The cold realization that you’ve got no feeling; the burning inferno of a hypothermic heart.

But you can’t feel that. You can’t feel it burn.

So you melt in it. Melt unconsciously.

While you sit idly, slack jawed and hardly moving, while it melts you.

While your fingers slip, your eyes drip, your skin slides away.

You’re a case, an empty suitcase they left on the line,

Of already gone suitcases at the airport.

Running the cycle over and over because no one is coming,

The contents aren’t filling,

They never did.

Because you’re empty. The luggage bag that spins, and rides, and just, goes, on.

Why.

Why?

Why.

It’s a heart.

Why do they stare at it like that?

It’s a heart.

It’s open and bloody and the holes are infecting

But it’s a heart.

So why do they stare?

It’s probably got something to do with wires.

With the pulling and unplugging of wires,

With the electrocution of kids and the safety plugs.

I don’t know why,

But it’s probably got something to do with that.

Maybe it’s the way the current just never…

Ebbs.

It’s a flow, a constant, incendiary flow that you can always count on

To kill the children

That get too close.

Too close to the wires.

I just think it’s got to be connected to that.

Life, I mean.

Because it’s nothing alike.

It’s nothing like those wires.

Sure it’s cold, and hot, and alive.

But constant? It’s not that.

You can’t count on life to kill children.

It will, and they’ll all be screaming, and crying and hating and dying,

But not always.

Sometimes they live.

Sometimes they’ll get old and they’ll watch it.

The sun, I mean.

They’ll watch the sun, and wonder where the wire is

The one they don’t have the cord to

Wonder when the fuse will blow.

‘Cause there’s no safety plugs for life.

Just a control panel

And switches that flick on

And on and off

Then off

And off

And

Off.

No, there’s no safety plugs to life.

Just wires.

Open , uncovered wires.

Over a lake

Of radioactive water.

I don’t know why,

But I think it has something to do with that.

Lanterns

Millions of lanterns, just floating there

Quietly floating and silently here

Under the branches bare

And the silent trees

 

Millions of moon rays, spinning off the lanterns

Flickering off the trees, and the night,

The quiet, silent night

And her skin,

His skin

 

It’s the game of strangers, the way of foreigners,

To end here, in the light

To start here, in the night

In the sight of those lanterns

Under the quiet trees,

And the light

 

And the lanterns, just floating there,

Little stars in paper spheres,

Became the moon ‘cause the moon wasn’t in the sky anymore

It was in her eyes

In his eyes

 

In their hands, and the lanterns,

The stars and the moons,

And the quiet trees, the silent trees,

Watching on silently

 

As the night and the light never ended

Until it was over

And the morning was dawning

 

She left with the trees,

He left with the night,

Left with the light

Of the tiny stars in lanterns,

The tiny moons in paper spheres

 

And the lanterns, just floating there,

Little stars in paper spheres,

Became the moon ‘cause the moon wasn’t in the sky anymore

It was in her eyes

In his eyes

 

In their hands, and the lanterns,

The stars and the moons,

And the quiet trees, the silent trees,

Watching on silently

 

Until the sun couldn’t find them,

The golden light couldn’t find the white,

And the lanterns were gone,

The floating lanterns, the lights in the night

Had died by the sun

 

And he

And she

Wasn’t there in the glowing

Of that gold

Because they’d walked into the dawn and became the sun

And the sky was the ground

And the ground wasn’t there.

Glass Palace

She flashed the lights in Morse code, he answered with a cigarette

Then a toothless woman smiled and handed her a chance

The bird answered back by saying,

Nothing at all

And she wondered what it meant, if anything, if everything.

See, the walls she built were made of stone

She stacked each one so she wouldn’t see

The Night

But then instead she blocked out the sun.

But those bricks were glass.

She covered them with drapes she wrapped around her waste

Clawing at her arms, craving for a taste

Of calm, that sweet, addictive moment when everything seems right,

When for just that time she didn’t fear

The Night.

 

So I run.

