Leila

sufjan.

2005-01-16T05:23:41Z

i can see a lot of life in you
i can see a lot of bright in you
and i think the dress looks nice on you
i can see a lot of life in you

i can see you'd better make it too
i can see a fireside turn blue
i can see a lot of life in you yes
i can see a lot of life in you

when the world looks back
when the face looks after that
i can see a lot of life in you yes
i can see a lot of life in you

i can see a lot of life in you
i can see you'd better make it too
and i think the dress looks nice on you
i can see a lot of life in you yes
i can see a lot of life in you

ailleme @ 2004-03-30T01:43:00

2004-03-29T22:43:52Z

here's what i know:
that i want to hold you with as many limbs as i can
that walking out your door can only happen if i run and only look back when i'm long gone
that i can't stop kissing you
that i melt when you laugh
that we laugh
that i melt
that i'm frightened by the amount of sense this makes
that i can't see a reason for us to end
that i think i'm starting to be able to predict you and then you surprise me in such a wonderful way
that you surprise me in such a wonderful way
that i love the way you shrug
that i sacrifice time for you even today even my busiest day yet
these things mean: i'm falling for you more and more every day.

ailleme @ 2004-03-24T14:21:00

2004-03-24T11:20:08Z

yesterday was ashraf's birthday and now he's eighteen and we had a surprise "Band Practice" birthday party with him and we are happy and we've been together now for one month on the 22nd.

i feel unconnected to livejournal but here it is anyway.

ailleme @ 2004-03-19T13:08:00

2004-03-19T10:14:02Z

franny is a band made up of three very good friends at school. here they are:

lee: tall skinny sharp nose long fingers and anguish until you say or do something he likes, and then a smile from a heart--light like a lamp warm and true. see him lost and drowning in sad and weary oceans and you want to hug him with your muscles and shake him until the hard heart feelings jingle out of his pockets.
caley: flannel and thermal hug a thin frame afraid to expose its energies until exactly the right moment when his fingers and drumsticks flicker and twist empty melodies into wholes and stamping feet. wary but alive and ready to continue an adventure started in mind during guitar riffs and glanced connections. eyes and mouth open with excitement and intense concentration.
ashraf: sinewy and taut moving and breathing to beat. heavy lids sink and shift from fingers to floor. hands long soft careful quick jumping from strings to back of head. eyes switching to sideways and up asking subtle body language questions, eyes rolling microphone to ceiling, mouth a rhythmic rattlesnake of tongue to teeth.

ailleme @ 2004-03-10T12:51:00

2004-03-10T09:53:10Z

what i wrote on the subway.

PRETENTIOUS

Poking and prodding I
Reveal recently rehewed
Edges everywhere.
Tugging at tightropes
Eavesdropping on eggshells and
Never noticing nickels.
Trying to travel
Innocently irrational I
Overanalyze octopi I
Unblinkingly utter
Scraps of screams.

ailleme @ 2004-03-06T21:17:00

2004-03-06T18:21:27Z

eating mints always makes my teeth feel dirty.

yesterday i was walking down the street (in my very own brooklyn!) with lydia and brooke with my arm around lydia. here's the exchange between me and a girl about my age walking the other way:

Her: [enthusiastically] Are youse lesbians?
Me: [matching her enthusiasm] Yeah!
Her: [still enthused] That's great! [not as loud, but completely audible] Fucking slut!

so. i'm not a lesbian. that doesn't make this exchange any less strange/disturbing/funny?/infuriating.

hey gabe, happy birthday.

ailleme @ 2004-03-04T22:26:00

2004-03-04T19:24:58Z

i was just talking to a friend about someone else, and i'm taking an anthropology class that discusses race so i asked her into what race she classified this third party and she said that she saw him as black. and i have NEVER thought of him as black...he's so clearly mixed to me that i am unable to just call him black. interesting. i don't think it's anything bad about her thinking or perception, i'm convinced that it's about what culture has done, the one-drop rule in full effect. maybe the fact that i know that he has one parent from africa and one from algeria prevents me from thinking of him as a single race...also anthro is really getting to me and according to that, race is a cultural construct and depending on where you were raised and how you were raised and so it's such an unclear thing that i have trouble categorizing people by skin color. dang, it's complicated.
back to paper.

