Check, Check.

Hello, I'm Reality,

hahahahhhaah > you look absurd when you try and dismantle my absoluteness, successors of the earth.

Scroogish

You know those rekindled friendships you didn't realize needed rekindling?

I remembered to rekindle some.

You know those new friends that you feel a little too comfortable around, but it doesn't matter because it's like they're old ones?

I got to meet one.

You know when you get so angry at life because there is way too much injustice and wrong in the world to be real but you can't do ANYTHING except sit there and be angry?

I received the opportunity to witness selfless love.

I'm happy me and my rekindled friendship are friends again:)

I'm overjoyed that I got to meet Emily, Laura's cousin. I even sang in front of her. I HATE singing in front of people (consciously), but I felt totally okay with it. Also, Shelbie never lets me down, she's my safety net.

But, I think my Christmas Season has now officially started, because I was present at a miracle. A miracle that I had somehow had managed to forget existed.

Caroling.

I will admit I was completely against to the idea of having a group of strangers awkwardly sing at a family in the cold where they probably thought it was dumb and awkward and patronizing.

But it was none of that.

As I stood toward the back, I watched this broken family with grinning faces and welcoming eyes watching back. There was real gratitude and real love.

This was coming from a family who lost a daughter and a father, and a son who looked in a great deal of physical pain with his crutches and one of his eyes welded shut.

But somehow they were happy to see us. All of them. Taking pictures and smiling.

smiling?

smiling.

That right there is Christmas.

It's weird, but I'd forgotten that feeling of generous love. Not realizing I'd forgotten it until I felt it again at a stranger's home.

And if you know my family, it's pretty embarrassing that I forgot, considering the love our neighbors have shown us in the past.

Anyway. I've been a Scrooge for a while. Hoarding love as if I've never felt it for fear of it slipping away, when in reality that is how love dies. By not being shared. By covering it up and hiding it away. Because love is meant to be shared, like a fire, so it can grow and give warmth.

Merry Almost Christmas.

LLammaaa

Sarah left this morning.

It was the spoiled icing on my cake of let-downs and departures and dejection this week.

ha. ha. ha.

oh the drama of my blog.

Have you felt that things are impersonal, lately?

Or is it just me?

Books, movies, music. Nothing feels unique and just Ari anymore.

Maybe it's because I talk to much. Probably.

I should just stop talking. Then nobody will take what's mine away from me anymore.

haha SELFISHNESS. sweet. Try it sometime. It's really awesome. It makes you feel this big -------->"."

Remember that one time where I'm bi-polar?
Yeah.
Well. I think I hate the winter funk as much as I guiltily embrace it.
I think I'll sit through this winter vacation with as much enthusiasm as a marshmallow on a stick, pre-roasted.

This analogy literally took me 7 whole minutes.

And this is why the winter funk bites. I can't even make up a decent analogy to prove an unprovable point.

Pathiticism:
Ari Kokol



Today, I had a good talk with the Park man. It seems like we haven't even been friends for a while because we haven't gotten a chance to speak to each other like we used to. Always something/one coming up.
He's one of my best friends. Ever since sophomore English class. We joked about blogging about him. So I think I'll blog about him. (let it be reminded of the world who appreciated his talents and humor first). He makes me laugh. a lot. And reminds me to not take life so seriously. Which is ironic, considering where this post is going. or has briefly covered.
And also, he hates people as much as I do. Misery loves company.
Then I hung out at Smoothie King for. an hour?
Good old Martin. He's another funny man. I LIKE FUNNY/ANGRY people. Martin and Parker will be seeing a lot more of me. They don't P.M.S.
ehh. Is this a diary?
Should I start Anne Franking my Blog posts?
Dear Kitty....
I hate the world.
love,
Angsty teenager.


Train of thought. definitely gone off track. What was the track in the first place? I dunno.
I think I'll go Google a picture to make your eyes less hurty.
Pretty pictures. Of fruit maybe? or a baby giraffe.? or Dog the Bounty hunter. Or. an embarrassing photo of Spongebob at last years' Christmas Party, in honor of the Christmas season. ANd/or Shelbie Shill.
Send in your ideas for googled images! You could get the chance to be a contestant on my reality t.v. show and possibly be one of 3 maybe winners. (only on specially marked posts.)

