The Plains of Carolina, North

There are no hills in Florida, yet Chase and I can brag and boast of our ungodly snowboarding skill. He brought in a picture, while I relayed some memories, and its a conspiracy because he knew Lucy when she was a child and that freaked me out some. The sound and sense of the world explains that no matter what, I'll be at school on Tuesday. And either way, I'll score high enough on the SAT to get a 90 grand grant for the College I spent the summer at. I'll step out of the attempt at poetic prose and tell you that i took Fiction Writing I, Poetry Workshop, and Marketing Goes to the Movies this past July. Next summer, I will take Fiction Writing II, Backstage Production, and Theory of Music (or Unarmed Stage Combat).

Anarchy took that last class this past session and I got to see him hug his mommy, while we teased in absurd british accents. There's this draw I have to music she listened to and now it doesnt sound so bad at all and I buy it on Itunes when it could be free on limewire. There was an Epiphany last night, not like a dream, but an actual revelation and it reminded me of all those fucking people I'm trying my best to forget. I woke before it ended so I'll never know. I'll swallow my cinnamon flavored guitar shaped mints from Hard Rock Cafe and try to forget the Prom I went through. You cant eat your enemies, Mariah, just hush, love, hush, and wait for the revenge to come. I'm waiting.

After 11:01pm this evening, CVS will have fully paid for the debt I owe to the bank and maybe something extra to buy myself something nice. I did do the thrift store thing and I enjoyed it thoroughly much. Granted, we stopped at Kmart and Ross, but I had to get those jeans or I think I might've died. I even got a dress and some dress code shorts. I'll be damned to be sent home again for violation when I've spent an equivalent to eleven years in elite Private education, with a uniform painted on and smile forced by an electric cattle prod and God. Thank God for Mikael, he talked me into the 24.00 overshirt thingie which is probably why I have no money for cigarettes. I smoked one of mom's last night and I am reduced to this. I rearranged my room and now I truly see the mess, though I dont feel like cleaning it up yet. I aspired to photograph the way my room looks like a disaster currently, but I left my camera under Mikael's passanger seat when we made passionate love in the heat. Of course I'm lying, but it's a nice story and hell, it rhymed. It's too late for faith and I need to jump in the shower soon, and maybe I'll stand still for long enough to wake up and grow up and maybe buy a clue.

Dear Bishop Moore,

So it's the weekend, but I saw Kelly Bee's album on senior year with golden shirts and re-sewed skirts, that ought not be hemmed even for the comfort of sinking the cotton in this upgraded Florida stimulated heat. The temperature is rising, and so are their blouses, exposing their midrifts and I enjoy it like all the boys, admiring from where I was, pretending to be looking at the sky, making up my mind that I know where I stand and I'm proud. Easy enough, they took no notice maybe since Gabi and Theresa, the school has begun to accept different types of people, as long as they dont claim catholisicm. Believe me, I dont, though I know you tried so hard. I never took your damn communion, and I never will. God is a superstituion, and Bishop Moore is a flase Prophet. You abandoned me and God saw it. Now you fucked, cause he's going to whip out some ancient Jew whoopass on your souls. Then i might be believe. I don't envy you. I feel sorry for you, and Belle, and Lucy and Jessie and Joe and the tangled webs they weave. Here's what you did to my friend; you killed them, you ruined the people i helped bring out, the people everyone loved. Jessie dated Josh, who's dating Krystal, who dated Bob, who dated Lucy, who dated Joe, who is now dating Jessie. And this is what they have done to themselves and I dont feel one sliver of sorry. I lost my friends, you lost a devoted follower, and in the end, we all lost our dignity because everyone has done shit to be ashamed of. Especially you, BM, because the issue with me on colorguard was low and I swear I'll write it one day.

As Always,

Mariah.

Driving without bullets

"The History of the world, my love.
is those below serving those up
above. How gratifying for once to know
that those above will serve those
down below!"

Arriving overdone, used, and content with the cycle we've depended on since last March, I had to sign to keep this package. It's vicious and horrible, but they don't even know they're a part of it. I wonder how insane you need to be to ignore your impending doom. I'll be the official videographer, but I'm not wearing the yellow shorts! That's going to far because black and gold are not my colors anymore, would it be rude to announce my loyalty by wearing red and white? I might take on the bandanna, because that's part of the football game style, however the face paint is out of the question and I don't think Barker will let me hang out with you, so I'll bring Mikael and Chris for support, hoping and begging it looks like I'm fine.