ailleme @ 2004-03-04T04:03:00

2004-03-04T01:03:53Z

let me tell you how close the line is between frustration and success. very close. lines usually aren't close, i guess, they're fine lines or something..hey

two days ago i almost died because it was so beautiful out and the clouds were made of something i wanted to touch.

in my half awake dream during my nap this afternoon i went out into the hallway and looked to the right and all the lights were out (they're never out) and i got scared and i couldn't open one of my eyes if i tried my hardest. then i looked to the right and there were big double doors in the middle of the hallway but other than that i couldn't see because i couldn't open my other eye.

ailleme @ 2004-03-02T02:02:00

2004-03-01T23:02:07Z

i haven't said much yet. i am warming up. i am liking you and this more than i have let on. i am resisting cycles. i am trying to make something different. i am resisting saying the same words to you. i am feeling a lot for you. i am reprioritizing for you. i am working you in. you can tell, i know. i am missing you now when i will see you in the morning and saw you so recently. i mean it.

ailleme @ 2004-02-29T15:35:00

2004-02-29T12:35:06Z

when i say that i love my art class, i'm always forgetting the part where i get So frustrated with myself and my drawings and my drawing. trees are so frustrating! i am frustrated, my fingers are getting cold and i'm not getting anywhere.

ailleme @ 2004-02-28T17:25:00

2004-02-28T14:25:08Z

so. six days in, first dinner out.
today i think i meditated for the first time. by accident. and then i washed my window.

ailleme @ 2004-02-19T00:18:00

2004-02-18T21:18:54Z

to elaborate

i think things about you that scare me
things like
you make absolute sense.
and like
we would do well living together.
we are compatible.

and i'm trying my best to test myself
to confirm my solidity
to not be wooed by the impossible shine in your eyes
that expands so quickly
to give your voice a glow.

maybe writing this is proof enough that i'm taken by you
maybe writing this gives me courage

overanalysis is overrated.

i'll listen to your heartbeat if you'll listen back.

ailleme @ 2004-02-19T00:03:00

2004-02-18T21:03:45Z

again to the crush.

i have trouble looking at you now because i like you so much.
i'll tell you soon when i can learn to be calm and collected and maybe even look you in the eye.

ailleme @ 2004-02-18T16:02:00

2004-02-18T13:02:15Z

to my crush:
i am like, totally crushing on you.

babel fish translation of the song i just posted. i could do better than this.

2004-02-15T20:29:11Z

Better is worth not to think of only of not thinking dutout,
Nothing it is déja, nothing it is déja much,
One remembers nothing and since all is forgotten,
Nothing it is well better than all.
Better is worth not to think of only of not thinking of you,
Ca is not worth me nothing, Ca is not worth me nothing dutout
But as if nothing were I think of all,
These small riens which came me from you,
If they were three times nothing, three times nothing between us,
Evidemment Ca does not make much,
It are these small riens which I put end to end,
These small riens which came me from you.
Better is worth to cry of only of laughing at all,
Pleurer for one nothing it is déja much,
But you, you do not have anything in the heart déja you,
I envy you, I want you, much,
They are these small riens which came me from you,
want Them are held that want,
Me I want for nothing in the world plus nothing you,
to be for you is necessary to be for half insane

ailleme @ 2004-02-15T23:25:00

2004-02-15T20:25:25Z

Serge Gainsbourg and Angelique Kidjo both sing this...it's so sad. i will translate.

Mieux vaut ne penser à rien que de pas penser dutout,
Rien c'est déja, rien c'est déja beaucoup,
On se souvient de rien et puisqu'on oublie tout,
Rien c'est bien mieux que tout.
Mieux vaut ne penser à rien que de penser à vous,
Ca ne me vaut rien, ca ne me vaut rien dutout
Mais comme si de rien était je pense à tout,
Ces petits riens qui me venaient de vous,
Si c'était trois fois rien, trois fois rien entre nous,
Evidemment ca ne fait pas beaucoup,
Ce sont ces petits riens que j'ai mis bout à bout,
Ces petits riens qui me venaient de vous.
Mieux vaut pleurer de rien que de rire de tout,
Pleurer pour un rien c'est déja beaucoup,
Mais vous, vous n'avez rien dans le coeur ét j'avous,
Je vous envie, je vous en veux, beaucoup,
Ce sont ces petits riens qui me venaient de vous,
Les voulez vous tenez que voulez vous,
Moi je ne veux pour rien au monde plus rien de vous,
Pour être à vous faut être à moitié fou.

