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the name is grae

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(no subject) [Aug. 2nd, 2008|11:29 pm]
the name is grae
Is my slayer too far gone to care?

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tell me the whole truth in a lie [Jul. 29th, 2008|10:20 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |bed]
[Current Mood |me. me. me-me-me!!! ME]
[Current Music |Jason Mraz - Zero Percent]

Everywhere you go in LA it smells like weed at one point or another. It's like a whole separate culture at any social event (that comes with a gag reflex on my behalf). Or maybe I am the separate culture. "Ugh..." is all I have to say.

Then last night, after I came back from the concert and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell into a nicely comfortable dream state, that made me wanna stay asleep for three years or so. I dreamed I was cast as Dr. Carson Walsh at Grey's Anatomy, making history as the character that got Dr. Mark Sloan aka McSteamy to settle down with only one woman, ME!!! And everyone else in the cast was super nice to me and I had a fantastic time. (Which we all know is not true, according to rumors about viva la diva Ellen and Katherine). But then in the morning I wake up and wonder, where do those dreams go, and what do they mean?

Time flies by on set (currently on set of Criminal Minds) faster than anywhere else, even if you do the most boring shit, like just standing around, making sure, no one walks into the shot (FUN!!!). Time flies by like a second during the blink of an eye, fast yet no filled with consciousness. The speaking sub-ego tells lies and truth, and you are the one to decide what you hear. I hear mostly shades of Gray. The one and only reality.

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(no subject) [Jul. 27th, 2008|12:10 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |bed]
[Current Mood |well]
[Current Music |drum circle]

Is it crazy that I want to go to med-school? At my age? I will be done with my film major next spring (when I finally turn in my BA final paper). DONE for good. I tried it. I fought. I don't feel it anymore. The idea of performing awake open brain surgery seems so much more attractive these days. Maybe I just needed to grow. I'm growing. Nice...

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Confusion is nothing new. [Jul. 25th, 2008|10:22 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |late night office]
[Current Mood |none]

I'd like to
close my eyes
disappear for a while
maybe come back
and see nothing has changed.

I'd like to be the other
person in my head
or the other one from that
I just
want to turn away from
the triple lattes
plan A

I'd like to proceed with plan B or Z or G or

just for a while
you know, just.

I'd like to find the way back
and actually return
and see what I saw
I was just
you know, just
a kid
my wit
my spirit

I'd like to know where it went
I'd like to know what happened
when time got bend
when it's all different
but still the same

when it's sane
when it's insane
when it's just a game
when I get what I want
but it's not what I need right now
or ever
maybe some day

when reality becomes a play
and I will finally be the star
of the war
inside of me
for everyone to see
for everyone to be
with me
like with a whore

I just ignore
this feeling
bad for my soul.

It's not my fault.
You know it.
You've seen it
a hundred times.

What are you going to do about it.
Just sit there and listen
and tell me truthful lies
in disguise of a friend
you're my friend

my demon
it's not the end
of us
of this of maybe
something great.

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(no subject) [Jul. 25th, 2008|08:32 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |home]
[Current Mood |PIE-sed]

Today I had the feeling of just running away. Running. Coming back. Starting over. Just like Robert Frost described in his poem, Birches. Or just like the one sequence in Forest Gump, where he's just running. Running because he felt like it. He just did it. I wish I could JUST do it.

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Where is the secret place? [Jul. 1st, 2008|04:58 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |Santa Monica]
[Current Mood |hungry]
[Current Music |Leona Lewis - Bleeding Love]

I have to yet again begin to erase my memories. I mean the ones I will have in the future. A gentle torture of morbid fantasies destroys what I have to think about right now. There is no rest for the wicked. -I need that in fucking writing!- I cannot possibly handle another character in the beautiful sights of my imagination. I wish the usual stuff would come back to me. Instead there is nothing right in front of my window. How do you know you have to do what you are doing? You never told me your secret. You just jumped, and you lived. Don't get me wrong. I am trying here. I am creating tight, withheld lines and illusions to put in their speech as they go along. I am trying to brighten the dimensions and give all of it some depth, but it's not that easy, you know. Well, YOU KNOW! I want to know the finished product. Where is that place you drop it off and become a big star? Where the blue scraping light makes you happier than watching Grey's Anatomy or Gossip Girl? I know I will find it soon, but sooner would be better. Hello, a little help here please. (The only person who can help me is typing this right now.)

Enough said.

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You have no grace. [May. 20th, 2008|02:51 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |on set w/ Keith Urban]
[Current Mood |bitchy]
[Current Music |Johnny what's your twenty?]

I see poison in those magic eyes. They draw an outline to what might happen in a very far distance; they draw you in, and you become the prisoner. Taken advantage of, there is nothing you can do about it. You let it happen for the better worst of yourself. Why? An obsession started right there. Who do you see about just a bed dream? What are you thinking about? How does that make you feel?

Like free falling through space.

The only problem is, you can tell by the ink how old a thought is. Two years are considered ancient, when taken by a real artist. I already said I don't think about much more, but how to make it better. It will return to me for years hopefully. I look good right now, but I want to look better. The headache isn't helping.

What has he done to you? Was that little something really worth it? Or would you rather live in Beverly Hills? I mean, she's waiting. Am I right? Graduation is going to happen with or without you. But you're there. The angels sing and the lights are on. Still waiting in a different place in mind. Getting drunk. It didn't help. The stairs are cold and the wall hurts. Can you breathe? Try to yell. Come on, I dare you. Just wait here. It's dark. Hey, I want to talk to you. HEY! I've got a gun.

How did this rumor start? I wasn't acting. Stick with it. It's what you're good at. We're leaving together. I feel sorry for you. I love you. -Look at you. Listen BITCH, you can't come with me. There is no one there. She killed him over words. Do you remember now? Did Propanolol help? I forgot. Look, it's pretty. There's snow on the roofs. He's floating in the water. Cold. Bleeding from his nose. Dead. She's a corporate woman now, with red lipstick making her look dangerous. She is. Fine. There is no end. He left her. Again.

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Time to go home! [May. 15th, 2008|06:22 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |home]
[Current Mood |past tense]
[Current Music |Leona Lewis - Bleeding Love]

Dear Journal. How many sorrys does it take to say "I love you"? How many songs to say "I'm sorry"? How many phone calls to get used to being picked up by a machine with more mind than yourself? How many times do you have to be lost for everything lost finding your soul? Does this own my heart? Will I be able to breathe without it? Will a book ever be the same without those words making it somewhat complete?

Wanting the light off for a wink of sleep away from the timeless insomniac in me.

Will a television show be hushed over, and a couch occupied by more than one person, one bowl, and one bottle of beer? Does the dawn of day break a heavy sky without all of it? Does it really fill a void that was temporarily grounded? Does this not inspire me to live? Am I myself without a guiding hand and loving touch? May I ever be granted one last privilege—even if it is the last thing I will do, to tell, how cold it is without a smile, how gluttonous a lunch break is without a thought, how hard a kiss is from a child looking to find his mom, when all I can do is twitch in return and wonder. Wonder why it happened and why it will not disappear. Why I am broken and break others because of that. Why I am fucked up and selfish. Why I needs everything, besides being kissed, touched, held, loved, wanted, craved, depended upon, trailed, tested, pushed, slapped, hit, hurt, crushed, whatever. Why the last of the aforementioned should be crossed and labeled beside mistrusted on the ''done'' list.

Why it shouldn't have happened. Why it should've never been under observation in the first place. Why God would bless a lowly woman with an angel, only for Satan to clip her wings and trap her with his fork. Placing it in the ground and leaving three choices. Love, torture, or sin. Most would take the first path. Most will take the first path. Most have taken the first path. I know I would NOT. Even now. You know each will intertwine along the way but you still yearn for the best results on your own part. If this is all selfish then why the fuck does love exist? If we set out to satisfy ourselves and learn to love ourselves by loving others, why do we have to hurt them? Why do I have to hurt them? Why can't I spread my wings and fly… just away? Why do we have to be alone? Love isn’t true. It’s just something that we do. Love is unkind. Love is a test. Love is—something I've had and don’t want again. Love is something that will always die before hate.

From a homeless, dying man in Asia to a wealthy Laird in Europe to the diseased woman left to die with a child in her arms praying not for life, but for love or something like it. For the new day. For her child. For her care, and for their hearts, and for their lives.

We chose a path pressed out for us and with a numb torment we watch it destroy an innocent woman. The angel has no right to be any place but Eden. Kept there, forever. Love a person and never lose that. Love them forever and be with them through it all. Never hurt them, never bury them. (Yeah, right! ha ha) Never destroy a flower without a meaning. Never destroy it—all at once.

I once knew a woman that entered a life without pretense. A life without intent or cruelty. This woman was betrayed. This woman was to take a soul and hold it forever with her heart attached to it. Let her body sour the land, as long as she stays with this soul to use up her last shred of dignity and last, lone arrow of hope. Allow her to play cupid with the strings of her own destiny and kiss her like she would never kiss another and never has. Give her one more chance to stare into the narrow eyes of an independent life without her heart and without her body and her soul. Give her freedom from her mind she cannot escape. Give her one last phone call to say those words and knowing she mean them.

Dear journal, dear butterfly, dear you and you, me, myself and I. Dear carpenter, dear wanderer. Dear traveler, dear friend, dear child, dear mother, dear daughter, dear grass, dear dust. Were you all to crowd together would you help a dancer that cannot Foxtrot, dance the Waltz with the soul of her dreams?

Could you please reach out and hit me harder than anyone before? And use these words to do it, my wings to fly, your beauty, your malice, your reason for being my hatred, my self-loathing, and my spirit. Your scaffold, your map and your residence. Your hand, bed and your tales. Your stories, your color, your authenticity and get through to me, that when I close my eyes, I see nothing but a reason, a fight. When I dream, I want to live. Let my arms link around a memory's waist to familiarize myself with heaven and leave my kisses all over a face.
It's funny that history repeats itself. Lines and seconds and looks and fears, loss and seconds can ease from a page and a moment in time when it was not real to say these things then, but it is now. Now they play and you cannot stop them. You will not stop them. You cannot change them. They are there and they are here. I breathe and I can see the dream is there. I sleep and the dream is gone. Words cloud visions as smog covers a road. You can't see where you are going and where you will end up, you may reach your destination or have to stop until it clears and when it clears, it might be gone. But maybe—maybe only then will a person move on and never ever look back or remember that place they were headed for so long.

My heart is cold. I'm losing my mind. An obstruction of vision will not let the same thing happen twice, I hope. Forgiveness is relative and right now, I have lost it all. When I held that imaginary substance in my arms and they saw I did, it was amazing. I was wearing a sweater and I was present right there in front of me. That was all. That was the final straw. I should be doing this again, although I already miss it. I should watch these fake tears fall and should let them fall against my skin, to cause a scar. In some way. If I'm never wanted to be seen again then at least I will have something to remember that moment by.

I cannot live without that moment. When I stop making sense or make less sense as the letters go by and at all costs let it be known that... whatever! Did you know that every window on Alcatraz has a view at the water?

I am weak. I regret nothing. I am strong. I regret felt before. Regret enough to take this opportunity to cross my beliefs and say that something else does exist and if it has never been felt, there's one person being fooled or one person being spared. Regret that reaches in, rips out the truth, and presses it flat to the ground, and screams THIS IS LIFE. This is my life. This is our life. Why the fuck can I not be strong enough to demand? What do I fear? I do not fear anything. Do you hear me fear? I laugh you in the face. Why is it there and why has it not been there before. I feel the racing hearts of a thousand prisoners queuing for their death. I feel their bodies shaking, causing goose-bumps on my own skin. Drawing fine-shaped letters on it, until I bleed. Playing hopscotch with veins I will never need again. Intertwining where I am left to my own devices and my own foolish jabber. A blade held to my throat, as this isn't cutting anything, anymore. Pun unintended. My soul dies not alone or without you. The words of which? I am hopeful to see you again. I am sure you became an angel. A breath of relief will circulate the air for all eternity. I died with you, not without you. And living—should I have to, alone will be different. It won’t be me.

Somehow, it always comes back to you.

I saw the future, and it was good, but then it wasn’t. A little boy called out ''momma''. He painted a picture and it was of only two. We built castles in the sand and on the throne sat a Prince and a Queen. Just another Thursday and a mere memory that neither should have been. (Dawn’s in trouble, must be Thursday!)

I'm supposed to apologize, but I forgot what about, and to whom.

To the world, I'm sorry. To my mother, I still love you, even though you yelled. To my Dad, please don’t cry. To myself? I have nothing to say to myself. May I be? May I say, with a relaxed heart in its final motion, I am. It is. It always has been. It always will be. That will never change. Can I please change my mind tomorrow? Where can I be safe to protect what I do? From even myself. 'Love means never having to say you're sorry'? Crock of shit.
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insane by a smell [May. 15th, 2008|12:10 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |office]
[Current Mood |chipper]
[Current Music |Madonna - Heartbeat]

You have a goal in life and you're preparing for it every second of you life, because you know it's so damn close. You watch your every step, to the right, left, front, and back. But everything around you makes it sooooo much harder. People. Meetings. Subjects. Food. FUCK!!! I'm going insane by the smell that's floating through my office right now. There is a meeting going on in the conference room next to my office and they ordered some fantastic Italian place. Food. Food. Food. Not that i have anything against food. I love to eat, and a lot. (That sounds like I'm weigh lbs. 200. -I don't.) I'm more of a Kirsten Dunst, just taller and a little more athletic. But smell more so than other memories, triggers your imagination, many times more than whatever else. Oh, dear Italian food. You always have been so dear to me. I want to devour you until eternity. Okay... that's it. I'm off to lunch.

Oh, a beer would be nice NOW, too!!!

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(no subject) [May. 14th, 2008|03:30 pm]
the name is grae
[Current Location |office]
[Current Music |Bloodhound Gang - Screwing You on the Beach at Midnight]

I'm a wuss. My tummy aches. Again.

I forgot how much fun this is!

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