Thursday

Nothing makes me happier
than to wake up at 10
and get up at 11

to drink earl grey
to listen to music
loud enough for the neighbors to hear
and to just

think.
meditate.
sulk.
ponder.
revolutionize.
epiphanize.
daydream.
dissolve.

And I take these days as my own
golden little private delights
and I grow contented
as I know there's no way to verbalize them

So when my family comes in
one by one
and ask me
"How was your day?"

I smile and mutter

"It was fine"

Bad Poems

The Sentimentalist

You daydream of things you do not know
from a time you do not come from

As if life would be so much better
if only you were a little bit older

Or maybe if the earth had spun
a few times less

And the hands on the clock
were spun back

Maybe then you'd know
the true taste of happiness

But what if, perhaps,
you were forever a child

Free from the unfortunate
knowledge of this world

Free to play, free to cry
without ever knowing

of war
of hate
of death

Maybe then life would be sweeter

Just maybe


Morning On the Field

creamy
silver
fog

floating
dreamily
overhead

vague
mysterious
silhouettes

black
wooden
branches

floating


Pantoum

I went for a walk
The sky was pink
The air was brisk
The clouds glowed overhead

The sky was pink
Ducks quacked by the lake
The clouds glowed overhead
Cars passed me by

Ducks quacked by the lake
The grass is green and moist
Cars passed me by
Street lights slowly turned on

The grass is green and moist
I went for a walk
Street lights slowly turned on
The air was brisk


William Carlos Williams Impression

Sorry for
being so
late
to school

I got up
but I was
very sleepy
this morning

Forgive me
but I love my bed
so soft
and so warm


 Haiku Hiccup

Write this line with five.
Now on this line, write seven.
Can't go wrong with five.


Another Monday Morning

I am so tired
My throat's in pain
I'm in a mood I can't explain

The world floats upside down
as far as I'm concerned
based on all the things I've learned

I can't decide
whether I'd be satisfied
with a God or without


I Don't Know Why

Every day I watch the sun fall
and I don't think to shut my eyes
until it rises up gain
and then I sleep when others wake

I don't know why
I don't know why

When I'm low, my tears go in a glass
and when it fills it shatters in
my hand away from others sight
I let it bleed so no one sees

I don't know why
I don't know why


An Apology/An Explanation

Look at me as I stare into space
I'm the definition of vague

My presence is weak
but my passion is fiery

I'm a splatter of paint
meshed on a blank canvas

I'm a leaf on a tall tree
enjoying the view

I am a mountain
washed away into the sea

Musical Discoveries of Early 2016

As a forward, I'd like to express that I'm constantly on the hunt for music, and I'm usually impartial to specific genres. In this post, I'd like to share the most interesting songs, artists and albums that break through the standard 4 chord progression the music industry spits out constantly today.

(Did that sound bitter?)

* THE DIRTY PROJECTORS *

This band is definitely not brand new, as they've been active since 2002, but they're really not as popular as they deserve to be. Known mostly for they're hit Stillness Is the Move, these artists go for complicated key signatures, phrasing, and unusual choices of instruments. Every song you hear from them is different from the last, and just as intriguing. Listen whenever you want to be kept on your toes and be provided with something intellectually stimulating without being classical.

Stillness Is the Move

(the hit)

Two Doves

(more obscure)

 

Other recommendations include Temecula Sunrise, No Intention, Swing Lo Magellan, Useful Chamber, Remade Horizon, Cannibal Resource, Fluorescent Half Dome, and Bitte Bitte Orca

* BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE *

This band kills it for the entire indie rock genre in my opinion. These guys can do anything from "we will make you want to run down the street and scream at 3 in the morning" to "we will make you want to fall asleep on a cloud floating to nowhere", which I'll tell you is an achievement I never knew I needed in a band.

Meet Me In the Basement

(we will make you want to run down the street and scream at 3 in the morning)

Guilty Cubicles

(we will make you want to fall asleep on a cloud floating to nowhere) 

 

Other recommendations: KC Accidental, Sweetest Kill, Fire Eye'd Boy, Major Label Debut, Lover's Spit, Looks Just Like the Sun, and Pitter Patter Goes My Heart

* WASHED OUT *

Ever heard of chillwave music? Neither did I. Prepare to wish you had sooner. The man behind the band, Ernest Greene, is stellar at arranging spacey noises into song that aren't just awesome, but also make you feel the most chill you've ever been.