There's two posts in one day because I needed to do this now. Sweeney Todd is an odd way to describe it, but I feel like Johanna, sans Anthony the singing sailor and his long-ish girly hair.

Are you interested in the ride we take, like her? Don't think it's safe, I can assure you, it ain't. Demons and monsters attack 'round ev'ry corner and in the end we learn to respect the french-ish foreigner. With tattoos shaped the mockery I was made and a decision kept to assuage the pain, the shades are spotted and drapes are stained, in the house I learned was my domain. Usage on the frontier is coming to a halt, while her low-neck cleavage abruptly stops because she was ever only an A cup anyways, and the shame of the thoughts made me drop and do twenty for myself and the discipline I've attempted to gain. Power failure's and epic falls, landing on the sweaty grass of blood and jerseys, the wind will drag your six-foot-poll and the gloves you bought are sure to unravel, because gravity acts on things that go up and it's novel to imagine they wont come down. The sound of the music, the glare of the screen, and the history of ambiguity all add up to the experience of "we." As if we'd known how sorry we'd be, once we learned that she was the key, and the door was locked, nothing to see, so how can I possibly compete?It's fair and share when you think of the ground, pounded on with abstract nouns, strung together like beads from the show, gold and painted by celebrated artist we'll never pay to view in a gallery. It's not our actions that show who we are, it's the thoughts we mention and those we do not. And if it's not to last, then who am I to say? I can't do anything but write and complain, Belle, I wish we could be together now, at last. But nothing you could do would rearrange the past. I'm feeling your skin and inhaling the scent of the urges I felt and repressed. Alms! Alms! for a miserable girl, fornicating with the air of desire and despair. Only two dollars for a gander over yonder where we've discovered the heart and sealed it in a bulletproof glass encasement. I want to bomb the terraces of your lost promises and make you cry the tears I lost in the cause. For the greater good, I've held my tongue and it's sour with backwash and bittersweet memories I burned the night she left me forever and all, back to France in her Castle of Beasts, devoured by her BMW and perfect lives led by feasts and indulged weaknesses, I let slide and overlooked because I felt more for you than I ever should've and that was my fault, but you had a hand in it. You pumped water into my lungs and held my nose while I drowned and suffocated in your so-called love.

"I'm alive at Last and I'm full of Joy!" He screamed and I felt the same as he. And if i ever received a compact mirror, I'd steal it in my pocket with a watch the roofers stole in a previously written Blog for the sake of myself and only I. The Ambiguous meal occurs when my stomach rumbles for apology, revenge, and blatant sorrow. What started as joke became my life giving motto and encouraged a brand new mode of operations, commonly referred to as an M.O. regarding the dark and death, surrounded by grief, but for me, it's relief with this city on fire and Mischief (!) lurking like I did while she slept as soundly as the wind on a white leather couch I gave and delivered to a cousin's house on Vassar Street, where I lived for three months and was eventually kicked out, like I always am. Don't get used to anything good, or anything bad, because it changes like the mood swings she has on those days the stress rises and so do the bills and debt, I never attributed to but am held responsible for as a member of our so-called family. The cliques are formed and I've lost my own because he feels its time to part before Chicago. My city has betrayed me and is now the cause of my depression today, in case you could not tell, it's grey and droll like Orlando because it's raining and here comes Hurricane Hannah, bringing category worthy winds and whitecaps consuming this 100-year building constructed for golfers and judges in the distant decades back forty years past.

I ramble on this page and nobody ever reads it, so it's safe and mine like Anna was. Like Belle could have been. and like Bishop Moore is preserved in my memory, focusing on the positive because the negative brought me here and the dwelling stage has gotten old and moldy like an uncrustable I found under my bed in an attempt to clean up the mess I can't see. Mayer plays and wails of the place I'm trying to be, the person I'm doing everything I can to emulate. The best days were the ones I can't remember, nor even begin to explain. I forget the times I knew nothing more than the happy life i lived and the security of ignorance and naivety.

I might have thought of killing you. I might have written stories where you were dead and played out scenes in my mind of breaking in your skull, or shooting you in your head, with brains splattering all over the pavements below or the grass, depending on where I decided to kill you that day. but I didn't. they were empty threats and heavy bluffs, but no bullets to back it up and means to succeed, like everything else, my love.

a horse of an Edgewater color

Chicago's seven states away with the girl and the guy and the one she's trying so hard to lose her virginity to and no matter what I do, it can't physically be me because I'm a girl and it sucks. I read that poem in English and now find myself wearing a fairy costume for extra credit on the Tuesday follwing Labor Day.

