*DISCLAIMER: This blog is 100% truth except for the parts I made up

Monday, October 1, 2012

"This is for the benches and the people who sit upon them."

The first time you kissed me I went to bed without brushing my teeth.

The first time you kissed me you tasted like summertime, like poetry and steel guitar strings, like sidewalk chalk and sitting on park benches.

I belong to "the tribe that reads" and I belong to the tribe that sits on benches, and baby, so do you.

We belong to the tribe that sits on benches and we belong to each other, and I belong under your arm with my head on your chest, and that's really all I've ever wanted.

I'm not trying to rebel, I'm just trying to be human.

I'm not trying to rebel, I'm just trying to find my soul.

You told me that I'm not indie and I said, "Baby, I could have told you that."

And I said, "I know, I was never trying to be."

I'm not trying to escape society, to break social norms, to be different just for the sake of being different, because no matter how we try, we're really all the same. 

All of our branches reach towards the same sky, and under the surface our roots all grow together and interconnect until we're all a part of the same tree.

And our roots grow deep and our roots grow far and they graft together and form neural networks that span the entire globe.

See, on a cellular level we're all made of the same stuff and most of our DNA is identical, and I'm always looking for those similarities.

I'm always looking for somewhere I fit, for somewhere I belong, and with you I know I've found it.

Yeah, we're both made of the same stuff.

Yeah, we're made of something entirely different, and you're bright yellow and I'm dark blue.

And you can fly but my feet don't leave the ground.

And you sink but I always float.

And you're tomorrow and I'm today

And that's why we complement each other.  That's why we fit like matching puzzle pieces.

Our fingers fit together like our lips fit together like our hearts fit together, like our souls intertwine

And I know the calluses on your palms like you know the curvature of my spine.

Like I know the way your chest rises and falls

And I count the freckles on your cheekbones the way I count the stars.

You know, you're always on my mind, baby.

Like when I wake up and I wish we could make waffles together and I would bring the banana popsicles and you would bring the whipped cream.

Like when the golden leaves on bright white aspen pillars whisper your name and beg me to carve our initials into their trunks, and even the sagebrush and cactus remind me of you.

Like when it rains and I wish we could run outside, strip our shirts off and dance, because imagine how free we would feel with the ice cold water droplets stinging our bare skin and washing away our fears and the knots in our backs the way it washes away the smoke in the air

And my sidewalk chalk sketches.

And then you would kiss me again, and this time it would taste like autumn, like composition notebooks and cinnamon, like sweatshirts and the smell of your cologne

And when we open our eyes we'll know what forever feels like.

Saturday, August 11, 2012


"Well, there's a first time for everything.  I'm pretty sure tonight proves that."

Sunday, July 22, 2012

You never can tell with bees.


I never saw that one coming.

No really, I didn't.  I was just minding my own business.  I wasn't looking for anything, honest.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a lie, but the rest of it was all true, I promise.  Cross my heart.  And boy, is it pounding.  I can feel it beating, pulsing, pumping blood through my body so fast that I can't help but run, barefooted in my cut-off shorts.  I know I must look crazy, but maybe I'm not. Maybe there's something to all of this.  "Can you feel my heart?  I think I feel it too."

See, there's no recipe book for things like this.  Two cups of flour, one egg, and a spoonfull of sugar.  It's not that simple here.  You're just going to have to try it and see.  Until then you'll never know if a loaf of french bread, a dead fish, and a superman watch is the recipe for disaster or, I don't know, cheesecake or something. But do you know what I think?  I think you just might end up with a sunlight flavored sports drink that won't stain your clothes or your soul.  But what do I know?  What do I know? It's just a feeling. 

So here we go.  Plunging headfirst into this crazy mess and putting our names down for round one of "let's turn our hearts into crash test dummies."  Hopefully those airbags hold up.  But you know what? I've got a feeling that they will.  Can you feel it?  I think I feel it too.

"Roses are red
Violets are blue
You're pretty stellar
But you're annoying too."

With love,

Monday, May 14, 2012

Of Boys and Pens, Take 2

This is about karma.

 It’s about how if you decide to break into somebody’s locker and steal all of their pens, chances are that all of your favorite pens will stop working or else disappear in the near future.

Hypothetically, of course.

 This is about how when you tell awkward stories about someone, most likely one of their best friends will be nearby, listening to every word you say.  Also, if you decide that you’re too high and mighty to listen to the universe, I can almost guarantee that the next time you tell that story, you’ll turn around to discover that their other best friend has been walking behind you the entire time.

 Not like that has ever happened to me or anything.

This is to warn you that of you decide that you are sick of having nothing going on, and that you wish you had something to do other than lying around the house all day, the universe will probably completely overload you with things to do.  And if you spend all of your lazy days complaining at top volume about how bored you are with your life, your giant to-do list will probably arrive in the last 2 weeks of the term, leaving you with no time to study and even less time to sleep.

But I wouldn’t really know, because that would never happen to me.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

I'm craving orange juice.

I'm told I need to study, because you realize that AP testing starts next week?  But I say "no, just give me a tall glass of orange juice and let me sleep for 27 more days."

