Three hundred years down the road and we’re still picking up the slack from the days of loss and vacation and the days of dreams and sleep and whistling canyons where the speeches of our ancestors clutter our ears

They fill your head with nonsenses as you fill your pockets with silver thimbles, worth a dime or a piece of bread

So mark your sentences with red flags of occupation

As once you were there so you will always have been

Speak swiftly and softly and curl your lips around the sink

And scream into the holes that so muffle your passion

Diluting the sound that makes you stand

Cracking the foundation so to leak in the sand

Crumbs and bristles itch my back

Lying backwards on a limb of risk

And white and black make a mixture of tones that eventually lead to songs and beauty

And gray

Oh, what is the middle name of Father Time?

Oh, where can I go when I’ve got no place to stay?

Piles of leaves are trash to the eyes but deep inside holds beauty

Laced fixtures attached to the scene

Tape and patches and right-clicks fix

And fix

And knot and singe and cry when they aren’t perfect

Masks marked with glue stains and false identities

Parties of fowls who aren’t fit to be fed

To feed to

To die

To live

Stuck in the purgatory and in the limbo of time

Fight and sing and damnit keep living because the ground is still moist

Live because the threads of our ropes are not yet frayed and we can hang on to the monkey bars in this zoo and in this asylum and in this park of evergreen trees

We can swim in the bank and we can sip to our pleasures

To our forefathers

To ripped feathers of eagles and hawks

Because faces so rounded and marks so raw

Because boulders in pockets and rivers so cold

Because of key rings and ringed keys and ruffles and lace and tan

Because dreamcatchers and milk cartons and outlines and

Because I can’t park in a straight line

And I can’t count

Because napoleon invaded Egypt in 1799

Because life is a heterogeneous mixture and you can tell the layers and the lines and the marks of my ever-growing escapade and the acts of espionage committed daily and

Because because because because

Yolo? Oh no

No no no nonoononononono

Because a hurricane never stays in the same place forever.

Now your bangs are curled, your lashes whirled, but still the world is cruel.....

It's a wild, wild world we live in, isn't it?

I'm not sure why I'm posting. I should be grabbing at the pieces of sleep that I so desperately long for. I've been busy and stressed and I've handled it so damn well.

I'm participating in a pageant within my local community. At first, it was a hairbrained idea that I pursued to "prove a point", that someone like me with tangled hair and chubby cheeks and bad language could excel in an area I knew nothing about. It was so selfish of a reason, but I'm glad I convinced myself that it was a good enough one. I've been stretched far and for once I've gathered an insight into what it's like to be a beautiful girl in high heels and lip gloss. I've learned to talk the talk and walk the walk, so to speak; learning dances and walking with poise. I've learned how to curl my hair and smile. I've learned, I've learned, I've learned.... and isn't this what it's all about? To learn? It's been a grand experiment thus far and I'm almost to the point where I think.... I might win?

Now, granted, it was never about winning. It's never about winning for me. I'm not very competitive by nature and I prefer to play the role of spectator in all of life's grand schemes and plots. But this time it's different! I want to speak the way they want me to and walk the way that they assume to be correct. I've learned to compromise myself: to slot myself into sections of pure individuality and sections of mainstream acceptance. It also taught me a very important fact that I failed to realize until very recently.... It taught me that my individuality does not come with what I wear or how I act. Individuality is embedded much deeper into the very roots and structure of my being. I will perennially be only me. There is not another Esther in this world who is ME, so my shaking fear of "losing myself" by compromising to society's means could never actually happen.

I'll always want to present myself as how I see my mind, a mixture of colors and patterns, but those are not vital to present me. There have been days where I presented myself completely normal, but there has still remained that glint in my eye and that twist of my hips and that way I catch a piece of humor at the ends of my sentences that proclaims to the world in flashing lights and neon letters, "I AM ME. I AM THE ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD AND THE HISTORY OF TIME THAT IS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT ME."

And isn't that just a wonderful feeling?

I feel like I've hit the jackpot on this train ride of self-realization.

So yes, I may be in designer shoes and curled hair and I may be dancing the same steps as the several other clones lined up next to me, but every single one of us is our own person and behind that fortress of flocked birds in monochrome we are each individually so beautifully technicolor. A pile of snow may look like a thick, white wall, but if you break it down, we are indeed all "special snowflakes".....