There's this thing about balloons, when you inflate them and feel a tingly sensation in your cheeck and I hate it, but damn I love balloons. I get that tingly feeling even when I'm nowhere near whatever the material it is they make those things with--plastic? hell if i know, but I know one thing and that's history and Happy Birthday McCain, you are one old fuck, And I was going to vote for you until you made that Sarah-chick you're running mate. Now, when you die in office, that small-town Alaska governor is going to rule us? Like hell. It's time to Barack the vote, despite his color, and ignoring the fact that he's only been a senator for four years. If I hear one more time the so-called connection between Obama and Lincoln, proposed by Obama himself, I will endorse Nadore because he's obviously the only true candidate in this handicap race. America isn't ready for this--shit, Earth isn't ready for this campaign and it's lost but there's nothing I can do 'til June.

How do you explain to an Ap Literature teacher why you're miserable and why you were expelled from two different private Catholic Schools? This is not rhetorical, I really dont know, so if you happen to stumble across an answer, inform me via email, sincerely.

Dear Bishop Moore,

You were gorgeous today, with your lavish golden shirts, glimmering in the sun, and the tall palm trees metaphorically explaining to me that I could never measure up and now my chance is lost. I enjoyed the new look you've given the Band Hallway, paper and pictures gallore. Nice new skirts, by the way, I guess the girls are miserable there, too? See, here's the thing: Would I rather have been sitting in the band room listening to percussion make obnoxious noises after a difficult day in remedial classes wearing a hideous excuse for a uniform? No, I was completely content to sit in the car with Mikael, no AC, blasting out Bob Marley or Jimmy Cliff or whoever it was, jonesing for a smoke on campus and getting anxious at coming home again. I'm not being sarcastic for once. I was happy to be there with him in the car, just visiting, because Bishop Moore was never home and could never be again. I strategically avoided dress code violation, and I commend you for perfecting my charismatic skills with adults of the teacher proffession. She was enamored and pleased so I was saved from spending another day at home, where everything lingers sullenly, it's not the place I wish to spend time at. However, i was tardy for class and i blame you for failing to instil puntuality in you number one student; Mariah Frances Anderson. I was back today and yes it was hard, but Mikael was there, and I received more hugs than on my birthday because people remembered my name. So altogether, it wasn't a waste, and I bought new clothes for school afterwards because I'm not obliged to wear a conformity costume. Fuck the Hornets; Eagles fly HIGHER.

As Always,
Mariah.

"I wanna run through the halls of my high
school. I wanna scream at the
top of my lungs. I just found out
there's no such thing as the real world,
Just a lie you've got to live above"

Appealing Nature or Not

I had to compose a poem for English and frankly I've never felt so horrible because it sucked and rhymed like an old Dr. Seuss book and I'm tired of writing like a douche. If that makes sense, congratulations, but there's nothing in my life I would even imagine explaining to the kids in my AP Literature class who don't know my name and certainly don't know me. honestly. I wrote a Current Event Article about Teachers in Texas carrying guns, but really I'm not surprised because it's about time. No more students blowing up the schools, now it's the teacher's turn. Power to 'em! Maybe we can start that here in Edgewater and if I'm lucky, Mr. Lingelbach will shoot me instead of force me through another goddamn lecture with the tension intense because Paul sits right near me and I'm recently single. Now that I can handle the work, either way, but it's Math and Useless and simply a GPA booster because I get a chord at graduation for being in Roe Kappa, though I know I just spelled it wrong, did I mention I'm an idiot too? And it appears that I take guard too seriously because I ask them not to just sit there and sweat in the sun, I want them to actually earn the burning sensation on your cheeks and the pounding in your heart as you work your ass off in the rays. So there was nine, but now it's four, and that's all fine, cause less is more. I really could not care any less. Nope. Really.

I text Anna and wish things I shouldn't wish and I won't say it here because for an objective outsider it might not yet be completely obvious what I feel, felt, did or didn't do with little Miss Anna the Devil. But she's 100% different from Belle, that I can tell with sureness and gladness that she actually liked me. She even taught me the beauty of run-on sentences in the best piece of poetry ever written that was true story, with a plot, and angry tone and just-so-Anna, i want to lock in my file and preserve it forever.

I apologize, but there's no picture today because no panoramic image could convey the way this day turned out. I'm Audi, but I'm pissed and if you're reading this, leave me alone tomorrow.

