their bottoms are made out of springs

sometimes i like to consider groups of people in terms of:

if each individual person is a molecule, what would the substance of the group be? a solid, a liquid, or a gas? a solid being a tight mass of molecules that barely moves except to quickly be put back in place by a neighboring molecule. a liquid being with a little more space where individual molecules bounce off walls and each other and the substance doesn't hold its shape unless in a container. and a gas being very difficult to contain and molecules bounce extremely quickly from great distances at great speed and has a lot of space to itself.

my ideal substance for human molecule behavior oscillates somewhere between a liquid and a gas. going to school during summer term is a gas. going to school during the normal school year is a liquid or solid depending on the time of day. driving in utah is too often a solid. riding my bike is usually a gas. being at the beach is a gas. a great gas. but tonight was definitely a night of solids. solids make me uncomfortable and stuck. but it's ok bc i am a hyperactive molecule and quickly can free myself from those types of situations. but sometimes i think how great it would be to be a part of a solid! nope, wrong. i am just much happier to be bouncing at high energy in large amounts of space. bam

six word novel

flowers: bloom! beautiful! die in vase.

favorite food? mexican. ever sick? si.

stay out of the well. sharks.

6 words: equals my attention span

hemingway's

stay

i wasn't ready
until i collected all the perfected moments
like a hand
then i laid them all out
and still lost

dark completeness

puzzle piece clouds
this is a hard one again
all bright white, slowly fitting
one by one covering up all the blue
last piece where is it
there right there in front of the sun
darkness now
and the puzzle is complete

t-50

i have been having problems with leaving every book unfinished
i hate the unrequited required need to wrap everything up
dot every eye, square every circle, tie a bow on top
but i have every end untied
i read your fiction or otherwise
but the biggest fiction of all is that it ends
and every stone has been turned over and cleaned and painted pink
and at that point i can no longer relate, can not maintain focus or appreciation
so i will continue to leave the last 50 pages alone
maybe when i am a squared circle i will get it

but maybe that's why people read
part of the whole fantasy world appeal
it's not even a happy ending that's appealing--just an ending!

The new and constant degeneration

When I am thinking about something new that I haven’t given much thought to before, I like to think of it in terms to the history of the world. Like, when was the first time ____ happened? And who made ___ happen and why? How did ___ travel around the world and become so globally accepted? How has ____ evolved? The weird thing is, mostly when I think of ____ in terms of these questions, this is the graph that pops into my head:


Now, I recognize that this graph is not to scale, but I really feel like the world was pretty stable about pretty much everything until half a century ago-ish, and then things are really changing. But what I think has changed the MOST is communication. And although it’s something I’ve thought about before and a lot, here are my questions.

Like, when was the first time communication happened? Easy: Seventh day of the world existing. Who made communication happen and why? Adam, so God could tell him the rules and they could hang out together, and also with Eve. How did communication travel around the world and become so globally accepted? Well, it’s kind of important, even ants need to do it. How has communication evolved? And here’s the kicker.

In the history of time from the beginning of the world on, there were two main types of communication: Talking and Writing. People go door to door, visit their neighbors, bring some bread, write some letters. But the telegram, to the telephone, to email, instant messaging, text messaging, and so on, have all popularized as of relatively late, and the majority of evolutions have created an entirely new system of communication.

So no one is writing love letters and spraying perfume on it, instead people are sending poorly punctuated emails and not even bothering to sign their names. And no one is stopping by for a visit to check up, but instead a text message “how r u?” And now the worst of all is social network websites, where you don’t even need to talk to someone to catch up with them, just look at the pictures they have posted and what someone else is writing on their wall. I would like to see someone from the past come to the future of right now. They would probably say, “This is weird, is no one friends with each other?” Because this is what they would see: people walking around by themselves with either headphones in or talking into their cell phones or typing messages in their phones, sitting at black boxes and typing furiously, but man would it look ridiculous to the time traveler.

Something I also think about when thinking about the above graph, is how most things that have changed are relatively so new, that we can’t be totally sure about the eventual effects of this speedy evolution. The varying types of communication today are pretty spectacular, but how much are there going to hurt us in the long run? Are the relationships we have with every other person going to become more weak and superficial? Are we going to rely on emails and text messages to maintain friendships? And as the generations go on, will technology allow communication to become even more impersonal? What will communication eventually degenerate to? And as all languages evolve, the English words will become shorter and shorter because no one wants to type in all the letters to spell w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r word is t-o-o l-o-n-g into their phones. And people need to keep the cell phone conversations to a minimum because they’re out of minutes again! so they will just briefly say what they need to in short grunts and hang up.