Cold

It's begun.
I realize I'm feeding it.
It=the funk.
The winter funk we all seem to be consumed by every year.
The lack of sun sucks our souls and caring and empathy away.

I feel kinda bad at how ornery we become.
And I'm the worst of them all.



Because really, I'd rather just mope and wallow in my own self pity, than actually be responsible for the choices I'm bound to make.

It's so easy to be indifferent to the problems of others.
So easy to justify why I have "other" things to worry about, instead of your things.
Crazy simple

Amazing Grace:
There's no time to be indifferent.
In English, we're reading a book (refer to above italicized predecessor of the colon). About those whose eyes have seen more rated R content in one MINUTE than mine have in a lifetime.

Curse you, Jonathon Kozol, for forcing us to acknowledge our responsibilty to our opinions.



What I'm saying is: This might be a public apology for my scoffing behavior the last couple of weeks. Due to my realization that I am apart of the epidemic of teenage apathy.

Flying

Flying sucks. (sorry if you're slysdexic. "flying sucks" looks sketchy from your brain)

Especially when there's a blizzard warning, and you're at the airport a million hours early like a good passenger, and then the stewards are late so you miss the chance to leave, and then the actual blizzard hits and you're stuck for another 3 hours so you're at the airport for literally 8 hours before you actually leave.

Flip, Elder.

Just kidding, it was adventure yesterday!

Me and Katie did some serious reading and awesome staring at the floor contests.

We finally left our beautiful blizzard at 9:40 P.M. (flight was scheduled to leave at 5:00) and got in at 1:30 A.M. (3:30 A.M. NY Time).

Blah blah blah. so many times.

Anyway. We're here now. And I will see my dear Nana. And all will be well.

P.S. It smells really good here. Like an altered home.

For You, Frank

As promised, Here is my Tribute to a Great man.
Sure, he had trouble with the Mafia, was under FBI surveillance for a few decades, and had a bit of trouble with Paranoia...

But IT'S FRANK.
He is the one historical figure that I sneakily close my eyes to his faults and open my ears to his voice.

Maybe I love him because his blue, swooning, melt-y eyes seem to hold all the kindness in the world.
Maybe I love him because his songs, full of my childhood and dad, are subtly in the background.
Maybe I love him because he evokes the idea that innocent, simpler times are not as far away as we make them.
That his music is the reminder of of our original selves before we built a wall of grime and ludicrous distrust around us.


Don't forget to pause my playlist at the bottom, before you enter the world of Frank via this youtube video:

Nothing of Sorts

Today. Was an incredibly great day.
Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened.
I have nothing to rant about. (shocker. I know.)
But, I just felt at peace. With my friends, and my family, and Others.
And also I bought Frank and have been listening to him for a couple days. and nights.

Me and Sar went to eat at Paradise... (we seem to find ourselves in restaurants and food joints more often than not) Talking about nothing, and everything, and letting our conversations drift into what we have become as humans and how normal life is at the moment. strangely enough.

Considering our dark pasts.. ? hahaha

I love how our thoughts are acceptable to each other. Even if they're only sentence fragments according to the "English Language."

Sarah Barrus.
Truly a person of inexpressible beauty. Inside and out.

I get to live with her!!! :)
We always were meant to be sisters.. We just got put in different families.

ALERT: If any of you have about 2 hours and 40 minutes of Time to kill... I STRONGLY suggest you watch this movie called "My Name Is Khan."
Absolutely beautiful. The answer is Yes. I did cry.

Anyways... thank you Shelbie. For pointing out my hiatus as a blogger.
I think tomorrow, I'm going to get Harry, Miles, or Charlie...
We'll see how it works out.
Next post will be a tribute to one of my idols: Ole Blue Eyes.
Peace, Love, Prosper.

Ari Kokol

Shattered for Good.

As time shoves us forward into ever-changing realities of life, our traumas overtake our feeble, child minds.

It doesn't matter where we live, what our culture is, or who we spend our time with- our layered bubbles of childhood eventually pop, and we have to stand in the frigid cold.

Exposed and confused.

