have we been blowing up?

HAHAHAHAHA hello i’m about to die laughing because i just walked into our big and beautiful shared bathroom and there was a girl in the middle stall who i literally thought was having an orgasm until i realized she was either puking or forcing herself to puke and. what kind of sick sense of humor does this girl have anyway? you’re probably thinking. not as sick as that girl, sweet cheeks. i half feel like an asshole for walking out but i also don’t have morals so i don’t think i feel too bad.

there’s a discussion we could have. do i have a moral code? let’s see.

theft. if it’s a personal possession, it’s completely wrong to steal it because of mutual “i don’t steal what’s yours, you don’t steal what’s mine” naturally occurring binding trust blah blah blah. if it’s something being sold for money, i have no issue with stealing it, except anxiety. does somebody technically own those things? i guess. do i care? only if it makes me have a panic attack. what if someone is selling their personal possession? well then i guess there are reasons to believe it’s not really that personal to them.

murder. i’d say this is pretty bad, but i’m not really an expert in this area. i think in general, if you’re looking out for yourself, you shouldn’t do it, just because the authorities will care. if it’s a revenge killing, it might be morally acceptable.

cheating on someone. pretty bad, but it gives you depth, sweetheart. would never happen with me because of this thing called LOYALTY which i take far too seriously for this age in which none of us are knights. “cut the toxic people out of your life?” yeah, maybe on my deathbed. poison me, diego.

breaking someone’s heart. necessary evil. will probably still cause you a lot of pain if you haven’t quite evolved into a classically emotional sadist yet. maybe because it was an accident. and even if whatever you’re causing them couldn’t possibly even wrestle with what they caused you. oh, no. you won’t feel like crying when they cry like you always do when someone else cries, but you’ll still let them hold your hand for a minute longer and you’ll still let them kiss you one last time “for old time’s sake” instead of running the fuck away like you’re finally free because you feel bad, maybe not even for hurting them but for how FUCKING TRANSPARENT THEY ARE. (look away, this is a private conversation.)

rape. WOWWW THAT SURE IS A SIN. (want to hear me say something fucked up? there’s nothing i can’t relate to.)

lying. i don’t consider this a sin and i don’t see anything wrong with it morally. i guess it’s kind of a philosophical choice. the only people i really lie to are my parents, and only in self defense. there’s no reason for me to lie to anyone else. unless i’m trying to gain something. in which case, no, i don’t think it’s wrong. the only thing that could be wrong is me not getting what i want.

cheating in general. if it’s a game, i think it ruins the integrity. if it’s academia or the government, then definitely do not hesitate to cheat the system, unless you’re gonna get caught.

lust/gluttony/greed/covetouness. why feel guilty about your desires.

sloth. i don’t see the appeal, therefore, it’s a sin.

wrath. but can you avoid it? no, and really, it’s enlightening, so it’s not a sin. just make sure you apologize and act all sweet again. the people get frightened.

envy. if you feel envy, you’re not being enough of a narcissist, which is a sin.

pride. if you feel pride, you’re not being self-deprecating enough, which is a sin.

blasphemy/false worship. if you’re doing something you don’t believe in and tainting the name of something you do believe in, you better think it’s a fucking sin.

idolatry. whatever makes it feel real, sweetheart.

using the lord’s name in vain. i’d be real happy if you used my name in vain, sweetheart.

profanity. FREE EXPRESSION.

rebellion against parents. you have got to be kidding me.

negligent homicide. you tried.

bestiality. dude what the fuck.

fornication. please call the police.

corruption. oh, definitely a sin, but a very easy and understandable one.

intoxication. give it a shot.

refusing to forgive…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

and then it got too real and we stopped having fun.

bye.

(sin.)

~Kasia

let’s have a vote of confidence.

i stopped smoking for about a month but SURPRISE a few days ago i just had to start back up again because that’s how much i’ve fucking missed it. i was doing so well. what fucking ever. it’s not a lot and it’s on and off so i don’t concern myself. i don’t even need it for any kind of ounce of gratification except smelling like smoke everywhere i go, which was probably psychologically instilled in me by all the secondhand smoke from my childhood that my mom always warned me against but didn’t realize everyone else was warming me up to it.

she can’t possibly care enough anyway because she knows i smoke. i even admitted it to her. then again, i also told her i quit and maybe she believed me. and i wasn’t lying. and i really don’t smoke all too much, not even when i’m in a mood. it’s not that fact that bothers me, it’s the fact that for such explosive people, my parents are…just that. they explode, alright. and then in the aftermath, everybody forgets it. i bet if i literally overdosed on heroin in front of them, my parents wouldn’t even send me to rehab or anything. they’d just explode, show me a documentary on the dangers of heroin, and then forget it. not enough not to bring it back into conversation as backlash every once in a while. but enough for exploding once to be enough of an event not to warrant any more action. i bet if i broke my brother’s leg, my mom would come to my bedside threatening to break my arm and my dad threatening to break my other arm, and i’d scream in fear and then they’d crawl away and we’d all just get on with our lives. i don’t know why i’m connecting these dots now because it’s all happened a million times before.

