a general note to everyone in my life and everyone not in my life and absolutely everyone else:

you know what?

you're all a bunch of useless fuckers.

everyone who is reading this.  every single one of you.  and quite a few people who aren't.

yes, i'm talking to you.

you've all entirely missed the point.

i don't think there is a point, but i think you've missed it.

take a minute.  think.  what have you done?

no, fuck that.  what have you created?  what have you felt?

what did it mean?

not a fucking thing.

today i woke up and it was almost five.
"wow," you're thinking, "since when does feta get up that early?"
i don't.  it was five pm.
that's a record, even for me.

the ultimate question that sums up last week:

with names like gigi and oolong, how can it not be true love?

Haha, a while ago I found a video of Gigi and I reciting this poem on my computer.  I probably have a copy of it in an older entry, but I figured I would post again it in honor of the second to last April ever.  I can hardly stand to think about it.  No more forts filled with John Mayer, no more all-night Buffy marathons... no more bra jokes.  Growing up is so depressing.  But anyways, here you are (edit 4/23: last stanza!):

that shriek that you just heard?  that was me.  i came home and discovered that my entire itunes had been erased.  needless to say, i am not pleased.

tonight i overcame my fear of man-eating plants.

yesterday i got myself another livejournal for my writing and fandoms, freeing this one up for ranting and such.

that's all.

love
feta

the new counting crows album, "saturday nights and sunday mornings" is seriously cooler than cereal and the best thing since sliced bread.  i highly advise you give it a try, even if you don't like the crows.  i'd happily make you a copy.

love
feta

so.  *sticks out tongue*  i went to an advance screening of "the other boleyn girl" and you didn't!  (unless you are jazz.)  it was fabulous, but i cried.  i already knew most of the story (because of a very long and unhealthy childhood obsession with anne boleyn) even though i hadn't read the book, and so obviously i knew what was coming - but i cried anyway.  i mean, think about it.  jim sturgess died.  natalie portman died!  alright, so i cry too easily.

let me sum up the beginning of my week for you.  on sunday, i was bitten by a dog.  the same dog ripped my pants.  on monday, i got a migraine.  my migraine meds, as usual, made me feel insanely sick.  what's more, i didn't take them on time, so the migraine didn't go away.  so on monday night i pretty much felt like i was going to die.  and the goddamn headache lasted all through yesterday.  and today.

so after a shitty couple days, i think i deserved that movie ticket.  and i think whoever is reading this should get their ass to a movie theater on friday when the movie actually comes out.  cause it was pretty awesome.

love,
feta

today was six kinds of awful but twelve kinds of wonderful.

wow.  appearantly i am a "pussy" because i have an imagination, and because i find it enjoyable to fantasize with my friends about things that we couldn't literally do.  that's just such an awful way to look at the world; i feel so bad for people who think that way.  there's so much in life you can miss out on if you're too realistic or practical, and if you take things too seriously.  i sure as hell hope i never become like that.

yeah?  well fuck you.  fuck you.

so i have this dilemma:

i had this friend who would always be asking me questions about my life and getting really pissy if i didn't answer, so i always ended up answering.  but whenever i asked her about *her* life, she would say it was none of my business.  so eventually i gave up and gave her the same treatment.  and then she got pissed off at me because i would ask her about her life but not tell her about mine.  i guess she didn't realize i was only doing what she'd done to me.  and so we're not speaking.  but that puts her on a not-too-short list of people with whom i don't communicate.  and i don't like it.

that's all.

lots of love,
your feta

"let's make ice cream cake!  all we need is a syringe."

-corey

fuck.  i... shit.
i'll miss you, heath.

ignorance amazes me.

being embarrassed about your music is like being embarrassed about your soul.

i have recently become a fan of albert camus.  i think he's a genius.  jazz disagrees.  do you?

read this.

love,
feta

words cannot describe how unfair my mum is being.  i'm not allowed to wear my combat boots to the mall because "normal" people don't dress like that.  she said , "no one at the mall's gonna be wearing anything like that, and you've got to learn to fit in.  point out someone at the mall who dresses like that."  i said," sure," and then she said, "someone who's not a freak."

and she's blaming me for that thing that happened yesterday, as though it's my fault that i'm so fucked up.

i realize suddenly that i never posted my new year's resolution.  well, here it is.  i am going to live and experience and feel everything i possibly can, no matter what the consequences.  welcome to 2008, and happy tolkien day!