Paracosm

(probably in my top favorite songs ever)

  

Feel It All Around

(snobbish laughter from Portlandia fans heard from the distance)

   

 

Other recommendations: The Great Escape, New Theory, Entrance, A Dedication, Within & Without, It All Feels Right, All I Know, Don't Give Up, Falling Back, and You & I

* KERRY COURTNEY *

I first discovered Courtney like most have; in an American Idol audition. Initially, my first impression of him was that he was another indie wannabe that wouldn't offer much new to the table that hasn't already been mass produced by The Lumineers. But as soon as he opened his mouth, I was genuinely impressed, which isn't common for me in these sorts of TV shows. Unfortunately, he was soon sent home after about a week of the competition- probably because America wasn't ready for how "scary" his performance style is. I didn't think much of it for a while until I got the song "Black Sun" stuck in my head, and I decided to look up the performance. That was when I found out that he had his own YouTube channel, his own band called Goodnight Neverland, and that he had written several of his own songs. And I freaking loved them.

Black Sun

(American Idol audition) 

 

Fall Fell Silent

 

Other recommendations: Winter Nights, Mental Illness and Old Tree by Goodnight Neverland.

 * THE RADIO DEPT. *

 

Before I promote the band, I have to promote how I found them. David Dean Burkhart has a YouTube channel that edits old footage from classic movies, etc. to new underground music, and each video of his is honestly a masterpiece. So as you can imagine, he created one to a Radio Dept. song called Domestic Scene, and I absolutely adored it. With some further research, I came to learn I adored most of the rest of their songs as well.

Domestic Scene

Heaven's On Fire

    

* OTHER SONGS *

 Femme

by Le Couleur

  

  

So Insane

by Discovery

 

  

You're Driving Me Crazy

by Squirrel Nut Zippers

 

The Other Side of This Life

by David Byrne

  

Jaan Pehechan Ho

by Mohammed Rafi

  

 

Lucid

by The Last Atlant

 

 

Happiness

by The Foreign Exchange

  

Age of Consent

by New Order

 

 

I hope I helped you discover something you liked- I'll keep on the lookout for anything new.

Little Movies In Our Heads

I've been thinking about memories- the fleeting fragments of information we collect from the beginning of our unique lives- and I've concluded that in the grand scheme of things, they're actually rather insignificant. Truthfully, each man's recollections mean nearly nothing for society or change. They're unimportant. Invalid. And if we're honest with ourselves, most memories are silly sentiments.

Still, the fact that we're capable of remembering brief snippets from when we're young- the way the sun reflected on your hair, how your skin felt after a sunburn, how lonely you felt, how peaceful you felt in the shade- they're beautiful things. These little bits of data are just for you and you alone. No one in the entire world will remember the same alignment of details that you do. They're safe in your own mind, which is powerfully unique. There's something incredibly beautiful and melancholy about that.

Can you think back to your first memory? I've been asked this for years, and for the life of me I can't settle on a satisfying answer. Maybe it was this one; when I was 3 or 4, or maybe 2 because I can't remember having a sister yet, I went with my parents to my first beach in Mendocino, and I was so awed that I kept walking further and further into the ocean, until a giant wave collapsed over me and engulfed me with seawater. I remember the shear panic I was feeling with my whole head immersed, yet utterly fascinated by the way the sky looked from underneath the wave. I wasn't strong enough to pull myself out, so I floated there in my own little wet universe, completely powerless. My parents were quick to pull me out of the water; they dried me off with a towel, and they were extremely concerned to know if I was alright. They brought me into the car we had at the time to calm me down, which I think was a dark green mini van. I remember their sincere eyes and their loving strokes on my scrawny legs covered in sand. They still look at me like that when something's wrong. And you'd think I'd be panicking after nearly drowning in the water. You'd think I'd have a deep-seated phobia of the ocean. But I have the distinct memory of laughing. I laughed about it. "Are you sure you're okay? You were in there for a while," they'd ask. I kept on giggling, which seemed to be contagious. "Yeah, I'm fine!" I said. I remember sitting there thinking about how powerful the ocean is and how exciting it is that I survived and how incredibly safe I felt around my parents.

Then I think, why exactly do I remember that? What's the significance of me nearly drowning as a kid? Why did my brain find it necessary to hold onto this piece of information and not anything earlier? Why not when I started breastfeeding or when I learned to walk? It's the fact that this memory was important enough to hold onto for 17 or 18 years that fascinates me. Our brains are incredibly mysterious, and some things we'll never get to the bottom of, like the true meaning of our dreams or our memories, but it really is amazing to think about.

Thinking Vs. Feeling: Does It Even Matter?

Alright, we get it Amelia. You took a Myers Briggs test online a while ago and got INFP. This is true. For a period, I became borderline obsessive over this compilation of 4 letters; I would make a hobby out of figuring out what type all my friends were, I researched other INFP's on celebritytypes.com and felt a deep connection to Virginia Woolf, John Lennon and Edgar Allen Poe. It consumed me for much of 2014.

