Friday, March 9, 2012

Have you ever

placed yourself in your vehicle and thought to yourself,"It would be okay if someone hit me and I died today."
Seatbelts are an interference.  

I'm a coward. 

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

notation of memories: written october 2011

I miss myself In Seattle. I miss my life there. I miss my life here. I miss a lot of things and people but mostly myself in that time a long time ago. I miss my innocence and the realness I felt for every single moment I ever felt then. I miss my hope and my lack of realization of reality. I miss it all. Mostly I miss myself though. I miss the smell of the way our apartment hallways filled up with the stench of rotting coffee beans and fresh coffee beans mixed. I miss Jared our landlord who hated us. I miss something that was never true and was never pure but I miss the rationalization of our actions and making it true and pure. I miss something that was ugly and nasty. I miss the fall into feeling that way. Those were the only true feelings I think I ever felt in that bathtub crying myself into pruneish sopping skin. I miss going to the QFC and grabbing COOOKIES and CREEEAMSSS. I miss the way we spoke as if no one else mattered in this world. I miss the Summit Bar and the hot dude that I used to go talk to at that bar and he found me intriguing as I did him; I wish I hadn't been attached because often times we met for coffee or to grocery shop. I miss the smell of mold and wet. I miss all the North Face Jackets and hideous UGGS. I miss Barney's and my Job at Nordstrom sometimes. I miss the smell of the corner mart and how we always missed the time to make it to the wine and liquor store. I miss how we drank Sparks and how they left our mouths neon orange or green and how all of Seattle drank PBRs like they were going outta style and drinking Colt45s like our lives depended on it. I miss the cab rides from the University of Washington home. I miss the uppity lacrosse and crew kids at Seattle U and being called a freak and feeling how we felt in high school all over again: misunderstood. I miss the fact that we didn't give a FUCK and I egged the shit outta of that crew house after they kicked us out with their own eggs. I miss waltzing into that Ethiopian restaurant at 2 in the morning and peeing in the sink. I remember seeing that bus walking back from delivering your lunch at Cornish teetering over the 405 with all those autistic kids freaking out and calling their parents thinking they were gonna die; I walked past was unbelievable. I remember sliding on the snow and how the whole city shut down for 3 weeks. Missing the art gallery across the street from the Summit bar with some of the most amazing pieces I had ever witnessed. I miss the feeling I felt when I looked at some person I had just met's art and felt something inside me glow; I miss that inspiration I don't feel that here very often although I catch a glimpse every now and then. I miss the 14 bus and the 8 bus. I miss buying a bus pass. I miss downtown and the crepiere that was a hole in the wall on my way to work. I miss eating sammies and paying 2 bills for an awesome french pressed coffee from a cart underneath a drizzly overcast sky with my umbrella and everyday a different hat. I miss having anxiety attacks at every single venue I ever went to and more importantly I miss that Chan Marshall and I shared a moment when I saw her and she looked at me as I fainted because I was so famished and someone gave me an orange and shortly after she fled the stage; that moment made my life honestly; I danced on stage that night. I miss the homeless heroin addict that used to follow me around and lived in the alleyway I miss feeling scared like that and then understanding he was pretty much harmless and he just liked to look at me. I miss the B&O. I miss waiting 5 hrs for Glo's. I miss the Hollywood Video. I miss Atlas Vintage and Zebraclub and Goods. I hated urban outfitters and those one kids who used to hang out at Cornish sometimes and then we'd see them in front of Urban with those tails attached to their butts and some of them had were they thinking. I still won't go to Urban to this day not even here its just all so lame. I miss Red Light and how obsessed I was with American Apparel and still am. When I want to think of us fondly I think of how that midget told us we were the most beautiful couple she had ever seen It was true at that moment I believe. I miss how every winter the alleyway behind the apartment would fill up with old mattresses and couches and you