Sometimes I dont know what to do
Someone said the worlds going to end and I think its true
I thought there was some love in the world
But I guess I'm wrong

*Todd Rundgren

why do i write?  "as proof that I was here and, even in the midst of the inescapable quiet, I was not myself silent."  so says adam duritz.  i think he's right.  now the question becomes, why does no one read?

but more importantly... holy fuck.  it's so - it's just... i - i don't know what to say.

a true friend is the one who'll squash your invisible spiders.

in other news, i have a short story for you!  it's based very loosely on some bob dylan songs.  i kind of liked how it turned out.  my english teacher hated it, which is always a good sign.  tell me what you think.

i dyed my hair.  it's pretty awesome.

i'm so fucking stupid.

if you're interested, i got an awesome new pair of shoes that cost twice as much as i've ever paid for shoes in my life.  but they're adorable, so it's ok.

and here you go.  it's a section of my newest book / a sequel to the short story "green eyes" that i posted here a while ago.  it's not as good as the first one, but *please* tell me what you think.

love,
feta

i'm having the day from hell.  life is unfair as shit.  and i don't want to be normal.

It is the summer of 2007 and I am racing through my dreamland in a perfect euphoria.  I am glancing around and saying to myself, this is why I write.  I think it’s a sign that I’ve found what I am looking for.  The grass is high, above my head; it’s not normal grass at all.  This place of my fantasy lies on the edge of a Scottish loch, and it is to that water that I now travel, nearly oblivious to the nettles stinging my ankles.

Generations before me lived in these highlands, but no longer.  My family has chosen the straight lines and structures and blatant humanity of being American.  This is not altogether our fault.  From a distance, the story is a funny one.  A churchgoer, possibly speaking in tongues, made a prophecy that the minister would take a long trip.  The minister packed up his family and crossed the pond at once, where his son, a hippie musician, took many long trips of his own.  He married, settled down, and raised me to be artistic and suburban.  He writes:  “We are the stolen ones / We never did exist…”

And he is right.  We live in the in-between; we are neither here nor there.  We create art, all of us, the tired ones, and in this I include all the unrewarded and unacknowledged.  We create it and hang it in the sky for passersby to admire, though like as not they’ll simply stare for a moment and move on, unaffected.  Inspiration and insight cannot be forced for either party, more’s the pity.  Adam Duritz tells of:  “…holes in the places where WE ourselves were supposed to be.”  The world is made up of gaps and tears where people belong but cannot quite fit or conform.  We leave out sacred spaces in the wall and move to join a place that better suits us.  Sherman Alexie explains: “…there is a hole in the wall where there was none before.  ‘What is this?’ I ask my mother.  ‘It’s your sister,’ she answers.  ‘You mean my sister made that hole?’  ‘No,’ she says, ‘that hole in the wall is your sister.’”

In any case, it is the summer of 2007 and I have found my Eden.  I am blissful and ready to die.  I will be told later that this is not safe thinking and I will want to slap the one who says this: how can she so misunderstand?  Because in my land of flawlessness, my happy place, death is the only thing that cannot be comprehended; it is the new experience that I crave.  The loch opens up before me and I wade out into its murky depths, still in my sneakers and jeans.  The water comes above my knees.  I hear my name called and I remember that sometime before I found this site of elation I was walking with my mother.  She approaches now: what are you doing? she asks.  Get out of there.  I tell her I don’t want to but do not explain why.  I am on top of the world.  She coaxes me out with threats of noosed freedom, which she’ll later put into action despite my compliance.

