HOW TO

HOW TO TAG YOURSELF AS AN OBSCURIST
pick yer
favorite food
and run with it
like you've never
ran
before.

(HAVEN'T
YOU EVER HEARD OF
THE STRING CHEESE
INCIDENT?:
some dudez
made another fuckin
jam band
and people
ATE
that shit
up.)

HOW TO FALL IN LOVE IN 3 MINUTES
get drunk enough
to make eye contact

talk about something
important, like
being alive

decide this is
the most profound
important conversation
you've ever had

take it to the bank
and let it accrue
interest

don't spend it all
in one
place

HOW TO EAT YOUR FEELINGS WITHOUT HAVING TO BUY NEW CLOTHES
ask your mom
if you can have
her
jeans



I suspect this is not the end of these

FACE-TO-FACE BOOKING?

Today Lauren and I decided to test out pipe smoking. So thus we were sitting on the docks by the union, failing again and again to keep our pipes lit when we were approached by a man in his 50's. And here is the interaction we had:
"Enjoyable?"
We nod our heads cautiously.
"You guys are just smoking pipe tobacco right?"
"mhmm"
"Just don't make a habit out of it. It's nice once in a while though, I think I recall I used to smoke every once in a while. I mean, I'm a health nut, but I think it is healthy if you do it occasionally."
Lauren and I mumble something or other.
"I just have a question for you though. Does it ever make you sick, from all the stuff you inhale?"
We nod, even though we don't know, we've never smoked pipes before.
"Yeah, I think it used to make me sick."
---------
"So, it will be hard to recognize or understand but, face to face booking when you figure out what that is THEN let me know if you are still smoking."
And thus he left.
This is not right, these are not the exact words, but it felt like a very profound conversation. He said it like a threat, as though he was trying to tell us we should not be smoking, despite his claim that it was healthy on occasion. He said it like he knew something I didn't.
Face-to-face booking:
Social commentary? About how we are all so dependent on facebook as a form of communication that soon it will be the norm and talking to someone in person will be called face-to-face booking? What does that have to do with smoking?
"Let me know." as though he would just turn up once we figured it out.

It is hard to explain, it is half hilarious half perplexing. I did a terrible job of telling the story, perhaps I will edit this later.

IN-SANITY?

I feel a little bit like I am losing my mind. I've been writing, too much, writing non-stop but saying absolutely nothing. Pages and pages of mixed messages, pages of words, none of them really able to get at what I am trying to say. And ideas, lots of good ones, but too many at once, too hard to carry out, my mind always buzzing. Trying to figure out what this means, since when did I become more fun, since when did I start making friends, since when did I get so lost in my life that I can no longer see myself in it clearly? I feel fine, no I feel happy, I feel like I have nestled my way into a nice spot, a niche. And yet, I am worried, the last few days almost in a panic, I think I have gotten to lost in my own happenings, I have forgotten to properly worry about everyone else's.
Time is slipping through my fingers, in a way it never has, and time used to scare me so much, but I am not worried, I figure I will just keep making fun for myself, forever, until it is time to go back into the Earth. But I do worry that I am changing, too much, keep wanting to call my mom and ask her "Mom, is this ok? Mom, am I becoming something worthwhile?"
My age of "rebellion" is coming at a stunted time (because my parents never gave me anything to rebel against), and I am hesitant about it, asking "am i doing this right?", as though there is a right way after all. Thank goodness for my mother for never being terrified of my choices, for allowing me to talk her ear off, to sort my thoughts. Though maybe I talk too much. I don't know. I am worried. Mostly, I am always checking myself and I've stopped, which is good on my behalf, but maybe not good on everyone else's. Am I living for myself, or for everyone else? I still haven't decided. I am wondering if I can find the right balance.
What is it with this? This not being able to express myself properly? I feel so concerned about myself, not in a real way, but in a distant way, I usually don't go full force in life like this. No, I never go full force, I am always teetering on the edge so I have some option of turning around, some sort of choice in direction. But I am going full force, without any sense of direction, which is really how I like it, but I keep peeking over my shoulder, a small voice telling me I should probably check the situation a little more, before deciding that this is who I am, this is where I am going. But I don't want to. I am worried I am going through this stage too late, with no one here to help me make sure that I am doing OK.

