INTP

That's my personality, reduced to four little letters.


From what I can tell, it's pretty apt.


I think I want to replace my facebook statuses with crypticism, which the red squiggles tell me isn't a word, but I think it makes my point better than any other. The "T" stands for thinking.  The other option is "F", for feeling.


deep as a puddle, shallow as ocean
sharp as a feather, tender as ice
nobody can put these parts into motion
who else can shatter this darkness with light?


Riddles, nursery rhymes, parts of A Swiftly Tilting Planet. 

obsession confession

Sometimes I get really sad and need something someone to help me out, I am happy now but I know it is just part of that sine curve and that the sad will come back down, I just need to figure out the frequency and period so I can prepare, graph my instantaneous mood.  m sub i.


I'm not sure what I think about, but I think that if I try really hard I can be really good at everything, except maybe getting enough sleep when I have to wake up early the next day because sometimes things like that cause me to think more and I can't think the way I want to when I sleep.


I wonder about having "crazy" parents, what that does/did/willdo to me but I don't really mind it I guess, I'm just watching out for myself in this soupy world, subatomic particles here, there, and nowhere all at once just like my thoughts.  I'll allow myself run-on sentences and to not maybe write poetry in its true sense but in my mind floating through between wind tunnel ears stamping around leaving again not really prose how it feels.  I'm trying to write a play but what if none of it is good enough, why do I feel this way?  Maybe it's true, but I shouldn't really care.


All I want for christmas is straight As. 


I was looking through oldish papers cleaning out my desk before I moved out of my room in my house at school, not the house at school I'm in now, the real one, and I found a poem I wrote but my computer science teacher had said all the words, it was poetry reading in between the lines.  Because everyone speaks poetry if you take out some words, I'm no poet when I try hard, hardly trying I'm not much either, but everyone's got to make that dent in the world somehow.


Stream of consciousness is bullshit, that makes it sound like the way we think is some sort of line, stream, only one row with one thing after another.  I think it's more like an ocean, with everything, animals inside, waves crashing on the beaches, tides pulling in and out but that mass of water goes on far beyond what the eye can see and is colder and darker than you can imagine, that's where the strange fish live.


Sans serif is never as beautiful, even if it makes smaller text more clear.

flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart

It's bizarre being back at school with only around thirty other people.  I don't really know what to do.  I listen to Hadestown over and over again, and wish that Orpheus had never looked back.  I read Jitterbug Perfume.  I go through the motions of being.  Is this what it's like to grow up and not have homework?  

I've started to write a play.  Maybe I'll just make myself write one play per weekend.  I'll walk out to the graveyard.  I'll look at the stars.  Yes.  Homework.

We live together in a house, fourteen of us.  We eat dinner together and laugh.  I don't know why, but thinking about it makes me feel empty all of a sudden.  I miss something I've never had and can't really grasp, something vital and invisible, like space.  Something, someone?

brevity cavity

I like those words together.  They almost rhyme, even though I don't usually concern myself with rhyming most of the time.  I have been home for a long time now, but I have to go back to school soon--not school school though, working at the local library/admissions.  I'm excited, but also a little bit sad.  It would be bittersweet, but bittersweet seems too strong of a descriptor.  Who knows, who cares.  Here is where brevity comes in.