We walk back to our flat to the music of her scolding, and there is a stream to cross on the way.  I wade through just as I did with the loch.  She stands on the bank and shouts.  That is not how normal people behave, and so on.  I am not afraid of her but I don’t understand what she’s talking about and I tell her so.  She surprises me.  She begins to cry.  I know you don’t, she sobs, I know.  It seems impossible that maybe a week before we were sat down on hotel room beds, sipping coffee along with my father and a friend of mine.  The friend is nicknamed Gigi, which stands for Goldisnot, which is all I could come up with when she begged me for a nickname.  I looked at her blond curls and saw only Goldilocks and snot.  Shallow, is it not?

But anyways, we clutch our mugs of beverages stolen from our last hotel and someone asks what the funniest moment of the day was.  Somebody else says that the funniest moment is not the question; rather, we should consider the saddest.  We don’t argue.  We think about the funniest, saddest thing that has happened to us in the past twenty-four hours, and several come to mind.  The time my father thought the label on the back of his shirt was actually dirt, and, distraught, attempted to wash it off.  He might not have been so distressed had it not been a shirt I had given him on some previous holiday; he might not have made this mistake if he had not lost his glasses.  But there was my father, scrubbing at the back of his shirt, and there we are, with our coffee and our smiles, laughing at him but not mocking.  Then there was the time we were all piling out of our room, into the hallway; my mother bumped into Gigi, who crashed into me, and I into my father, and we all went down like dominoes.

“You and I are dominos,” Syd Barrett writes.  We pull each other down and have a hard time standing up once more.  We collide with one another in a desperation not to feel empty.  Emptiness is hardly an emotion; rather, it is the lack thereof.  Syd also says, “Things cannot be destroyed once and for all.”  Nothing is over until it has ended.  We spend our lives trying to sense and experience anything we can.  All I want from life is to feel as intensely as possible, despite all obstacles that separate me from this goal.  An experience is often finished quickly but in a way never really ends, even when the memory is gone.  Syd was a wise man, but only human.  We are all human.

If there were a way to feel more than human – to feel a part of the world, and not isolated inside your layers of clothing and skin – would you take it?  A way to not worry about what will happen next, and to focus on the present.  Margret Atwood writes: “But we behaved as usual.  Everyone does, most of the time.”  We go through our lives like the undead, arms outstretched, as though we don’t, or shouldn’t exist.  We are blind and rarely open our eyes – and when we finally do, the experience is more beautiful than can be recorded.

I am talking about connection.  I am talking about raw emotion and the sensation of being one with the world and the people around you so that you don’t know where your fuzzy edges end and the universe begins.  It is the year 2007 and two of us, it does not matter which two, sit by the side of a pond, looking at the moon.  It makes the water glow, contrasting with the shadows.  It is nearly full.  I have spoken about my life so much that by this time there is nothing left to say.  This is not a bad way to spend the holiday.  Back in the summer, I am shouting: you have to let me go.  My hands are shaking.  Or maybe that is not what is happening at all.  Maybe I am turning to Gigi and saying she seems a bit bitchy today, is her bra too tight?

Maybe I am crazy.  Maybe none of this happened at all.  Sometimes we are so used to sleeping that we forget to wake up and pull our heads from the sand.  All I know is what I believe.  I believe in love, and life, and once upon a time I realized that if the meaning of life is to live, and one cannot live without feeling, then the meaning of life is to feel.

i had my first driving lesson today.  it was kind of terrifying.  the guy kept telling me to go faster, he was like, "give it more gas!  more gas!  you can give it some more gas, you know."  Scary.

i feel so fucking empty.  i can't explain.  it's not like anything's wrong, it's just that the world is so amazing and i can't quite grasp it.

gigi, if you are reading this, then you should know that i love you more than a two dollar whore.

if you are reading this and are not gigi, then you should know i have just seen the most amazing play ever, starring my lovely gigi.  and if you're not doing anything friday or saturday night you ought to get your asses to medford high school to see it, too.

*sniff* she's not my little gigi anymore...

lots of love,
feta

today i got lost in a corn maze dressed as lucy in the sky with diamonds.  go figure.

how very fucking emo of me.

what an asshole.