if i were to write myself a self-help book directed specifically at me, it would maybe be titled “how to stop feeling mildly (or wildly) betrayed when people go to bed” or “a surprising revelation: lying down and shutting your eyes may directly lead to falling asleep: a memoir.”

it makes me fucking mad when other people get “concerned” about me, because first of all, it feels patronizing, second of all, i can fucking take care of myself and i always feel like i’m doing a pretty good job at taking care of myself, bare evidence of which to me is just the bare minimum that i am alive and not maimed and not in the hospital and not deranged to the max. however, i also really hate it when someone i deeply want to be concerned about me just never is in a way that would lead to them confronting me about it no matter what i do, maybe because the things i do are also the norm for them, and then i get it into my mind that i have to do even more and more drastic things to get them to pay attention to me, maybe like, say, make a suicide attempt that i know will only ever be an attempt. however, i know by now that that’s never going to happen because in order to attempt a suicide that i know will only ever amount to that, i will have to be confident that i will be okay, and if i end up in the hospital, that really sinks my levels of confidence, and because my body knows i must survive and my mind is part of my body, that is never going to happen.

so i’m thinking all of this and i’m making all of these mad connections until i can basically sum up every motive i’ve ever had in my life as “PLEASE NOTICE HOW MISERABLE I AM. PLEASE NOTICE HOW WRONG I AM” and i can tell you it’s worked exactly a sub zero amount of times at least in the way i would define success. to you, if you’re reading this, you know by now that everything i say is completely delusional, because i’ve just contradicted the last paragraph, but the only way i judge things is by feeling i’m just feeling my way through the dark here.

i got this whole “summing up my motives” idea from this book i’m reading that’s sort of an autobiography of one of my idols, which is kind of funny, cause the first time i skimmed it (which apparently means reading for me, because out of the 50-something pages i read today, i can definitely attest that i’ve read most of them already but i read them again), all i was thinking was 1) i wish i could be that cool, and the second time i actually went back to read it, i was now thinking 2) i am definitely cooler than you. and my autobiography that i’ll never write, because it’s better to keep secrets and clearly i’m too modest, is gonna be way prettier than yours. do i love myself now?

maybe i’ll let you live now, girl, but i’m coming for your soul, your walls better be sky-high by the time i get back around to you because i will topple them no matter what and all you can do against me is maybe stall.

i’d maybe end this with a passive aggressive comment about how i’m too much, but the truth is, i love being too much. i love knowing nobody can handle me, except me, and that makes me feel like a real fucking strong and special snowflake. sometimes, it’s kind of a shame, but i get over it by making myself into the chosen one again.

i urge all of you to just think of life as a fun video game. as a rule, you have to suffer before you can really get anywhere, so don’t let this discourage you. things you need will just pop up all around you and it’s so exciting, so try to read into everything as much as possible or you’ll miss the signs. dying is stupid, because the point is to keep fucking playing and don’t be a loser, and remember, if you end up homeless, it’s all okay because nothing’s real.

i don’t know why i’m delving into these deep dark levels of caffeine at deep dark night but they’re gonna stop my heart.

~Kasia

divine power as a victim of circumstance.

12:09 a.m. trying to do my math homework Kristen calls me and she’s upset

1:25 a.m. talking to Kristen under the covers kind of want some cake

2:02 a.m. passing out– I set my alarm for 4 in the morning because I know I haven’t finished but I’m so tired. I have class at 9 in the morning.

4:00 a.m. keep sleeping probably don’t even hear it.

7:15 a.m. oh my god but it’s okay I have two more hours and I can finish this.

8:45 a.m. just kidding I have an hour. I’ll probably need to pay someone to help me cheat because I’m dumb

9:36 a.m. Never mind I finished I’m a genius let’s go walk through the snow

I try to give my homework to my professor.

She says it’s due in discussion section at 4:40.

OH. WOW.

Keep walking. I look pretty good for someone who has slept in her clothes for the past couple of nights and hasn’t showered in x number of days. Maybe looking this worn out is part of my charm or maybe I always do. Snow is falling everywhere and I let it. It covers my hair it falls on my eyelashes so there’s just whiteness obscuring my vision, I let it stay but it doesn’t stay long.

