“When someone is mean to me….

July 31, 2012 § 39 Comments

…I just make them a victim in my next book.”  ― Mary Higgins Clark

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you, with all my love

July 24, 2012 § 29 Comments

You, with all my love, all the love I freely, so insanely gave you. Pretending you were well-built enough to hold it. Craving the collapses, the misrepresentations, the manipulations, the chaos, and the knowing you would never really care. It’s what I knew. And so I find you…. another. Another to throw into my trash can of inoperative hearts. And you fit right in with the rest of them, as if you were always meant for such shameful glory. You, with all my love, all the love I freely so insanely gave you.

except because I love you

July 23, 2012 § 24 Comments

“I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.” ― Pablo Neruda

you. YES YOU.

July 18, 2012 § 106 Comments

My french press looks awfully smug today. Queenly and defiant (like myself at times), I feel like she’s mocking me for giving into her toxic consumption yet another day. She see’s what’s happening– I haven’t paid her near the amount of attention that she requires in order to keep me happy. I fill her daily with the best smelling organic coffee beans a French Press of any real class could wish for….but the last few days I’ve left the coffee to grow cold and stagnant while I write ferociously unable to recognize real life, real people or my usual object friends that entertain me daily. She feels discarded, she’s achieving that prideful, uppity demeanor I can’t stand in her. I can’t blame her fully,  A) I’m moving, B) I’ve been stuck in my writers head for days now. It’s been terrible for she and I.

There’s nothing worse than writing. There’s nothing better than writing. It’s like the man you hate to love, love to hate and never really come to terms with any of the feelings. I don’t want to write anymore —->the terrible-ness about this false  and fleeting desire  is   that    I    can’t    stop.  Here I sit like a brainless robot writing the uncensored, chaotic-evil thoughts springing about in my temperamental female brain.

Writing is the only time I feel alive. It’s the only time I don’t have a life. I want to be the normal girl who goes to celebrations and enjoys the gossip, the duck clatter. I want to flirt without thinking about the boy as one of the characters who I will smoosh into my next novel….or think that I am dancing with the wrong boy, because that high-class-snobby-boy who’s kept to himself the whole evening, would suit my pages much much better. I do love people more than anything-but really, humans are so overwhelming. Maybe that’s why I write about them. Once  you   sentence   them   to   the  death-and  new  life  of the paper, you can truly (literally) read them, and they become much easier for my brain to understand.

My poor pretentious French Press. Oh how I DO love thee in all thy haughty mischievous glory. But you continue to  toxify my body, fogging my vibrant brain cells and making me forget about pure hydrating H2O.

This is not a post or a poem. What I actually wanted to say was this:

Your words, which YOU my new friends have written, have become like  the blood pumping through my lively heart.

Each word you have written   has  captured  and  moved   into a small space inside my heart—My heart,  which has started an explosion of  happiness.   I’m smiling now.   I’m grinning ear to ear.   Oh what was I thinking, maybe I do love to write.  Since I’ve been moving I have fallen behind on what I would like to say in response to each of you.

So this is for you…my new friends spreading the depths of so many different human beauties, worlds and cultures:

Today I am happy and bright. The sun in the sky is my might. Your words fill my heart to its fullest delight, and I am better than yesterday because of your words might. Yes, today I am very happy. Today I am very  bright. And these words are simple, but it’s the simplest things in life, that fill us with the most delight. Right? 🙂

CIAO for now my friends.

P.s. and if you are reading this from Lebanon, stop reading every post i write. i am a writer not an editor, and if you were here i would probably, very possibly hold you quite tight 😉

care to be friends? :)

July 16, 2012 § 19 Comments

Click me: ——> Coco J. Ginger

a broken heart….?

July 16, 2012 § 61 Comments

….brilliant really,  and beautiful.  In fact she was most beautiful, most alive when she opened herself up, when she allowed vulnerabilites, breakabilites, didn’t force control and demand the power. When she allowed the option of pain, of rejection, when she let loose, when she stopped focusing on her pride, her reputaion, and just totally fell. Yes it was a brilliant and beautiful feeling. There was a bit of pain, a tad of excruciating, unpredictable swings of sadness….but overall, it was pure luxury, pure excitement knowing one could feel so overwhelming, so captivated,  flipped inside-out, a childhood entranced sort of enchantment. You silly little people who stay all wrapped up in your non-heart breaks, so proud of your ability to hold control and not fall. THe falling is the best part. So you fall and you fall and you fall, and you refuse to become numb, and one day it’s just right, and your hands just fit right, like your lives fit right, and your sentences stand elegant side by side. And that’s it. Who doesn’t want their blood pumping, their minds racing, their common sense senses failing,  their realities exploding and crashing, the exotic crazy of not knowing what the other person is going to do, if they are going to love you back, or if they are going to just sit with you for awhile, get to know you, before walking away, before saying goodbye. Who doesn’t want to have their organs working in overdrive, their human real-people tears flowing, their feet tripping, their eyes widening, their mouths jaw-dropping, their lips numbing from the heightened senses of their imagination and hearts racing. Yes being in love, falling, breaking….it’s the most beautiful thing I ever felt. I’ll do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and maybe even the next day, because this to me is LIVING. This to me is LIFE. This to me is the doing it afraid, the beginning to all my insane genius imaginations coming true. And that’s just me. Maybe it’s the Peter Pan in me, or maybe it’s the most beautiful thing that I have in me. Maybe it’s what keeps me always laughing, always dreaming, always dancing, always creating, always flying, always shining. Yes a broken heart is brilliant really. Brilliant and beautiful.