And what is it with me and this blog? Does anyone read it besides Sarah? I assume not, maybe I make it too personal. Maybe I should just send her e-mails. But something about pretending there is an audience makes my writing different, usually better, usually a little less frantic, usually a little more poetic. I have piles of ideas for essays in my head, want to write a whole book about my Autogeography, half prose about my personal attachments to the places that have nursed me into this fine young 20 years old, half essays about their history. Madison has a great history of protesting, something that I have been enthralled with forever, have heard stories and stories about from the various rabble rousers that raised me. Even though I am moving forward, full force, I am inquiring more and more about my past, wanting to collect it.

I get to see Grandma in a week, I am so excited to talk her through my 19th year, to see what she has to tell me.

Autogeography

Today, while I was struggling, trying to wrestle some sort of idea into place so I could write, it occurred to me to write about all of my places, in order, explain myself through them. At first I thought one long poem, but now I am thinking a series. After 45 minutes of scribbling, two pages, I still, can not for the life of me find a way to explain el cafe in brief sentences, let alone long run ons. The best and only thing I came up with was "How do I show this to you without cutting open my heart and letting you look inside?"

How do I show you this place, perhaps a wall dissection, perhaps peeling off each layer of plaster, showing you what is hiding inside these walls, THESE WALLS, they are not any walls, these walls hold my history, these walls know me better than anything, anyone.
Layer one: I was raised on home-made desserts and folk music. I curled myself up on these uneven wooden steps and let the music lull me to sleep.
Layer two: What is a family? It was never a question that everyone was family, we gathered people by the dozens, lonely people, less-lonely people, anyone with a good heart, welcomed them into our happy home. It was all of these people that raised me, and our family was always/is always expanding. It is these people who taught me about love, that made love an intrinsic part of me, taught me what warmth is.
Layer 3: The music, the musicians, dirty, clean, crazy, sane, they would come in hesitantly or not-so-hesitantly, but never left disappointed. Have you ever seen music weaved into love, have you ever watched the way the lights dance off the guitar, watched the way the heads nod out of rhythm? Have you ever SEEN music?
Layer 4: Childhood, like any other childhood, but filled with more people. Not just my mother, father, and brother, but piles of self-declared Aunts and Uncles, who all took care of me as though it was no chore. Always treated me like I was a person, always listened to what I had to say, encouraged my self-expression, my humor, my desire to learn. Kept me company, kept me from ever being too sad, always kept me questioning if I even knew what sadness was. Taught me about people, most every sort of person, and how to love them individually, collectively.

How do I show this to you without cutting my heart open and letting you look inside?
Here is what you would see: faces, hundreds of them, smiling unabashedly, teasing me, teaching me, scolding me. El Cafe, it is not just a place (no place is just a place", but an idea, a family, and the story of our lives.


HOW DO I SHOW THIS TO YOU WITHOUT CUTTING MY HEART OPEN AND LETTING YOU LOOK INSIDE?

I will keep trying, forever, because it is too important, I don't want us to die before it is written down, on paper, proof that this place existed, can still exist.

NO SLEEP

Stayed up until the sun rose hashing out the details of my short story, which is not a piece of fiction at all. I guess I will chock it up to being sick and feeling experimental, it did not work out, I have never felt more frustrated about a piece of writing. I appreciate this frustration, maybe it will make me work harder from now on. Lately I've been realizing I don't really put enough effort into anything, and I want to change that.

Things have been going smoothly, exceptionally, I am finding my niche, my place. I worry that it is going to my head, this fitting in so comfortably. I don't want to fizzle out at a young age, I don't want to start assuming I have got it all figured out, I don't ever, ever want to stop learning.