Then something started to happen in the beginning of the next year that threw me off; I started scoring as INTP instead.

So at the time, I was really nerding out about my type. I was INFP all the way. I kind of assumed based on descriptions of INTP that they were similar to me only they were more obsessed with logic and more black and white than I was. The truth was, though, that even though I got INFP before, I always scored really low on feeling. The truth was that I didn't gain the same pleasure in helping people that other INFP's did. I was hardly ever deeply touched by things that happened in movies, etc. I never felt any deep, personal connection to animals. I have the distinct memory of being little and telling all my friends I hadn't cried since I was an infant.

The main reason I felt like I couldn't be an INTP was because I loved art so much. My biggest interests were always writing, drawing, and music. And at the time, I was of the understanding that INTP's were above fluffy concepts like that. I began taking multiple different personality tests, and although for a while I would flip flop between the two results, eventually I took a test that was specifically designed to tell me which one of the two I was. And guess which one I was? Yup. INTP.

My score on thinking, though, was still considerably low. The truth is that both descriptions for INFP and INTP seemed too extreme for me. INTP's are typically known as "The Logician" whereas INFP's are known as "The Idealist". While it's true that I'm extremely cynical and bitter about the world, I wouldn't say that I worship all things logical. I'm a writer, so I'm of the belief that not all things have to make absolute sense. Still, my main drive in life is, in short, a quest for knowledge of how things work and why. Does that have to mean that I don't have feelings, though?

Look up any INTP forum on the internet. Most of them pride themselves in their candid sense of apathy and will cartoonishly dismiss anyone who feels anything as incompetent and weak. A few people I know who are familiar with MBTI and all it's theoretical glory began to preach very loudly about how little they felt anything and that anyone they knew that did were clearly idiots, and honestly, it began to get under my skin. Everyone has the same capacity to think logically and to feel, because everyone's human, regardless of what they scored on some test they took on the internet. And honestly, to suggest otherwise is one of the most illogical things you can say about people.

It's similar to the theory that people are either right-brained or left-brained. I used to be very convinced that I was right-brained because of my interests in the arts, but the more I did research on the brain (one of my guilty pleasures, honestly), the more it became clear that it was just a dorky theory, and that in general, humans use both sides of their brains equally. It's only a matter of what they're using them for and when.

Because there are only 2 kinds of people on Earth... right?

For a while there, I would analyze myself in hopes of coming to some psychological conclusion. ("I must be a Feeler because I cried the other night" "I must be a Thinker because I suck at comforting my friends") and then it dawned on me- Does it really matter? Sure, this test is a fun hobby, and it helps you get a good general idea of how people think. But has it gone too far? Should I really start distancing myself from ISFJ's because they're so different from me? Should I really start only thinking of people as 4 letters? Should I really start defining myself as those 4 letters and making sure everything I say about myself sounds like I'm quoting some sort of INTP description? *Ahem* NO. I SHOULDN'T And honestly, no one really should; it's pretty unhealthy.

Of course, I've always been fascinated by the brain and psychology, and I'll probably always continue researching different elements about it. I'll probably always go to bookstores and sit in the psychology section for 30 minutes at a time skimming every book I can find about the brain. And, much to my chagrin, I will probably always consider Myers-Briggs when I analyze myself and my close friends. But I've made the decision to not make it such a defining part of the people I know that they're more my own intellectual guinea pigs than human beings. And that includes myself. Am I an INFP or INTP? Sometimes one, sometimes the other. Does that make me an emotional wimp? Does that make me an apathetic jerk? Not at all. Those are ridiculous stereotypes. Myers-Briggs is just a generalized tool to help you pinpoint how you process information; it doesn't divide the whole planet into just 16 precise kinds of people without any room for individuality.

So, in conclusion, does the difference between thinking and feeling matter? No. It really doesn't. But it's still fun.

Analyzing the Differing Opinions on Catcher in the Rye & Why I Even Care

There are three types of people in this world: those who hate Catcher in the Rye, those who love Catcher in the Rye, and those who've never read it. I, as is seemingly becoming more and more rare, belong in the second category.

I first read the J.D. Salinger novel in my sophomore year of high school with uncertainty- the overbearing book review I received from those who have already read it was that it was depressing, pointless, and that Holden was the most annoying character I'd ever read about. But, as soon as I began reading it, I assumed they were referring to an entirely different book. From the first sentence, it became more and more evident that Holden was just a fictional, slightly more bitter, male version of me. His sarcasm had me laughing out loud. I related to his hatred, and it made me feel relatively more normal. Still, though, I couldn't find a single other person who shared my opinion. They still found Catcher in the Rye to be the biggest waste of time in the history of every book they ever read.

