Thursday, March 24, 2011

My spine has the tingle.

A strong sharp tingle, climbing the vertebrae in my back faster than my heart that's skipping beat after beat slowing the blood in my veins leaving my skin kissed with the strangest sensation. No word, no beautiful, graceful word can graze the ears and penetrate the mind as well as as those knots in my heart penetrate my soul. The twists that fill my stomach leave no room for hunger, I'm satisfied so satisfied. And I can't express, elaborate, barely can I even verbalize. There's a trigger in me that fires at emotion sending me raining through the air in drops of passion, longing and dreaming; falling down on lovebirds in trees and on park benches. Dancing in the storm of falling bits of me. Shared dreams in stanzas that reach inside my chest, rip open my soul, bare, aching for dreams of a much similar statue. Open, free, unafraid of judgement, angry cold eyes. I amble down the quite street to total consumption, enjoying each slow second as it ticks by into the beat of a drum pushing me as I march down the road longing to be spent like the last two dollars you've been saving. Your sounds go though me, they shake me, bring me to my knees almost. Eyes closed, ears opened, just falling, tumbling against you, in to you, finding peace in your ribcage curled up next to your heart, while my eyelids rest, drifting into a disillusioned dream, our heartbeats sink, beating together as one, while your words become your world, and your world my dream, in side the cavity of your chest, the ream of blood vessels that form your heart beside me, in you, against you with only my ears opened, eyes closed listening to the sounds of you.

This is what poetry delivered well does to me. When I can feel tone echoing inside my core being pumped to every part of me, head to toe. in those few moments of reading strangers feel as well know as some of the dearest friends. but Ahhhhhhhhhhhh (yes that is a yell) this isn't what I wanted my blog post to be about, I just stumbled upon something unavoidably amazing and blog worthy as I went to write about something else that was amazing and blog worthy. Bold is usually followed by subtle so I just started with what couldn't be contained now I'll transition to the quite little things that moved my world around. Here it goes....

whilst attempting to do homework on the mckay 3rd floor (or refereed to in my apartment the "party floor") but checking my school email, and chasing my tail looking for the assignment. A girl with a sign in the row behind the row across from me (bad description but I hope you can picture it) catches my eye. When I  finally get a better look at her sign it says "free hugs" and in the corner "no talking" I watch her go down the line and show each person the sign and wait for their response. I start to notice that other people are looking up at her too. When she reaches acquaintances I know, I find myself eagerly waiting for their response. I soon realize that the back of her sign says "pretty please" for those who look puzzled and unable to answer. I, myself excitedly waiting for my turn and watching as she comes down the other side. This is when I realize that she knows ASL (american sign language) and she's signing "thank you" to each person who gives her a hug. My excitement more than doubled as I prepared to sign "yes" to her before I hug her. I know a little sign so it was really fun to watch her saying thanks. Her excitement at my signing yes was almost at the point of mine as I waited for my turn for a hug. I know it sounds simple and almost silly but this made my day. I'm tired and it's way past my bedtime so as her quite act was short and sweet so will this post. a little protection to keep you from getting too carree'd away.

xo carree

Monday, March 14, 2011

An attempt to write in under an hour

This never happens. I'll sit at my station pumping out words to be read in strong emotion, pushing and pulling my topic till it and all my words run away from me leaving me speechless. I don't necessarily have a love for writing I've realized, as I write blog after blog I've found my true love and passion is in words. Learning new words and applying them, watching them form enchanting sentences, paragraphs, stories. I get lost in them, sending me into a stupor of thought. I enjoy watching them recount my whims in short syllabled beauty.

however time has flown past me as I dream and my time has fall down to 30 minutes. I'm beginning to fear this task my be impossible for the likes of me, but I trek on. Sometimes I wish that I could tell you the anecdotes of my life as they were ment to be told in dramatic fits of post-situation passion. As the hands on the clockface move forward so do my eyes and thoughts and quickly no matter what level of fa-mazingness the story is, soon it fades. This weekend will fad slowly, it was one of great moments, it's rare that my activities line up so perfectly as to go literally from one to another with only minutes to spare. While a great story the stroy of the weekend of March 11th-13th is, it is not the one I wish to tell in my last few minutes. That tale would the one of the bold and the few.