There are lots of things a brewing, or so it seems, and I am feeling excited/timid and completely unsure, and for the last few months I have felt so sure about everything, this slight uneasiness is both a comfort and a worry. A real test to my new zenitude.

HEY GUYS

Thanks for putting me in your pockets.

SLEEP?

After a certain point, sleeping seems silly. I am missing my cuz-a-muffins and I am excited to see a few of them shortly (even though only for a day each). I can not stop writing about my family, and I suppose that when I really decide to write something, something big, it will be about them, in some way or another. I've written about them since I was little, I remember doing a project in 3rd grade and writing about my awesome cousin Sydney who was a mountain biker and Windsor, and Ezra. There are other people whom I love now as well, I hope to someday intertwine all my loves, and be intertwined as well. I like learning things about people.
My cousins are slowly, but surely building their ideal lives and this makes me so happy and a little hopeful for myself. I told Kai "I think this is our year, as a whole Welchy group." Not that it is not without its hiccups, but this year is full of potential, more than other years have been. We are all so the same, we are all so different, a Welchy puzzle of sorts. I know I am proud, too proud, to be a part of this strange group. In some ways I wish that we could all go out and conquer the world together, but we are always in different life stages, in different places, and it is probably best that we keep our distance.

I feel like I have lost a week due to sickness, I feel like I am not doing as well as I should in school, in life, but I think it is ok. I think most things are always ok, as long as you don't allow them to get bigger than you. I've got goals, I am just not sure what they are yet. I trust they will manifest themselves eventually, as long as I keep myself moving in some sort of direction. Happy? It's a new thing I've been learning. I am talking non-sense (as usual). I must pretend to sleep or write, something productive.

THIS

There are things that are undeniably Welch, things that we talk about without talking about, things that make my mother cry, and me cry by association. After Daddy died: lately I've been feeling this out, thinking about what it meant for all my Aunts and Uncles, my mother, Grandma. I can see just how they became who they are, and I want to tell them this, but I can't (though maybe I just did). And this is something that you can really only understand by growing up Welch, and it is something that brings them all together, but also keeps them all apart. Some things are too sad to understand, but I try to understand it the best I can. And I know it is sad, but it also helps me see that this family was built on love from the beginning, has always been about love, and this is what has built me, strong and flimsy as I may be. Our love is big and awkward, and we don't quite no how to wield it properly. It frustrates us, but also makes us the happiest, most loving sort of people you will ever find. I know that this will keep us all together, and I carry the Welch name with a heavy, gentle pride.

"we're all so many people," which is just the problem, or just the solution, the fact that I can reorganize my heart, brain, words so many times is confusing, the way different versions of me have been broken beyond recognition. I do not want to remember her, I want him to forget her altogether, she was sad and weak. I want to be able to trust that I am charming enough to keep someone in my pocket. I do not trust this. I do trust that being in love will make me flimsy. And yet, it is what I want right now, I am as ready as I will ever be, right now is the best time for me to break, I have years to recover, and so many things to help pick me up.

I could not handle your sadness then, and I can not handle it now. I wish I could give you some sort of pure joy, something that has no cynicism attached to it, nothing but love. You are so sad, and I can not fix that, and I just have to trust that you will figure it out. I can not waste my time on sadness anymore, it makes me crazy, it makes me skinny, it makes me habitually tired. I am full of life now, I am full of possibilities.

This is all a part of the learning, the unlearning, the relearning, and it is not just because I am young and lost, but because I am this and I will be doing this forever, or at least for a very long time. It excites me, as most things do, and being sad does not put a damper on this, it is all just a part of the process, a part of living, though not THE LIVING itself. Things are much simpler and complex than you think they are. And today, I love everyone with my sadness, and I mean JUST THAT, I am taking my sadness, my tiny aches and pains to try my best to understand everyone's sadness, both collectively and separately.

