vanilla raindrops

email: noreia@planet-save.com.

This is my blogchalk:
United States, California, sometimes Steiermark, Austria, something bored teenagers say when they speak useless words into brick walls of cotton candy, English, German, Noreia,creative writing, fiction, reading, college student, strange, cat power, mogwai, arap strap, dresden dolls, white oleander, the earth, my butt, and other big, round things, welcome to the dollhouse, fuckers.

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by BodyPUNKS!

 

the world is turning itself in strange elliptical bananas.  stay tuned for updates.

in the meantime . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Posted by: noreia at 13:04 | link | comments |

R--

so maybe i shouldn't have written back so quickly. yes, i was angry. but i felt that the letter i wrote was more honest than angry. and i didn't want to wait, because i might have changed my mind about writing.

when the mail came yesterday and i saw your handwriting on the envelope, i was happy. i mean, it's always nice to get mail. and i like you, of course. we have fun together.

"why aren't you writing me back?" your curled handwriting floated in the middle of the line. "the whole point of me writing you is to get responses and advice and the like, my darling. what's up with that? i hope the reason you haven't been writing isn't because she's taking up all your time . . ." and you made it clear that you were more than slightly annoyed.

and yes, my darling, isn't that how it's always been? the whole point of -- not just our letters, but our friendship -- for me to respond to you, to give you advice? for the first nine years of our friendship, the point was for me to be your clone. at least that's what i wanted. i gelled my hair like yours. i learned the words to your angry rap songs. at thirteen, when that first cigarette was passed into my shaking hand, i lifted it to my lips. and you laughed because i didn't inhale.

and then high school. you laughed at my new friends, the ones who didn't spend their weekends shoplifting from the amusement park, the ones who hardly knew the meaning of the word stoned. the ones who were nice to people. for the first time i found it was possible to accept people who didn't wear nike cortez's and creased dickies, whose every other word wasn't fuck. and i found that they liked me, for me.

i hid the books from you, the ones about spirituality and self-discovery. but then, i was used to hiding things from you, hiding myself from you. you laughed when i "found Jesus" -- and then, for the first time, i knew what it was to stand up to you. "so what are you, a Christian now?" your footsteps slapped the hot sidewalk behind me, and i sucked in my breath, afraid to turn around.

"yeah," i heard myself say, and i exhaled. and your boyfriend, the shy mexican boy who'd known me before you met him, back in fifth grade when i was the tall, awkward eleven-year-old and had only one friend -- he said something like, "that's cool." but i could feel your judging eyes on the back of my head.

you laughed at my new best friend, and that was maybe the first time you felt threatened, that was before you all-out hated him. you called him gay, and as i wrote back to you yesterday, "i have to give you credit for one thing with him -- you were right -- he's 'out of the closet' now, and i think it's great -- he's not afraid to be himself. i totally respect him for being honest with himself and everyone else, even at the risk of judgment. plus, he's still just a really cool guy."

you hated God because he stole me.  four years later, i hated God too -- but i didn't tell you that. because it was too personal, because you didn't know the months, years of history behind it.

because you didn't ask.

i've tried to be there for you. i've swallowed my anger -- like that day i had a needle stuck in my neck for the tests to see if i had cancer, and you called me later and talked for ten minutes before asking, "how are you?"

"i'm tired, and my neck hurts," i said, and you said, "oh, i'm sorry . . . umm, are you busy? can you take me to albertsons?" i took you, and everytime i turned my head to watch for traffic before making a turn, the stiffness in my neck got worse. i mean, i should have said no. i probably should have said it then: "look, i'm really not in the mood right now." i don't even know why i didn't. but yesterday, when i got your letter, the first two pages complaining about me spending time with my best friend (who was there that albertson's-day, who sat on my bed as i cried, who stayed in my hospital room last summer after my surgery, half-sleeping in a stiff chair with my sister for two nights, who wrote me songs, who knows me, knows me), and then the next two pages complaining about your fiance-boyfriend, well, i was just tired. just tired of putting on this patient-kind-loving-there-for-you face, when i didn't even know why i was doing it anymore. something in me just kind of wanted to break, wanted to be honest about it all for the first time -- ever, really.

so i wrote back.

i told you i didn't mean to hurt you, but did you ever think about why i spend so much time with her? i tried to explain it. and i dropped it in your mailbox.

i haven't heard from you yet, though you've called here, asking to speak to my sister. i probably did hurt you. i'm sorry about that. i love you. i do feel tinges of regret. but on the whole, i think, i feel right about this. it's a start, at least. i'm twenty now, and somehow that feels . . . more free. i realized yesterday, i don't have to do anything i don't want to. i can do anything i want. i can be anyone i want.

i'm going to europe in a few months. you were asking for my time, angry that i was spending it all with her. instead, i gave you my heart, my mind, my truth, on paper. i hope that you can deal with it. i hope it works out for the good.