Even with our storms to weather and jagged rocks to scale, we feel reality peel away at our protective layers of ignorance and naiveté, gradually and almost un-painfully.

We're weathered and scratched at until we wake up one morning to find Guns and Rape and Murder and Injustice and Pain and Obscenities and Starvation and Death and Shame and Blood, all on our doorstep.

And suddenly we're on our heads - everything's upside down, side-ways, distorted, ugly.

We ask:

How did this happen. Why did this happen. What has become of our home.

and We don't get it.

We don't get how our perception of Life gets bullied to the ground.

We don't get how what we KNEW to be true, gets stabbed by lies and hate.

We don't understand how the supposedly trusting adults let our fragile world get. so .out. of. hand.

Confusion escalates to a fearful level as we try to make sense of our new life. We cope.

And our first attempt at coping is to pretend like we never saw a thing. We try to live how we did before. We bust our guts to get back to our familiarity.

But we can't go back. We can't go back to our old ways of content, and obliviousness, and seemingly un-worriedness-- We don't want to.

As much as we lie to ourselves that it was better that way, deep down we know for a fact that it wasn't.

Because with

all of this newfound painfully, heart-breaking repulsiveness

There is newfound beauty.

And our second attempt at coping is victorious- We hunt for and gather all of the tiny buds of joy we can, out of the ash once our existence.

In everything we see, feel, touch, and comprehend, there is this sense of Awe that we could not have grasped before the shedding of our skin.

Our appreciation for the simplicities of life- A stream, a flower, a friend- have shot up out of the ground and blossomed like a giant white rose.

It seems that the more we look for the beauty, the more there is of it.

Because through all of our black ashes and dark decay-

The sparse White Roses reach out for us like beaming rays of Pure White Light, and our ashes get wisped away by the wind.

An Ant

Sunday morning, at eight o'clock, I was sitting on my front porch, staring at an ant. It deliriously, almost frantically waltzed around in what appeared to be a slapdash trail. I internally chuckled.
And as I observed this tiny creature, a thought struck me so hard in the head I thought I heard it aloud- "he knows exactly where he's going."

... and then I watched the Ant suddenly stop, and head straight for a darkened crack in between two slabs of concrete, I thought again, "if he knows where he's going, why would he head straight for the blackened, unknown, cold, hole in the ground?

My question was answered as a few minutes later, the Ant emerged from the abyss with a fallen friend on his back.

This Ant carried his friend back to what I had presumed to be their hill, by himself. And I somehow knew that not a single I-can't-believe-I-have-to-do-this's, or I-have-other-things-to-worry-about-in-my-life's crossed through his small, but determined mind.

How can this small, seemingly insignificant ANT be determined enough and selfless enough to enable himself like this? I'm positive that this insect was aware of his insignificance. I'm sure he knew how puny he was compared to the massive world and works and ideas and people and bigger lives around him.

Yet, he understood his purpose, carried it out, and did it in the most determined way I had ever seen. Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. Not if he was lost, not if he was afraid, not even if his own ant life was in shatters, Nothing. He just knew his purpose. Or maybe he just chose it.

School of Fish

The first three days have been survived.

I honestly wonder how many more can be outlasted.

This is how I feel about teachers/princi"pal"s/administration/"the board":

Heil

It's a strange sensation, knowing that these days are the final ones.

And that it's the beginning of the end.

Oh well, I do sort of like how School brings its friend, Fall along. It makes me feel crisp and fresh and wanting to buy arts and crafts. and mostly I anticipate jumping in a sizable pile of leaves and wearing long sleeves.

"I would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address."

An Appreciation of Pain

Before this past week, the ability to feel sorrow never occurred to me as a blessing.

Last Thursday, at 4:00 A.M., Pat Wilkinson passed away.

She was my grandmother, my mom's stepmom, and the love of my Grandfather's life.

I had been reaching out to her these past couple of months, I had started to get a glimpse into her heart, her intentions, and her life.

But something was wrong.

When I was awakened with the news, I did not feel sad, or lost, or even angry.

I felt... blank.

Blank, is the worst Emotion in the world. It is worse than Hatred. "blank" is NOT an emotion. "Blank" is indifference, which is a complete detachment from reality. And how can you live if you are not apart of life?