I enjoy people watching. Yes, I am well aware of how incredibly creepy that sounds, but it's not intended to be. I'm fascinated by the mind, how it adapts, how people move. to describe it in a way that makes more sense would be I like to see how people act and react to each other, and over time it's fun to try a guess at what someone will do next. This has lead to the discovery that people are afraid to move, countless are the times I've watch this scene play out in the form of several faces and people following the same script (I myself am guilty of this as well, mind you). Strapping young lad eyeballing beautiful young lady friend, infatuated with said lady but unable to find the words, or the nerve to say anything. Fear, is a disease spreading across our generation. Fear of change, fear of rejection. fear fear fear. this dread and terror can  be daunting yes but it's explainable with the push of technology. Face to face communication is personal, rare and hard to have undivided from some form of disconnection. I've noticed how much this has lead to increased terror at the thought of confronting, being open, allowing venerability. I myself, as forward and undaunted as I am sometime lose the nerve to embrace a new friend or flame. On a fresh kick of nerve and friendliness still even today could reach out to all but the few of whom I still can't find the nerve to converse with. Puzzling how naturally it comes to me to chat it up with a stranger but fall to bits and pieces at the thought of saying "hello" to a beautiful acquaintance. Oh gosh this is getting too girlie for me, ick. Washing my hands of this ooy gooy side sneaking in; this is not the intent of my post.

This post is for the brave soul that risked embarrassment to break free of fear. After a brief smile in passing, followed by the usual "hey" "how are you" "good" "amazing" encounter between crossing strangers on opposite ends of the skybridge between the library and mc. when we are standing on differing ends I at the beginning of the bridge Mc side, him almost in the library said boy turns around loud and proud through the wide-gapped space now between us asks me for a date. Fearless. Sheer curiosity is what turned me around and started the conversation. Granted my answer was only "maybe" and we parted as unlikely friends. it's sparked hope that possibly, just maybe this generation isn't entirely lost to the media, real people, real friendships, real encounters are still out there . Time's up. under an hour, no temptation to get to carree'd away.

xo carree

ps the grammer of this post horrifies me. seriously. but that's what happens when you race the clock.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


As defined by it is "the state or quality of being complex" not quite as defining as I had hoped, to find something more of value I quickly clicked, following the link to complex I found the information I sought. Complex: 1. composed of many interconnected parts, compound, composite. 2. characterized by very complicated or involved arrangement of parts. 3 so complicated or intricate as to be hard to understand or ordeal with. 

This differs so greatly from how I feel about myself. I'm as easy to read as this post. My uncharismatic illness of word-vomit has the truth spilling from my lips; my knee-jerk response to shout out honesty makes me fairly simple, child's play, as readable as any old book nuzzled warmly upon your shelf. However, complex is a word I've been getting quite frequently these days much to my dismay. But how does one go about clearing up a misconception of that sort? To change the mind of one person is a challenging task, it requires much time and energy but to clear up this idea that has spread like wild fire to the minds of many, where to start, the task seems almost as over whelming as finding the drive to title and start a new blog. (Anyone who's sat in the same room with me can attest to the struggle of this task, not because I have a lack of words, believe you-me I always have words I just don't always have order or tack) Where does a misconception like that grow roots, how could one miss seeing the sprout that began to take life from said roots and give birth to this Redwood of misunderstanding, mistruth. According to my mathematics teacher one counterexample will disprove an entire theory. So glass of water in hand I brave this task.

Glass on counter, head in hand some 30 seconds later I'm not sure if I'm ready to slay the dragon. All people have complexities, all people have things about them leaving others sitting back with puzzled brows, wondering what could possibly be going on inside said person's mind's eye. That's the the way as humans we were designed. All the same, I feel as though it's simple to forget that complex is not always complicated and herein lies the breakthrough of my thoughts. Admittedly I'll say I am complex, I have intricate wires on the circuit board dwelling inside me. But complicated? Far from it, lies are complicated, those hiding things, quickly become complicated. Complications come from the struggle to keep lies from tangling. As previously mentioned in another blog "I like to keep it simple, bunt and as classy as possible." In other words, just believe what I say and I'll make a lot more since to you, words don't get lost in truth. Truth, isn't complicated, it's not hard, it's the same each time it's repeated, echoing it's comfort and simplicity. Truth is simple, I believe in simple, from the beginning, no confusion, no complications. I'll won't lie this in and of it's self resounds the statement I am complex, but never complicated. 