running away from that raccoon and the family of rats that hung around the tennis courts off Broadway; you were such a sissy. I miss Julia's off Broadway and the super rad drag show and how accepting everyone was. I miss how sad Seattle was for everyone who was in it and how the urban renewal really tore everyone to bits and how that one 95 year old man who had just lost his wife burnt down that complex down the street from us with himself in it; it was to be demo'd for new yuppie condos he didn't want to move; he couldn't. I remember walking by that place on my way to Bauhaus Coffee with my Parliament menthol recessed filter cigarette and acknowledging the smell of the burnt building as it overwhelmed even my own smoke and the dampness of the rain and looking over contemplated, "everything dies. even stars." I miss the public restroom that you had to pay 50cents to use(you know like the ones in Europe); it was shut down because some meth ridden prostitute was taking clients in there and it had a camera so they shut it down. I miss traveling to see Paul in Olympia and always having unreal experiences there. I miss you insulting Yoni Wolf's girlfriend whilst we were standing next to him and I was admiring him and her at the Vera Project. You were an asshole and still are. I miss missing green chile and treating it like precious diamonds. I miss that moment you fingered me after you had peeled a mess of chilies and it felt like hell inside my loins and we filled the bath with ice and water and you washed me out as I screamed in ultimate pain and laughed at the same time because the whole scenario could have been onion news(too far..sorry you can't hang) that whole moment is too much I can see it in my minds eye I still laugh over it and it's such a good story. I miss that feeling when you know all of the world and all of adventure is just ahead and I miss falling from that feeling and realizing that reality is what you make it and nothing is possible unless you make it possible and dreams are a reality but they don't just happen you have to make them happen. I miss all that realization and all the realizations I had. I miss being annoyed by you pissing in our pots and you wearing my pants and degrading me. I miss that shirt you used to wear with my picture on it that said "mine" on it. I wish I had that shirt I would give it to my true love even though he canoodles with another who he thinks he loves. I miss the fact that I lost myself and let someone take over my independence for his own happiness; it was one of the most selfless things I can admit to to this day and I did it again more recently but I don't feel resentful like I have before and then I stop and think I really don't miss any of that.
I don't miss you and I don't miss that place and I don't miss that apartment and I don't miss that dude at the pub and I don't miss that art. I don't miss myself more importantly because I am on my own. I realized the romanticism of nostalgia although some of it truly unromantic can jade me for a moment where I feel all this sentimentality is wonderful and forget why I am here now and then I SNAP THE FUCK OUT OF IT.
I know myself. I know my experiences and I know my lessons and find beauty in all the misery but also in all the beauty and realness of humanity that is now paramount to my life and that is all that matters. There is no point in missing. Acknowledge the past though. Even if it happened, even if only for a moment.
I loved someone profoundly this past week and it made me want all of this again something that I have been avoiding; love and then of course, I lost it. I lost that person I lost him and for a moment I thought I was gonna lose myself in myself and then a deep inkling of hope came over me. I felt that profoundness for a reason and I felt that way it was amazing; even if for only the moment for only a short time it was the most incredible thing I have known. I want to feel that way again I want to see that dude again. I want to exist in his presence. I want to hold him in my arms if only to smell him once more and to remember. If I never see him again at least I had it for a moment. I realize nostalgia can disease your heart but I do not feel bitter I feel learned and remember that it makes me happy and sad and the duality of the two make existence irresistible to me. I feel truth and feel true to myself. In my moment of self reflection and underneath my toxic Woody Allen mentality ultimately I have me which eases me and I feel relief and courageousness.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