The Legend of Ambiguity Charm

"It's the ambiguous meal--we're not sure
if it's lunch or
dinner"

February 31 2007

It's almost too easy to seal your life in a tiny white envelope. Address it to Ambiguity, who's obsessed with golden arch nail polish and this certain brand of cherry chapstick. The city is Chicago, but sometime's it Hartford, Connecticut, depending on my mood. It's charming, she says, like a Madeline hat in a thrift store down the gay district. periodically throughout evening such a these, I tend to scream erratically in order to break the silence; a sound that is unbearable. This twix taste like a crayon and I make a point to not be one, though I understand the battle from one friend to another. You go girl, cause that boy doesn't know what he's missing, and my best friend moved, too. You'll never get over it, I promise. I don't have the strength to keep her here. Orlando is simply bleak. My life is contained in a whiffel ball, holed with Economics assignments and two-week old summer reading essays I placed on his desk as nonchalantly as I could muster. I can basically say that I am "fornication under consent of the king" 'ed. Everytime I see that man, he's crying, and Thomas Morris taught me a lesson. Word is Precious, he said, but I'm not sure which words he meant or how long it takes for them to become so holy. The living are learning to die, and the dead have learned to live already, he said, you're friends who leave you will learn and so will you in their wake. I walked away with a $50 bill in my shoe and a pencil in my hand. I burned a hole in my book like the hole in my arm. Wanna know how I got these scars on my left arm? You see, I had a best friend. And she was beautiful, but impressionable. One night, I decide that I'm going to show off a little bit, so I pour some drinks. Things get out of hand, real quick. To show my invincibility, I said "Hey guys---watch this!" and thrust the cigarettes from my lips into the arm. I pushed deep and the next morning, found about six layers of skin missing in that one spot with simply no memory. Why so serious? Well Bishop Moore thought it was a joint and you'd think I'd learn a lesson, but that's asking way to much from Ambiguity Me. If your heard it--it's a lie. If you saw it--illusion. Learn the rules and the seven stepping stones for Ambiguity in order to understand. My moleskin has this passage it reads:

"The shitty thing about this city is that the wind blows out my smokes. It lets the cherry burn stale so I must re-light, effort i would not have wasted in the city of my own. Home. I miss having one."

God damn it, I should've asked Thomas Morris' middle name!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Bishop Moore,

I have nothing to lose because all is already lost. Thank-you for showing me what it's like to have nothing. A catholic kid turned Atheist Teenage beat poet, so named by a previous lesbian lover. What do you think about that? That's right, you had a flaming lesbian (well, another one) in your school for about a year and never realized it. Well, maybe Durgin, did. Am I seeming slightly sporadic? Are my words wittingly wrong? Give me some paper, I need something stationary as the cups runneth over with too much grime on the converse I wear to work, to school, to play and practice. Keepin' it real at public school and missing you to death, drowning in the lakes created by Fay as Gustav approaches. I love you Bishop Moore. You completed me. ha! I could never love you--Fuck you! And Fuck your ugly-ass new golden shirts the color of something I puked when I overdosed on Tylenol tablets in the sixth grade. I'm not a misplaced teen and I don't need you to find me in your purse. I'm not your goddamn keys so leave me be to rot in hell in public school. You have to live for the things you've lost, not in spite of them, but shit, I'm doing both and you're to blame. Write me off, I'll reappear, tie me up, I'll unravel your knots. Try to tell me I'm worthless, but I'll take the lead just watch me. I'll make it happen and you won't be there. Just another member of the audience, applauding how well the performance was. Bitch, you wont even be there. And i wont give you a refund either.

As Always,
Mariah.

The Author Disaster of Epic Proportions

The guard is shot to hell, but it's well and fine cause it isn't mine or anyone else's fault, but theirs. I'll take the blame for lost glances and frantic spinning but the behavior issues are uncalled for, I suppose, though I did it when Lucy was in charge. I am the Captain, The Author of this work, I am the one they whine to, the one they call "jerk". The one thing I won't stand for, the move I cannot counter, is blatant disregard, the way they discard my orders and demands. My authority withstands, and soon they'll learn. Even the stubborn. I'll show them. I am The captain, the writer for this page, the star of this performance, the one who's held responsible for the actions of the children. Not adults; not yet. Not 'til I get some respect. I love guard. I love girls. But this is something new. And there's only a few of them but they're fueling this poem. I know it sucks and bollocks, I have nothing more to say.


There's more in a day that refuses to fade cause Paul and I almost broke up. And he's working out tonight while I fight with my guard and turn the wrong way during left haste. At least I nailed about face, but my mind was in another place, driving with him in the truck and listening to the Insane Clown Posse. I've had sex on that backseat, twice, and each time it was exciting, but apparently not enough. I guess we'll try to work it out but that's why everything after lunch sucked.

