This is not for you.

~This post is dedicated to the anonymous formspring questioner who asked me when I was going to post on my blog again. Thank you for letting me know people still care what I have to say~


I think I stopped posting on this blog because of two reasons. The first wass I experienced a case of hardcore writer's block. Nothing I wrote was even remotely decent. Thankfully that was broken after a quick trip to New Orleans. The second was I started to care too much about what people thought about what I wrote here. When I began this little experience, I didn't care if people read it. I honestly didn't think anyone did. I wrote because that's what I do. I am a writer (please god forgive me). I wrote because I needed a outlet for my creative energy. But then I discovered people not only read my blog but also liked it. I began to feel this pressure of writing for an audience, for writing something that people will like, that will get a lot of hits, that will make my stats go up. This is poison for creativity.

It suddenly wasn't about me writing because that's what I love to do and because I needed to do it. It was about choosing topics I know a lot of people would want to read.

This is bullshit, if you didn't already know.

I can't think of a more destructive thing to do in regards to my "art." I sold out, in the spiritual sense since I'm not getting a dime off of this.

Well, no more. I have learned my lesson. Therefore, I am rechristening this blog, letting it go back to its original purpose.

This blog is for my creative writing, for my thoughts, my poetry, my lists, my ramblings, but most importantly, for myself. If you like it and want to continue to read it, that's great. If not, that's okay too.

As Conor Oberst once sang, "I do not read the reviews. No, I am not singing for you."

I am a writer.
This is not for you.

Love you.
Mean it.

As heard in the newsroom, Part 6

My music is fighting your music and Katy Perry is going to win.
-Andrea

Alright, who stole my plant?
-Andrea

Does this sound cool or creepy? Cause it sounds cool to me.
-Celeste

Barbie is okay, even though she's a super skinny skank.
-Celeste

I meant holding hands.
That's fine. That's 14 points above where I am.
-Celeste & Jarom

I plan on having the worst attitude today.
I will beat you.
-Celeste  & John-Ross

I want to be the girl version of Clark.
-Christina

I'd kill someone and it would be fun.
-Christina

Can we take pictures of the girl with a mesh dress and a thong? Cause that's fashionable.
-Christina

I feel like my brain is vibrating.
-Clark

My hips don't lie about how much I eat.
-Elyse

If Mike Vic were white, he'd work at Office Max.
-Eric

Do you know what [Bill Nye] is going to talk about?
SCIENCE!
-Eric & everyone

I discovered it was a girl show. I've been watching a girl show for five seasons.
-Gilbert, about Bones

I'd call him but my phone is in a bag of rice.
-Gilbert

A day without a nap is a day wasted.
-Gilbert

I know music.
No, you don't. You make grilled cheese at a music venue.
-Gilbert  & Jake

This music sounds like my thighs rubbing together, angry at each other. I hate this shit.
-Jake

The world of J.R. is unbelievable.
-Jake

On the subject of faggots and frisbee golf...
-Jarom

Deal with it. Or don't.
-Jarom

We're planning a soiree of sorts.
-Jarom

He is a ninja. He's a blonde ninja.
-Jarom about Clark

I give and I give and I give and I just want to take my pants off.
-Jarom

As long as you only karaoke now and then.
-Jarom

I'm too lazy to go outside. That's my main problem.
-Jarom on his troubles dating

Women can't read. Is that sexist enough?
-Jarom

Do you know if "man-child" in the phrase "idiot man-child" has a hyphen?
-John-Ross

Things just got Norwegian up in here.
-John-Ross

She's divorcing him because he was addicted to alcohol and pot, which doesn't make sense because she's divorcing him for being awesome.
-John-Ross about Bill Murray

People take it way too seriously. And not all of them are potheads.
-John-Ross

We peed in his shampoo bottle.
-John-Ross

My father just sent me a text, "Hey fat Jesus, what are you doing this weekend?"
-John-Ross

I need to stop smoking. The state of Utah is really making a convincing argument.
-John-Ross

It's my fault for assuming Mesa, Arizona has stuff to do.
-John-Ross

This is a safe place, you moron.
-John-Ross

I don't give an asterisk asterisk asterisk asterisk about pandas.
-John-Ross

I'm not going to a wedding. Fuck you.
-John-Ross

It takes 20 years for something to be funny. Except the Holocaust. That shit ain't funny.
-John-Ross

Do you have court? Why are you here?
-John-Ross

You can't even get a decent HJ from a haunted whore.
HJ?
I'll explain later.
-John-Ross & Gilbert

I saw The Help last week.
Was that good?
I didn't fucking see that movie.
-John-Ross & Vanessa

See ya, dirty book girl.
See ya later!
-Jonathan & Christina

It kinda looks like it's smiling and kinda like it wants to eat my face.
-Kelly

Don't tweet about sexual harassment.
-Kelly

If you weren't so damn good at your job, I wouldn't have to be so freaking awesome at mine.
-Kelly

I've forgiven him 70 times 7 times. Jesus says I can kick his ass.
-Kelly

That is highly inappropriate. Maybe later.
-Kelly

Don't point guns at people. It's not nice.
-Kelly

J.R.'s the simplest to explain.
And yet...
-Kelly & Jarom

What is your favorite animal?
Steak?
-Kelly & John-Ross

How do you change someone's race?

Holocaust? 

-Kelly & Thomas R.

Did you just say chlamydia champagne?
I did and I don't regret it.
-Kelly & Christina

I wann do Bill [Nye].
...
Science Rules!
-Kelly & Jarom

Robbin, I'm going to come embrace you. Is that alright?
-Matt P.