I have taken to staying out of the past, that dark sad thing. I've been dipping my toes in the past lately, playing on its' beaches, seeing if it will have me, and if I will be able to survive it. I am not sure when exactly the change occurred, but it did. I am not that person, that sad, desperate, in love with everything person. I think that I miss her a little bit sometimes. I call her back from time to time, (but that isn't the right way to say it, it implies that I have some sort of control, and I do not).

Joanna Newsom is my favorite, because she is saying it, she is saying what I am always trying to say, but can never say. I wrestle and gnaw on my words, but we never find the proper way to explain each other.

"I don't belong to anyone
my hearts as heavy as an oil drum.
I don't want to be alone,
my hearts as yellow as an ear of corn,
and I have torn my soul apart, from
pulling artlessly with fool commands."

I am sick as a dawg, and I want to know I mean something to someone somewhere (and I do know this, but am not satisfied), and I am tired, but not sleeping, and I am a little sad for no reason. There are days like this. Most days are not like this. Most days I don't even put much thought into how I am feeling at all, which I think just means that I am happy.

I collect things, feelings, and I can store them here and there, I can forget about them for a while, but I can not seem to ever get rid of them altogether. I find them accidentally, when thinking about something, when hearing a song, when talking about something I had forgotten about. I suppose that these are my secrets, even though they aren't really secrets, rather things I can not explain. These are the things that I keep, and keep to myself. I have confidence, that it will all work out, all the glitches and the deep, hollow, sadness that sometimes overwhelms me, there is some point to it. I feel disposable, most of the time, and maybe that is where the sadness comes from. I don't trust to be held on to.

So yes, I am sad, some days, some daze. But mostly I am happy, not elated (that is too overwhelming), but true blue sort of happiness that goes along with living, if you find yourself a good pace. I am waiting for things to get shaken, though I feel like I can handle it. I feel like I have finally managed to establish myself, even if only for myself and for no one else. I've been hating my selfishness a little less, some selfishness is appropriate, seeing as you have to live your whole life with yourself, you mine as well try to make sure you are enjoying it.

Ok, I have to go try to figure out I have to relieve the pressure building in my head, so that I can actually sleep.

I am falling out of touch with my seasons. I hope that mama n will forgive me for now. Being home alone has become my new favorite thing. I am aching for a change, and I've always sensed that this place is not perfect for me, but almost perfect. Not quite pure enough put not impure enough either. I think next year will be different, know it will be different, surrounded by pretty little houses, closer to the side of this city that has my heart, both in people and in general spirit. For the first time ever, I am really annoyed with school, I have other things I want to be doing, learning music, writing, writing, writing and these things seems infinitely more important to my well-being than other things. I know that I love school, but I am just forgetting a little bit.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love Only Skin? 16 minutes of awe. I am wondering if this love for Joanna Newsom is bordering obsession. I think it is good for me. Something to work towards. I usually allow myself to fall short, but I am tired of doing that, I want to challenge myself. To do things that are not easy, and to do them BETTER.

Unfortunately, this attitude is not applying to school, hence it being 12:30 and me not having bothered to start studying for my midterm tomorrow. How do you study for a language test anyways?

You don't.

SICK DAZE

I have been cooped up in bed for the last two days, some flu has gotten a hold of me. Being sick makes me anxious, though on days when I am feeling fine I don't do much of anything anyways. I don't trust that I will feel tip-top tomorrow, but I need to go to class, I have tests and things to prepare for. I am out of chapstick, it's all gone MIA and I am biting my poor lips until they bleed and covering them in lipgloss so that I look kinda like death but with really shiny lips. I am feeling so impatient, so anxious, nervous about not finding a subletter, deciding, despite it's financial repercussions that I will move to MKE either way because it is what my summer needs, what I need most definitely. A tight group of interwoven friends, all who are always working on their various creative endeavors, I need that kind of motivation, I need that kind of family for a while. I have never been more excited for a summer.

And, of course, there are other things.

I know this is mundane, but I needed to write, even if it was no good.