I would go visit my mom today but I have six classes so it’s a no-go. I think I’m supposed to do lights tonight but I’m tragically uninformed. Somehow I am still tired. I have to do my film project today and I don’t know what I’m doing for it at all yet. I was also supposed to revise my literary analyses for last night but I don’t think my professor is fazed anymore when I don’t hand something in on time because I’ve asked for so many extensions and that was before all of this even started happening. I hate how lenient he’s gotten with me. I hate it. Hold me to the same standards as everyone else. Maybe my entire world is ending around me and it probably is but don’t let me get away with this shit, douchebag.

My mom called me this morning to make sure I got to class on time and I snapped at her and told her it’s not a good time for me to talk and then she hung up and yesterday, she tried to get me to eat fruit and angel cake she saved for me and my brother from whatever food they gave her in the hospital and at first, I was like “I don’t eat hospital food,” but then I ate it anyway after being an asshole about it for like half an hour. I tell Kris all these details and no one else because nobody else asks or makes me feel like they’re asking. Or maybe we just happen to talk on the phone.

~Kasia

Is it Viola or VIOLA?

I’m having some trouble understanding myself lately. I guess I should just see where everything goes, but I feel like I am someone who shifts in the light. Something is always in shadow. Not just to everyone else. To me. I feel so many contradictory things at different times and it makes it really hard for me to know what to trust. One day, I’ll feel this, then I’ll feel that, those things contradict each other, what is real, what is made up, how am I supposed to make decisions about anything when I literally cannot tell where my heart is?

I’m looking forward to this weekend. Friday is open mic night. Saturday, I might take a bus to Boston with my mom and we’ll see my poem being displayed in Roxbury. Sunday, I hope I can go to the mall with Pam, so we can get my ears pierced and I can buy hair dye. I was thinking I’d dye the ends, so my parents won’t give me a hard time about infusing my scalp with deadly chemicals. I can’t choose between pink or blue. I know that sometimes blue can look really swampy and that pink fades nicely, but I’m still conflicted. If I dyed my hair pink now, it would mess up my whole color scheme for my character in Twelfth Night, and if I do dye my hair, I might just end up cutting it later, because it’s grown back a lot and it’s been annoying me. But if I go with pink, I’ll wait until the play is over to do that and I don’t know if I can handle not cutting my hair for that long. Or if I should cut it at all. Maybe I should grow it out.

I wasn’t going to get my ears pierced, but she told me she had earrings to go with my costume, and obviously I won’t be able to wear them anyway, but I told her I was thinking about it and I think that would be fun. I wonder how much it costs. I’m pretty fucking broke and I’m not that committed to this, I just think it would be fun to go have my earlobes blasted open with her.

Here’s the costume idea, I’m really excited about it:

I’ve been feeling like such a horrible person lately. For not knowing what I want, for knowing what I want, for everything. I feel like I can’t fully trust myself again. There’s just this crazy duality. I had a crying breakdown last night, because I felt so much terror, and I realized how long it’s been since I’ve had one of those. But it’s come back and I feel it again. I think it’s because the whole college thing is looming over my head again, since I’ve started hearing back from schools. I was fine when I didn’t have to think about it. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing or what to believe. I got into Boston University. Sometimes, I’ll think being in Boston sounds nice, other times I’ll think I better do something bigger and more exciting and go to New Orleans. I feel like I don’t have enough perspective to really know what it would be like to actually be in any of those places.

I have three weeks left until the play is over and that scares the hell out of me. I can’t stop everything from accelerating and that scares the hell out of me. Not moving also scares the hell out of me. Not having power over myself scares the hell out of me. Having power over myself and knowing I am capable of making consequential decisions scares the hell out of me. Powerlessness is on both ends of the power spectrum, and no matter what my options are, I am scared and I want to run like hell, but running like hell has only made me feel like I’m missing out. I should embrace direct confrontation. Stop avoiding myself by keeping all of these distractions alive. Stop asking everyone around me for advice when I know that the only person I can and should listen to is myself. Sometime soon, I will corner myself in a dark alley. I’ll be holding a gun, and the other me will be holding a flashlight, and the other me will realize a flashlight is not really a weapon and fighting is futile and trying to run is futile, because the other person has a gun.