I'm a jokester, you guys.

-Tiffany

I'm helping Somali children. Don't bother me.
-Tiffany

He did look like a geek. I saw him.
-Tom L. about Matt P.

Grieving for my grandma

My grandmother died two weeks ago. Today was her funeral. I had been to funerals before but had never participated in one. My grandmother's death is the first time someone close to me has passed away, as I have mentioned before. The service was lovely, with my mom and her three sisters speaking on lessons my grandmother had taught them. She was a wonderful, kind, and charming woman who knew no limits of love and charity. She believed in being kind to others, and serving them in anyway possible.

My grandmother's death has been a bizarre experience for me. During these last two weeks, I have felt sad, yes, but mostly I've felt okay. My grandmother wasn't doing too well towards the end and I know she's at peace now. I know she's surrounded by her brothers, parents, and loving husband. I know that. There is no doubt in my mind. The first time I cried was at the funeral today, partly because I saw my mother crying and can never stay dry-eyed when I see her crying. But for the most part, I've been fairly okay these past two weeks.

To give you an idea of how my mind works, here's an little anecdote for you. When my mom came into my room to tell me grandma had died, she said the funeral would be on the 13th. My first thought, in all seriousness, was "What do they do with grandma till then? Where do they keep her? How do they keep her 'fresh?'" This is how I reacted to the death of my grandma, not with tears or heartache but with the very practical technical question of what they do with her body until the funeral.

I've heard there's no right way to grieve. I suppose that's true, even though I do feel odd about not "weeping or wailing" over the passing of my grandma. She was old and not well. Death brought a certain release from that state.

I will miss her. I will always miss her.

Love you.
Mean it.

He draws me in

He draws me in
with the questions he forms in my head.
He draws me in
with dangerous daydreams.
Fingers running through brown hair,
an arm wrapped around another in the night,
wishful thinking.
He draws me in
with warm eyes.
Mischievous. Playful.
Eyes much older than his years admit.
He draws me in.
While the loneliness grows deeper
and the memories grow darker
still,
he draws me in.

You know me, I love a good story.

Everyone has stories. A person's life is made up of a series of stories, some joyful, some hilarious, some ironic, some tragic. Some of these stories we tell to a group of friends with comedic precision. Others we keep secret, silent, shared only in the dark, between the sheets. It's these stories that make us human, that help us to connect with others. It's through the exchange of stories we know we're not alone.

Sometimes, all we know about other people comes from the stories others tell about them.  I never knew my granddad. He died when I was a year old. All I know about  Bennion Rhead Cannon comes from stories my family has told over and over. All I have are the stories.

There is a time in my life that I try not to think about. Even though it spanned four years, I avoid thinking about any moment from then because when that time ended, it ended horrifically, painfully. Now when I think back to that time, it brings a terrible mixture of sorrow and happiness.

But lately, I've been thinking about moments, of stories from that time that weren't bad, that were actually quite lovely. Like when I spent the night with Josh and we took shots of rum out of wine glasses. Or when Sean and I would go shooting together. Or when I spent Easter weekend with Sage's family. Or when Brian and I stayed up all night talking about philosophy. Or watching Pan's Labyrinth with Gus. Or any memory with Gus. Those were all wonderful times. Those are all wonderful stories.

The span of those four years is itself one giant story, one with a tragic ending. But individual chapters or even small paragraphs are good stories, wonderful stories, stories worth remembering.

I can't let the overall bad ending make me forget the good stories in between.

Love you.
Mean it.

My Scarlet Letter

I did it. I finally got my tattoo. I've been planning on doing this for a few years now. I've even referenced it in one of my poems (titled Pride in Myself, which you can read here). I was originally going to get it (as the poem suggests) on my back shoulder but I switched to my right wrist. I figured if I was going to get something so significant to me permanently placed on my body, I wanted to be able to see it daily. 

A lot of people have been asking me about the meaning behind my tattoo. For starters, it's a scarlet letter. The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne is one of my favorite novels ever. It's beautiful, tragic, devastating, and sincerely hopeful. I just love it. 

My scarlet letter stands for Proud. That is my sin. Only I don't really view it as a sin. Let me explain. 

I've spent the majority of my life hating myself. I hated my life and often wished I didn't exist. It took me years of hard struggling to finally get to where I am today. I love myself, I love my life, and everything in my life. The only trouble is now people accuse me of being prideful, of thinking too highly of myself. To that, all I can say is they have no idea how long it took and how hard it was for me to get to this point where I love myself. If that means I'm proud, then I'll wear my scarlet sin for the world to see. 

I couldn't be happier with my tattoo. Every time I look at it, I want to giggle with giddiness. I feel free, liberated. This summer I had four goals I wanted to accomplish. With a week left of summer, I'm glad I accomplished one of them.

Love you.

Mean it. 

Long Nights

I can remember long nights talking to you. It's how we ended each day.
Whoever went to bed first called or texted the other to say goodnight.
I'd try to remember your smell as I struggled to stay awake so I could talk to you for just a bit longer.
I remember you making me laugh in the darkness, even though we were hundreds of miles away.
I don't remember what we talked about. It was probably mostly about nothing.
But I guess, in the end, it didn't matter.
Because all of those conversations about nothing "meant more to me than so many somethings."
I remember those long nights, falling asleep to your voice.

Not everything that happened between us was bad.

Love you.
Mean it.