But maybe our expectations for communication just have to be lower. We should just accept that now we can say so much more in so many less words using much more resourceful means. People would probably roll their eyes at the inefficiency of a love letter these days anyway. But maybe we should just be careful. Maybe we could start bringing our neighbors bread again. Even though it is probably also not as good as pre-mid-1900’s bread.

[cinquains]

Coat: on
I hate mornings
I see my breath; I’m ice
When class is over, the sun’s up
Coat: off

Pebbles
What would you do?
Drop them? Throw them? Skip them?
Maybe don’t pick them up at all
Dirt hands

Pictures
People posing
Big smiles and bright flash
Everyone looks so happy here!
Cheesy

You wear
That nice blue shirt
I’ll just wear something else
OK fine, we’ll just match again
Mirror

Crosswords
Daily scrabble
And of course sudoku
No wonder homework takes so long
Sidetracked

taj memoir

The scene is too much to take in with only our five senses. We stand at the entrance in a daze, the white marble glistening in the morning sun, the red mosques on either side framing it, the gardens and streams gently leading up to steps, up to the most beautiful mausoleum built. We inch towards it, take our shoes off, press our hands against the ever-cold marble. Intricate flower designs cover the thinner marble slabs, allowing new color to sparkle through, and Islamic writing frames the doorways. The interior is dark and cold but filled with carvings and bird droppings, and side-by-side tombs sit in the eerie white dimness.

And we walked outside it, around it, away from it. We looked at it for a long time and then gave its marble a kiss because we didn’t know how else to treat it, because it taught about love and sadness and pride and eternity. And we put our shoes back on. And when we talked about the Taj Mahal we lowered our voices a little. And we marveled at how something so beautiful and perfect could be created by a selfish ruler with imperfect love. And we couldn’t help but feel the magic then, and still now, because we saw a piece of eternity and a piece of real beauty and maybe even a piece of love.

global poisoning

In the year 20-something-something, it is more polluted than all the years before it. Combined? No, but exponentially the pollution has gotten worse and worse. And in the following year, if people are still here to create it, there will be even more pollution.

The lives that people are living are more important than being alive. The gas guzzling cars and the endless intake of meat and the need to stifle every resource and replace it with some kind of cement economy has become the collective and solely acceptable way of life. Even Al Gore has stopped running for president, and even the EU citizens have stopped driving Smartcars because what’s the use, everyone knows they are so ugly and there’s no point in efficiency because of how the entire else world is contributing.

The governments realized the dangers last. Also they realized that they had caused the problems in the first place with lack of policy and lack of paying attention, but by then it was too late to rewind, but not too soon change! The governments started warning people about the dangers of pollution, over-harvesting, outlasting our resources. No one listened because they had white buds in their ears. So they started putting public announcements on the pre-digested television shows but people would fast-forward through the carefully worded messages.

So the governments started putting up fliers on the front doors of every house in every city in every country in every language. “Please recycle cardboard, glass, and plastics!” one would say and another, “Turn off your light bulbs when you leave the house, Please!” But no one moved and the clouds got blacker so the governments started saying made the signs louder until “Stop spraying chemicals on your small farm patch, people eat the fish and they all have cancer!” And finally a flier on fire engine red paper, “Carbon monoxide is a silent, undetectable, instant killer. Carbon monoxide is coming out of your exhaust pipe! There’s nothing you can do pretty much!” And people tore it off the door and looked down at it, and looked up at the four SUV’s idling in the driveway, and then looked up the road to the continually flowing exhaust from all the cars in the neighborhood and all the cars they had ever seen. They collectively held their breath as long as they could and exhaled and exhaled every good intention to be a model citizen. And the entire planet lived like they were dying and subconsciously waited for the world to end and they waited by speeding it up by driving bigger cars more and simultaneously running the furnace and the air conditioning and letting the lawn mower and the beached boat in the driveway run. And the world impatiently waited for the collective poisoning of the entire population by carbon monoxide.

scratch

Pregnant with dreams and empty with thoughts
Happy with nonsense but filled up with loss
Scratching out days on my prison cell wall
One step forward, two back, and fall

haiku

The rain is falling
Tears rinsing out the summer
The clouds and I cry

Robots are dancing
Technology has rhythm
I am DDR

Papers on the floor
School starts and the cleanness ends
Dishes in the sink

prelude to a championship

Joining the bowling league was practically my idea, I’m still not sure why. I have only gotten a triple digit score once in my life, and typically claim that I hate bowling in general so I don’t have to go to FHE or on bad dates or to default BYU group activities.