For those of you who know me, I'm an emotional person. I base my entire world off of what I feel, how I react, how I perceive.

and feeling nothing at all, being indifferent, is the most frightening sensation. Especially in inconsolable times like these.

I, luckily, was pummeled by the grief a few hours later, in a seminary class where I was asked to express love for a family member.

And that is how I came to the relieving conclusion that Sorrow, Pain, Grief, Agitation and all the negativeness life brings, is a complete and utter blessing. It's our connection to others, ourselves, but more importantly to God.

Here is to Pat, the woman who awakened me through her passing. Whom I later fully realized what she meant to me. And how she subtly inspired my life just by living hers.

She was dang feisty.

She could be a pill, bossy, and down right rude.

She had her love for her cats, my grandpa, and even us.

But she was the most independent woman I've ever met.

Her generosity reached no bounds. She gave so much of herself and her time and her quirky way of love. Her determination and strife for life inspired so many around her.

And I loved her.

and I will see her again....

Whisper

Is it bad that I sometimes just have to post lyrics to songs to express myself? yeah... very original of me...

Running the race
Like a mouse in a cage
Getting nowhere but I'm trying
Forging ahead
But I'm stuck in the bed
That I made so I'm lying

But if you keep real close
Yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me still

Eager to please,
Trying to be what they need
But I'm so very tired
I've stopped trying to find
Any peace in my mind
Because it tangles the wires

But if you keep real close
Yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me still

The sound tires on my lips
To fade away into forgetting

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me still

Sunly

Are we, in reality, suns?

Literally. Slash. Metaphorically.

I mean, we really could be

the center of our own solar system,

being the creation and cause.

Shedding true light

on millions of intelligent life forms

and in the end we would become red giants

e-x-p-l-0-d-i-n-g

with hydrogen and helium

energy

and light

billions of years of evolution

billions of years worth of thought

worth of love

worth of understanding.

and then we suck back into ourselves.

back into the entire universe

almost sucking back in through the other side of the universe

where all of our brethren of stars have gone before us.

and the process reiterates.

...

just... what if.?

Florida and Girls' Camp....? uh...

OH, how I've missed the People I've left behind. Although, I DID have fun in Florida :) We went to Cocoa Beach, which is about an hour and a half from Orlando...

And then there was a huge storm coming in, and so we had to run run run away. and we barely made it because by the time we got in our car after our lunch, it was coming down so hard we could barely see a few feet in front of us whilst driving... scarrryyy.

And then... after Orlando, we went to Tampa where my cousins were and my cousin's graduation from High School. Lovelyyy.

Anyway. Girls' Camp was fantastic. It was my last year... I'm a little faklempt, but at least Chloe took a million and a half pictures:)

Themoblubomem

My Mind feels trapped in my Body.

Or my Body wants to escape the relentless racing of my Mind.

Either way, something's got to give.

This constant fighting wears me out. I can't make either of them happy, because, they're both me.

But. Whatever. Here I am, at 3:10 in the morning. Not complaining... just... here.

Mind. You're racing. I can't stop the constant stream of thoughts you broadcast into my temporal lobe. Yes. I can actually hear you, thoughts, erupt in sound.

I think about one thing, and one thing only. Well. Two things. But they are both in the family.

I cannot terminate these thoughts/emotions/blurbs of memory.

Hard to explain- but they're past, present, and future themoblubomems. They're... here.

She is... here. She has left this world, but I know she is here. In a different world. In a better venue.

But. Your wake has shaken the ground of one. Therefore me. Therefore all.

But. The winds of havoc you brought have now tested the rock they chose for their standing place.

For that, I am sure, One is in gratitude.

But. You are missed. You were, nay, are loved. You.

Love.

A funny thing.

Blind, illogical, and diligent, it seems to never cease, but grow like fire, never wavering as it passes to the next bearer.

And now, we are all... here... in memory, in ideas, in standing, in progression.

Thanks. That was my themoblubomem for the night. Expect another soon.

Ridiculous.

Yes. You.

Stop apologizing and STAND UP for what you're "apologizing" for.

