Rien.

 ----------------------


I seem to have lost the art of communication
somewhere in the time between riding this ghost-ridden carousel
and standing at the top of the Leaning Tower of Me.

And somewhere between the folds of my dirty sheets,
lies my heart, which must have slipped out while I was sleeping.
I keep the window shut, so it can't have gone anywhere else.

Oh, no matter how much you hum to yourself, it can't sate your craving of song.

And no matter how hard you search,
you won't be able to find what I really want to say
between these silly lines.

----------------------

This is lame. But I feel rather lame these days; it's reflecting in these meanderings.

I feel like I've not had a real conversation with anyone in weeks. I've built a wall of chatter around me, and I throw loaves of drivel over it to satisfy those who may want to come in.

I'm tired of talking about my pain, since it just makes me feel worse. I prefer to let myself slip into that familiar emotional monotone. I'm very tired of it all. But even writing this has made me feel bad. Ugh. Let's move on to something happier....


Want to hear me singing a cappella?

Okay, well maybe that's not something happier, but I have all these recordings rotting on my computer, so why not?

This was recorded a few weeks ago, when everyone was out to dinner, but I stayed home, because I had eaten out with them the night before and that was enough for me. Not that I don't love my family, but I'm not a big fan of restaurants. (The grandparents were in town; we don't generally eat out that often. :P)

Here's me singing part of 'Hey, Who Really Cares' by Linda Perhacs.




Me, I am mediocre - but the song is wonderful, as is its writer.

Tonight I feel alright. Content, even? What is the secret to making these feelings last, pray tell?

 (P.S. I have recently come out of the closet to the general public about my real name. It begins with "Beth" and ends with "any". :P I don't care if you call me that, or if you call me Melee. I will continue to write under this dear pseudonym, though.)



{The text at the top was scanned from The Moviegoer by Walker Percy.}

dusty nonentities

My days are gathering a same-ish hue;
they are a collection of dusty nonentities.

We keep driving into the city where the rows
of houses dance cheek-to-cheek.
They aren't right.

None of this is right.
I would prefer a home in the country.
A wallflower house, isolated,
that blends into its surroundings
by donning a gown of ivy.

It seems the ugly things of life
stick to me like spiderwebs.
Though I tear them off with shaking hands
I can still feel their ghost threads
clinging.
Leave me alone, please.
Everyone just leave me alone.

I feel corseted.
And my words are pounding behind my ribcage
full of life.
But they cannot escape their bony prison
and I don’t know how to set them free.

So my songs go unsung
because right now my lungs barely have
enough air to breathe,
let alone give life to a melody.
Even one that could fill the empty spaces
my life is crowded with.

I've lost my vim.

{It's just been one of those weeks. One where I can't concentrate and nothing gets done. I haven't been sleeping enough, my words stick in my throat, and my emotions are in an uncharacteristic turmoil. WHEE! I think I'm mainly frustrated because I've been home alone quite a few times this week and I haven't taken any advantage of the fact. I usually use my rare alone time to work on my songwriting but I just haven't felt inspired at all, lately, so I don't even try. No wonder Time hates me; I do nothing but waste what he gives me.}

{Both pictures are of Françoise Hardy and I no longer remember where I found them.}

I wish I could make you understand...

I want to make you feel what I'm feeling,
See what I'm seeing.
But my emotions can't be expressed.
I try to tell you things but my words seem to trip over each other in the excitement to tell of their joy.
Sometimes they falter and shrink back when I reach for them.
In desperation I try to capture my elusive thoughts of the intangible things around me.
Only to have the beautiful things I want to say evade me.
I can merely articulate vaguely and hope you'll understand.
Do you understand?
I want you to understand more than anything
I dream that you may someday know what's in my mind,
See the wheels that are turning,
Feel life in what I say.
Making the connection is hard... I won't stop trying though.
There's a beauty in this endeavor,
Even I don't fully understand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I always wished I could write. I have, too... lots of things. But they're not like I want them. I feel them all in my heart... beautiful things that sing. But when I want to put them down on paper, it seems they're like little wild things... they're gone."
-Excerpt from The Rim of the Prairie by Bess Streeter Aldrich

Distractions and a spoonful of sugar.

I've been trying to write a post for a few days now, but I've just been so distracted! Every time I turn around there are new distractions popping up... graduations & parties to attend, shoe-shopping {Eeek!}, school that has no intention of ending, dog-sitting, and just constant noise! And even in moments of quiet I find myself lacking the focus to do what needs to be done. I'm not really sure why... Maybe I'm just ready for summer. Yeah. I'm going to blame it on that. :P


On a happier note: Quite recently I've noticed that sugar makes a sound as it slides off the spoon into my morning coffee. It's kind of like a sigh of relief or maybe a shuddering sigh... I don't really know, but it makes me happy! So now I always listen for it. As do my mum & littler brother, ever since I pointed it out. It's the simple things in life, right? :)