But I am the co-founder of my bowling team. And since the idea came at work, it is going to be a work bowling league. We are very picky about who can be on our team and limit it mostly to people who get as excited about it as Emily and I do. We also prefer if they have some level of experience, like a class or have been in a junior league as a child, just so we know they were raised right. We usually ask for a bowling swing demonstration and stand aside, nod in interest, and count the steps they take before they reach the imaginary foul line. And we take a mental or actual note. We ask for the highest score they’ve ever gotten, and then tell them we’ll get back to them by Friday at the latest. We like high scores for the purpose of the league, but not too high so as to make the co-founder’s 60 average score look bad or possibly inspire a mutiny.

Unfortunately we do discriminate. We checked the record scores in the league books and our greatest victory potential lies in the women’s league. I hate to diss my own sex like this, but it’s just the way the pins fall.

We have shirts picked out for our team and almost have put the order in. but we decided we needed to pick out numbers for the backs. And also we need bowling names still. Last week I was dubbed KLEPTOKRISTY but the zubs in the next lane kept calling me klepto and I think it contributed to my lack of strikes that round.

There is an older lady that works in a different department who I would like to recruit to the team. I think she would really delivery a level of legitimacy that we younger girls can’t achieve on our own. I can just picture her with a wristguard and think she could really pull off the retro bowling shirt. After we win the league trophy, I want to be the one who presents her with a gold plated wristguard trophy with “Mad Dog Marjorie” emblazoned underneath because that is the type of name she would claim, even though her name is Barbara I think. Or Deborah.

We have a specific day and place and time we bowl. I’m really busy and only have time for work and school and want to buy a plot of land on campus so I can save some by not walking to school. But I’ve made time for bowling. I’ve only bowled over 100 once, but bowling is now a priority. I have faith not only that we will compete with the Marge’s of the SuperBowl women’s league, but that we will give them a run for their money. I am confident that after all is said and done, the glorious six foot trophy will take its rotation and light up my room every five weeks, and remind us all about what life is really about. The wild-card. the underdog. the greatest upset ever to be recorded in a State Street bowling alley.

score so far

conspicuous -- you

inconspicuous --

fream

i want everyone to wear a framed picture around their neck of the best moment of their lives. that way you can know so much about someone the first time you meet, and you can talk about the best moments and remind each other of that great moment. and if you get sad, you can look down and remember. and then on the subways people would just look around and think great things about every other person, instead of noticing that their boots are not very nice or fashionable.

it would be cool to see someone's picture change to a new moment when you were there.

an uncaring caring

i dreamt all night last night that i was throwing up and throwing up
the internet dream dictionary told me

SICK As in vomiting: The feeling of having thought, felt, or expressed things that do not agree with your real feelings.

probably more to come

people i already know

that i re-met today

April eighth two thousand seven

Person I already know #1

In church Sister E. introduces herself to me. She has done so twice before maybe three times and it has made me uncomfortable all but the first time. Why does she think she is so unrememberable. She is the only person in the ward who talks to me, so she is the only one that I don’t act like I don’t know. I’m not sure what I am supposed to say to her, but I just mirror her enthusiasm so she doesn’t have to depress to my level. She is talking to me about how we have been to the same continent, but I am just nervous that it’s ten minutes into the lesson on Blank before my hands stop shaking. Would rather be small-talking with my sister-in-law. I introduced my sister-in-law in relief society that is the first time I have called her that. But either are still better than the Indonesia lady that thought I had already come home from my trip last January. I wish I had already come home too in January. Five minutes of church enthusiasm makes me hate myself and never want to go back to church, but mostly makes me never want to do anything noteworthy so no one will have reason to talk to me or seek me out. I try to look as plain as possible and not wash my hair. Old people talk to me and suck out my youth to cure their oldness. It doesn’t make them any younger but it makes me feel old and robbed. I tell her I am flattered. I am flattered. I have never been flattered or used that word before. I have never been flatter. When I hear myself to people in church, I am not inside my body, I am being consumed by something else and I hear words being yelled out from my empty head into the great cultural hall abyss and my realness is waiting outside and already sitting in the van. Just rolling my eyes. Just waiting for my hands to stop shaking.