i tried to translate, but it was terrible. it didn't work...if you can read it in french, good for you and if not i'm sorry because it's beautiful.

ailleme @ 2004-02-13T01:30:00

2004-02-12T22:30:03Z

my heart just aches and burns when i think of opening my window wide and letting in a warm breeze. my eyes fill up with stars when i think of sandals and green grass, of no danger of slipping on ice, of running and collapsing in the green of spring.

ailleme @ 2004-02-08T02:09:00

2004-02-07T23:09:52Z

friends who write emo songs are the best kind.

you gazed into my eyes
you vomited on my shoes
unconscious you
curled like a cat in my bed

you kicked me in the teeth
you thought i was a thief
out to get your blood
pressure i don't want your vital signs
i just want your shoes

you disgust me
when you love me
i love you
when you mistrust me

wide eyed like a squid
bile bursts like ink
counting sleep in winks
we only write in pen

oh curled like a tentacle
in my bed

oh you
you are
you are permanent

i heart you
when you hurt me
i lust you
when you mistrust me

--lee pender
www.frannyband.com

ailleme @ 2004-01-30T01:39:00

2004-01-29T22:39:19Z

awonderful poem by a wonderful slam poet of sorts. look up sacred slam, i saw one and was inspired.

A Wary Invitation to my Future Child
by Ethan Nichtern

1. The Disclaimer
Let me just say I’m not expecting you for a while
Except by tragedy of bubble-burst latex
you won’t come wailing anytime soon
So if all goes according to the Plan
according to Which nothing ever goes
you should be slowly wrapping things up in your last life right now
taking long walks and talking nonsense to strangers and drooling a little bit
trying to untie mental knots
making temporary peace with those apparent contradictions
getting affairs in order
just so that others may grieve what I welcome
Maybe you’re a satin-clad Goddess who rides a long-tusked elephant
or maybe you just got world peace declared on the Planet Zolton
or maybe you’re that eccentric horseshoe crab misunderstood by all the other horseshoe crabs whose genius as a horseshoe crab will only be recognized long after a lonely death in a lonely horseshoe shell
I hope you’re not a consultant

2. The Fine Print
aggression still tantalizes us
(I’m sorry)
attachment’s like a bungee cord
(I’m sorry)
ignorance emits a steady hum
(I’m sorry)
Your father’s a crazy buddhist
(I’m sorry)
.
kids don’t get to make any decisions
(I’m sorry)
parents argue over money and then slam doors shut
(I’m sorry)
adults make three lists: one short list called “Friends,” one long list called “Enemies,” and one really long list called “Who Cares?”
(I’m sorry)
Old people scream “I wish I could have done more!” which nobody understands because their words are slurred by strokes and tears.
(I’m sorry)

If two people look each other in the eye it’s usually by accident
(I’m sorry)
When people dance they get embarrassed
(I’m sorry)
When people speak they get self-conscious
(I’m sorry)
When people smile they feel guilty
(I’m sorry)

We have this little thing called propaganda
(I’m sorry)
We have this big thing called poverty
(I’m sorry)
We have these huge things called armies
(I’m sorry)
There’s no escape from your own mind--believe me I already tried Everything
(I’m really really sorry)

You will become what you hate--it’s inevitable
The only way I’ve found to deal with this is to expand the scope of what you love
But this isn’t about wishful thinking
It’s about courage and training
(That’s the one thing I won’t apologize for)

3. The Invitation
Where you are now do they have cartoons?
Where you are now do they examine their experience in detail?
Where you are now do they have paintings where the oil leaves a 3D trail across the canvas?
Where you are now did they reinvent the wheel a thousand times?
Where you are now are there kaleidoscopic cities?
Where you are now are your fingers mesmerized by the grey texture of the mortar which holds a brick wall together?
Where you are now do they have Bob Dylan?
Where you are now do genitals interlock so perfectly and then separate like defective velcro?
Where you are now does your body come with two of everything just in case?
Where you are now do all your teachers sneak up into the crawl-space between thoughts and haunt you?
Where you are now do friends sit crosslegged in a circle playing conga drums until a half-hour past a cloudy dawn at which point they all get up together and cook Eggs Overtired with salsa and say as a matter-of-fact in between yawns and mouthfuls: “let’s save the world!”?

