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11.8.09 : really, why now.

  • Nov. 9th, 2009 at 8:01 PM

Get out.
Get out.
Get out of my mind.

I’ve tried to stow you away in a box and put you in the attic of my mind.
I’ve tried to forget about it.
Letting it collect cobwebs and dust in the corner of the shelf.
But just when I think it is all okay something drives me to crack open the lid.
But no, I mustn’t.
I can’t allow myself to.

Is it this hard for you?
 

11.6.09 : introverts?

  • Nov. 6th, 2009 at 7:13 PM

Though our feelings may bring us together,
they equally present the opportunity
to isolate us.

If you believe that no one feels the way
that you feel, then this will become the
truth for your reality.

And that is a shame.

This leads me to believe that
people feel alone, not because they
actually are, but simply because they
do not know how to let other people

in.


11.6.09 : shit. :(

  • Nov. 6th, 2009 at 4:10 PM
"VANIERSEL _ Francisca Elizabeth Josephina

Francisca Elizabeth Josephina Vaniersel, beloved wife of Mr. Jack Vaniersel of Calgary, passed away peacefully at the Southwood Care Centre on Friday, December 15, 2006, at the age of 84 years. Besides her loving husband, Francis will be lovingly remembered by her children, Connie (Robert) Savage, Leon (Paulina) Vaniersel, John Vaniersel, Frank (Bobbie) Vaniersel, Marilyn (Eugene) Nahirney, Marjorie (Perry) Smeets; thirteen grandchildren; two great-grandchildren, as well as numerous other relatives. Relatives and friends are invited to Prayers at Our Lady Of The Assumption Roman Catholic Church (7624 - 39 Avenue N.W.) on Tuesday, December 19, 2006 at 7:00 p.m. A Funeral Mass will be celebrated at Our Lady Of The Assumption Roman Catholic Church on Wednesday, December 20, 2006 at 10:00 a.m. If so desired, in lieu of flowers a memorial tribute may be made in Francis' name directly to the Southwood Hospice (211 Heritage Drive S.E., Calgary, AB, T2H 1M9). To email expressions of sympathy: www.mountainviewmemorial.ca subject heading: Francis Vaniersel. Arrangements entrusted to MOUNTAIN VIEW FUNERAL HOME and CEMETERY, 17 Avenue S.E. at Garden Road (1.5 km east of 84 Street S.E.). Telephone 403-272-5555."




i dont even know how many times i've read this. there's just something i have to do.

11.6.09 : really,

  • Nov. 6th, 2009 at 3:41 PM
i miss your voice.
(call, don't text.)

11.6.09 : wee morning hours.

  • Nov. 6th, 2009 at 3:39 PM
I feel stuck. I keep so many things inside that I honest to God feel like I am overflowing with emotions right now. It’s like I have filled every fucking inch of me with secrets and feelings that they are starting to leak through. It’s a big, unexpected wave. It’s like catching your breath. It’s that point where you trip and you find yourself free-falling to the ground and you know it’s going to hurt. It’s just so… all at once. I feel like there’s no time to think or time to hold it all in for a couple more minutes. It’s just flowing out and there’s not one God damn thing I can do about it; except feel. All the hurt, secrets, past, bad stuff… All the things I don’t want to feel or remember or think about come rushing at me. They go through me so quickly, I can’t even think straight. There’s just too much but a part of me is trying so hard not to feel anything at all; wanting so badly to fight back. It’s tiring and draining. I want to feel something other than this, anything at all. The only thing I can think of that isn’t self-destructive is writing, and music. It’s distracting and helps to an extent. But it’s not satisfying enough. What happens once my pen dies? What happens once the sound resonates away?

11.05.09 : musings.

  • Nov. 5th, 2009 at 9:53 PM
i like it, but i don't.
i want it, but i don't.
i'm fine, but i'm not...

(none of it matters, but it all does.)

[.In.This.Moment.Forever.]

  • Nov. 5th, 2009 at 6:50 PM
So my life has been extreme busy this week.