~Kasia

I don’t think adding more fire will get all the anger out

THINGS I AM MAD ABOUT:

• I have so much fucking chemistry to do and I can’t understand any of it.
• I’ve been avoiding talking to my director about how I’m missing a tech week rehearsal to go to a concert shhh I’m not telling her THAT PART.
• Northeastern waitlisted me. I didn’t want to go anyway but what the fuck. Who the fuck do you think you are to make me feel like I’m disposable. You’re the disposable one.
• I haven’t even told /some/people/ about getting into/getting rejected by college. I was going to when I found out, but then I didn’t and now I don’t feel like it’s that important again.
• I’m sick, I lost my voice, I feel like I’m dying.
• How can you break your phone so easily
• I’M TOO SICK TO HAVE PLANS
• I can’t concentrate on anything because sick sick sick sick siiiiiick
• MY HAIR IS TOO LONG
• I haven’t showered in longer than I want to admit or even remember
• I actually feel disgusting
• I’m really worried about not getting into schools
• I will have another admissions decision today to a school I don’t care about very much but I still care because yesterday when Northeastern waitlisted me I cried
• I JUST WANT TO FEEL BETTER SO I CAN DO THINGS
• I MISS DOING THINGS
• I DON’T LIKE STASIS
• I keep having to repeat myself because my voice is so fucked up right now
• I should not have worn contacts today/ ever
• Fuck me
• “My maiden name, which I dropped like it was hot, because I hate my family”
• Isn’t it funny how I can hate my family and love my family
• I really need to write my novel
• I need time to talk to people for GOD’S SAKE
• GOD
• AHHHHHHHHHH
• AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
• If I could sweat or fight or fuck whatever sickness is in me right now I would
• I want to be in a room full of steam
• I have to go outside and it’s gonna be cold
• I’m really hot in this sweater
• I can hardly fucking speak
• And people expect me!! To speak to them!!!!
• The fuck?
• I got into UMass Amherst but it’s in the middle of nowhere
• I’m so poor
• I applied to Not Your Average Joe’s as a waitress and I got a rejection email yesterday, like how many qualifications do I need to fucking serve food to people?? GOD.
• Fine, I don’t want you anyway.
• FINE
• Today, my dad once again did this thing where he left for school without me and drove my brother first because apparently that’s a fun thing to do, I don’t know, also he’s a control freak who was just mad that I didn’t have on the right jacket
• You know how sometimes people do that thing where you know they see you peripherally but they won’t turn to you for some reason?
• I am gonna be okay. I need to take things as they come. Just forget it.

~Kasia

everything is a copy of a copy of a copy

I can’t tell if the things that happen to me are really that bizarre and the universe has some weird obsession with me or if I just over-romanticize everything. I guess neither of those alternatives is a bad thing.

I’m going to the movies with Colin on Sunday, I’m pretty excited about that. Tomorrow I have to go to this Scholastic ceremony with my family and Kelly for all those awards I won and it’s at the Museum of Fine Arts and I know it’ll be fun. I want to focus on my writing more because the fact that I have so many underdeveloped things floating around is really tearing me apart.

I think it’d be fun to be a waitress if I was to have a job. I used to hate that thought, but now there’s this romantic appeal. I think lately I just like the idea of it.

Colin told me that the first thing he ever noticed about me was my dramatic hair flip. He told me that one day last year, he saw me walking and that he noticed I had a very deliberate walk, that I walk with purpose, with my shoulders back, fast, like I know my destination. He said he remembered that I was wearing a white dress and it was really bright on that day and he looked up and saw this angelic glow and he even remembered he was reading Watchmen that day. I don’t know who the fuck remembers things like that except for me.

Bad war flashbacks.

I am dying to read more, everything I can, because I feel like I’ve been producing more than I have been consuming and there’s just this imbalance, but I don’t have time. I know I don’t have time for ANYTHING unless I make time but I don’t have time.

And at the same time there’s a lot I want to make. It’ll kill me before I figure it out.

Sometimes when I read things, it’ll feel like this voice that’s speaking straight out of me, and when I write, it’s so hard to feel that for some reason. It’s crazy. Other people’s thoughts are more coherent than my own.

I’m just so sick of everything I say. I feel like I keep ripping myself off.

I am a rip-off of myself. I’ve never had an original thought, I’ve stolen it all.  I repeat every word that comes out of my mouth. You are my inner voice?
You’ve heard it all before. I’ve heard it all before. You’ve seen it all before. I’ve seen it all before. You’ve said it all before.

Everything is made up, contrived, derivative, whenever I speak I spit it out in a collage, a patchwork of fabrics, repeating phrases, borrowed words. My old lovers melt into my new lovers. The places I’ve been melt into this one, the bridges of my childhood appear in my backyard, the ages stack up like cards, everything leading up to this moment has piled up.. I am impure. I want to put myself through the water filters and wash all the dirt out. I’ve borrowed this word from you. This word from you. I’ve borrowed all my words. I string them together and pretend it’s not old water. All water is old water. All of history has pressed me into this contrived form. I am the contrived rip-off of a rip-off of a rip-off created under pressure. There is nothing beautiful about it. I will never be clean. My thoughts are a part of a cycle of waste. I wish I could be in a vacuum. Still, clean, pure, unaffected.