Who invented the lie that feeling anger, sorrow, or damaged is a sign of weakness?

Who told us that fear was to be pretended away, to be shunned?

Who was it that said Emotion was something to be ashamed of? To run away from? To ignore?

ALSO:

what is so wrong with being happy? just because life has taken drastic, horrible turns and is all sullen and supposed to be dramatic and bad does not mean we aren't entitled to a sliver of humor every once in a while.

I'm just WONDERING why the person who invented this deception of "How to Live" has been followed vigorously by ... everyone.

I can't handle all of this "it's fine," "it's horrible," "nothing's wrong," "my life sucks."

Guess what? Sometimes it's not fine and sometimes the good things in life are forgotten.

and the fact that it's not "fine" or the fact that it is, Is completely normal.

What is normal anyways?

I"m still just wondering WHO decides all of this.

Oh. wait.

I know the answer.

It is me.

It is you.

It is all of us.

Aqualung

A dying yellow rose:

It's rotting, brown lips provoke a chill of despair. As if to say, "I trying to hang on for dear life, but the breath is coming shorter, the light pulling out, out of the way for the night to take over."

And then comes the vase. Filled with life and river.

Good vs. Different

There is a time in a person's life when he or she encounters a line. And the only way to progress is to cross it.

This line is the decision to be good.

This sounds fairy-tale-like, but I assure you, it is truth.

Most of my life, I have spent accomplishing, and succeeding, and standing out (well... trying to). I've tried for a long time, to be accepted for not just who I am, but for what I am. I've always craved that good feeling of being "the only one with..." or "the only person who..." or "that girl..."

But, now.

I have encountered this line, this decision.

And I've decided.

I don't care for the standing out anymore. I'd rather be good. I don't care about being the lone sheep anymore. I'd rather be apart of The Flock. However small The Flock is.

I'd rather be apart of something that may not be extravagant or the best.

I'd rather be apart of many people doing the same thing, being the best they can be, being together. And that thing is being good.

I feel like I'm typing a King Arthur crap story. but. maybe I am. And maybe the world needs more of the Chivalric stories we clung to long ago in our human history.

Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?........
I'M GOING TO NEW YORK AT 8.
with mallory.
and mikelle.
and my cat.
that i hate.

Br& New

Hair. Has been cut.
Phone. Has been upgraded.
Teeth. Have been cleaned.
Life? Has been changed.

Not really.

But I feel like a new being.
Spring Break is coming up in about 2 hours, and 18 minutes, and I will be in a new city with the aforementioned "new" things.

With my hair all gone, I keep catching glances at myself in various windows, plastic objects, car doors, (the shiny eyes of miscellaneous people) and i don't even look like myself.
Why am I telling you this?
Because I'm starting to get used to it.
Because it's like life. Sometimes things get cut off, and you don't feel like yourself anymore, and you don't recognize your own reflection, and you don't know what to think about it because it's not bad or good, or maybe it's both. But after a while, this drastically empty feeling starts to fill in again. I'm starting to feel like "this is me" "this is my hair" "i'm still Ari."

Self?

Realization # 1.
I. Am a quite selfish person.
Humanistic characteristic? Yes. But I have an advantage with God, and I'm not taking advantage of this advantageish advantage. I Haven't been growing lately, and usually I'm a grower, just not these past couple of months.
It is because of this flaw, that I want friends to come barreling back to me, to each other, and to God... and it is not occurring fast enough. Hence my agitation, anger, frustration, and tears.

Realization # 2 (with the help of my person).
I. Am a quite selfless person. And this is a flaw.
Does this sound obnoxious? Good. It IS obnoxious, because who on freakin' earth complains or brags or even states that they are a selfless person? It's self-righteous and egotistical.
However, I get this out into the open as a flaw because:
I have a tendency to give unwanted advice
I put myself in the middle of issues
I want people to be happy too much, sometimes forgetting I'm giving too much.

Realization # 3.
Sometimes. Things are. not. meant. to. be.
Sometimes. Things need to be let go.
Sometimes. I need to let things be.