And so sets in the boredom of this topic. hmmm on to more musings. This week I've learned quite a bit outside the classroom, as well, as much more inside the classroom. But the event this reporter would like to be covered would be that of the list. Yes, the list. At the beginning of the semester I made this list, it wasn't fancy, if I recall correctly in didn't even have a title, which says quite a bit since I have a love of extravagance and a bit of longwindedness when writing, but despite it's lacking aesthetics it held a significance to me. One night unable to fall victim to the sandman's charms I lay in bed, dreaming with eyes wide open of talents I wished to have. Bubbling inside of me were dreams I was afraid would never leave my thoughts, would never become words or actions, dreams that even themselves feared would never reach realities. Well known as a dreamer, with many delusional head-trips that would be long shots from reality I knew their fears were justified. Chastising myself as one who would always be full of good intentions on a road marked to nowhere marching on in rhythmic steps following a pattern of let down excuses as to why these dreams stay on clouds and while I marched, thud thud, thud, to a gloomy fate with many wanted ways left untrodden. I jumped out of bed in a desperate attempt to chase away the dread of past habits and to turn over a new leaf. A new green, thriving leaf of possibilities. So I made this list, on the back of what I believe was an old homework or pre-homework to-do list. Easy to see, the list was soon forgotten laid upon heaps of unsorted documents, books, jewelry, and pictures that littered my desk. While the paper list faded away my subconscious still held it's words. During the course of this semester while trying to find my self, (while not entirely lost) I began to make better time for things, tried to become who I knew with effort I could be, who I am. Trying things that usually never leave my mind, creating pictures, painting, making little do-dads, and trinkets, writing more, trying more, changing more. A day or so ago doing... I'm not altogether sure what, my eyes fell on that folded over sheet. Overcome with the sporadic excitement I get over the seemingly mundane yet meaningful to me things, I read over this small little list and realized that almost every task on there, save a few had been accomplished and tried. A feeling of joy and gratitude filled my heart, knowning that I'd been given those chances and done those things. It doesn't seem very note-worthy but to me it stood as a start, a beginning to something grand.

The last thing I'm going to discuss is one of much fame, one that is here by popular demand the Pomagranite Lamentation. As of now it is to no ones surprise that I love to try new things. I've began walking a new way to class since midterms, and tried to work in little changes in easy places to fit them in around the business which is college. One of these common changes is to try a new Odwalla each time I get one with few exceptions. Through this experiment my love for them has grown exponentially. Having said this there are many of you who are probably like "ah, I see where this is heading Pomagranite Lamentation she's had a bad experience, but should that be enough to make the blog?" A resounding yes, and once the tale unfolds, much to your own horror you will find that yes, here is where this story needs to reside. and so the story begins... It was a chilly day in Rexburg Idaho the sun only trying to poke it's head out between snow falls and here we meet the three victims of this appalling memoir. A post dance class trip to the Crossroads for some snack-age is where this boarder line sunny day gets EVEN colder. (Imagine that...) After some rad Chinese food, accompanied by a rather insightful fortune cookie the thirst sets in.  We'd already finished one Odwalla, it was good but after dancing one can become quite parched, once the debate was settled we'd get another a notion crossed my mind, a friend of a friend (not exactly the best source but still I trusted in my naivety and love of juice) a while back had suggested the Pomagranite. We made the final decisions and anticipation set in. When the Odwalla arrived I became skeptical, all the other juices I'd tried at least had be known to me there taste blended with that of others was still recognizable. I knew of what to expect and here was this pomigrantie I'd only heard of, so foreign. Somehow I had created this thought that it would be sweet, it only took one gulp to inform me that this was in no way the case. In slight disappointed I sought the label to tell me if there was infact something else in it that would cause my reasonless assumption to be wrong. As a vote of the table we decided the cause for the juice's distaste would be explained by the chokeberry, since one of the tasters was well acquainted with the Pomigranite, and still did not quite have a smile about the above mentioned juice tried. The smell is something to be note, it's late so I will not begin to hunt for words to describe this smell it is one to be experienced not re-told,but quite similar to that of dirt. Even though my heart had what is now referred to as a GIANT frowny face on it, I would not have traded the experience of Odwalla#10+, pomigranite for anything. Good, bad, revolting, funny, sweet, embarrassing; doesn't matter, I like to give it a try. You'll never know if you don't, and you can never tell when you'll fall in love with, or hate it if you don't let it walk with you down the block. and either way the memories are typically those that are not easily forgotten. Embrace the world, hold it in your arms, but never get too carree'd away.

xo carree

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Fresh Memories A la Mode.

because everything is better remembered, better rooted in the heart, and better gotten over with ice-cream. 