Stepfather will escape again, to Jacksonville this time, He's gone by 4:30 am and I say good riddance like Green Day with a guitar I'm pawning on Saturday for a garage sale to pay the phone bills. If it weren't for thrift stores, I could cover it with a check, but the dresses were cute and reminded me of Anna so I took a chance. I don't care anymore. What do ya know, I forgot to think of Krystal today and maybe that's fine, but now she's on my mind and the song I dedicate to her is playing from the Itunes account I had to cancel for lack of credit card. I was told to get Limewire but I cant afford a virus cause my life is on this wireless. His eighteen-wheeler is tireless and he's yet to pack a bag, but I've said my goodbye's and I know I won't cry since I'll be lost in sleep, thank god. I could use some, I do believe.

"And don't deny, one day you'll need me.

All my life I been looking for the answers

To the questions you never asked
And we never planned on this disaster,

when will I let it go?"

A Rose By Any Other Name...

I was never sure who was to play Romeo. Maybe I'd like to try Juliet out? Not literally, of course. But she was up on that god damn balcony and my knee was sore from guard, so hell no, I was not going to climb a ten foot wall. and even worse--what would her father have done if he found me? I'd be slaughtered by the Capulet Mafia, and Romeo should end more gallantly than that daresay. Don't you think? Why would anyone, even if they were not in love with being in love, risk their life for someone they barely even glanced at before they kissed? I mean, nowadays, you kiss and no biggie. Shit, you screw and its no biggie, so long as there's no baby. But thats not possible for the kind of relationship I was aiming at. So fuck me, I brought a bullhorn and begged Juliet to get her ass downstairs and sneak out the front door. She wouldn't. And can you believe that after a year I'm still kneeling down here waiting, though she forgot about me long ago. If this is love, I quit. Now I understand why it's called a tragedy. I gotta hand it to him--Shakespeare knew his shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four score and seven years ago, Mom brought home a new dresser. Wood-finished and plenty, it shined against the navy paint and posters plastered on my walls. It has six drawers and I haven't got enough clothes to fill it's meager space that I yearned for almost two weeks ago. I guess I'm going shopping with the money for cell phone bills. So if you cant get hold of me, check Goodwill on Antique Row.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Bishop Moore,

You taught me well. Today, i received yet another dress code violation. My third of the school year and we've only gone four days. Aren't you proud of me? Not even at a private school and still can't look the part. Maybe I didn't learn a thing, perhaps I never will. But I was sent home and was able to finish up my summer reading for an AP class you never would've allowed me to enroll in. Now don't get ahead of yourself, I still have not written the essay, but I'm progressing. Would it surprise you to inform your administration that a phone call went home to my mother today from my AP Environmental teacher. He told her what a pleasure I am, how smart I seem, and she commented that I'm a lucky transfer from Bishop Moore. He was 'flabbergasted'. I think because how could someone like me last even two and three quarters of year there? I, too, am left shocked but I'll get over it. Will you? Will i ever stop hearing the drama? Can you quit sending home letters? Take me off your mailing list for Christ's sake! As Belle constantly told me during my time of greatest need; get over me. it's time to move on, Bishop Moore.

As Always,
Mariah.