Was there something wrong with me? Was I a psychopath for taking pleasure in a lazy, sardonic British boy's grim antics? Of course, in reading this book, we were told about the influence the book had on Mark David Chapman to kill John Lennon, which rightly caused most teenagers to take a step back from this book and read it with more caution. Still, though, I couldn't find anything in the book that had any direct messages to go out and kill someone. Therefore, I chose to interpret it my own way, and my love for the book grew even richer than before.

What began driving me crazy, though, was that I couldn't find the reason behind the title. What is a 'catcher in the rye' anyway? And then I stumbled upon this paragraph:

“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.”
― J.D. Salinger

As a class, we began discussing the overall meaning of this passage, and what we came up with was that the edge of the cliff represented adulthood, and how sudden it feels to first fall off. Holden was angry at the concept of adulthood and how fake everybody becomes in an instant because they feel they have to. The only job he would ever want to have is to be the one that saves children from having to grow up. And that was the most beautiful concept I had ever read.

Of course, I had my fair share of things in common with Holden. For one thing, I have a distinct dislike for anything artificial in people. Holden's signature pet peeve is a "phony". I'm one of the laziest girls I know, and my goals in life are anything but written in stone. But the thing that really hit home was his deep desire to return to his childhood. There is nothing more distressing in my life than the grueling process of growing up. The fact that I'm forced to move on from all the things that made me happy in my childhood like daydreaming, playing with dolls, and not having to participate in social gatherings, is a constant slap in the face. I've always envied kids. I'll watch toddlers play with their friends in the park without fear of being judged, without any responsibilities, without awareness of the terrible things in this world. I'd do anything to be in that state again. To just run around completely free. To run around in the rye.

The fact that I found this in writing from a source outside of my own diaries enthralled me to the point of putting it in my top 5 favorite books. The rest of my friends, however, wouldn't touch the book again with a ten foot pole. This tends to make for some pretty interesting conversations.

I'll get from some people that they don't like Holden because he's so unreliable. He says in the second chapter what a great liar he was, and at the end, *spoiler* he ends up at a mental hospital, so it's hard to know really how much truth he's telling. They also feel that the plot is kind of like watching a train-wreck. When you really think about it, it's more a tragedy, and admittedly, even I tend to find tragedies incredibly pointless (Can someone please tell me why I had to read Macbeth?). So, yes- those are all valid complaints towards Catcher in the Rye, and everyone's entitled to their own opinion. Mine just so happens to be that the book blew my teenage mind.

It's become popular to compare Catcher in the Rye with The Bell Jar, and I can see why. The last few months of my senior year, a group of friends attempted to start a book club (inevitably, that failed miserably) starting with Sylvia Plath's most famous novel. I was always drawn to her work- I picked up her journals at the library and I found that I related to practically everything she had to say, and my very well-read grandpa recommended The Bell Jar to me several times. The two plots had very similar themes, most notably a cynical main character who can't relate to society to the point of having some sort of mental illness. The Bell Jar was much darker than Catcher in the Rye, in that the protagonist, Esther, has a strong desire to commit suicide, but the writing was still very honest and very raw, which I loved. And as one who never gets around to reading at my own leisure, I actually sat around my room getting through chapters at a time, and I was utterly fascinated.

Again, my friends thought it was depressing and pointless.

 

It began to dawn on my that my taste in books, movies, and music has always centered around extreme outcasts, introversion, post-apocalyptic situations, and depression, which for the general public are huge turn-offs. I began to question my own sanity- why was I the only one enjoying these books? But then I realized that these were all classics. They didn't become classics by accident; since even before the 50's, people craved these dark perspectives from different authors. It assured them that they weren't alone, and that it could be much worse. And whatever your thoughts are on Catcher in the Rye, these are the driving reasons I look to literature for comfort. 

How Writing Saved My Identity Despite Crippling Introversion

When I was young, I took after my dad; I was loud, witty, and very funny for a toddler. I would crack jokes to whole groups of strangers, and the crowd would roar with pleasantly surprised laughter. I fed off of others' positive attention, and I thoroughly believed that it was my calling to become a comedian. Then, something happened. As I grew up, crowds began to scare me. I would bite my tongue when I had something to say. I began to shun the spotlight. What was happening to me? Oh, great. I was becoming an introvert.