4. PostScript
At the bottom of a huge pile in a soon-to-be-sold house in Arkansas is a picture of a grandfather who dies of a fourth heart attack just as his grandson reaches the ripe old age of negative 1 (Earth years). He holds a baby girl and he looks just like me. Or I should say that I look just like him, that is, if we want to be polite and pretend that a circle is a line.

Brooklyn
2002

ailleme @ 2004-01-29T03:11:00

2004-01-29T00:11:20Z

what friends write on my door:
Leila smells
like a frog's hop

ailleme @ 2004-01-18T00:45:00

2004-01-17T21:45:03Z

nervousanxiousihaventbeentoschoolinamonthimalittleapprehensiveandpackingalwayspanicsmemystomachisjumpymyshouldersareshiveringmyfeettingleiforgottoleaveoutclothesfortomorrowmorningineedapairofcleansocksimalittlescaredtoleavehomeagainwhichissillybecauseiloveitatschoolbutofcourseitsanotherbigtransitioneventhesecondtimeoveranditmakesmycheeksquiveralittle.

a true story of the slightly exciting

2004-01-16T21:31:10Z

last night: i am sitting here and the lights go out and they flicker and flicker and go out. and it is 10:15 and after that there are only candles. and i look out the window and there is light but inside the house there is none. to the right of us, there is no light and eventually people appear, barely visible under seventeen layers of wool, thermal and down bearing flashlights, peering into darkened windows to make sure they are not alone. and i wave to my bewildered neighbors and we speak in gestures through locked windows so as to keep out the cold. heaters turn off when power goes out. calls to con edison begin with hope and end with curses. finally jeremy, a neighbor who is an assistant DA, calls the police and convinces them to convince the people at con ed that this is, in fact, an emergency. a clumsy red truck with rotating yellow lights and endless amounts of mysterious equipment arrives on the block. with it come two brooklyn accents and grumpy, sarcastic responses to helpful calling-outs. a round bear clad in a carhartt jumpsuit trudges down the middle of the snowy street, bending over to search under parked cars for manholes. he wipes the snow from a license plate and calls a tow truck to pull it out of the way. a neighbor, andre, tells the men that he knows who owns one of the cars in question, and wouldn't it be easier to have them move it than wait for a tow truck. the owner, unfortunately, is the most aged person on the block, an old, old italian man named benny. benny is known for spending large amounts of time in his car, not moving. in the spring, sometimes he stands in front of his house, holding on to his fence for stability, and watches people go by. the story is, he once got so angry at someone for breaking a branch off his plum tree that he pulled a gun on the man, and subsequently was arrested and spent the night in jail. now, he does not respond to the doorbell at midnight, and only emerges several minutes later, looking frail and confused. without gloves, his hands look red and raw, and his ears are exposed below his cap. the snow slows his step even further, and andre, who has gone to fetch him, eventually realizes this and runs back, asking, do you want any help or anything? some sort of muttered response leaves andre holding benny's arm as they brave the curbside snowdrifts. shakily, benny sits in his car, which is, unlike most others, completely free of snow, and successfully gets it out of the tight parking place. his destination, a spot just down the street, turns out to be just behind andre's own car, which makes andre visibly nervous. when benny starts backing his car at a dangerous angle towards andre's, andre opens benny's car door and makes a fast, anxious deal with him, and they switch places. andre parks benny's car, benny stands stooped in the street, looking alternately lost and cranky. i wonder how well he can hear. andre opens the car door; benny totters over and roughly motions for andre to get out. i wonder what benny thinks about a young black man telling him what to do. andre walks benny back to his house, where his wife is sick, and has not been seen outside for several years. i wonder, for a second, if being out in this cold will kill him. meanwhile, the con ed men are moving their truck and shoveling the snow away from the manhole cover. eventually, one of them climbs into the hole via a yellow ladder, and begins tinkering. the carhartt man watches, occasionally giving the other man a tool, or taking one back. the tow truck shows up, and a jamaican man laughs with the con ed men as he works the hydraulics and hooks the car onto the truck. as he repositions the car, the con ed men work to find the manhole on this side of the street. andre, who has since returned to his house, comes out every once in a while to smoke a cigarette and peek at the workers, trying to discover something. jeremy even appears for a moment, and my father tries to stay awake on the sofa. i watch them work from the window until my eyes start to droop, and i eventually go up to bed. in the morning, the lights work.