I am an accidental thief. I borrow your survival instincts, I borrow your ideas about astronomy, I borrow your numerical system, your alphabet, your names for the parts of my body, your ideologies, your laws, the things you say to your loved ones, the ways that you accidentally seduce people, the way you wear your hair, the poetry you read, the poetry you spit out. Everything you spit out is a multiplication of all these infinite coinciding factors jumping and bumping into one another.

And when I move stones? I steal the sun’s fire. I steal the look in your eyes. I seduce you with the same look you give me. I seduce you with the look my past lovers have given me. Do you know it is my old lovers seducing you? Do you know it is the snarl of my father’s lip, the unsteadiness of my mother’s hands, the light trauma sprinkled over me by the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that? Do you know it is all of history seducing you? My history, the earth’s history, your history, the history of humanity, history, random facts that I have swept up, expectations.

It is not me. The whole world is seducing you. The whole universe and all of history has conspired to transmit these waves of light and sound.

I can’t escape the things that have happened to me, my experiences, what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard, what I’ve read, my family, everyone I’ve ever met, where I come from, you, where I’m going, my own destiny, my own psyche, my dreams, I can’t. I can’t. Will I ever be pure? Will I ever be free?

~Kasia

 

 

The Pendulum Won’t Stop Swinging!

I was pretty excited for February Break before, but it’s like over the past 12 hours, things have just slowed down and I hate when that happens. I don’t like things messing with my momentum. Yesterday was kind of an emotionally violent day for me and I spent like 6 hours after school talking to my friends instead of getting work done and right now I feel weirdly settled down, and I don’t know, I don’t like it. I literally just complained about feeling everything violently and now I’m complaining about being numb. I am unbelievable.

Because everything has been so crazy, I haven’t even thought about what I’m doing over break aside from the plans I’ve already made. I should probably sort that out in my head right now before I lose my momentum again. My friends are having a Valentine’s Day party so that’ll be fun. I’m looking forward to it. I guess. I’m kind of numb right now. It’s gross. I really really need to be in a state of constant excitement or else. I can’t take it when it dies down. I thought I could see Colin on Saturday but he’s sick and he’s not in school today and we were going to try to break into the drama room during lunch to try to find a Lockdown script (the infamous one-act I was in my freshman year) because I was telling him about it and he wanted to read it, but yeah, none of that ever happened. My dad is taking us skiing on Saturday. I’m definitely going to see Karen which I’m excited about because we haven’t really had time to talk but I’m also not really excited about anything right now.

My mom is going to Boston really early in the morning on like two days and I want to go with her for support but I don’t know if she’ll let me. I was also going to ask Pamela to hang out with me but I fucking forgot. Maybe I’ll do it later. Maybe I’ll chicken out. I don’t normally take the initiative with things like that because a) my parents are so hard to navigate around and it just stresses me out of my mind b) my situation at home is just in general hard to navigate around c) I like making myself feel unwanted for no fucking reason

Literally, if only I could stop wallowing. I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TIME FOR THINGS LIKE THAT.

Sometimes I just wish I could have all the people I like in one place and have my day arranged so I can see them all the fucking time. Why can’t I have that? That’s kind of what I miss about being really fucking immersed in drama. When that was happening, I was just happy to come to school every day and see all my friends for such a long time.

It also fucks me up that some days I’ll have a lot of energy and then other days it’ll have died down and I don’t know, it trips me up. I need something to keep it up but it’s hard when I don’t have enough things working me up. And then I’ll complain about being worked up.

I HATE THAT I NEED TO HAVE SO MUCH STIMULATION ALL THE TIME. I NEED A MILLION THINGS TO HOLD ME OR NOTHING WILL. IT’S THE MOST UNREALISTIC THING IN THE WORLD. I AM SO DIFFICULT TO SUSTAIN.

And I’m not saying that I need to constantly be in a state of chaos, I just need things to keep moving. I can’t get this image out of my mind of that time I was just by myself in the black box painting my corpse all bloody. I want to do something like that that’s dynamic but calming. Like I have the power to mess everything up, but I won’t. I don’t know. I need pressure. I need to be under pressure all the fucking time. I want every moment to be a moment of truth.

I’d rather be restless in a violent way than be restless in a sluggish way, it’s not good for my creative energies it’s not good for anything.

Okay, now that I’ve vented my frustrations about my own constant inner state of being, we can talk about something more fruitful like–

Never mind, I’m not done. THE OTHER THING. The other thing about feeling like this is that I can’t fucking talk to anyone. Not, like, physically, but I can’t get into it. I hate it I hate it. When I have enough nervous energy I’ll be off the charts but if I don’t I just sink against myself and I can’t stand it. It’s like if I don’t have enough stimulation, I’ll purposefully avoid stimulation? I know it’s really bad for me.

So I guess the only thing is to fight it. But I am really not feeling anything.