This gradual change in behavior began when I was about 6 or 7 years old (ironically right about when school started), but even then, I saw the disappointing side effects, and I had a seemingly life-long identity crisis. I began to see that this new crippling shyness was like a gray, expressionless cloak that masked my true personality and made me appear uninteresting to the average passerby, and therefore unworthy of their time. I had become a walking false advertisement, and it infuriated me.

Making friends became a real challenge, especially in middle school. I was always very nice to people, but I never made friends with people I truly related to on a personal level, and I found it increasingly impossible to do so. I had a very off sense of humor, an almost obsessive passion for old music, and even though I appeared like a decent student, I was really a terrible procrastinator and was flunking nearly all of my classes. Of course, there was no way anyone could have known that, because I preferred to hide who I really was for fear of attention, and moreover, negative judgement. I spent a vast majority of my school days feeling tremendously misunderstood, and very out of place within my little group of academically-minded girls with Taylor Swift overflowing their iPods. I came to accept the fact that I would probably always be a little off, and that maybe I was destined to never have human friends and that I was just supposed to play Jimi Hendrix alone in my apartment full of cats. I embraced this image of my supposed destiny and I almost grew content with it.

I learned early on that I wouldn't ever be a social butterfly, and that I needed to find another way to express myself. Thus began my journey into the vast world of the arts. I tried almost everything- painting, singing, photography, guitar, drama- and although I found an amount of pleasure in each of these, (except drama- trust me, my acting is worse than William Shatner)

...none of them seemed to allow enough room for me to express every element of my personality. I wanted for people to understand that I was a complex individual that was not only shy, but also ironic and sentimental and poetic and psychotic and paranoid and strange and self-conscious and cultured. For some reason, it was always very important for me to be known and understood by other humans. Still, I was unfortunately cursed with a mouth that would never open if my life depended on it. My life had become an intense battle between my longing to be known and my fear of attention.

Sometime in 6th grade, however, after being bullied relentlessly by just about every social group, I found a form of expression that finally did me justice. It was my saving grace that enabled me to express my true personality without having to socialize- writing. Ever since I was little, I loved telling stories. My dream job was to be an author, dating back to around 1st grade. It's safe to say that I was no stranger to writing.

Coming soon to bookstores near you

It wasn't until middle school, however, that I learned that all my eccentric thoughts and feelings and beliefs could be articulated on paper well in advance, and people could read it and genuinely understand me. In the social realm, I could barely scratch the surface of my opinions to people. On paper, I could write whole monologues and actually catch people's attention. People didn't have to comb through my verbal fumblings to get to the core message. I could say exactly what I mean with zero eye contact, first impressions, or misjudgements. I had the epiphany that writing didn't have to just a be a fun pass-time; it could actually be used as a tool to get people to understand who the real Amelia was. And this was the most power I had ever had.

All throughout my school days, I kept journals that dripped with sarcastic observations, lame puns, and passionate philosophies about the future. I'd use these mostly to burn excess angst, but I found that they began to help me tremendously when school called for writing assignments. I poured my heart and soul in any assignment that allowed room for such pursuits. I could get by with essays, but I found that my specialty was in story telling.

In my freshman year of high school, I had the strangest notion that acting was my calling (WHAT were you THINKING Amelia?) and I took drama. The class intimidated me on a level I didn't know was possible, but one day, I saw a grand opportunity that made it all worth it. I decided to write a play. This wasn't at all an assignment- no one asked me to expend this amount of energy on writing something. What compelled me to perform this classic act of nerdery was not for any praise- I had just developed the desire to write a comedy to see how well it would turn out. I spent about a week putting it together, and I humbly showed it to my drama teacher for overall feedback. Much to my chagrin and overall horror, she decided to make copied for the whole class to read this amateur musical I had whipped up in my spare time. I was mortified by the attention, and I was consumed with fear over what these students were thinking of me as they read it.

To my surprise, however, the class enjoyed it thoroughly. They laughed at all the right spots and afterwards expressed genuine desire to see it performed. What amused me the most about this, however, was that when the were told who wrote the play, the average reaction was "Who?" This thing I wrote had made me go from a quiet, uninteresting nobody to a clever, talented Amelia. The experience proved to me how amazingly special this whole 'writing' thing was for me in my life, and that I could use it to flaunt the kind of person I was in the way I did best.

Of course, being an introvert still provides its fair amount of frustrations. I can't just write a letter to everyone I want to get to know. I still have constant internal battles regarding my cripplingly lame social skills. It's a bitter truth that I'll always have to put up with. Still though, I can't emphasize enough how thankful I am that writing exists. The amount of words floating in my head is endless, and one day, I may even be able to make a decent occupation out of it. My biggest weakness had introduced me to my biggest strength, and if that's not personal growth, I don't know what is.