I have been doing homework non stop all week, and once I got home today I spent the time I had off finally making dinner. I want to just have some tea and sleep for days.
I barely had time to think about you but i managed to find the time.
 
I also started wondering why I write in this journal. I then remembered the reason. I enjoy writing, plus I will forever listen to what others have to say and rarely talk about myself. I don't mention how my life is even if anyone asks, I know no one really cares. Plus my life will some how "relate" to their own. I don't understand how some people think you wont notice if you change the subject dramatically. Really one minute you could be discussing water buffalo and they find a way to mention bananas. Of course everyone should know that these two topics are really similar and you're really dumb for thinking other wise.

I am desperately searching for someone who would like to listen to what I have to say for once. Truth be told, nine times out of ten I really don't want to listen to you going on about whatever it is you say to me. I don't have any more attention span than a kindergartener at recess time and listening to you really becomes a struggle. When I have nothing to say it's probably because I didn't listen to a single word you said.

Is it weird that I am the most self conscience person I know? I don't like to be rude to other people and everyone tells me I am really nice, yet I dont feel that way. I feel as though every single person is judging me. I really don't like negative opinions.

Every day I wonder to myself; is there really someone out there for everyone? what if the world forgot about me? I don't think I am good enough for anyone out there. Not that I know of just yet. I like someone, I guess you could say I repressed it without telling anyone. Ever since we started talking something about you got to me. I pass by you and wonder if your exactly what I want in a guy. I can't really be sure because I would rather you not know I like you.

A controversial topic I have been contemplating recently.  Religion. So many people have their different takes on it. A book that was supposedly the first one ever published tells you exactly how to live your life, what is right and wrong. I don't belive it. I made that decision the other day. If you can't prove to me that god exists I really cannot believe it. My opinion is that religion was created when many years ago someone could not think of the answer to a question because they didn't have the resources to come up with the answer. Cavemen had religion, they worshiped the sun and the moon, not a god. Also, if it is proven that we evolved from other creatures, then yeah I believe it.
Please sue me if you disagree with my opinion. I think maybe there is something out there, but I can't see it. Oh how my opinions would make the pope swear.

xo. Dani.xx



11.04.09 : falling apart.

  • Nov. 4th, 2009 at 5:19 PM
I just want to be held. I just want to feel arms around me, holding me together because I feel like I'm splitting at the sternum.

11.04.09 : this is very true.

  • Nov. 4th, 2009 at 4:22 PM
i hate looking at myself and realizing that i don't like what i see. i hate looking back at things i did and wondering why i was like that.

every day there's something wrong. just one trivial thing that can make me unhappy for just a moment. it's like it's not even possible to have a day without one bad feeling.

I dream in technicolor – occasionally

in grey;

surrounded by the furthest

reaches of the

Quiet Place.

 

Golden stars fall upon my

furrowed brow and the soft wind

whispers sweet nothings in my ears.

I am finally at peace.

 

My sanctuary, my safe haven,

the Quiet Place –

far from the harsh realities of

life. Into my head I retreat.

In an instant life’s trials and tribulations seem

all too trivial compared to the vastness of

this dimension: my own mind, and

it is all mine.

Anything is possible here.

 

In actuality, I am small, vulnerable, even at best.

Standing witness to a war where words

are the shrapnel flying

free mad, free target

and emerging unscathed is

anything but easy.

Here, though, here, I am protected.

I am infinite in this

Quiet Place.

 

The time that I cannot hear you all

is so very nice. Your remarks are nothing,

for I am here, in my

very own Quiet Place where

my thoughts fly free like balloons released

from a child’s shaking hands

accidentally-on-purpose,

and I’ve got a friend in myself

and we walk through the tall grass,

stumbling wildly, chasing butterflies

and thinking aloud… the Quiet Place

is far, far from harm’s relentless grip.


Careful not to trip over the roots

of the great, growing trunk, we

wander on. To think: the majestic

oak was once a miniscule stub,

just barely protruding from the damp earth,

but with every visit, it grows higher, higher –

With every visit, I grow stronger, stronger:

a healing property of the Quiet Place.