Realization # 4
I really do have at least one friend who I know will always be here for me. Even in spirit.
Thanks MEA

Potentially Awkward Situations In the Car

1. Being stopped at a red light, see someone you know next to you, feeling obligated to roll down the window and talk to them until the light turns green. Sucks if it's a really long light.

2. Seeing an ex-boyfriend at said red light.

3. Being in the left turning lane and having to stare at the other left-turnee across from you.

4. Atempting a 3 point turn, which turns into a 42 point turn, and having both lanes honking at you.

5. 4-way stops and the spurting forwards of other cars, all unsure of what to do, resulting in wide-spread and misplaced anger by all participants in the 4-way stop fiasco.

6. Tailgating, honking horn, and flashing lights due to frustration at the 20-mile-under-the-speed limit car in front of you, only to realize at the stop sign later that it is your next door neighbor.

7. Angrily wondering why everyone is flashing their lights at you, then noticing your trunk is open.

8. Having a fight with someone in the passenger seat, then having to ask for directions after an awkward bout of silence.




Of course, all of these incedents have happened to me this past week.
Awesome.

The Laughter of Others

Something inside me wants to escape when I hear true laughter.
I don't know why this occurs... but I am absolutely captivated when:
-Someone laughs. Heartily.
-Someone makes somebody else laugh. Exuberantly.
-I am fortunate enough to make someone else laugh. Genuinely.

The thing desperately wanting to escape? A Grin.

Cimannnnnim Toast

As I hear the "pop" of the finale of the toaster, my mouth starts to salivate.
The warm, slightly bitter, melty slice of bread intoxicates my olfactory senses, in a way no other food item can compare.
It's rich, sparkling brown face catches my eye with that of a diamond... (Neil Diamond maybe..?) And as I suffer through the eating of the outer edges (also known as "Crust" in some cultures) of this rare gem, I find my reward in the very center. Where the butter, sugar, cimmanim, and love have all concentrated into One, Perfect, Bite.
What is this crunchy deliciousness in which I indulge myself in?
If you have not experienced this little piece of bliss, I suggest you do as the ancient Kings and Queens of the world did... Get a piece of Grandma Sycamore bread, pop it in the toaster, slather some Land O'Lakes on it, and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar you bought from Wal-mart.
Voila.

Heaven at your Fingertips.

I Try

Really, I do.
But. I think I've forgotten the real reason for trying so hard.
And I needed a wake-up... since I've been in this perpetual dreamland for five years, nine months, and 11 days.
Had I known how to save a life... Meh.

Have I been too dark lately? Probably. My bad. Sorry.


Anyway.
I say too much on this thing. Sorry.
Have a happy period. Always.
:) :) :) :) :) :)
Whoops, i did it again.
hahahahha (no song intended)

Wake UP! Premonitions Aren't Real

How do you put trust in someone who does not trust the world?

How do you have faith in someone when they don't have faith in anyone?

How do you love someone who does not love themselves?




I don't know how to help when my help, my trust, my faith, my love is not wanted and is pushed away.
I don't know how to be the person to "be there" when in your mind I've already left you.

It's hard for a person who loves another individual with premeditated disappointment.

Just A Little Creepy Admiration

I'm tired of people "owning" music. And saying how much they looovvveeee iiitttt.
What, did you WRITE the stuff?
NO.
Okay I'm done with that semi-rant. Thanks.
Also...

There is this boy at school who probably will never know that I watch him. (NO this is not creepy, I Semi-Swear.) I think he's amazing. I think he's brilliant. I think he thinks he's a no-body, but the reality is: Nobody could not love this boy.

Let me make one thing clear: I have no romantic interest in him. I just love him. C'est clair? D'accord, J'ai cru.

He isn't apart of my friend group at all... and he isn't arrogant at ALL like, not even jokingly... it's weird.

Anyway.

I'm such a girl.

Peace out.

A Word to Content

Dear Content,

You evade me
You taunt me
You haunt me.

At times I wonder why your voice sounds far off in the distance, or I catch but a glance of you, leaving me ever angry, ever frustrated, forever dismayed.

But it is the times that I do catch you and taste your sweet composure
that I
remember
why
I
hunt
you.

I think I know how Cady feels.

Been hurt. Been victim. Been broken.
But it's a completely worse feeling to know you're the one who did the breaking.
Did I break it irreparably?