Okay now I feel a little better because Eireann just came and told me about Ms. McManus making her tea because her throat hurt. Why do puny things like that drag me out of myself. I feel like I’m just at the mercy of these little things.

I think maybe it’s the fact that I kind of have two non-classes that kill my energy and make me all static-y and gross it’s just that sometimes I forget that I need to stimulate myself or I’ll die because I expect I’ll constantly– no that’s not really it either. I don’t know. It’s a trippy state but I can rip myself out of it. BUT I REALLY NEED EXCITEMENT. ALL THE TIME. AHHHHH KILL ME.

I don’t know if I can be around my family for this long. I kind of resent vacations. I kind of don’t like stalling. I kind of feel like this is stalling. I kind of want to go to New York in like 5 days but I can’t. I kind of don’t know what to feel anymore. I knew what to feel yesterday.

OKAY that’s enough. NO SELF-FULFILLED PROPHECIES HERE. BREAK IS GONNA BE WONDERFUL AND I WILL NOT BE SAD. I HAVE NOTHING TO BE SAD ABOUT

I started bringing back the repressed memories on Wednesday night. I didn’t cry for the reasons I used to but I did start crying when I realized how I got from there to here. I actually did that. All this time, I remembered the times I was really spiraling out, but those times just faded into this generalized untouchable fall, but I didn’t remember my own attitude about the whole thing. It was awful, but I really did just keep going. I never even realized that. I thought it was a constant losing battle for me. I didn’t know I had my mind so made up.

I started with all the songs, I listened to them one by one and I painted while I did it. I painted without sketching first. I liked how that felt. I got through all of them completely unfeeling anything except maybe a spark of recognition. Then I read my diary in intervals. I ended at October that night and then I finished it the next day. I have yet to watch the video or read over the poems or the messages. The things that are more direct. And not one-sided. And could potentially hurt. But I will do that. I think I’m completely over it. I think I’m completely separate from it.

And I am allowed to hate people. And I hate both of them. For what they did to me. And it’s sickening but I’m glad I went through this and it makes me want to cry but only because I am still here.

I feel better now. Like I can move again. I hate how I get so down. I hate how quickly it happens. But thank God it all happens so fast.

~Kasia

 

a damsel in distress dissected with a saw

Here is the real thing I want to say to my dad:

Are you a member of the human race?

you will not put a blanket over me you will not smother me forget it i’ve come too far to be suppressed again i’ve made it out alive and i will stay alive and i will stay true to what’s inside me even when i can’t see it anymore

I feel better? At least now I’m pissed off instead of wallowing in self-pity. I’ve stopped caring what they think but sometimes I forget. I think it’s because some part of me still wants them to understand, even if the rest of me has given up.

I could really use a ridiculously long car ride so I can figure some things out.

I won’t torment you any longer. Here is a poem I wrote.

Radio Silence

It seems that the vacuum we’ve thrown ourselves so willingly into has

Obscured all traces of our former life and rendered it all meaningless.

I curse myself for it, but it’s hard not to believe in something so all-powerful.

Just like I could never pretend I don’t love you, it would be cruel to look

God in the eyes without the faintest stirring of faith from even the utmost

Picture of depravity, like a wild thing waking from hibernation. It would be sacrilege.

 

All of the unsaid words have strung together into a dark and looming elephantine figure

That crushes every room. Omission is a powerful tool.

I feel silence like a heavy presence, something irretrievable

At the bottom of a swimming pool. Irresistible, like the sleep-deprived static

That pulls on your eyelids when the world is still fuzzy around the edges,

Ill-defined and not ready to be understood.

Silence, like heavy curtains, like the iron on your chest, obscures

Visibility and makes the air thick and hard to breathe. I can feel it

Pouring over me; creeping in until it overwhelms, like water filling a tank,

Until you can’t breathe in it, until you can’t speak in it.

 

You are a red light, You make my eyes flicker,

Like you’re the fire in a snowscape, the sun against the night sky,

The splash of red in a bull ring.

 

I’ve stopped, I’ve sunk into the silence too, like it’s a transmissible disease.

Your silence feeds mine, and the feed is the blue electric light

That haunts my bedroom nightly: ghostly, moving, sad and still.

Your idleness feeds mine; we are both bound by the unbreakable laws

Of inertia that we so desperately believe in, and nothing breaks the spell.

Maybe we don’t believe we are capable of breaking it.

 

I feel us breaking up like a bad overseas connection;

We could hear each other clearly if only the line wasn’t so weak, so anemic.

It’s dwindling, eating away like rotten wood; it’s breaking up over the ocean of the summer,

The expansive void of time. The line can’t bridge this gaping gap,

So wide open and unnatural that it sucks all light into it like a black hole.