how do I feel when I have a broken heart?

July 15, 2012 § 39 Comments

I was going to comment on The Boy in the Hat’s brilliant piece  “How Do You Feel When You Are Heartbroken” My reply became too long, so I wrote it here instead. I’d also like to mention that if Vincent  were a spider, he’d be the female black widow that eats her lover after they mate. So, thank goodness he is not a spider, and simply A Boy in a Hat.

Heart break to me is/or feels like….

…a girl who has been told the flower that best describes her is an evil poppy.  Like Bill Gates eating an Apple.  Éponine when the love of her life Marius meets Cossette.  Marius when Éponine admits her love while dying in his arms. The Phantom knowing the only part of Christine Daaé he will ever have is her voice. Like i have to throw away my favorite hat that i  wore  on a billionaires private island. The boy across the hall is never coming home–and when he does i’ll already be gone. A wild beautiful bright orange fish stuck in a man-made pond.  The boy in the hats body-which he says he doesn’t love,  a beautiful girl who falls in love with men who act and look just like her renegade debonair Daddy. A puppet without a hand, lust without a lover.  Having 100 men to choose from, and wanting only one.  Kissing a boy I don’t care about-to get over the boy i want to be kissing. Like knowing the boy i love is in love with the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. Like  coffee without cayenne and ginger,  a pretzel without the salt, a pen without a sheet of paper to liberate her. My secret blog, before I had any followers. Like myself when i kicked out  the boy across the hall because I found out he was reading my no-longer-secret blog.  Vincent Mars without his hat.  Me,  without my fingers,  Dad’s old rocking chair with no one in there.  Me,  when I’m not writing. Like the boy across the hall pretending he doesn’t care–when he always cares too much.   Like rain without the fresh smell, the itch on your foot  you can never quite get. Falling in love with someones potential, and not what they already are. Like my 94 year old Gramma, when her best friend my Grandpa, went to heaven. The thought that my train Dagny will no longer salute me in the morning. That I fought for someone for so long, and now have given up. Blasting my music and not caring. The hurting in my stomach when I miss someone  i cannot feel or touch, myself when i listen to Zac Brown’s song Colder Weather. Like James Blunt when he wrote “Goodbye my lover”. Like friday night and staying home alone.  Like “a rambling man with a gypsy sort of brain…. always made for leaving”.  Having the best day and not having anyone to tell it to.  The Boy in the Hat’s brain without his body. My heart without my spine,  hate without a break,  pain attached to nothing.  Caring for so long,  then stopping–and not even knowing why.  Heidi without her goat. Pooh bear without his Piglet, the Beast being mean to Bell when really he wanted to hold her because he loved her. The little Mermaid not having her voice to tell her prince charming that she wants him.  Like a too long post that would have been better, shorter. Hearing a pretty love song when you are broken hearted. Always wanting what you can’t have. Hating someone you  love, because you don’t think that you should love them. Like 510 facebook friends, and no one to call when you need someone to just hear you. Like 53 virtual ‘likes’ and no one who likes you in real life. Like writing a singles ad –bullett points exhibiting your best qualities-and feeling like nobody wants you for you.  Jessica Hof’s husband having to leave his family for Afghanistan. Like Kip when he found out he had to spend most days in a wheel chair. Like Dumu without his goddess.  Drinking tea without a train. Kissing without thinking. Like a dog without an owner.  Dagny Taggart when she thought Francisco d’Anconia no longer loved her.  Hank Rearden when he realized Dagny loved John Galt.  Cinderella without her glass slipper. Howard Roarke without the ability to create his own towers. You, without me–once I’m gone and you realize how amazing i was,  the things we could have done so brilliantly-together.  Standing next to someone and still feeling lonely.   Kissing  an ex,   not being able to control yourself because you like them that much.  Me without you. Me,  living without books and libraries. You without me. That’s what it feels like to me,  to have a broken heart.

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