I'm going to do quite a bit of reflecting, which I have mixed feelings on. I believe one should never linger in the past pining and longing for the what-could-have-beens of day, weeks and months of life. Walking forward with eyes glued backwards tends to complicate the focus on the path, you never know where you'll end up when you can't see where each step takes you. However, on that note, the past serves as an event to be learned from but remains unchanged. That statement in and of it's self is the most sobering lesson the past has to offer us. Only the future holds growth, change, possibilities unconfined, unlimited. What we learn about our selfs with eyes cast years behind our bodies is simply, "have I learned? have we taken advantage of this enchanting opportunity to cultivate our hearts, our minds, our selfs? Are we reaching taller turning away from anger? Are we doing what truly makes us happy. Or do our steps fall in the same patterns that drive us mad with regret?"  The question now nested in the back of your mind is what could she possibly mean by this, in a way we all subconsciously see this and are well aware of my said points. More simply put and easily recognizable is Carpe Diem, seize the day. Live, learn and move forward in a passionate array, don't let chance slip from your grasp into a world of fallen opportunities, with roads long past, no way to to ease the longing pain lodged in your chest at the inability to turn back. I won't be that girl, I refuse. Here's to taking chances and embracing serendipity, and to saying hi to strangers and new friends.

So to take a step back from the back of my mind and inner debates to the simple delights of who I am. This weekend was full of love. Before you get to excited there were no men in my weekend, just a book and a movie. The book that sent me and my dear roommates into a haze of love and started the weekend off the romantic way. Said book would be "Other people's love letters, 150 letters you were never ment to see." it was just a few paragraphs into the the quirky introduction when I decided a book of this degree just had to be read aloud. Page after page of giggle and soft signs, we entered the realm of soaring hearts, where each sweet heartbeat pumped blood rich in intoxicating adoration for the beautiful words written in passion, while angry undertones of beaten spirits filled others while some where simply the loving jests and wants of new budding feelings. 

The girlie shannagins did not end with that oh no, book in hand we took our unruly raw emotions off to try the famed pie shakes that Sammy's has to offer. Another satisfying taste to fill my body, what more could one need to give life to a corpses aside from love, and pie shakes. Well Religion, that gives life it's greatest value, purpose, peace, and foundation, in my opinion but second would be love, pie shakes, and maybe a cocoa bean "better than whatever."  Moulin Rouge ensued, I enjoy the colorfulness of that movie, the visual hues as well as the varies shades story carries. Liberty, Freedom, Truth, and Love. What could top this we didn't know but had to try. Painting, something we all craved to take a stab at and this was our next rollercoaster to ride. As previously mentioned my love of the messy arts it was invigorating to experiment with.

This next weekend is already upon us for this week is nearing an end as Wednesday comes to a close. If I were to go into the details of this week the paragraphs that would follow would go on for pages and pages, but how to shorten the story and still give it the justice it deserves, the elaboration? I don't know. Monday, Home Evening where the word "um" was voted out of the vernacular. Note-worthy is the effects of considering the words we choose as opposed to thoughtless chatter. Home evening followed by yoga, remarkably enough we weren't the loudest ones in class. only once in a great while does that phenomenon occur. however a loud face-plant from me erupted the class into a fit of laughter. Tuesday indoor soccer game, sign making and cheering, and of course face paint followed by a celebrated victory of ice-cream. New friendships building while old ones begin expanding. Refreshing. My battery is officially fried in my never-loving jetta. I've been jumped so many times this semester I should have seen it coming, most certainly after last night being jumped twice. Oh life you keep yourself interesting. Today was Taco day and Tangled, groceries and goals. So many details cut the belly-monsters, the falls and bruised knees, but only to keep you from getting too carree'd away.

xo carree

p.s. just to show you how intelligent I can't be; I'll share this conversation with you. 
me- "My birthday is coming up, I've been thinking I really just want a tiered cake. it would pretty and magical and I really just want one"
tessa- "We can use the kitchen in my house it's bigger than our apartment kitchen...WAY bigger"
danielle, in between fits of giggles with tessa "uhh Honey, you don't make them like make separate pieces....." ALOT more laughter.

So yes my readers, I know you hold me in your highest regards, but believe me when I tell you I am a goof. I believe in passion oh how I believe in passion. But I believe in fun, excitement and just having a good time as well.