 

Sure of our footing, we

wander on. Time after time we

drink our way through the low, misty

fog over the water,

and with every visit, it becomes clearer, clearer –

With every visit, I gain life, life.

I am rejuvenated at the

Quiet Place.

 

With the tree of knowledge I share my thoughts,

with the waters of the fountain of youth I recover

from the tragedy that is life, and with this I realize

that this friend I’ve walked with

is only me, another me –

the uninhibited alter-ego living

in the furthest reaches of the

Quiet Place, just begging

for some room to breathe.

(Hello, there.)

 

I am finally free.

 

I dream in technicolor – occasionally

in grey;

surrounded by the furthest

reaches of the

Quiet Place.

 

And here, I am finally home.


11.1.09 : the sky.

  • Nov. 1st, 2009 at 9:20 PM

sometimes, i look at the sky and i feel very small.

once, i laid under the stars next to a friend.
we stayed there for as long as we could handle;
the autumn air was cold and unforgiving,
and our elbows bumped awkwardly.
but it was all trivial compared to the
v a s t n e s s of the sky and the stars above me.

sometimes, i find it hard to believe that we're important.
in such a huge expanse of space, how can we possibly be?
it can't be our opposable thumbs, and it can't be our innovations.
(after all, clown fish are pretty ingenious, too.)

and the universe doesn't care about our problems, i realized.
the universe doesn't care about universal health care,
and it doesn't care about struggling artists trying to survive.
it doesn't care about nonconformist trends,
and it doesn't particularly enjoy sitcoms.
to the universe, we're just more inhabitants.

we're just ants in cracks in sidewalks to the universe.

(the sky makes me think about things i don't understand.)


10.31.09 : ...

  • Nov. 1st, 2009 at 9:11 PM

you've become a distant mist,
a lackluster fog that surrounds me

your vapors envelope me,
but i cannot feel you in my bones.

you hold me in your heart, but if
i'm only holding your heart in my hands,

what is there to win?


10.31.09 : i'm a lost cause.

  • Oct. 31st, 2009 at 2:48 PM

like lost causes, we wander
with our smiles hidden and hearts sore
with dreaming.
eyes wide open, inhaling in cold drafts
and pretending we dissolve snowflakes
in our folded palms. this is
how we breathe in and become

anonymous to ourselves.
because i’ve never felt more alone than now
(swirling in the fumes of your absence,
maybe you’re the dizzy i need
to believe in)

in the rain that trickles salvation
and the endless night holding back its sigh,
i sit on the pavement to cry

for the world never meant to be,
and i'll sing songs,
songs that stretch over an ocean
of stars
and the sad thoughts percolating
over my heart’s brim

to empty my voice
into an echo for redemption.
 

10.31.09 : taking risks, pessimists.

  • Oct. 31st, 2009 at 2:29 PM

For now, I feel like I am in a fishbowl. Everyone’s lookin’, but nobody’s talkin’. What a sad existence: to be scrutinized with no comment. Shady glances, and shadier thoughts, but no speech bubbles to fess up.

I’m still not done putting ”x”s in the boxes next to “mood swings” and “inconsistencies.”  I’m always calling it quits, my hands are always shaking. I’m alright, alright, alright, but I’m waiting for everyone to fall asleep so me and the tick of the clock/ the beat of my heart can be alone. When the large portion of the world is awake, I feel like there are too many complications to the wires connecting my heart and my brain.

I know this isn’t making a lot of sense, but sometimes feelings don’t read like instruction booklets.

I’m not faking these smiles, they come naturally, but they have to share a bed with all the troubles my feeble head has worked up. “Sleeping With The Enemy,” or so it would seem.

But hey: thanks for all those late nights during the last 3 weeks, even with the winter chills. I only hope that this break wasn’t some sick dream. I don’t want this to be like the end of the Breakfast Club where there’s the possibility that we’ll all go on our merry little ways and never talk again. I want this to be the beginning of something sparkling and new. I only hope I mean the same to you.