So yes! This pageant has been a dream and a nightmare. I've struggled with sobbing at practice when all of the girls with their candlestick legs and perfect posture nailed each move perfectly. I've struggled with self-doubt, thinking, "Have I set myself up for failure?". I've struggled with anger and stress and I've struggled with envy. I've struggled and I've overcame and I may not get every step right on cue and I may not be standing where I'm supposed to be, but damn all if I'm not trying my hardest! It doesn't truly matter if I come out of this without a single medal around my neck. It doesn't matter because the biggest prize of all is that I trusted myself enough to believe that I could do this. I've made friends and I've gained experience in so many areas.

And yes, I might not be the prettiest flower in the bunch, but I'm learning to be beautiful. I'm learning how to FEEL beautiful. I am beautiful!

I AM I AM I AM

I've never said that before.

And it feels wonderful to have finally said it.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3rkLRJ0m0k

A wonderful tune from one of my favorite movies to end the day.

Here I am again. I'm not sure why I'm writing. The words have been flowing in and out of me all night, whether fueled by schoolwork, highs, or otherwise. My life is very much different than what it was just several months ago. It feels as though my world is both stagnant, and a whirlwind.

For one, I've gotten more freedom. This is highly unusual for me, and I've been thriving off of it. Me and my friend's usual routine is to go to the park. We swing, talk, eat, get high, enjoy ourselves. Many secrets have been shared in park past dark, when the shadows bring out the good and the bad. There is so much of my life that I am unhappy with, but I've grown to deal with it. It is not the events of tragedy that impair my judgement and my joy, but the times of great self-debate. If I can avoid the lurking embers of past thoughts and inner-confrontations, then I think, perhaps I will be okay.

I've listened to a lot of music. I've read a lot of books. I've talked to many people, and whether the relationships that have been forged are good or bad, is yet to be seen. I really love these people. I never thought I would. I am reclusive by nature, a soul who prefers musty, dark rooms and piles of ancient literature over parties and parades filled with aimless faces, symbols of all that is wrong with the world.

But then I think, if I do not recognize or acknowledge my fellow man, how am I expected to remedy anything? I would be a subject teaching areas that I have no knowledge in. And to be without knowledge is to be without a wind under my wings, really. I cannot comprehend humanity most of the time, but there are points in my life where I feel a revelation, and I think, "This is the motive behind all of this shit."

Life is a learning experience, and I intend to keep it that way. I do not view school as the master institution, because life only just begins when I have that diploma handed to me. Now, granted, I value highly my grades, scores, and successes that I achieve in school, but they are a mere branch in this giant orchard of learning. It does not begin in school, and it certainly doesn't stop.

So here I am. I am ignoring the overflowing pile of terms, papers, articles, data sheets - and I ignore them to learn from them. To favor, perhaps, a personal goal, rather than a public one. I don't know.

I'll leave this here. I hate for a return post to be so short, such eloquent nonsense, but it's alright. I'll pick it back up again. When the bite of inspiration tingles my neck and my fingers start to itch, I'll return.

Until then.

I never use this thing anymore (not that I did in the first place) but you can find me at www.ech-oes.tumblr.com for any vague lurking readers who probably don't exist.

Cheers and good vibes, I may post again.

Fuck this. I want happiness. I'm going to spend my days doing the things I love. Which include (yes, a list!):

• Listening to good music (Pink Floyd, 80's no-wave, Led Zeppelin, Grizzly Bear, etc.)
• Reading good books
• Soaking in the cultures of past and present
• Traveling, even if it means traveling to a new spot in my backyard
• Expanding my mind every time I get the chance
• Learning about the things I love, just like I used to
• Talking to great people and picking out the bad seeds that make my life less fullfilling than it could be
• Reading great blogs taking place in environments I could only imagine
• Get through the school days the way I want to, and damnit - if that means taking a blanket and a thermos of tea to class, then watch me do it!
• Playing Legend of Zelda until I can quote the diologues by heart
• Happy Masks Salesman Etsy shop - you will be a reality! I just have to, uh, master paper mache
• Looking forward to exciting events like March and Seattle and into the far-off future when I'll be a globe-trotting dreadhead
• Drawing and writing, no matter how terrible at it I am
• Letting go of old friends, no matter how much I don't want to
• Acting like a crazy kook!
• Loving my little sister as much as she wants me to
• Drinking tea
• Swimming this summer! Who cares about bad tummies and scarred legs.
• Painting again... I really miss it.
• Hooping
• Reading history books for fun again
• Accepting the fact that I love someone and letting them go

I just want to be a better person.