ailleme @ 2004-01-14T00:51:00

2004-01-13T21:51:40Z

last night in the movie theater, i smelled you. it distracted me more than i wanted it to, it distracted me.

dream: i was in china with my grandparents and the johanns, and i went into a store that was selling dolls that turned out to be sex dolls, but they were all ethnic and made out of straw and had indian looking clothes on them, so the johanns said they always used to send them to people as souvenirs from their trips, and the customs people would give them funny looks. then passed a store that sold roughly cut leather executioner's masks. finally, went into a store that had a whole bunch of kids lying in a pool, the water in the pool was probably six inches deep, so the kids were just lying there, tons of them, different ages and sizes and some of them had a little bit of clothes on but mostly no clothes, and this old guy came up to me and pinched this kid's cheek and his stomach and said, he's smart at which point i walked out and told the people i was with that the guy was trying to sell me a kid.

i think i'm restless i think it's time to go back to school i think maybe it's time to get my period and that's why the frustration wells so quickly today.

ailleme @ 2004-01-11T23:20:00

2004-01-11T20:20:34Z

it's snowing.
maybe everyone feels pretentious after watching wonder boys.

-----

and, well, i guess this sort of has thrown me for a loop. i have been training myself to not believe you, to make sure what you say is equal to what you do before taking it as anything other than an impulse. but these words you wrote me ring of emotion, of something true within the muddle of forced artisticity. i think that even if it is made up, that is a good word. so there you go, with your power and your bewitching and of course now the snow has feelings too. and of course when nothing comes of it, when your i miss yous become i forgots and i fell asleeps, i will be upset and further, i will be angry at myself for it. i still need to remember not to count on you. i need to make sure that even though you use the word percuss to mean something deep you cannot cast your spell on me. your metaphors are as mixed as you can make them. i think i may have stolen that from somewhere, it echoes in song to me. dashboard? look at me, i AM pretentious. yuck. don't let me become something i hate with a head raised too high to notice that disgust is melting the bottoms of my shoes. this journal is a fragile refuge and an easy trap.

and as i write i can feel myself pulled to you to when you tell me you tore down the stars, i am drawn to that, i am drawn to heiroglyphic palm destinies, it is attractive. if only you practiced what you preached, i could feel justified in rereading your words for the fourth time. now i only feel wary of the many empty promises i read about in your positively poetic lines.

ailleme @ 2004-01-11T02:10:00

2004-01-10T23:10:00Z

i'm jealous of the kissers, those who kiss.
i'm jealous of those who can.
i'm lonesome in this house full of steady hands
that wait safely for everyone but me.
my waiting hand is made of mist
can you see it disappearing?
i'm jealous of late nights together.
i'm jealous of phone calls to count on.
i'm afraid of jealousy.
i don't think i'm wanting a solid you
i think i'm hoping for a perfect
something that used to exist in my mind
until i almost had it
and it leaned on circumstance
and a house with an empty bed
and i lost that house for now
and i lost that you with it.

and that is not to say i want you back.
it is only to say i'm sorry i lost you.
it is only to say i see you in mirrors and
places i know you are not.
it is only to say that now i miss you.

----------

if it showed my frustration with my impossible way of always wanting more
i would run through backyards wearing a red flag
i would howl at the seventeenth star i saw
if it showed how confused i was about situations and relations between humans
if i could express my idiotic automatic return to who i used to be
by scratching out all the words written on glass doors
i would.
if riding subways meant i want to change my life a little
i would take the longest train from start to end.
if hypocrisy is written in every line of this poem
if it is
then i have written it.