Person I Already Know #2

Stephanie Forgettable Last Name is the H.R. manager. I pretend like she just started working there after I left so she feels justified for not remembering me. I have talked to her before about things and she didn’t know anything about things. I made it brief the first two times I talked to her because I walked in and she was crying and I wanted to cry because of it but I just said don’t worry about it and left and then the rest of my day I felt sad. I don’t think she has ever stopped crying. I suppose she just has watery red eyes and a red complexion. I feel bad about that and don’t want to ask too much or I would feel ok even if she made me work in kids because at least I do not cry too much and at least I do not have a red watery complexion or make people feel sad for days at a time just for looking me in the eyes. I wonder what would be so sad to make you cry for two years or more. Sometimes I feel like I could cry for two years, or not eat or sleep for two years. Maybe then I’d wake up a little and feel like a real person and be alive. I ate a lot today and I feel like crying for two years because of it. Especially the ham. Stephanie doesn’t return phone calls. When I write down her name I draw a heart as the dot on the i. I don’t know how you could not with a name like that. I don't know how you could not with a name like that, Stephanie.

Person I Already Know #3

Laura or Lara I’m not sure, probably Laura. Tim’s girlfriend, who is Ryan’s roommate. She is always with Tim under that blanket on the long couch. Me and Ryan used to be the couple under the blanket, but now we are just on the couch or standing or awkward or exposed. Ryan thinks she is really dumb probably because she is a girl and does hair and hasn’t proved herself in the smart girl category and mixes up her words because she is just a baby after all, I think she is really precious and a nice heart. She said she doesn’t shower very often, I hope she meant just wash her hair. Although she probably has not gone through puberty so probably does not get too greasy.

Person I Already Know #4

Dave I recognize you from somewhere, oh we went to EFY together. You’re from New Mexico, you had a mouthful of braces, you were the cutest thing me and Maria wanted to put you in our pockets and have tea parties with you as our guest of honor. I always remember everyone even/especially people that I never really knew. I am never sure whether to keep it a secret or yell it on a mountain that I know you from Random Event unknown number of years ago. I usually keep it a secret unless I am bored and I think you might say something interesting in response, or turn into a real person, like I am the clock striking midnight and you are finally going to stop pretending you are the same princess I've met a thousand times before. So I told you. I can’t tell if you started pretending less, I was too focused on myself and self-conscious, I am still nervous about being around people. I wish it was just us, but there are other people that want to talk about stupid things like EFY and want my attention and make me feel more like a slut than I already do and make comments that make me want to ostrich my head in the ground if I thought it would help me to never hear how people think either BYU or U of U is somehow better in someway from the other. Dave maybe you should still carry around a video camera like before, maybe your grin could still look as innocent as it used to. You still are the same person maybe, I wish you still had all your braces so people would have to look harder to see how beautiful you are, or they would not notice, or you would talk to me for a longer time and sit in the chair next to me instead of across from me.

up

carnal

the five dreams

I had my first dream when I was seven years old. I saw dinosaurs dancing around on the insides of my eyelids, three of them, trying to kill me. That day I felt small and vulnerable. I went to school with wide eyes and looked out at the playground for any unwelcome visitors whenever I heard something that could have been mistaken for a t-rex footstep.

My second dream was on a stage drenched in lights brighter than my eyes could fully open for. Every person was clapping for me and standing straight and tall and I was the best ballerina and had danced my heart the most. That day I felt like a hundred dollars and I floated so high above all the other kids in the cafeteria that I couldn’t even see my hashbrowns. I went to school and couldn’t help practicing my pirouettes in the barkdust.

My third dream was me looking at myself in the mirror and I was pulling horribly fantastic faces. I could hear my grandmother in the background telling me that if I kept pulling faces they would stick there. I pulled my face into the deepest frown I could muster, and it stayed! I was horrified and could no longer smile, no matter how happy I was. That day I did not frown for a single second, in case my face stuck. I went to school and smiled all day long and everyone smiled back at me and sometimes even laughed back at me.

My next to last dream was sailing on the ocean. I got to be in the crows nest, high above the other sailors. My only job was to yell “Land ho!” but I got so caught up watching the others interact that I stopped watching the horizon and our ship crashed into the rocks. That day I was very observant. I went to school and didn’t run into anyone in the halls. I stood on top of the playground structure and did not watch any of my friends run around, but watched for any dangers in the horizon.

The last dream I ever had was nothing but a noise and I was nine years old. It was the playing of the most beautiful song that could ever exist. It played just once. That day I walked blankly through and knew I could never hear anything so beautiful again. I went to school and didn’t listen to anything ever again. I ignored my friends and focused all my energy on blocking out every sound except the memory of the song that was on its last echo in my head.

And then I had no more dreams, but lived my life in a dream. I floated high above all the other kids, and if I had to be on the ground I usually just danced around. I saved the other kids from dangers they couldn’t begin to understand. I smiled all day long and couldn’t hear anyone laughing at me because I was listening too hard to the memory of the most beautiful song. I think if the five dreams were theirs, they would have done the same thing. But no one can help their dreams.