I'm feeling overwhelmed. I haven't really sat here and analyzed my feelings for the longest time, and the last time I truly did, it ended with me almost completely losing myself. I don't like looking into myself because it involves throwing up really horrible thoughts, decisions, actions. But I don't know, I just feel that it's time. It's gotten the point where I can't even recognize my feelings and I'm just drifting through life with a pained look on my face. That's not a way to live. And my entire life I've always considered having emotions a bad thing, however boyish that may sound. Even today, and I quote, "If you see me cry, I will hunt you down and kill you." Why is it such a big deal to cry? To fucking CRY? It's not like I'm performing open-heart surgery on the last panda on planet earth, no sir. It's just the thing that I cannot do, but I know will make me feel so much better. I don't know.
I just don't think I've utilized this blog for any good reasons.... It's just sitting here, pretty vacant (song reference). I know no one reads it anymore, and so I'm just going to say whatever the fuck I want. To hell with it! It's just me speaking to myself, anyway.

I have a habit that I've had for many years. Since seventh grade, I think. Early 2008, that long ago. I was just a young thing and I'd heard through the grapevine that this made you feel better. I was going through the emotional turmoil every middle schooler suffers through, so I did it. I wish I never had. It was around that time that I seriously contemplated suicide. I've thought about it many times before, but it was at that point where I had everything laid out, literally. The note, the pills, the blade, the pillow, everything. Someone very special helped me out of that hole that night, and I'll always appreciate that. It's been a long road since then, filled with spaces of four or five months and terrible, horrible relapses that left me massacred, practically. And the worst thing is that I did it to myself. I did it throughout 2008, even after my mother found out and threatened to have me shipped off because of it. I think the worst thing is that instead of helping me through the issues, she guilted me into stopping. She made it sound as though I was doing this just to get back at her, like her previous kids and their issues weren't enough, me being a normal person with my own issues was just 'too much for her to handle', that instead of 'slowly killing myself' I should just get it over with. That I should kill myself. "Just go upstairs and do it, then. I'll clean up." She'd move on, apparently. No skin off her back! Yeah, this may be some selective memory, but these things were said, and I just sort of sat there and took it. That was almost three years ago and since then, every time anything miniscule happens, she's rushing over, demanding I show her my arms and my ankles and anywheres else where the marks would be. I couldn't take it, so I stopped. For a summer, I walked around like a zombie and said nothing, did nothing, just moving through the paces of life with this huge burden on my back. And finally, the thing that had caused me all of these problems was the thing I went back to. That was early 2009. I dappled in it a bit, I suppose. Nothing major. Later in 2009 I started at a school where nothing really seemed to fit. I was a social outcast, and that killed me. It really did. I'm not used to not being able to get along with people, and no matter what I did, it seemed as though I couldn't keep up. Whether it was my grades, or the parties I wasn't invited to, that one guy who would later cause so much shit, I just couldn't take it. I relapsed so badly Fall 2009, and since then I've sort of said, "Fuck it."
Now it seems every two months or so, it just hits me in the face. Ten, twenty, forty. I think at one point I had around seventy. Nothing severe in terms of depth, but the amounts. It was staggering. Right now it's such a huge part of my life, and I'm so passive about it. I think I have twenty on me right now, not a large number for me, so it's whatever. I don't think anything of it, anymore. Not that many people know, no one sees. It's an old friend to me, and I'm not dying from it. I don't plan on dying from it. I haven't had a scare since 2008 and I intend to keep it that way. I see no wake up call in my future, and I'm just so indifferent. I'm okay, and I know I shouldn't be. It's just routine now.
And um. I don't know what else to say. I feel like I shouldn't have said any of this. Displaying all of this private information is terrifying, to me. I don't talk to anyone about it save two people. One who is leaving my life, the other who can't do or say anything about it. And I'm okay. It feels right. This all feels right.
So I guess I'll just keep it where it is now.

I wonder what it feels like to be happy with going to high school, going to college, getting a good job at a firm, or a hospital, or an insurance company, marrying someone just like you, having two kids and a dog, living in the suburbs, working for 30 years and then succumbing to some illness at the fresh age of 63.

I wonder what it feels like to live for nothing.