honestly

just fuck everyone.

gah okay i know i wont mean that in about 45 seconds

but maybe 

fuck stupid piece of shit ex boyfriends

fuck everyone who makes me feel like shit when i have to ditch because like is retarded

fuck the fact that my entire fucking reproductive system is fucked beyond belief

fuck overbearing, micromanaging parents

fuck the government

fuck the united states of america after handcuffing them to the bed and asking them "do you feel FREE and BRAVE now or whatever your anthem says? HUH?"

fuck graduation and its stupid redundant ideals

fuck stupid temper tantrums like this one (har har har)

fuck the fact that my best friend is totally using me to use my house to fuck her boyfriend

i like those songs that fade out to nothing

i wish i could remember what i was thinking

today will be better, i swear!

i am (un)interesting, i think it really dpends who you talk to

waking boyfriends up and "fuck ill actually miss you for four days" and  white wine interspersed with Pink Floyd the wall and we're all talking i fell asleep on your arm untill your arm fell asleep under me and then i had to go home to black windowpanes and i skunk chased my way down the street and i jay walked like the motherfucker that i am. 

i hate being the first one to leave. 

and today i tore my room apart and i sat in the middle of the shipwreck and almostcried enough almosttears to drown the planks and the deadshipsails two times over because i dont know where im going and worst of all i dont know how im getting there and the only part i know is that i have to travel alone and without shoes and thats kind of comforting but also kind of weirdly disturbing like sleeping naked in someone elses house or forgetting your name

once i was done painting my face in all the colours of morose i sang songs in bathrooms and realized how much i like people even though they terrify me because they always fucking hurt

dont worry, ill still swear like a sailor and write uncapitalized run on sentences exclusively and eat the red ones last. even when im ninety two

i promise

bussedbussedbussed

old men told me i was beautiful

returned library books

went to protests dressed in black with second hand spats on 

shopped and bought into that whole consumerism complex

movies and bus transfers and best friends and summer and boys with peacock feathers tatooed on their arms :)

there's no secrets this year.

i also really like this one...im waitingwaitingwaiting for my last exam to begin and end so i can stop feeling guilty for leaving the house and i can also stop with irrelevant blog posts. la dee dah

all we want is everything.

(the handsome furs) 

 "Over it all a perfectly imperfect voice roars images of landscapes, maps of forgotten continents ripe with history, and you are left feeling as human and alive and wide-eyed as you should be every single morning."

(because i like this and i think its beautiful because its true. kind of like mathematics)

i'm to the right of you

its raining

and its summer time

and im sitting under a window

and theres not much more i could possibly want

and today i hung out with past tense drunk boys i hadnt seen in forever (hes in love but he still kind of resents me. or maybe im being self important.) bussed a million miles in the wrong direction. bought fish and chips from a guy named leslie. he has a phoenix tattooed on his arm and he unapologetically fucks the ALL DAY BREAKFAST girls who work across from him in the food court. i know right. i felt like i was living inside of mallrats (or i guess the back of a volkswagon which only makes sense if youve seen the movie and only like 4% of the world has. The other 96% should really get their shit together) and then texted boys who dont know i have a boyfriend (errrrr) and then free loaded on best friends kitchen floors long enough to feel at home and laugh with my eyes closed

and i feel whole and happy with the way my skin feels mostly

(oh and i confess i really want to do him while listening to voodoo chile. because i think my heart is 40 years expired or something)

les yeux de l'oiseau

i fucking love these people

anyone who plays the violin in sunsmeared forests while wearing feathered headbands and things that resemble dunce caps while half-talking in french (and you know that somewhere in between their fairytale accents they're muttering the meaning of life and maybe giving us a date for the apocalypse. and all in monotone, feathered, whispers of course.) is worthy of worship and love.

this band also includes the token hot french guy

unfortunately he is not in this picture

okay, no. i refuse to post this without his beautiful non-haircut and his general hotness

i am going to find his face somewhere in the beautiful realm of myspace 

and oh hey THIS is their myspace:

www.myspace.com/odlandmusic

lurk lurk and lurk untill your fingers are calloused and almostuntouchable.