starved. short story:

I couldn't help it. There was just this tragic sadness that was beautiful inside him.  When I looked; and I mean really looked. I saw my broken self in him.  I fell in love with my sadness and it made my suffering more real.
     I was blatently regjected and it hurt my ego(or at least what was left of it.) I truly was trying to redeem myself.  Pick up his pieces and maybe in turn(vicariously) my own shattered glass would be pieced back together and perhaps make up the exposed window that was there before.
    I don't know what it is...but I don't want to be normal; whatever that may mean.  I don't want someone who's whole I want someone broken like me.  Someone who knows what it feels like to be in intense pain; the pain where you can't stand to live.  Someone who "gets" it.  Someone who suffers to live. Someone who understands that weight..the weight of not being accepted and not wanting to be.  Fitting into "normalcy;" feeling rejected even by the rejects. Not being a part of the societal pressure of what it is to be successful.
   People who want to understand; they can't , no matter how hard they try.  What you feel is not their reality. It shouldn't ever be and it won't ever be. They will sympathize, empathize; but have no idea what it is to be you.  It never is enough. They will never be able to relate.  They go back to their own lives when they leave. AND they leave. Sometimes they leave marks on your soul that you can't ever erase.
   I try not to let people in anymore.  Trying to wash walls away with soap and water when in actuality you need a bulldozer or gasoline to burn or break them down but you don't have the means to access those products so you try with the soap and are unsuccessful because that will never work.  You put in so much work, so much of yourself and it never pays off.  You see no results.  Although you know you are going about it all the wrong, you can't seem to access what you really need. So you continue. You continue to struggle with the soap and water because that's the only way you can. The walls only grow dull and the paint is starting to dissipate but you know it will take you forever to make the whole wall disappear, till it's nothing. Till you see the skeleton of what makes it up.
    It's hard to let someone come into your world especially when it's as strange as mine.
I did. We tore down some of those walls.
Then we built new ones.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Name: Short Story: Julia Michelle Lopez

  I wrote your name in my panties and stuck my hands down them and pretended the fabric touching my skin was your facial hair.

  I wrote your name on the inside of my other undies and wore them all day. I felt pleasantly aroused and special knowing it was a secret.

"You are what you love. Not what loves you."

Gold. A short story: Julia Michelle Lopez

"When I said I loved you I really meant it." 
Life's complexities never account for love. It's always more than you bargained for. The problem is it shouldn't be a bargain. "Pay full price always," thats my motto. If you got it at a bargain there's probably some shit that's gonna go haywire. If you do that soft shit half ass soon it's gonna get hard and no one wants something soft to be hard and vice versa. Backfire is not far off from the takeoff if you don't go through the process properly. You have to go more than knee deep in; you have to be all the way wet before something real happens.

Smell the sweat just to remember; it could be the last time due to circumstance that you get the opportunity to really smell that smell.  If it's real that smell will stick.  Only you know if it's real; you know that feeling deep in your loins where you can just see that person in your mind even when they're don't forget one freckle you know then that you aren't lying to yourself.  It's a feeling of true sustainability that haunts you. The most important thing is to remember to be true to yourself because if you at all feel that inkling of doubt that this could be wrong; you're right. Save yourself the grief; love is not pretty. It effects your soul and outlook permanently only you know if it's worth it. Giving someone that "certain" power over oneself when wrapped up in the beauty and pain of what being in someone's life entails is incredible if it is right.

           He touched my soul.  This is truth. He did. His lips quivered at the touch of my hand.  I grabbed his face, pulled myself in and smelt the heat from his breath in the middle of the street under the smoldering hot summer sun.  His feet moving back and forth on his skateboard making him the same height as me in my platforms both of us afraid of losing balance.  
         I believe I did lose it.  I lost my cool at that exact moment and wanted to taste the salt from his skin again but politeness overtook us both and I got in my car and drove off with Ghostface blaring. Looking out of my peripheral vision to see if he looked back to watch me leave and to my surprise he did. He did not know that that day my heart was his and only his.  
        I was uneasy and knew I wouldn't be happy till I had that again.  
Every time she turned the corner she'd see it happen in her mind. Every time she would see a skateboarder in that area she'd look to remember or perhaps catch him.  Every time she would see the kind of car he drove she would think of him.

"Sentimentality will be the death of us all," she will claim to herself as she clings to remembrance and the memory of him will stay alive.