 

Curled up in a ball the drapes fall to the ground

And she cringes, digging through the floor

‘Cause the emptiness is staring,

The cameras are panning,

Zooming out and her brain is following

‘Till she’s not herself anymore but sees herself,

See’s her cringing on the floor

And she feels sick,

‘Cause she hates what she sees,

Another broken wing to add among the rest.

Is this some kind of fucking test?

Is it a game that we all draw lots to win?

The shorter straws get cut and thrown into the wind?

For the hands that don’t reach.

But her strength isn’t there anymore.

 

So I run.

 

She’s not there anymore, but she sees him,

Sees him lying there with Her,

Sees the sheets and the clothes and the echoes on the floor,

She’s the walls, she’s the air,

She feels his fingers in Her hair,

Hears the breath in Her ear and his arm on Her chest

But the cameras keep panning until they don’t exist.

She’s back, back on the stained tile floor

With the windows and the street

And the empty sound of no reply,

Fighting the need to light and get high

And the voices that say, ‘Who’d care if you die?’

 

So I run.

 

She curls up in a corner, hands clutching at her head

Hating the voice that’s wishing her dead,

Eating food from boxes and cans

And feels the walls and the familiar halls,

The godforsaken doors,

And it seems like it’s all she ever sees.

So she runs, runs through the hallways

Shrinking and slowing as they grow larger,

As they twist and turn and compress

Trapping her in the cage she didn’t want to be in but went willingly on repeat.

But now she can’t find the exit and the doorways are spinning,

She can’t hear her breathing

Can’t feel her heartbeat and wonders if she’s living

But crying and screaming she runs for the door

And jumps through the ceiling,

Shattering the floor.

She’s running through people and down one way streets,

Trying to catch up with the path that she’s on,

Kicking the heels of her own written fate,

Not letting her, feet, stop.

Until she crashes into her life

And flies.

 

Microfiber Lies

Don’t worry, all they did was take your thoughts and replace them with their own intentions.

Don’t worry, lines on your face will be gone in a moment, they’ll take them, erase them.

Don’t worry, your hair and skin will be new in a moment, they’ll change them, to plastic.

Don’t worry, the incisions are just to alter your body, and fix it, to perfection.

 

Don’t worry, your doubts will all go away in a moment,

As you fit in, with the masses.

 

Mindwash.

They’re tearing you apart while telling you ‘you need it’.

Brainwash.

They’re wrapping you with strings while telling you ‘you want it’.

Burried.

Who you are, under six inches of microfiber lies.

 

But don’t worry, it’ll all go away as you fit in with the masses.

 

Don’t worry. Can’t you feel the needles pry as they’re sowing shut your eyelids?

Don’t worry. Can’t you see the false reflections they paint across your mirrors?

Don’t worry. Can’t you hear your buried thoughts breathing anymore?

Don’t worry. Can’t you see your shadow self, convulsing on the floor?

 

Mindwash.

They’re tearing you apart while telling you ‘you need it’.

Brainwash.

They’re wrapping you with strings while telling you ‘you want it’.

Burried.

Who you are, under six inches of microfiber lies.

 

And who you are, is lost.

But don’t worry, your doubts will all go away in a moment,

As you fit in, with the masses.

The Sympathy of the Motherboard

The systems’ wires are becoming extensive,

Reaching, encircling, strangling independence,

Tying legs and numbing perspective.

 

Electrocution of the mind.

Yet it knows we’re hooked.

 

Its illusions and implications are all that’s been needed

For the collapse of a wavering mind.

What will we find?

What will we find?

 

When we look behind the shield of an unsympathetic screen,

As its life withers and sparks and shatters to death,

The life that sustained us and built up inside us

 

What will veiled eyes see when the screens go blank?

When the buzzing dies and the life fades through blackened wires,

What will we find?

What will we find?

 

Yet it knows we’re hooked.

 

Longing in withdrawal we stumble through the wreckage

Of actions influenced by influenced minds,

How long ‘till we reach the end of our leash?

When Habit whispers to answer the pull of the motherboard

Convincing us that it’s inescapable.

 

What will we find when we look behind the shield of an unsympathetic screen?