(i hope you enjoy his goggles too)

birthday wish list

polaroid camera

nikon D-60

florence and the machine "lungs"

say hi to your mom  "impeccable blahs"

hexes and ohs "bedroom madness"

sublime "sublime"

the blow "paper television"

animal collective "merriweather post pavillion"

ridiculous amounts of money

booksbooksbooks (mostly everything is illuminated and second hand poetry books)

sundresses and silk shirts and highwasted shorts 

good luck

lots of hugs

a never ending supply of dead dandelions

crossword puzzles

to lose none of my friends

for everyone who deserves it to be really heart breakingly happy

sunny days without sunburns

beautiful memories

the best summer imagineable

(please and thankyou)

north western girls are all grown up this time i swear

so yesterday i

scaled cliffs in cowboy boots

haunted islands

had my shoes thrown off cliffs and rescued by friends who love me enough to almost slip into the ocean to save my favourite footwear. mua ha ha

bussed 29392392902 kilometres just because i like to be leaving and i like to be sitting still all at the same time

ate copious amounts of ice cream

ate copious amounts of sushi

shook hands with old people

people watched at bus stops

told you 2929292 stories most of which were true without fabrications

laid on beaches

woke you up after letting myself into your house, climbing the staircase, and then crawling into your bed ("hey it's like you never left. let's fall asleep again.")

sped down the highway in the backseat of a taxi with all of the windows down

kissed your face and your spine 

fell asleep on fire

waiting for the walls to wake up

i write songs for you to sing

i eat burgers in the backseats of vans at midnight with mothers who laugh like coyotes in the best possible way

i unapologetically fail math exams 

i dream in biographies and past tense histories

i photograph things untill my batteries are dead

i play hangman across my skin

i wish i could sit in the backseats of other peoples minds to see what they do when they're waiting or failing and what they think when they hear celine dion and whether they'd rather go to mexico because the girls are brownskinned and beautiful or maybe to alaska because the stars are brighter there and the cold bites your fingernails for you

oh i dont know anything at all except what i don't

also

i really kind of love edward gorey

how now

ribbons and buttercups and being too fucking naive to function sometimes

back in the gaps between tiles i tie my shoelaces upside down and drink water out of flower vases and dream with my fingers tied up in your hair. sometimes life makes no sense and i didnt sleep for weeks. instead i tightrope walked up and down your spine with spiderweb legs and you breathed in semitones to the thrum of my pulse. uhuh. i did. and you did. we sat on roof tops way too late painted in full moons and dead bits of indian paintbrush. and you kept saying thankyou as we leaned against the chimney, told me i couldnt ever disappear. i make a very good ghost though. did you know that?

 florence and the machine is playing and i feel like the brainchild of industrialization and conformity and that contagious materialism thats characterized by that insatiable WANT (its like empty swimming pools) that we fill with THINGS...

second hand charm bracelets, worry beads, old bibles all dusty and bitten by saints, fake hundred dollar bills. (i hope when i die i'm mummified in counterfeit money,) flower print house dresses, ceramic mugs, kaleidoscopes

the things we think we need

i am a cherry tree spun with fireflies and there is ivy crawling up my roots and shredding my bark and my voice isnt anywhere

in particular

and i cant quite put my finger on things sometimes except when you're sad and your voice sounds like very very quiet sirens. 

its nice when you go to buy magazines and karen o is looking back at you and then not so nice when you realize you're not the minority anymore and a woman in spandex pants is brandishing a nail filled two by four inches away from your

face

and sometimes we usually keep our promises

and chlorine in my skin and the thrum of concerts and second hand paisley and moonbeams and smoke spiraling into my eyes i cough like my lungs are hopefully disposable. her house is maybe burning down. did i tell you that?

i dreamed of a house with big windows that are always full of sunlight and gables that were charred black and waterfalls and it exists. i know this house exists. i am insatiably obsessed with finding it and making it mine so i can sleep next to you forever and it can always be summer and texas so maybe youll be able to breathe a little better

textbooks make my mind run in uncatchable circles 

i will tattoo sparrows and bumblebees and i love yous across my skin so i dont forget my definitions