Moleskine Lit Only By Fire

"I love the person I'm becoming." She said, but nobody else does. "It's like special flavors of soda-pop" I was told, "straight--with a twist!!"

~~~~~~~~~

Lindsey's jeep is in Orlando, but Lindsey's still in Connecticut. Krystal's captain at Bishop Moore but Krystal's become a bad person. Lindsey and I left for her but i guess i learned my lesson. Taylor Grace is Graceful and Taylor used to throw up. Taylor used to starve herself and never gave a fuck. Anna hates colorguard and never gets in trouble. Anna loves Bowie but despises double-bubble. Anna writes poetry and had this strange idea; bizarre and obscure. Anna is a red head, but dyes it blond sometimes. Anna hates her high school and tells me what it's like. Mikael,Chris, And I hung out the other night. She promised she wouldn't kill me. She said it'd be okay. They know what I went through. I'm still treated this way. I hate you for tricking me, teasing me, tempting me. I hate you for leaving me, loving me, hating me. Fuck you all. Fuck your music. Fuck your chapstick. Fuck your anger. Fuck your captain. Fuck your bed. I swear to God, I'm never fucking with you again.

And it takes only a few short lines with my spectacles in place to realize that everything in this notebook deserves to be burned. God-awful. Horrible. atrocity. Fuck Orlando, I hate this city. haha nice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The senior religion teacher at Bishop Moore is now a buddy of mine on Facebook. Her daughter doesn't like me anymore, but I guess she's not to blame for growing up. We all will do it in the end and I've got Sweeney Todd's saga stuck on repeat in my mind with my voice trying to copy little Toby's singing praise about the magical elixir which smells like piss and frankly taste like private school, in my professional opinion. It's like cleaning your room when you have yet to see the mess. It's like watching movies I've only ever heard of in songs. Or maybe I'm hearing the songs wailing over the characters in the movies they overkill, I cant remember quite frankly. But I had the most miraculous epiphany the other night and it came in the form of a dream, my friend. Now, I wasn't prepared to fight this battle, since I was more than half asleep. I had on no armor, nothing but the sweaty pajamas I was rolling around in uncomfortably on the twin-sized bed I probably outgrew when I hit the fourth grade. Besides the point, but Mom's buying new dresser's and that'll brighten up my day. But this dream featured Belle and her entourage of admirers warning me not to believe her. I received a text reading "Hey call me later, we need to talk" and after a couple hours, I did, though Lucy begged me not to. And when I got on the phone, she said we should be friends again as if she'd felt that way since March, but I know she couldn't have. I mean, let's face it, I groveled in April and even wished her a happy birthday on the 30th. That wasn't enough, but this imaginary depiction of the fantasy I longed for was bubbling in my stomach and making me happy like I hadn't been since, honestly, the day we decided we'd make a friendship of this biology class torture. Nor since the day I taught her to inhale and not to mix her shots the way she did and had us lying on my front lawn dropping glass and slurring for Lucy to point out the Big dipper, or maybe it was the little one? But long story short, I was elated until I woke up and her irritated tone of "whatever" continuously reverberated throughout this thing I describe as a mind.

It was worse than Earth Science with Mr. Woodcock freshmen year and sitting next to that kid, Jacob Wood. Yes, those are their real names. I wouldn't lie about that. No, I would not because I find that liars tell lies about lies, but tell the truth about the truth. And truly? I hate that girls guts and I never want to see her again. That's the thing, I would enjoy nothing more than her to disappear off this earth so i could live in peace, but at the same time I want to drown in the memory of what we had and how strongly I loved her, how strongly I still love her even after everything she's put me through.

Dear Bishop Moore,

I'm sorry for what was said in my last letter to you. I didn't mean it, I swear. Please don't send the cops to my house thinking I'll blow up the school. I give you my word; I won't. Besides, that message on the girls bathroom wall was written after I left. So fair is fair, right? And when I offer my condolences for the aggravation I put you through, you know I'm not telling the truth. friends?

As Always,
Mariah.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you see, I think insanity is unavoidable by 17. For the previous 16 years you hid it really well. But once you're a year 'til legalization, it hits you. I realized how pointless it is to live on earth for almost 17 years and never have gone bungee jumping. Therefore, it's been added to my list of things to do. Not only that, but how dumb is homework? In the long run, I don't think it matters. Cleaning my room is the pits. Absolutely. I could do it in less than an hour if I set my mind to it, but why bother? In ten months I will be 18 and I can keep my room in whatever form of disarray I see fit. This is why I see their attempts to ground me and repo my cellular device comical. They have no power anymore, just like I didn't for sixteen years. Yes, turning eighteen is grand, but first I have to wait. TEN MONTHS of suffering. There better be a fucking god up there because if I die before June I'll need to hold someone responsible.

Paint me Chicago

Fay is Lame and I'm soaked to the bone from a hole in the ceiling, waiting for the winds to close school's doors. You can't see outside when the wind is this high and the rain just pours. Television melodrama; "you heard it here first." The sky turned orange, crying from the storm, and leaking on the thousand-dollar carpet I vacuum every Sunday; Drips and drops of water staining the white painted chandelier above. In the pot stationed underneath, it taps and splashes loudly over the news. Seems to be blue tarp time again, but nothing works better than plaster for greedy roofers re-shingling with stolen golden watches of mine.

