oh wow. oh wow.
it's been a nite of subtle epiphanies. i've been thinking- things don't matter enough. not nearly enough. my outsider grade, my SATs, the college i end up in, what victoria says, what karl wrote, how i miss and hate carlee, whether or not i sing better than caitlin or chunks, what people at work and sem see and think, who i date-- right now it doesn't matter enough to trip me up. that'll come later. later, it will be important. cause i've decided one thing for sure. tonite, i decided. made up my mind and said fuckit to everything else-
i'm going to be a writer.
i am a writer, and everything else is just stuff. i have this one solid thing to grasp to my heart and motherfucker i'm going to hold on so tight everything will just sway in comparison. i always have anyway- why not make it official? no matter who i'm with (or not with), or who i am (or am not), i'll be a writer. whether i'm at columbia or sarah lawrence or fucking buffstate. at least i've got a constant.
what have you got?

I have to be honest. I'm confused. I don't know if I love you, or if I simply fell in love with everything that came with you. Everyday sights, sounds- small things that are so blatantly trivial it shocks you to notice them when you do. Such overwhelming events! The clinking of dishes in the sink, various peoples coming over at their leisure to smoke and drink and say wonderful things that leave you dumbfounded (It happens every nite. I'm sure it's life for some people)
Whatever it is, Months have passed and I am no closer to breaking through the surface than ever. I am reminded of a year prior, when it was all the same save for a different backdrop. In retrospection, I can easily separate the seduction from the boy. I think I may have been able to do it at the time too- but I'm not sure. This may or may not be the same thing- I can't trust anything I think I might remember because the chances of my having made it up in my head are liable to floor me at any moment whatsoever.
I have taken a break, and am now going to start up again.
Now.
The thing is, I don't want to need to be with a man or boy or whatever to notice these small symphonies of routine. And, to an extent, I don't think I need to be.
So why can't I churn out a decent pome without one?
Upon having such epiphanies, real life becomes exceedingly hard to bear/bare. Things that were once labeled as shallow and posessing two dimensional glamour seem even sillier- the weight of the world is in our hearts, and I'm paranoid. The only way to describe it, is like a bad trip. I had my only bad trip during my only time doing shrooms back in january. You were there, for part of it anyway. Not the really bad parts.
What it all comes down to is fear. Maybe this is fear of intimacy, or just the scariness of grwoing up, but I can't ever possibly imagine being truly comfortable with someone. not even myself. I'm just always waiting for when I screw up and things go vacant and white.
This house is a mess and wreaks/reaks of shit and piss. I can only hope I won't wake up feeling this way.

right. so. behold the wonder of spoiled private school girls.
there was this huge debate in first period history that extended throughout the whole day. lines were drawn, enemies made, allies forged- the seating arrangements at lunch altered considerably.
one girl went, "i'm a feminist, so i'm supporting bush."
and no, not sarcastically.

me explaining to angel why i'm having a bad day:

linernoteluv (10:10:41 PM): ugh i'm fat and a male lion and i can't sing and divorces suck and i still have feelings for karl and everything with victoria is crazy and i've gone and done it again and i can't stop and everything's tangled and messy and i like need to do history and to stop sucking at my job and to stop being fat and a male lion and obsessing.


UGHHHHH!!
i have to work tomorrow. bugger.
i need a cool life, oh, about now-ish. please and thanks.

tomorrow is the day of reckoning- when i match up my voice with those of the stupid upper middle class white spoiled private school brats i like to think i'm above.
oh holy fuck.
poem, now please- come out. now.







peas.

hmmm.
y'know those tricky little epiphanies that come (often after you yrself come) and leave you feeling inspired and justified and ready to start something? yeah. just had one of those. hm.
t'was nice.

content of epiphany followed along the traditional lines of 'love thyself' as delivered to us by tonite's episode of 7th heaven. garsh.
anyway, the basic thang of it is that i'm really tired of feeling so beat all the time, in every sense of the word. i'onno. i'm a little girl, and i'm in the mood to start acting like it.