For the first three people who reply to me and re-post this challenge, I will send you something. It might be something I've made, or something cool from my hidden stash, it might be a mix CD - or a rubber duck, a book I think you will enjoy, or something else that is awesome. Whatever it is, I promise that I will get it to you in 365 days or less.

The only thing you need to do in order to participate is to be one of the first three to reply to this, AND post this very same thing on YOUR live journal - 'cause its fun to give people stuff.

The first 3 participants win!

GO!

i want to make my journal friends-only.  can someone tell me how?  is there like a button to press?

love,
feta

and another short story.  i'm going to have to stop writing them when i start school, but that's not until monday.  this story is a prequel to my story "fake plastic flower" which i posted a few entries ago.  enjoy.

lots o love,
feta mazzy

another short story.  please tell me what you think.

love,
feta

i'm having the crappiest birthday ever.  wow.

no one has time for me anymore.  no one has time for the girl who's so pathetic she can't even go to school.  i've accepted that.  i'm not angry.

it's so weird not going back to school, but i've talked to some people and they say it's just school, there's nothing new or different this year.  which i guess i'm grateful for.  the plus of all this is that i have plenty of time on my hands.  i wrote and wrote and wrote today, and ended up adding more to my novel and writing this short story which i really liked so i think i'll post it here.  please comment and tell me what you think.  if you get bored and don't read it all then just comment and tell me where you stopped, it really helps me as a writer.  thanks.

i fall in love too easily.

i am home.  it has been the longest three weeks of my life, full of eccentricities and sex addicts and nasty rap music.  i have learned lots of things.  most important of these, i have learned that i have some abselutely amazing friends and that i am not alone, even when i really want to be.  i am not going to forget how great you all were, coming to visit me when i'm sure you all had better things to do.  being home is scary and most of all i am afraid of myself.  i am also afraid of what some people will say if they find out about all of this.  but there's no time to be scared, really, when i have all you amazing people here for me.  so thank you.  thank you thank you thank you.  i mean it.

love,
your very own feta

sometimes the world is just such a beautiful place i can hardly stand it.  other times it's all monotony and boredom.  and even in times like this i can see the beauty in everything, i can feel the world around me and it's so amazingly *alive*.  and yet i am never content.  when my life is full of shit i'll do anything to make it better again, but at times like this when everything's going well i have fond memories of shit and how very exciting it was.  i'm sometimes glad i'm not drowning anymore but more often i want to dive back in again.  i have decided to live for the present and forget there is a future because this way i feel the most insight into the world around me.  as i see it, my future can be stolen at any time but the present is always mine, it's the time in which i have control over my life and what i do with it.

i would just like everyone to know that if for some reason all the shit in my life catches up with me and i never see you again: i totally love you.  i don't know who's reading this, but know that i'm completely in love with you.  i.  love.  you.  and i think what the world needs most of all is a bit more love.

lots of love,
your very own feta

i'm going to scotland!!!

i think hell must be a lot like high school.  or maybe the other way around.

the electric light orchestra have this song where they ask: "what can you do when your dream-world is gone?" but they don't give an answer so i don't know what to do.

you know what's amazing?  time.  it just keeps *going* even when you're sure it won't.  it never stops.  how cool is that?

you know how i feel?  i fell like that movie 'benny & joon' when she says she is tired of everyone telling her what to do.  i feel like joon without a benny.  i feel like a raisin, because they're really just humilliated grapes you know.  i fell like i have no control over my life.

i was supposed to go to scotland this summer.  nick says it's awesome there.  the drinking age is 16.  i was supposed to go and stay in a dorm and write and meet people who aren't lincolnites and it was supposed to be amazing.  now i'm not allowed to go.  i can argue all i like and it does no good because i'm not allowed.  this is the one thing i've been looking forward to for over a year and now i'm my parents don't think i can handle the stress of it all so they won't let me go.  what i can't handle is the stress of *not* going.  i can't handle having looked forward to this thing for so long and having it taken away and having no say in the matter.  is that selfish of me?

i feel like a two-year-old.  i feel like shit.  i hate this.


love?
feta

i don't understand.