Greatly sustained and motionless in a fire trap attic room. Through the bulletproof glass, that i swore by Sophomore year, of a dollhouse window, gandering the debris of leafy excess, ignited by a howling hail. There, the water flushes in, so I sleep downstairs, hearing mumbled updates in the living room through a wooden panel he punched his fist through that time she got drunk and they fought. Tomorrow at eight, the winds will be great and I might end up walking to school. The clouds up there are sure to fall as rain altitudes rise by the inches. Fay will leave us, but soon return again. Orlando is safe i guess. Surely safe to go to class on Monday and Thursday, when we all were drenched but not Tuesday and Friday, when the air was dry. Fuck it, it's in the past, and I've got summer assignments due next week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks ago, it wasn't like this. Two weeks ago it was tame. Shit it'll almost two months ago and that's sad as sad can get. I went back to hell this past monday and saw my life survive the impact of a twelve-ton Eagle that fell from the second story of the Science building. Tough times at Edgewater High, but really, when is it ever easy?

I want to buzz with the hornets. I admit that to myself now. They sting like hell, they don't play fair, and they sold my ass to administration for a get-out-of-jail-free card, but I miss them with all my heart. The zombies strut by all wearing Guy Harvey which doesn't make sense to me at all. I swear to god, I plan to go psycho if i hear the word "expression" again. I get "Why go back there" a lot, but they dont understand. Everything is the same. The only thing that changes is the special effects and the idea of everyone being equal when everyone is clearly not. Hornets need a reality Check. Let me give it a shot.

Dear Bishop Moore,

I hope your God can hear me and I hope he knows his Old Testament. Because that goddamn book you put all your stupud faith into reads that you should forgive your brother not seven, but seven-hundred and seventy-seven times. Tell that to your diocesan duties. And while you're at it, let them know that i'm giving them a negative rating online. They dont deserve the eight grand a year and certainly didnt ever earn the praise they receive. "Here at Bishop Moore, we focus on strenghtening your bond with God." Yes, I'm sure the future homesless graduates will agree that putting theology over academics was the smartest way to go. Clearly, your administration received the same sort of "education." You want to know how i got these scars? Oh it's simple. Mrs. Bonanno told my Aunt that i was snorting cocaine in history class. She didn't like that. Not. One. Bit. And Mrs. Connell demanded notecards that i never ever finished. Nor did i once turn in a completed notebook. Keep up now, you entitled little bastard, you fucking jezebel whore of the catholic institution, you god damn cow cooked in McDonald's by the valedictorian of 1973. I recall perfectly. I was sitting in my math class. I received an extra bruise to my ego when Mrs. Moore took my phone, shit I can't remember how to spell her name. Look what you're methods have done to me! Have you ever seen my left arm? it's got real scars. burn marks. Do you remember when Mrs. Gonzalez called me into guidance and asked me if I put out a joint on my arm? She asked me where my mother was, who I was living with, what I was doing with my life, and why I felt the insistent need to drive my teachers insane. Are you still curious or do you need it spelled out for you? i was born to get expelled and I was raised to fight the catholic church. I'm not sorry. I never will be. I'm lucky. I was saved from your indoctrination before I became the robot you expected. I spent every lunch period and free period in the Dean's office my Sophomore year and listened to the teachers bitch, endured filthy stares from disgruntled deans, and organized shelves of yearbooks no one gives a shit about anymore. I did nothing but live the only life I have, and I was exhiled. You know, there was a time when I prayed to God every single day? I was into it. I was also only eight years old but i completely bought into the whole "he's watching you, better watch out!" like God is Santa Claus or something (i believed in him, too, 'til some eighth grader punched me and said he was dead.) See, that's the thing about little kids. They'll swallow up anything you tell them; i couldn't help that i believed your bullshit stories, excuse me, "tall tales that are symbolic of what really happened"---I was in second grade coming from a public school! It would take me seven years and about three months to return. While you're reading this letter, dial up Mrs. Agnew over at St. Charles and thank her for turning me into the person I've become. I'll bet my sanity that she doesn;t remember the day she abandoned me. I sure as fuck do. I honor that day ever year and it's been almost four years. October 28, 2004? does that ring a bell to anyone but me? Didn't think so. Now, god forbid it was a religious holiday! If it ever slipped my mind, I'd be damned to hell, right? just like I always forget when Easter was. I couldn't tell you how long lent is and Mary-fucking-saw-me-eat-meat-on-those-damn-fridays-you-were-not-supposed-to. Try to tell me what to eat? FUCK YOU! fuck you're stripes, fuck you're football team, fuck you're honors system, Fuck your band leadership, Fuck you're suspensions, saturday schools, and detentions. I may not have graduated from your establishment, but I made it out alive just in time. I hope Fay trashed Loretta and Lake Fareview drowns you're science/religion building until it perishes for forever. I hope the New Education building crumples from the foundation and smashes the glass of those Senior year pictures you insist on nailing to the wall. The only building I wish would remain is the cafeteria, because that's the only part worth the school is the food. So thank-you, Aramark. i love you, always will, and to you, Bishop Moore, i say goodbye and plan on seeing me in the future. I swear right now, when I'm a wealthy lady I will have your school demolished and I will build my mansion upon it. Don't think you're safe, St. Charles, the church goes, too. Sorry, it's just business.