My mom tells me to clean my room.  She can barely see the floor.  And also, maybe I should do my laundry once in a while and then I'll have something to wear.  "No thank you, wearing the same oversized sweatshirt for a week and a half is fine with me.  But I'll take an ice cold orange juice."

We're kind of a thing, this sweatshirt and I.

You see, I always have "such damn cold hands."  I guess I have poor circulation.  I guess my heart can't pump my blood to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes.  Hot, flowing blood could warm my hands better than his sandpaper palms or my ugly, old sweatshirt.

Maybe my hands would warm up and start to sweat, and all my worries and fears would run from my heart, through my bloodstream, and down to my sweaty palms.  Maybe they would all dissolve and slip out of my body.

I bet if you tasted my sweat it would taste like salt and heartache, and if I touched your skin it would turn bright white and I would leave a warm colorless handprint.  It would linger for a few seconds before it began to fade away.

Do you think you would talk to me then?  Isn't that what you want?  Isn't it?  Weren't you just talking about how all you want is to be heard?  You don't want to fry a fish; you just want someone to listen to what you're saying.  You've got something to say and goshdangit! You want to say it.

Well, kid, all I want to do is listen.  You see?  I've already heard you.  I'm already listening.

But you weren't talking to me, were you?

So I guess I'll keep on wearing this retro sweatshirt, and counting out beats in sixes, and using up the ink in my pen, because even though I'm not a poet, I've been writing poetry all along.  I may not be a musician, but I keep on singing the same old song over and over and over, and it says "everything is gonna be alright."

And maybe it will.  Even though my hands are still  freezing, there's a whole lot of hope running through my veins, right along with the hurt and the fear and the orange juice.

"J'ai besoin d'un boisson."


Saturday, April 28, 2012

In the Desert

By Stephen Crane
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”

Saturday, March 17, 2012

How old is your soul?

I've been thinking a lot lately, but I'm not sure how to get those thoughts to come down from my brain and out through my mouth or my fingers.  I hear things and read things and see things that make me feel things that make me think things, but none of those things ever seem to come together in just the right way.

But maybe they don't have to fit perfectly.

I've been thinking about love.  I've been thinking about how you can love someone, but one day you can turn around and discover that you don't really love them at all anymore.  Or how sometimes you love someone, but that doesn't mean you want them around all the time.  Or how other times you love someone so much that you don't care what they do.

You just love them.

I've been thinking about wishing.  I've been thinking about wishing so bad for something that never happens.  I've been thinking about dreams that are never realized, but also about dreams that are.  I've been thinking about prayers that are answered.

I've been thinking about growing.  I've been thinking about how we never stop growing, and how I hope we're growing more understanding, more confident, and more compassionate, rather than more judgmental, more insecure, and more uncaring.

I've been thinking about fear.  I've been thinking about all of the things that I swore I wouldn't be afraid of anymore, and realizing that no matter how hard I try, I'll still be afraid.

I've been thinking about how that's okay, because after all, I'm only human.

I've been thinking about symbols, motifs, and themes, but I've also been thinking about derivatives and how the sine of pi/2 is one.

I've been thinking about how I've spent so much time thinking that I haven't had much time to do anything else.

It's hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

You're using your headphones to drown out your mind.

When you don't wear shoes you build calluses on your feet; metal strings build calluses on your fingers; and monkey bars, gymnastics, and waterskiing build calluses on your palms.

That's one of those things I can't stop thinking about, just like iced lavender, that kid playing kumbayah on the piano, salt and vinegar potato chips, lace tablecloths, emoticons, and Matthew McConaughey.

I have a new wish.  I would tell you all about it but then it won't come true.

Welcome to the planet.

With love, Dani

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


Ottobeuren Abbey Bavaria Germany

I'm not really sure what to say about everything, so I think I'll just let everything speak for itself.  My words wouldn't do it justice anyways.

It's like watching the kid you don't know but you wish you did, or the one you do know but not very well.

It's like knowing that 10 years ago you were just like that little girl, and that your mother was in 1977 and that little Russian lady was in 1914.  That the little boy who said "to hell with the Kaiser" meant it because probably his brother or his dad were killed.

It's like loving the boy who wears Nike and likes to dance and the girl who drinks her coffee in first period and cries on New Years Day, like the boy who wears plaid pants and the one who braids your hair.  It's like loving someone you have never spoken to, only because that girl you used to know was in love with him.

But it's also like loving the girl with the 80s sweater who calls you by your last name or the tall boy who always says hi.

It's like how Charlie read The Catcher in the Rye so that he wouldn't feel like crying, but that's the book that made me cry in the first place.

It's like when people take things seriously that are mostly just a joke.

It's like listening to the same song 5 times in a row and you're still not sick of it.

"Using great big words that they don’t understand."

With love,

Sunday, January 1, 2012

This is the first blog post of the year.

new year

It comes after the first sunday dinner, after the first hug and after the first slow dance, but before the first journal entry, before the first cry and before the end of the world.

I feel like I should have more to say but I guess I don't.

New years resolution: I will do better in school, because we all need to do better in school.

New years resolution: I will make new friends.

New years resolution: I will not be afraid.