Sometimes people, by "caring," care their way into a tornado, ripping up everything in sight, care away any sense of judgment or calmness or reality.
It is hard enough to handle one ordeal alone. But when the whole world seems to know what to do for you, when the whole world seems to have an opinion, when the whole world seems to be going through your trial for you, and all you want to do is suffer by yourself and not be in the glass box while people stare at you, is even harder.

Dear ______,
I'm sorry for putting you in this glass box.

Cady made huge mistakes. So have I. It's time to suck out the poison.

Une Odeur Nouveau

This world has become a thorny rose.
It always has been... but I believe that the thorns are longer, and sharper, and multiplying. It seems to me that the stem is getting longer, steeper, higher.
However, I think the flower itself might be getting fuller. And the fumes that are given off of it becoming richer.

Reasoning for this dumb statement:

Seattle is a mix of wonders, types, people, and landscapes.

It provokes thought, ideas, emotion, connection, interpretation, determination.

There is a lot of scariness mixed up in it all.

But there is the ONE very important thing that intoxicates this city with the aroma of roses:
The freelance performers with their guitars.

How is it that a single person can fill a bustling street of confusion and noise with peace and authentic content with nothing but a large stringed instrument?
Everything about this continuous incident- the scruffy beard, the long-ish dirty hair, the tanned dry fingers, the eyes mirroring the Puget Sound, the sound not sounding like "puget" but like "a lark at the break of day arising".
It has all been the subconscious reason of everyone who enters this city, to return. Like a narcotic calling back its addict, Seattle calls to its children of the world.

I love this city. I will be back to you, one day, my sweet drug.


A perfect village farmer's market, downtown


Of course there's fish. They live off the stuff.


Ah, the Puget Sound


Me, Sarah, and Patti at Pike's Place.




Oh, also, we went to Vancouver... here's a little taste of the Pacific









Post Script (S.Shill)
Here lies the world's first ever- Starbucks. Gah.

The Cab

I wish we could open our eyes
To see in all directions at the same time
Oh, what a beautiful view
If you were never aware of what was around you

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks
And there is comfort in the sound
But while you debate half empty or half full
It slowly rises, your love is gonna drown.



And it is true what you say,
THat i live like a hermit in my own head
But when the sun shines again
I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.

Attachment Disorder

Dear Attachment Disorder,
I hate you.
It became blatantly obvious today, as I felt my body react to the realization that I would not be in Chamber.
Now.
This is silly. This devastation I feel is SO silly, in fact, that I fear it is possibly making people puke.

This is hard for me. And I am mad that you are making this hard for me.

I cannot describe it. Especially to those who have already made it. It is difficult to see friends move on to expected things, and for you to keep me held back and make me feel like I won't be going places in life for a while.

Attachment, Please leave my body this instant. Take a hike. Get outta town. You are unwanted and you are making people pissy.

Love, Ari

P.S. Your breath stinks.

Pointillism.

I guess those few people who come across this blog on a whim by pushing the Next Blog>> are expecting a writer whose intentions are to make you feel good, or happy, or just to have SUPER FUN!.
I'm so sorry to disappoint you, for I am not here for those reasons all the time. I am here to get you to think. I'm sorry if God is too scary for you, or if He bores you, or if He angers you. But this post is about him.
I'm sure most people hate small talk, and yet people choose to speak small.
There are times in life when we all feel small and insignificant. There are times when we feel like our best is not good enough, or we do not live up to the expectations of what others and we have set for ourselves. I am here to tell you that this is just not true. At times like these it is important to remember that we are children of a Heavenly King, and his plan is perfect.
Imagine that Jesus Christ is a painter. Not just any painter, but a pointillist.
I want to tell you about pointillism.
With this form of art, every mark of paint has a purpose. The painter uses different colors of dots to create an image of beauty. The painter has to know exactly what colors to use and when to use them. Here is the catch.
Our human minds cannot see the painting at all unless we take a step back… it is impossible to see the full painting if you are too close to only see the individual dots.
Now, imagine that we are all the dots. We come in different colors, in different shades of colors; sometimes a different paintbrush is used. No matter how small we all are, no matter how plain or dark or how far off in a corner we feel we are. We are all vital to the picture.
Are we not painters also? Yes. We have the power to paint our own lives, but it is very specific. The only way we can paint our lives to the full extent of true happiness is through God. Not only is he the master of our life, but He is the only way we can become master painters ourselves. I depend on Them to create my painting of everlasting life.
I have depended on God a lot in my life. It has been He, who has enabled me to look at my life from His point of view, and see not only the mistakes, and darker colors, but the beauty of how those mistakes and darker colors played up the things that I painted right. The things I did right in my life.
To depend on the Savior may sound like I am weak, or foolish to the "realists" of the world. To me, there is nothing more real than hope, than justice, than love. I am not your usual realist. I am a realist in optimist clothing, for beneath the optimism lies something more real and more true than one can never know by themselves. It is the highest honor to be willing to follow the Heavenly Father and His son, Jesus Christ. In the end, every single dot counts. In the end it is only the Painter, who can see where we all stand, and with whose hands we create a huge picture that could not have been created alone as when we are together.