As always,
Mariah.

-Expelled from Bishop Moore March 11, 2008 and relocated to Edgewater High School where I will spend the rest of my high school career working against you. You'll regret the choice you made just like I regret mine every single second I breathe.

=]
"So so what?
I'm still a rock star
I got my rock moves
And i don't need you
And guess what
I'm having more fun
And now that we're done
I'm gonna show you tonight
I'm alright, I'm just fine
And you're a tool
So so what?
I am a rockstar
I got my rock moves
And I don't want you tonight"

Prologue for your soul

My desk radiated high energy waves fueled by the perched desktop lamp above and the intimidation of failure. I will write this, said I to myself. With the keys under my nails and the Light bulb Blaring, I stroked effortlessly. No red or green underlines appeared. No suggestions for alternated words emerged.

That was because I had yet to type anything other than my name. I tap the U key so I may finished spelling the date; August 8th, 2008. The letter failed to reverberate on the screen three inches from the tip of my nose. I pressed it again. Again. Again and again. Then I became irritated. Easily, I Banged on the board, lifted the laptop, and grinned satisfyingly as it smashed against the wall opposite of me. Stupid Computer, I muttered, Fuck technology! Then I grabbed a ballpoint pen. Now I have it written.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I saw Belle the other day. Surrounded by her admirers, laughing over inside jokes with my cousin, and deciding which shade of blonde would be best for the underlying of her dark straight locks.

I tried not to stare from behind the counter. My previous fantasies of seeing her again would not play like this. Rewind--She walks in, sees me, but i dont see her. She looks for a long time, forgetting why she came here in the first place. I'm behind the counter laughing and smiling genuinely at a joke a customer tells me as i bag their milk. She grins beside herself. She takes a step foreward and i notice her. We stare, and i forget that there are people in line. She still has her smile on. I dont know if I'm to take it as a peace offering or not.

"Can you help me find something?" she asks. Of course i can. I've only worked here since November. She probably doesnt remember that, i think, she probably tries to forget.

As i lead her down Aisle 7, she stops me by putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry" she whispers. I begind to cry. We embrace...and all is good again---

Okay, no that's not what really happened. Rewind again: I heard a bunch of loud girls walk in before i saw them. I was putting things away during another dull and boring shift. The group includes Lucy, my cousin, and a couple other girls who i've heard of but i dont know. They immediatly run over and seem almost too happy to see me. They redirect me down another aisle and chat. That's when i see her but her back is turned to me. It's Belle. Down Aisle 8. Looking at hair dye and my heart stops. literally. I take in a breathe and i feel faint. But then Lucy says something that makes me laugh. Kaleigh honks my nose and it's like that girl is just another customer. I think of Anna instead. What would she do? She would probably just ignore her, not even bother pretending to be nice or care. If Belle had done all that shit to Anna, she would have won the arguement a long time ago, and not still think about it to this day. She would be able to move on in her life more than i can. My thoughts filled with Anna and how she actually liked me for me, consumed me. And when i saw Belle, i shook my head. Cause she wasn't the same girl my fantasies had pictured and tortured me over since march, or April; the last time i saw her. She was too different. I used to see her as the brightest face in the crowd, how could someone not see her beauty? But now i know. I look at her like i would with any other customer. Plain, boring, anti-exotic. Not like Anna. "Do u have a CVS card?" i ask and that's that. I only make one mistake. I notice she's using a credit card. She never used to have one of those. So i see her face and it looks exhausted. literally. Bags under the eyes and all. Does she have a job now?

"How's being captain?" i casually question. I am completely ignored and she walks out the store flanked by the friends i used to share with her and an air of confidence i only ever saw in one other person; Anna.

So there was no huge apology. Nothing. No reunion of tears. But i dont want that anymore. Honestly, i just want her to go away. Or i'll go away. My five week repreive in Chicago was the best thing in the world for me.

It tested my relationship with Paul. It showed me who my true friends were, what my abilities were, where my talent lies, and what other kinds of people there are to befriend outside of orlando. I met some amazing people; Two in particular I will never forget. And one of them i shall add to my "People Who Truly changed my life" list. Oh boy, what an honor that is. She would probably laugh if i told her that. Shit, i'm laughing now about how stupid it sounds.

Quite frankly, there are only three people who have impact on my life and changed everything i once did. Nick, Krystal, and Anna. The End.