so... wanna have a play date? ::le grin::

i accidentally deleted a massive entry i had here. it involved my first hookup with another girl, the fact that i now have friends, the fact that i suck and can't grow up already, and mention of a mysterious phone call early this morning. booty call? i think not.
hhmm. quandary...

lordy. crazy ass day.
lauren's birthday, got osme crappy grades back, need to catch up on history, cannot write to save my ass.

will be at globe 3-8:30 tomorrow doing hw with angel and laur and julie and the working. going to see either wimbledon or garden state, then pulling a girls nite sleepover thing and getting angel hazed friday morning.

new screename: linernoteluv (use it!)

blargh. homework, and parents' divorce, and writer's block-- oh my!

It simply was and there was no explaining it. He had tried before on several occasions to make this clear to her, but she simply couldn’t seem to grasp it. Still, he felt it his duty to try.


“Why is the sky blue?� he asked her.


“Because of the thickness and degree of curvature of the atmosphere and the refraction of the light hitting it,� she replied archly.

oh god, ohgodohgodohgod- i think i'm maturing or something.

oh my god. yes, yes- YES!
no, that was not an orgasm, nor an herbal essences commercial- that was me, Alison, and the feeling of validation!
oh yes.
i swear to fucking god, if i can get just one of these moments thrown into the mix once every, say, year or so, i'll be set. ::le sigh::
i don't want to be one of those people who blames all their fucked-up-edness on their parents, but i'm really sstarting to think that the reason i'm so hyper-sensitive and emotional and conscious of myself is because of my dad, and how my mom and i have always lived on our toes- never knowing when something small we did would make him blow and i'd spend the nite crying in my room, feeling like shit. wow. i am SO ready for this counselor. jesus.
mr. malcolm- fuck you. fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou. i KNOW i may not have the credibility of our society that kristin has but motherfuck THAT!
she's great, she's really is- and i know that she's got a ton of talent. but, i mean, why can't someone else get a chance? i'm not worse, just different. god, i hope it's only that i'm different.
if i suck at this than everything's down the drain.

letter from ms. coriale to me.
oh god-- i will TAKE IT!



I took a look at "my visible heart" and here are some of my thoughts:
 
First, you did a good job at splitting the poem into parts, although your title really prepares us for the conclusion, meaning a visible, exposed heart, sure of the truth of a feeling that came from her insides.
 
Then, your introduction prepares the reader for the lack of security or optimism that the writer is feeling, "highway warnings, a lamp post waiting to fall, seemingly done, or had they not yet begun.."  There is a heightened intensity from the beginning and I wonder if this is a surrealistic view of a vision that creates futuristic ties: "pretty and captivating and seemingly done or had they not yet begun." This then creates a time change that leaves the reader unconvinced of your experience, yet you come back strong in the end.
 
Then, I wonder about the role of society that perhaps interrupts, yet in this case the vision of infantile innocence escapes the frame of the "transparent glass." 
 
The ending is my favorite where you are the "cosmonaut, warrior, girl" (separated creatively since warrior girl would drown out the effect of your womanhood..The poet is a warrior, a woman and her strength and faithfulness to this love is like a roller coaster of disbelief, release and realism..But, in the end, she reveals her loyalty and perhaps her visible heart..to love "with your insides" is to love internally, despite all of the outside pressure, the "highway warnings, lamp posts waiting to fall and the red that warns us to turn back and flee from what we have learned to be ominous..
 
Alison, you are a talented young poet and when I read your work, I ask myself about your experience, your impetus to write..how is it that you have gained this vision at such a young age..I have heart a lot of poets, academics and others who are trying to get exposed and they do not approach your force..You are also using division well as well as other poetic devices..I tried to look at your poem, draw some conclusions and give you some feedback..I hope this helps and again, thanks for sharing this with me..I really enjoyed it.