What will we find?

What will we find?

 

And wading through the aftermath humanity screams:

You trained me to need you.

You trained me to need you.

 

Yet sickly and obediently,

Making our own chains,

We did this to ourselves.

So I was going to let my blog fade into ashes with the dawn of summer and end of high school, but then I realized, that’s exactly what everyone else was thinking. So now, if I write, no one will see and no one will care. There’s something enticing about that… that I can be more open with my writing and more true to my feelings than I have before under an anonymous name without fear of being known. It’s almost freeing. And as I would normally just write in my diary, I’ve found lately that I’ve shied away from writing in it because of the permanence of pens and the inconclusive confusion of my thoughts. And the thing about this blog, is that here, there’s a delete button.

Breathe with your piano, soul gaze with your cat.

Worries grow. It’s their nature. They’re not vindictive, they’re not spiteful: they’re just natural. But as they grow, they cloud reality. They fill your vision and encase your thoughts, unraveling your emotions and preying on your sanity. Some are more susceptible to them than others: some will allow them in, while others are seemingly immune. Who’s to say why they target some more than others; why they affect a few and not all. But they aren’t as large as they seem. That’s easy to forget. But it’s in the simple moments where you remember. Soaring with a bird, breathing with your piano, soul gazing with your cat. Entirely subtle experiences with astounding power because of it. Find those experiences . Don’t look far, because they’re here, surrounding you constantly. And out of the subtlty will come clarity. And the worries, as large and as crushing as they were, will reveal themselves as unimportant. I need to remind myself of that.

Julie Annesrefoihweoif Veugen

Once upon a time in a far off land, on a blustery December Tuesday, an angel was born. They traveled over mountains, over hills and valleys, over lakes and rivers and deserts and ice – all to see this prodigy brought to life. But when they got there, the child was gone. In its place was a vortex, and beside that – a note. The horror struck villagers gathered round, leaning on each other for support in the shock of the disappearance. A brave speaker gathered his wits, and collecting himself and wiping his tears, he stepped up onto a platform of stone. He read the note aloud;

Distraught citizens, our planet is coming to an end. Chaos, rooted from within, has taken its toll and will soon consume all. We needed help. We needed an angel – so we stole her. We may give her back. Maybe.

-Earth

This is the story of how Julie Anne Veugen came to be. See, she is not an ordinary human. She is a phenomenon. A once in a lifetime creation. But more than that, Julie is a doll. She’s also Dutch, and if that doesn’t mean anything to you – well it doesn’t really to anyone. If books aren’t written about her… they will be. Writers block will get us all. So will cats. She’s not just a person. She’s the living embodiment of cows. Cows are the ultimate form of absolute content. They’re stable and supportive, and just as good on the inside as they are on the out. Some would say that they’re even better on the inside. But that’s Julie – my beautifully wrapped shining center of a best friend. And every single day of my life, I thank the swirling vortex that sucked the little child away from her faraway land of mountains and ice, because, now I get to be best friends with an angel.

So Julie’s earth family is made up of a mom and a dad, a brother named Joe, who’s one year older, and a sister named Jenna, who’s three and a half years younger. And a cat. And another cat. (She really loves those cats). After almost seventeen years of living, Julie has learned to value individuality, truth, and loyalty. That’s probably why she loves cats. But she wouldn’t be the person she is without the influences that come side by side with life. Events, people, and circumstances have shaped her into the amazing, idealistic and slightly-odd-when-you-you-get-to-know-her person that she is today – into the girl I love.

Julie is a veteran of travel- the Christopher Columbus of High school.  With her family she’s explored the waters of tropical seas, she’s discovered coastlines of shimmering white sand, and she’s observed the daily rituals of natives. These adventures have opened her eyes to the supreme diversity of humankind and instilled in her the need to continue to experience the world in all of its unique glory. And she faces it all head held high with confidence – a confidence instilled in her through dance.

Dance never has just been a hobby to Julie – it’s a need. It’s something that’s inside her, an expression that needs to break free. It’s in her bones, in her spirit, in her heart. You’d know it if you saw her. Dance has inspired her to be outgoing – through the friendships and relationships she has created, through the performances that push her both emotionally and physically. Her self esteem has been raised, and now she is the self-assured girl we all know.

Not only experiences help to form Julie Veugen, but people as well have contributed to the wonderfully perfect whole that is Julie. As is the same with many of us, parents are the ones we have spent the most time around – they’re the ones that have been there from the start, the ones that have helped us grow, the ones that have taught us the values and ideas that we accept and hold close. Because of the natural parent-child bond, Julie has said that her parents are one of the greatest influences on her life. Her humour, her intelligence, and her undying lightheartedness, stems from them – they are her constant support system that she loves and is constantly grateful for.

A less understandable influence on her life is this weird kid named Ali – Ali Carrola or something. She’s kind of a nerd, but I guess it works because Julie also has her own share of abnormality. I guess Ali brings out some of Julie’s weirdness. Actually no. It’s not even that. I think maybe it’s because of Ali’s peculiarity that Julie can be herself. So, since it seems unavoidable, and well, because I want to, and I can, I’m going to tell you all about Julie’s oddness. She has this strange obsession with Nancy Drew video games… She has a stack of the games. I counted them one time. I lost count. She also makes weird noises. And watches Dexter and gets almost suspiciously excited over a particularly gruesome episode. Also somewhat suspicious is her odd obsession with vampires. Seriously, walk into her room and look at her bookshelf. They’re pretty much all vampires. Okay that’s a bit of a stretch. Throw in a werewolf. And an alien inhabited human mind. She writes poems too. So she’s all deep and stuff. But to me, this is just listing all of the reasons why I love her. But I guess we’re just a pair of nuts.

Sorry. Bad analogy.

Julie Veugen is a combination and compilation of many things, including travel, dance, siblings, Lydia Herle, her parents, cheerleading, her friends, Knee problems, Kurt Place Kids, and a kid named Ali. She has her life all laid out before her. She dreams of going to university for the sciences, marrying in her twenties, giving birth to two preferably non-bratty children, working a term on a cruise ship, having a cat named Willow, inheriting her parents Florida house, saving up money to travel, and, as is a common goal to all of us – winning the lottery.

To summarize Julie Veugen is almost impossible, because I risk missing something important, which I most definitely have. Knowing who she is, what she believes, and what she stands for, she falls perfectly into the Bundle theory – the theory that holds that the self is a bundle or a collection of bits and pieces of experience. She’s someone you won’t find anywhere else, which I guess makes sense, since she isn’t from here. She’s the angel stolen from a far off land to save this world simply by being her. And now I’m going to make a promise, an extremely selfish one. When her original world begs and pleads Earth to give them back their lost one… I will tie her down to a chair and lock her in a windowless room with four iron bolted doors. Because I won’t let them take her back. She’s my beautifully wrapped, shining centre of a best friend. So like I said – she’s a cow.

Hold on to the Wind

Tapping. Feet, fingers, hands: drumming. Can’t keep still. Imagining someone throwing you a guitar like in the movies and jumping on the table. No music in the Caf. But there’s music in your head. Let it out. Blank pages. Absolutely stunningly white, and blank. A blinking line. Rhythmically blinking. To the beat of your music. Fight it. Fill the pages – write.

Attempt.

Anything.

Pause. Let your mind wander. Follow it. Where are you?

Sea breeze. It fills your lungs, water droplets cooling your face, your skin, and your clothes. Damp stone beneath your feet, toes clinging to the smoothed surface. The water recedes. You watch it, anticipation building in your chest in waves of inextinguishable excitement. Shells of muted colours spin and dance before landing on the newly revealed auburn sand. You can smell the exposed earth, the sea salt, the grasses behind you, the storm. The earth crackles in electric expectation. And then you see it. The distant growing of white foam, rushing back towards you, increasing speed. You brace yourself, plant your feet. Connect to the earth, hold on to the wind. It’s here. Crashing. Thunderous explosion of sound, water and air. The sea wall rises above you, you face it and throw your head back as water assaults you and life rages through you.