So. I have this dog.

We dubbed him "Jackson."
Well. Actually, my uncle, Steve, named him. Steve was Jackie's mama.
But one day, a few years back, they had to move to Kansas, and could not bring their beloved dog with them.
I do not mean to be happy that they left him with us, but he's been such a blessing. I don't think my aunt and uncle know how much they changed our family by leaving one of their own with us.
He once saved our lives. Yup. Full on- saved. I will tell you this tale of how this came about...
Once upon a time, there was a man named Alex. He was an old friend of my dad's. RM. Good kid. Then one day he started to hear other voices, besides his own, in his mind. He did, however, start his own clothing company (albeit, picking the next trends out of other people's garbage cans), and one day, this partially unstable person came to our door. In the night. At midnight. When we were SLEEPING.
Guess what my dog did?! BARKED. yes. I know. surprising. But my mother said it was not just a usual bark, it was the bark of a defender. a protector. A GUARDIAN ANGEL.
And, guess what dear ole Alex was trying to do...
BREAK INTO OUR ABODE full of sleeping children. This, my friends, is not socially acceptable neither is it sanitary behavior of a person.
So, boys and girls, the moral of the story is 1) get a dog named Jackson who is a yellow lab and 2) do not become friends with crazy people, as they will try to 'bring down the house' with their delusions of fashionista and new houses.

Best Friends

Friends.
Their existence, perhaps, saves my own.
I have a particular one, who comes over from time to time. Lately, more often than not (a.k.a. almost everyday this past week). I don't understand how I can say words that probably sound jumbled and completely unrecognizable as the English language, and this friend interprets them exactly as I intended.
How is it that two souls can understand one another without verbalization?.
Energy levels.... we are both passionate about the same things. C'est incroyable.
I love her. I love the idea that we will be best friends forever. I do NOT mean that in the Spongeboob(ha) and Patrick ring way. I mean the Tom and Jerry kind. Always kickin each other in the butt, but in the end making us smarter and more prepared for the evil(er) cat or bad news bulldog to come along in life.

A Wonderment

I saw a small child riding one today on his way home from school. He went fast down the hill, yelling "scuuuuse me!" to all whippersnappers obscuring his descent, jammed his foot down onto the rod behind the stop, and full on- bounded into the sky! A FULL TWO AND A HALF FEET.
Wonderment: Where have the Scooters scooted off to?
I mean, I used to always see them, ride them, steal them (don't worry, i gave it back!), want them, and now they're just a pile of dust. Erm. Sheet metal particles.
Also, I'm pretty sure I was known as "scooter girl" back in the past year, for I carried with me, this gadget, all around the school.
ahh... the times.

Hookey Unanounced

Today was a day full of sleeping in, mass dancing in the kitchen, and a couple of angry texts asking, "where are you?!" I did not, of course, skip for no reason. But it feels great to be a in a place different from the rest of the world.
It's a weird feeling knowing that right now, where I sit, there is an entire ecosystem carrying on without me being there. That a life I might have known, had I gone to school today, drags on and nobody is there to push it forward or even hold it back.

Playing hookey never felt so dizzy.