in my experience, somehow the truth always does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Posted by: noreia at 15:37 | link | comments (5) |

dear girl at the library:

i like your hair. it's long and blond, and hangs in four or five silken braids around you. and your pants -- red and black plaid -- which i didn't see until you stepped back from the counter to get my change. there's something about the contrast -- those pants you would expect to see on someone with jet-black hair and many piercings, under your pale face dotted with freckles, your repunsel-hair. your computer wasn't working, and a guy behind me in line said, "i've got a hammer." you said, "yeah, that'd be good if i wanted to smash the computer." i said, "maybe you could just threaten it." so you shook your finger at it, and then grabbed the nearest object -- the plastic bag holding two danish casettes and a danish phrasebook, which i had just returned. brandishing it toward the computer screen, you said, "i shake danish at you." "i shake danish at you," i repeated, and i wanted to laugh and laugh.

thank you for renewing my book, which has been overdue for three months now, and which is probably in a box at my friend's house that will not be opened until after her family moves to the new house -- and they've been saying they were going to move since last summer, so the book might be in some sort of strange time capsule, i'm afraid. but thank you anyway.  and keep shaking that danish.

on another note, the merriam-webster (dictionary)'s word of the day today was "cloud-cuckoo-land." many days i see their emailed word in my inbox and just delete it (which does defeat the purpose of signing up for the emails to become more . . . verbose, doesn't it?) but for some reason, probably because it was a funny word, i opened it today, even though i was late to clean my neighbor's house. it said,

The Word of the Day for April 23 is:

cloud-cuckoo-land \klowd-KOO-koo-land\ noun
: a realm of fantasy or of whimsical or foolish behavior

Example sentence:
If the boss really thinks he can up productivity and
increase profit after the company is downsized, he is living in
cloud-cuckoo-land.

later, as i ran the lemon-polish-soaked cloth over my neighbor's wooden chair, i was listening to thom yorke sing, "and this just feels like . . . spinning plates . . . i'm living in --" and that's where i always thought he was saying something similar to "calcutta lights." but actually, the first word sounded more like "cloud." and then i thought, wait a minute. i strained to remember that word from the email, and sure enough, it made sense. and now it seems obvious that mr. yorke is telling us that he's living in cloud-cuckoo-land, and why the heck didn't i see this before?

and this just feels like . . . spinning plates . . .

i'm livin' in cloud-cuckoo-land . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and this just feels like . . . spinning plates . . .

our bodies floatin' down the muddy river . . .

Posted by: noreia at 18:13 | link | comments (2) |

 i don't know this guy, but my camera caught him watching the sea lions in san francisco three or four years ago.  i wonder where he is now.  maybe he shaved his head.  maybe he lives in india.  maybe he's become a woman.  does anyone know?

i dreamt last night that a doctor named anne called and told me that some tests had come back, that it was 100% certain i didn't have cancer, that i could stop this annoying diet.  i was skeptical.

i dreamt last night that i was in copenhagen.

last night there was a moment, when everything came together in an orange and black haze as i walked across the court.  looking down at the clarity of my hand, my rhythmic footsteps over the concrete.  talking to her and i was floating.  i turned around and the moon hung suspended under a bright point of starlight above the house, wow, look at the moon.  against a depthless blue sky.  i liked the colors and i liked the haze, the dreamy feeling and it all came down to that one moment.

i'm sorry i posted your photo, unknown sea lion watcher.  i hope you don't mind.

Posted by: noreia at 12:59 | link | comments (1) |

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

meow.

Posted by: noreia at 02:57 | link | comments |

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

tenth grade concert.

Posted by: noreia at 21:41 | link | comments |

remind myself to gasp

so i wake up and think, reality. and i go back to sleep.

i get up later, make too-strong coffee, read about fast food and prodigies. i'll be eating oatmeal for a month, i don't mind, yeah, lost my mind, yeah. outside everything is tinged with a hope of rain, with that grey and chill and the green of the tree leaves that just looks like it wants to be wet. downpour, rain down from a great height. i love to look out the living room window at the neighbors' giant maple tree. trees are wise, i feel it. i feel lit. i feel that i feel them, i touch their bark where teenagers have scawled their names in hearts with pen knives. "i'm sorry," i whisper upwards to the ancient-spirited branches. trees are sad, i think. these trees, confined to sections of sidewalk, ignored except to be carved into and pruned. i think they cry, i think i can hear them. they make sad music and it soothes me and it bleeds me.

"I am amazed by the beauty of everything," she wrote, "but in a numb, accepting way. I worry and waste my time and I find myself having to remind myself to pray, and remind myself to gasp."