You are on the other side, but you’ve hung up. I listen to the dial tone

For hours, but I feel it fading, too, in restless frozen terror. Against my will, I feel myself

Drop the receiver to sleep, finally, sleep, against my will I feel myself

Close my mouth and shrivel up like a plant in a sunless room,

Brown like an overripe fruit. Suddenly there are buttons over all of my pores.

 

I sink into a contagious radio silence. The way you take care

Not to notice me fills me up with solid, sticky bile that turns me

Slowly to stone. We’ve ghosted

Each other. I feel like a deadly apparition haunting you, constantly waking you up

And putting you to sleep as I come and go, drifting through the walls of empty rooms.

I have sunk into static. I am the walking reminder of something that you used

To feel, and something that you used to want so badly,

You’d bend over backwards for it. Well, you bent so far back,

The spell busted and shattered and broke,

Like the mechanical engine of a slow and rolling turbine.

The fire trembles with its cold extinguishing smoke.

The candle begs for its electric warmth back.

 

My first instinct was to water the vacuum like it was a flower I could revive. My second instinct

Was to hammer the void with the hail fires of cold, hard ice,

As if drilling into it implied there was a bottom to the whole ordeal.

As if it ends. As if it obeys. As if it isn’t the ever-expanding cosmic abyss.

Your radio silence is contagious, is infectious, like my laugh.

Like my hands. Like you. We are a bad connection

On an overseas telephone call. I’m still holding the line open

For you. Any second now, jump.

 

I sink to the bottom and you don’t stop me. I’m submerged up to my neck.

Up to my chin. Finally I’ve quieted and settled down. And given up.

And given in. It’s over my ears. I couldn’t hear you if you screamed.

Is this what you wanted? You’ll never find me now in this dead water,  

Currentless river, waveless sea, A stone sunk to the bottom,

Away from the storm of the surface forever.

It took me a long fight to settle down into this long flat line.  

I’m sedated, I’m sunk. I’m all out of lights in my head.

I’ve settled like debris, finally flooded over enough to sink

To the bottom, join you in the stillness and the silence.

Radio silence. Are you holding?

~Kasia

(don’t) stop me now

This blog post is to make up for the one I didn’t do last week. I don’t know if it actually will, but a girl can try. And fail. It doesn’t matter. I like writing these.

Here’s a video of a tilt-a-whirl, aka what Mrs. Gounis says reading my thoughts makes her go through. That comment made me so happy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MICrm7oQBXQ

Here’s a song I can’t stop listening to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdUKUQv0s38

Yeah, it’s circus music. Yeah, shut the fuck up.

You fuck with Mother Nature and she’s gonna get pissed, she don’t always act like a lady.  

I might blow off Slam Poetry Club with Kelly today to go play Dungeons and Dragons with Colin just before my callbacks.

I’m trying to write this novel based loosely around my life and I really need to spend some time deeply thinking about that soon or I might fall off the face of the earth.

Too many things are happening for me to miss anything at all. It’s so nice not to be nostalgic. Even when things are over, they just keep happening. It’s exactly what I need to stay afloat.

I heard that a lot of people didn’t get callbacks and I don’t know what it could possibly mean and they are only going to be about 30-40 minutes and the whole thing is making me so nervous. I’m trying to think of the characters I most want to play. They are Olivia, Maria, Viola, and Feste. I can’t stress to you enough how much I want to play a drunken character, but I doubt I’d get to play Feste, because I don’t play an instrument. I love Feste, though. Oh my god. When I saw Kira’s production in December, they cast Feste as a girl and it was fantastic to watch. That would be quite a role to play. I can’t remember if Maria gets drunk or not, but I think I will try to make myself drunken no matter what role I play. I have faith that they’ll make me a drunken person, though, or I guess my drunken rendition of Sonnet 130 wasn’t as “life-changing” as Ms. Leung claimed. God, please don’t make claims like that unless you’re going to follow through.

Kira and I keep texting each other about our ROMANCE DRAMA which is so much fun. She has this 22-year-old guy who has a crush on her, but he keeps being weird. His name is Devon. Please don’t tell her I’m gossiping about her in my blog. Anyway I love her and I almost wish she wasn’t going to Disney over February Break so I could see her, but I know she’s happy about going.

Mrs. Gounis just used some word to describe blogging and I don’t remember what it was. A combination of “perturbative” and “intuitive” or something. I am too lazy to ask her.

I don’t know what else I’m doing over February Break at the moment except that my friends are having a Valentine’s Day party and Karen and I are going to go shopping at some point and my dad wants to take us skiing. I just want to see my friends every day. Or I’ll be sad.

Blogging is a little addicting, why am I not writing my ode. Fuck you, Kasia. You ruined my life. I hate you.

