RoseHolly's Xanga

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Sat, 25 Jun 2005 04:58:00 GMT

"Are you in love?"

She hesitated. Her response was unclear, "I'm not sure." She had asked herself this question about a million times in her head, no conclusion was met. She, apparently, had all of the symptoms. . .She was perpetually giddy, her face glowed at the mention of his name. He had this certain power over her that no one could comprehend. Its not that she worships him, just adores him so much that in her head he was elevated to something else, something better. Never before had she experienced feelings of this sort. The smell, sight of him continuously sent a rush through her body. She turns weak with every kiss he lays upon her supple yet innocent lips. But, everything beautiful must turn ugly. . .

He betrayed her in the worst way. The fear of any young couple. Her way of getting through it was to do as she always did. . .to pretend it didn't happen, well that and. . .to get completely wasted. In her drunken rage she confronted him, wondering if she was just a conquest. But afterwards felt worse. It would have been better if she would have found out from him, and not a mutual friend.. . .

She decided to put it out of her head and forget every moment they ever shared. She numbed the pain, and eventually forgave. . .but still hasn't forgotten. Just as friends they were working fine. But then he said it, "I think I'm in love with you." . . .

Broken and confused, she begged him not to do this. To please be joking because if he loved her, then she would finally have to admitt the truth. And the truth is what she feared the most. The truth was that she had strong feelings for him, but never experiencing this before, she didn't exactly know what they meant. Loving someone is dangerous. The other person can control and shatter your emotions. She didn't want to be hurt again. . .

What do you think. . . Is she really in love?

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Thu, 12 May 2005 23:35:47 GMT

I got "coffee" today with Lindsey. Only there wasnt coffee in my cup! There was a big pink flower and a colorful card that said...

"Holly: Even though this coffee may not be as hot as youll look in your dress, how about going with a hot date to PROM?"

So I get all red and look around for Kyle.
He pops out of the corner where hes been for a while hands me roses and asks me.

So cute. Made my day.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Sat, 07 May 2005 04:59:25 GMT

i seem to get more comments when i post pictures of myself...

me and sonny haha.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Sat, 30 Apr 2005 15:40:52 GMT

As of lately, I've been listening to a lot of electronica-come-triphop. Notable downloads would include:

- MOUNT SIMS
- FISCHERSPOONER
- LCD SOUNDSYSTEM
- SNEAKER PIMPS
- THE GLIMMERS
- ELECTROCUTE
- ENON
- LADYTRON
- CHICKS ON SPEED
- ADULT
- PORTISHEAD
- Pretty much the entire Party Monster soundtrack

Also I <3 hanging out with chris.

Here are some pictures of the lovely boy and me.

He is the best.

Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.
--E.Y. Harburg

Friday, April 29, 2005

Fri, 29 Apr 2005 23:39:22 GMT

And that night when you saw me, you reached your hand up towards me and you said, "You cut your hair.." in this mystified, mysterious voice I couldn't read. And then you sat down in the armchair in my living room and the two of us sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the sunlight stream in through the window and the prisms of glass my mother and I had hung, strung up in front of the window like a reminder of all the clumsy times you break a mirror or a vase. We sat there while the sunlight came through, while it split into dozens of shattered rainbows which threw themselves around the room and onto the couch you were sitting on. Onto the oil painting of a forest by an unknown artist, onto your mouth, onto my hands.

And then you started talking about how you remembered how two summers ago my hair was halfway down my back, and it would get tangled up in my hands. And how when I went swimming, afterwards I would come out and tug, tug, tug at the mess my hair was in, this tangled up mess tinted green with chlorine and yellow with sunshine. And about how after you saw me like that you would go home and write poems about mermaids. You wrote stories where I was the heroine, where I would save sailors from drowning, I would pull them close to me and drag them to the coves of islands where I would give them kisses to wake them up.

"Who were the ones that lured sailors to their deaths?" I said. "Wasn't that the sirens?"

"Yes." You said. You said that I wasn't a siren, because in your mind when you read that, you envisioned these slippery creatures with bronzed skin and black hair like oil spills, hair that they swung like lassos to pull men into their deaths. You said sirens were like the crafty kind of girls who make love to become pregnant so that they can entangle a man and trap him forever. No, you said, no you aren't a siren, you aren't because they come to you willingly.

"They do?" I asked.

"They do." You said.

And it was then that I wanted to see myself as you saw me, I wanted to be one of those greek goddesses, like the ones in the stories. I wanted to have hair down to my feet, I wanted to have my lovers braid it and then get them caught up in it like a true love fishing net, I wanted to wear it like a dress, like a suit of armor, I wanted to wear it like a piece of jewelry that you never leave home without, that you don't even take off to shower, not even if it leaves a cheap green blue ring around your finger from where the copper is rubbing off onto your skin. I wanted to wear my hair like a wedding ring. I think this was the conversation that made me want to climb up the steps of Mount Olympus, not because I thought I was worthy but because you did.

Friday, April 29, 2005

Fri, 29 Apr 2005 12:07:46 GMT

the quandary: pointy-toe shoes hurt like a mo-fo.

but they're so pretty too :)

the solution : wear only while lounging on couch.

cheers, tip the glass to pretty shoes, or to whatever your little hearts desire.
enough about my feet, what about yours?

Friday, April 29, 2005

Fri, 29 Apr 2005 05:11:14 GMT

spring semester. these few weeks have been so very stressful, so to release myself, i've been putting together poems by cutting up already written, safe ones and reformatting them so they say something completely different. it's fun to play with words in this way, fun to see these new connections sparking that had previously been below the surface. like playing with magnetic poetry on my refrigerator door, shuffling words, like a stack of cards, like a pile of photos spilled out across the table, or a film strip spun off its reel. with the original poetic plot broken and lost and shuffled up, a poem about one thing is suddenly about something else entirely. how perfect and likely that words in different orders mean different things. yes.

stack
words.

or-link-them-together

and suddenly your mouth is sounding out something new and sharp and lively and your mind is flying across the room. here's a link i know you've heard and i hope you've said, and yet, though common, it has the power to stir again any thumping, hurting heart. still, and always will, remain one of the most lovely string of words to ever put your mouth around.

i followed by love followed by you.

(and i do)

i'm going to bed now.

this pillow whispers for me to drop my head, heavy, into its softness, and i must comply.

its fine because any hurt in my heart is wiped away when i type the words iloveyou and mean it. before i fall into clean sheets, i may take a poem and begin to play. i love that everything old becomes new and suddenly pops again. maybe that realization is just enough to give me a restful, stressless sleep...

you too, dears, sleep well.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Thu, 28 Apr 2005 05:09:42 GMT

dancing on tiptoe in black rain

this woman is a deep wound
the sanctuary through which we enter the world.
our road is the light
that shines from her eyes.
this deep wound is our mother,
the mother each of us gives birth to.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Sun, 24 Apr 2005 17:02:58 GMT

"I think most people live in a fiction. I'm no exception. Think of it in terms of a car's transmission. It's like a transmission that stands between you and the harsh realities of life. You take the raw power from outside and use gears to adjust it so everything's all nicely in sync. That's how you keep your fragile body intact... The biggest problem right now is that you don't know what sort of fiction you're dealing with. You don't know the plot; the style's still not set. The only thing you know is the main character's name. Nevertheless, this new fiction is reinventing who you are. Give it time, it'll take you under its wing, and you may very well catch a glimpse of a brand-new world. But you're not there yet. Which leaves you in a precarious position."
Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami