They do not

You can lie in bed with a cashmere robe and a silk blanket and still be uncomfortable.

You can stare at a ceiling covered with paintings by Monet and see nothing beautiful.

You can stick your feet out of the covers on a winter night and feel no chills.

You can love someone with all your heart and still be unhappy.

Because they don’t love you back.

Locke

8 pounds, 7 ounces; A new born baby boy. Follow me, young one, to your lock and your key, it is now time for you to get your blank slate. Write on this what you will, hold the pencil with any hand you like. You’re shaping your future now, you are beginning to create your life.

Of course I hold the lock and the key. Why would you ever get ones of your own? None of this is really yours, after all. Hush now, just come along. If you ask too many questions you’ll never see. Never see what? Yes, I can see every question you’re asking: They’re all swimming around in those deep, shallow, oceanic blue eyes…. Shallow as in selfish, darling. If you keep asking all these questions, what you will never see is this slate.

Yes, it looks very old indeed. The slate is created with history. It is made up of all the years behind you. Seeing as how this is 2009, that’s a lot of years. You should be gentle, you may harm it though… If that is what you wish to do with your future.

Nail polish falls and a heart… breaks.

Nail polish falls and a heart stops. We have been through this already, and I thought that we were over this. You have managed to creep into my veins and empower my entire body. We’re only as strong as our weakest teammate. I am weak for you are weak. Ritualistically, I fight against your cliché. None of us are really weak, on our own. I can only think this, I can’t even get it out in a whisper. My lips are swollen, I shan’t be mute… I feel so impaired just from knowing that I could be stronger. Nail polish chipped, and half done… I can’t even finish, I can’t even cry out. A hush, and I haven’t even been speaking. You’re paranoid, I can feel it: yet you continue your abuse. Body trembling, nail polish still on the floor, I quote every post card I’ve seen with a palm tree in the background… If only you were here.

Nail polish falls and a heart… breaks.

Not Okay.

I’ve been feeling very unappreciated, and I’ve been wanting someone to save me.

Some one just needs to say: Hey Vinyl, I appreciate you and I want to be/stay your friend.

I have been dropping friends like cherry bombs, and I am so not okay.

This is…

I am the butterfly. I obey only the whispering winds. I am deaf but I enjoy their silence, because I can feel the difference. You humans sicken me. Your noisy machines detach you from me more and more. Not just me though, the others in nature as well.

I am the tree. I am always reaching. I am trying to find a reality to hold on to, so that I may escape from yours. You humans sicken me. You are always striving for more and you have so much. I strive for something because I have nothing. Not now that you have taken it all away from me.

I am the bush. I am stuck in one place. I am always watch you, but never for very long, and rarely twice. You humans sicken me. You occupy yourselves inside me, in groups of two. Your lust is so abundant; your love so rare. You are no better than those rabbits which you look down upon.

I am the whale. I calmly swim, because I am always searching. I am short-tempered: I kill he who tries to kill me. You humans sicken me. I see no problem with punishing anyone for such an act. Yet I, doing no harm, am greeted with murder and odd machines and experiments. Your bloodlust is so strong that you need laws to keep my species (and yours) in existence. Are you really so arrogant that you think I do not mind? The cold machines, and the heart stops.

---------------------------------------------------------

I am the human. I have no idea who I am. I have no idea what I am doing.

Vent

The h1 n1 is at my school, so everyone, including me is sick. Even better? This started occurring during my time of the month. So, I have been whinier than ever before. Also, I have officially started a program called the IB program at my school…Which is an immense amount of stress… So, here I am complaining. What I have said is nothing, absolutely nothing compared to what I have complained about to my boyfriend. Care to tell me what’s attractive about a tense back, a raspy voice, and constant complaints? Well, you can tell me whatever you like, but I’m not going to believe you.

So, I shall share with you some complaints that I may have or have not already shared with my companion. If it has a * at the end, it has not been shared.

1. Imagine this, my friend: You are sitting on your front porch, reading a magazine. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone lurking, approaching you… They are bizarre, out-of-the-ordinary… You cannot help but to squeeze your eyes shut to channel the courage to turn around, but once you do….

or maybe… You are taking a shower. Everything is going well, you are getting clean and the radio is on. As you are conditioning your hair, you get this strong sensation. Someone is outside that shower curtain. They are going to kill you (indirectly) if you do not rinse out the conditioner and have your eyes opened by the song’s chorus. So, you tense up. You follow the instructions and when you get that courage to look out that curtain…

Or to turn around… No one is there. You have been all alone this whole time. No one is threatening your life, just you. You do not want to die and though you know that no one is in there, though common sense says shh, you’re safe… You cannot help but to do another ridiculous task to try to save your life moments later.

This has happened to me much too many times today.*

2. I really truly do not like coughing. I feel like all of my guts are going to pour out of my mouth. I think that every time I cough, and then I get grossed out from thinking that.

3. He wishes her no harm, ever. He will do anything he can to make her happy. He thrives to have more time with her. So, they hang out about once a week. They are constantly texting. He thinks she is gorgeous, funny, smart. I just wish that she were me. ***

4. The desk is shaking… Certainly, it must be. The world is spinning, the desk is shaking, and the building is dancing. So much motion that I can hardly hold a pencil… Certainly, I am not creating the motion. Or am I? I begin to ponder this thought, though interrupting it repeatedly, trying to answer question #1…. I wish that test anxiety didn’t seem like such an excuse *

5. Apparently, when my mumsy is not aggressive, she is passive-aggressive. So I cannot get away with anything.

Last but not least, I wrote a blog without even attempting to be poetic, mysterious, or exciting… I am sorry guys and gals. Finally though, I have vented.

Up

I apologise for all of my latest inconsistencies. I have started blogging straight from my laptop, so no more fun-coloured font or hidden messages in my prose, poems, or just thoughts. I am verry sorry, I really wanted to keep that up. …. Of course, I just learned how to change the colour from here. Next time it will be more exciting, promise.

Wishing Well

 

And for everything lost and everything gained, I feel like I am holding a mere penny. One with ridges and stains and a surprising 1993. Chips and scars, not from the sticks and stones, but the words. My little hands can hardly fit around it, leaving me empty and unsatiated. Some may say that I still have the memories. What if that’s not what I want everything to be? What if I am nostalgic because I wish that I kept those moments as moments for longer?

My future is coming and apparently in that future pennies shouldn’t worth anything. My penny has no value. If it has no value, how can I have the prestige to say I myself have value? Sadly though, I cannot get the motivation to get myself a new penny. Nor do I think I could spend it on a wishing well.

Promise Me This

Promise me this, boy on sidewalk. That your personality is as warm as the hoodie she is wearing. That you could never hurt her. That she is the only one whom gets to wear any of your articles of clothing. That your hoodie isn’t the security blanket, you are.

Promise me this, girl alone in theatre. That you are not waiting for him to return. That you realize that he stood you up and he is not at all worth the trouble. That you are just hoping to enjoy the greatest flick of the summer alone.

Promise me this, boy holding my hand. That you will not make me anymore (empty) promises.

Double-take.

Humidity.
Lack of air conditioning.
Small room.
Messy room.
The freedom of summer.
A great guy to hang out with.
Lack of things to discretely vent about.
General laziness.
Terrible internet connection.
Sleepiness.
Volunteer work for school.

This is my list of reasons for why I haven't been blogging lately, and haven't started letting the secrets flow.
I have them ready in my journal.
Also consider this an apology.
With a lack of a certain apologetic word.
Or is there?
Remember, always look twice. ;)

Introduction to Secrets

People are made up of two things - records and reputations. They weave together to form a sort of double-helix that makes up who we really are and how we are perceived, therefore us. No chemistry necessary. Reputation can be anything, really. Just how you appear to the public eye, not necessarily truth. The public has one eye. Everyone tends to make one uniform decision, really - when you get down to the basics. I mean, why do we even think we have to make decisions? It's just a matter of who looks twice. The people who look twice have gone past the reputation and into the records. Records is where your mortality shows. People who have always admired you then learn you're only human (whatever that means!). Your secrets are revealed.
Some people prefer to live by their reputation, because sometimes the reputation is better. Sometimes, they just don't want the world to know that they're mortal. Every now and again, there is someone who really doesn't care - and likes to show their records. They have no secrets, making their records their reputation. That way of life tends to be more stress free.
Fact: When someone first meets you they make 5-11 assumptions about you. [Remember: You are not the victim, you are the criminal - we all are both.]
Fact: It will take approximately 4 encounters for them to let these assumptions go.
So if your heart is on your sleeve, there is nothing to assume, correct?
So now, I am presenting you to secrets... Every now and then I'll give you a secret of mine. Usually with an explanation and/or story, assuming of course that it is not a story already.
These will be in no particular order.
Enjoy. ;)

Go.

Don't feel sorry for her, because this is not what you think. She doesn't want your pity anyway. That girl that looks like the star of Yet Another, Another Cinderella Story II, in her raggedy red dress and her last-minute thrown together hair. Sad? No. Pitiful? Yes. You probably think that I am a heartless spectator due to my lack of empathy for the "poor" girl. Who would not feel sorry for her? Me. I understand her better than anyone else. I know her inside and out. I've known her from the day that I could knock on her door and get a warm welcome, to this day. A day that I won't even get a passing glance. I understand that that girl's big blue eyes are not the hopeful Cinderella eyes we love to examine, and to lose ourselves in. Better yet, these eyes are absolutely hopeless. These eyes can only see the past. This girl thinks that the future is just another emptied bottle.
When was the first bottle emptied? On the day she first wore that sad excuse for a dress, that red one you see her strolling in everyday. She holds onto it with shaking hands until the folds of her fingers indent it, until she has sincerely forgotten that she has a practically infinite wardrobe. She walks through laundry day after laundry day, not even worrying about the wrinkles. They are the wrinkles he formed, when he cared for her and caressed her. They are all she has left of him and she's well aware that if she makes one swift movement they'll be gone forever.
Your Cinderella-esque girl is a shell of empty hopes and falsehoods. She is not anything special. Not even close. She's just another girl in a raggedy dress that well-resembles her past. She is simply just another someone whom cannot let
Go.

Flame.

You and I spent so many days building. God gave us a hammer and some nails, and trees galore for us to get some wood. We built bridges small and large, we couldn't walk on the simple dirty, cement ground any longer. Oh no, oh no. For you, my love and for me, your love the sidewalk was not good enough. However, after spending so many days building bridges ones' hands get sore and they cannot hold on to those tools any longer. One day, those sore hands couldn't even hold eachother. So we let go. We're still together though. I know it. You might. Together, we are burning all the bridges we built and trying to establish new ones. Watery eyes and calloused fingers, we burn the bridges and we walk away together and apart. I know it. You might. That we are building the same
Flame.

Child

Give me your hand, don't you know that street is a trap? Can't you tell by the dark tar and the way the sun glares off it? Why would you want to walk there with all the cars zooming by? Can you not tell those cars are at least six times your size?
Goodness for goodness' sake, put some shoes on. Aren't you concerned about those little piggies? What if a spider comes along? Are you not afraid of getting bitten? Do you realize that your foot would turn blue, and become 4... 100 times their current size? Why are you walking around giggling? Don't those pebbles hurt your feet? Shouldn't there be tears in your big blue eyes, by now?
Or are you unaware? Do you not know what pain is? Has your mother not told you about your mortality? Are you just another child with a tree branch and invincibility?
I can't understand that your answer to that last question is yes, and you stand clueless, unable to answer the rest of them. I can't recall when I was you. My long, curly blonde hair shading me from the truth of the world's dangers. For now I am brunette woman, and I am shaded no longer.
I will try to understand, that my hand you won't be taking. Yet I will never fully grasp that concept, so with my arm extended you will simply serve me a declining smile. Maybe I will push too hard and get a completely fitful "No".

Innocent, stubborn, invinceable, how long do you think you can stay as a
Child?

Vinyl Rose's Introduction: Wake up...

Hello, I am Vinyl Rose.
An almost complete entity of mysteriously meaningful consistent inconsistencies that loooves oxymorons. ;)
I hope you enjoy reading my blogging, my stories, my quotes.
I hope it is understood that these words are my own.
I hope that I leave you thinking.

Anyways,
As stated in the title... this post here is my introduction. Most people say wake up and smell the roses. I think that the sense of smell and the sense of sight are the two most deceiving.
Why?
Well, you never know the truth of something by just looking once... or twice! and,
one can be allergic to a marvelous smell also add in that what men use for instict in direction is in their nose. Ha!
The sense of sight seems very unnecessary... seeing as how even a blind person can see the beauty in someone.

So, I hope for you to wake up and listen to the roses.
I hope for you to wake up and taste the roses.
I hope for you to wake up and touch the roses.

A roses is a rose when you smelled. and I believe the same usually applies to when they're seen.
Oh, especially to a man.*
But if you touch them... you might find a rose with curved ridges on the inside and smoothed edges.
If you taste them... you might find a rose that isn't quite so chewy.
Oh, and if you just listen to them... maybe even as your fingers brush against them, you might find that most roses are silent... if you are lucky though, you will find a rose with a song to play.

Vinyl Rose to save the day.
Vinyl Rose avec moi avec toi.


*I truly hope that I do not seem sexist! I love men... but... I guess they can drive me crazy at times! My view of them changes a lot, and you will be able to tell later on throughout my blogs.


Complete the entity with Vinyl Rose on Withering Wednesdays.