Posted by: noreia at 21:22 | link | comments |

CDs i got for my birthday:     mogwai -- "happy songs for happy people"     arab strap --"the red thread"     trurl and klapaucius -- "sing sweet software!"     lake trout -- "another one lost"     mimi -- "soak"     and this CD i can't find samples for online, punk folk (various artists) -- "acoustic revolution"

 

Posted by: noreia at 22:21 | link | comments (3) |

"Hey, I just turned that pigeon into every man in America." -- Denise

 

Posted by: noreia at 22:02 | link | comments |

we took a road trip along highway 1.  i found this magazine in a border's bookstore in santa cruz.  i think i just spent the last half hour looking through the "notes" section of their site.  the whole magazine is a collection of things people have found -- letters, notes, lists, photos, etc.  fascinating.  foundmagazine.com.

Posted by: noreia at 21:31 | link | comments |

i was at two malls in one day yesterday.  when i was eleven, i went to a mall for the first time, and it reminded me of an airport.  i was familiar with airports, and i liked them, so i liked the mall.  i was shopping for overalls, which were "cool," because my best friend wore them.

i always think that the mall is full of stereotypes.  extreme examples of all kinds of people.  purple-haired, spiked fourteen-year-olds.  big hispanic families with crying babies in strollers.  girls walking together wearing different shades of the exact same flare-leg jeans, and matching t-shirts with sayings like "drama queen" and "angel."  they all blend together as i watch them, looking for someone who might stand out.  i find the guy with scuffed sneakers and slightly messy hair, walking alone.  i smile at babies while their mothers talk on cell phones.  i sit on a bench in the middle of the whole mall, debating on whether i should take a vicodin because i have the prescription, because i'm curious as to what it would feel like, because it might be nice to slump in a relaxed haze and listen to the hum of humanity echo off the high ceiling.  but i put the pill back in the bottle, because it's stupid, because i am already seeing things the way i want to see them, feeling reality.  the way vision blurs slighty, is doubled, at the very tiny edge of what i see through my glasses and what i see around them.  the way people at the other end of the mall look like they're walking in a tunnel of white light, their sneakers gliding over shiny floors, motion, twilight.  and the hum, the surrounding noise of everyone and everything, which sometimes is so loud and rude and invading -- i now think it's calming.  i drink an orange julius and stare at the giant paneled TV screen in the disney store.  and i wait for her to return.

i have decided that before i leave in two months, i am going to raid the foreign film section of the local video store. 

Posted by: noreia at 13:32 | link | comments (1) |

"Everybody has to go to the bathroom -- even midget turtles." -- spike

"We have funny chest things." -- spike

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Posted by: noreia at 11:10 | link | comments (3) |

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

we are so beautiful.

Posted by: noreia at 11:43 | link | comments (1) |

"I would like to go in the funny shop, and then I would like to buy some cheese." -- Astrid

 

"I don't like being silent in my whole head all the time." -- me (I meant to say, "my own head")

 

"My butt's . . . fuzzy." (laughs) -- spike

 

Mom: "Hey, a video store."

Dad: "Yeah, that's where we got our wedding rings."

 

"Well, I guess the pipe store went the way of the wild goose." -- my dad

 

when moonlight makes the horizon city lights

and the ocean glow like dawn . . .

 

Posted by: noreia at 10:43 | link | comments |

"This is the highest building in town. On the day of disaster, many people gathered on this roof to see the beautiful shining cloud above the Atomic Power Plant. It was the last thing many of them ever saw.
From here, the shining cloud above the reactor must have been a staggering sight.
Standing on the roof of the highest building in this empty town brings a feeling of being completely alone in the world - like this whole town is."

-- an inside tour of chernobyl, which i got from sb's lovely blog.

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She smiles at secret things.

She watches the moon behind white wisps.

She mouths the words.

She misses her soul.

Lately they've been separated

and she thinks this is a preparation for

walking alone near seas under grey skies.

She hardly cries anymore

and when she does

she doesn't know why

or what it feels like.

What can she want?

She has everything:

a beautiful soul

a grey country in the future

and the simple, starlit assurance

is now closer, within reach.

Posted by: noreia at 10:39 | link | comments |

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Posted by: noreia at 10:33 | link | comments (3) |

from my journal, april 1 04 (along highway 1)

i am open to those white cows, and to the way the grasses roll like waves.

if the water should cut my mind, set me free, i don't care.

to be in peace with all humanity and the web of things

to accept anything from You.

 

i write because it's the cheapest and easiest medium. painting a picture in words but now i'd love to use a camera, capture blurring blending scenery, green and motion and waves.

Oh my God, the ocean.

why did i see those gulls right when it looked like they were flying in a straight vertical line with each other, stacked, from this angle?

"i'll meet him there, water and air."

God, do you hear me? here i am, open to anything. look at me, i'm trying.

pigeon point lighthouse youth hostel

Posted by: noreia at 09:57 | link | comments |

"when i was little, i thought climax was another word for elephant." -- spike

Posted by: noreia at 09:47 | link | comments |