I’LL DO ALMOST ANYTHING TO PLAY FESTE GOD PLEASE I’LL TELL ALYSSA TO TEACH ME THE UKULELE I KNOW YOU WANT ME I NEED TO PLAY AN OFF-HER-ROCKER CHARACTER PLEASE GOD PLEASE

Our version of Twelfth Night is going to be set in a casino, which is pretty exciting. The priest who’s “almost responsible for Illyria’s first ever same-sex marriage” is going to be someone doing an Elvis impersonation, which I’m so excited about. I really hope Helena gets that part because her impersonation is killer.

I feel like maybe I should be sad that this is my last play or that Colin couldn’t audition with me but everything is just like whatever.

I hate myself for a lot of reasons but especially because I get bored of my clothes so easily and I’ll go through this thing where I’ll only wear a rotation of the same select clothes because I hate everything else I own.

I want to talk about colors now. My favorite color is probably red, but I love purple too, and especially shades between red and purple. Like wine. That’s so pretty. Here you go.

I used to have a pair of boots this color, but then the zipper broke, I swear it was the worst day of my life. I literally tried to kill myself that day but that was still the worst thing that happened.

KIRA doesn’t even know how to help me with my Situation. I’m screwed. I am beyond help. In the wise words of Callum, “Life is meaningless. Embrace hedonism.”

~Kasia

oops I did it again

He’s right. I can’t live in a cave. That’s some jacked-up existence.

I did it. This is separation of church and state. Separation of creator and creation.

I’m going to talk about theatre for a bit since it’s been all-consuming, I’ve been ignoring life in general for the sake of this life in the specific, this invented reality that I prefer to anything that was born real, this tangible thing I’ve watered out on my own. I go through the same repeating series of emotions every day, more or less. It’s incredible how closely my mental state has become linked to my actors’ energy in a given moment. It’s incredible how quickly my mental state changes depending on if they do what I want or not. I like the state of complacent peace when everyone leaves and I’m alone with my place of execution, where my thoughts come out in the physical sphere. Last night I quietly paced around when everyone had gone, touched up my guillotine with some more fake blood. It’s strange because whenever anyone so much as says the wrong thing to me, I will start sobbing. I come home and people try to talk to me and I’m in this rage because I am in no mood to argue about the trivial when I have everything under control and I have bigger things going on. Having a substantial amount of power over one thing becomes really frustrating when you realize your power lacks over others. A few days ago I hurled a mug against my bureau and it shattered into pieces I still haven’t fully recovered. I hid them somewhere in my room. I kind of almost expected it to bounce off and stay whole. I forget that things are breakable and that some actions are irreversible. I’m not sad about it, it just kind of made a weird impact.

It’s even stranger to realize that I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. I have no sense of any lost time in my day or any of that. I hate having free time. I don’t want it back. I have no problem indefinitely working and working until I have to sleep and do it again. This is filling me up and I need it. I don’t know what comes next. I feel suspended but I know it is only because I have things to suspend me. I’m not worried. If I worried it would just become a self-fulfilling prophecy like it always does.

There is power in things ending and giving way to other unanticipated things. I need to remember that so I don’t lose this feeling of always being an inch above the ground.

This is the song I’m using for the opening of my play: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Olp10zk3h-Q 

I’ve been talking so much that it’s making it hard for me to write anything, I kind of just want to shut up for a few days and not talk and not write and communicate as little as possible. I feel like a drained battery.

I didn’t know it was so easy to get paper cuts but I keep getting paper cuts all over my hands whenever I reach into my backpack also last night an entire container of glitter spilled in my bag and oh God I’m dying in the best and worst way. Of passion. Of being consumed by something that takes up my every movement and thought and action and reaction.

Have another poem:

 

Sylvester’s Eve 

they urge me to dance

so i do

the only way i know how:

by myself, half-drunk, full-time sad

 

the water doesn’t

help, so i spin

and i spin

and i spin

until i cannot hear

my family telling me to stop

until i have never seen

a kaleidoscope pill

or the bathroom floor up close.

until i can’t hear the music;

only my own blood in

my head, boiling.

 

and all i see,

as i spin,

is not a living room,

not furniture,

not people;

just christmas lights and

wondrous colors that glow;

and that is all

spiraling into infinity…

 

ten.

nine.

eight.

 

enough falls through the veil that i can hear

the announcers on tv

and my family in the kitchen

pouring champagne,

 

so that the first thing we do in the new year

is drink.

 

it isn’t as ironic for them as it is for me.

they will be drinking to something.

i will only be drinking to drown.

i take a glass of something that looks

like water, but god, it doesn’t taste like

water, thank god.

it makes me want to dance

and sleep

all at once.

 

everybody laughs

about how he taught me to dance

standing on his feet.

he asks me to dance again. I refuse. I refuse.

 

~Kasia