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!

 

coin-operated boy. i like it now, being there. i like being left alone to organize rows of CDs and think and sing. i like skipping through the aisles after closing and having my manager tell me i'm cute. and making random weird jokes with my crazy co-workers, which means that i'm still a socially acceptable human being. i guess.

it rains and the colors are vividly blurred outside the windshield, and amanda's voice is screaming some feministly twisted lyric from the portable boombox in the seat next to me. and i'm singing at the top of my lungs. and i'm falling down laughing. and i'm lonely, i feel quiet and i imagine a thousand things to say to a thousand people, and i wonder how they would respond if i were totally honest. but that's not in the rules, here, that's just not what we do. we say hidden things and read between the lines until tiny cracks open up and splinter. it takes forever to form a chasm, a hole for two people to step into and stop presenting themselves and just be.

i can't stop fiddling with the ring in my lip. i'm always wondering what people are thinking of me. i wonder if i'm attractive.

i think i want to kiss the whole world.

feeling very dramatically girl-ish right now. with my dresden dolls and le tigre and cat power. :)

Posted by: noreia at 21:57 | link | comments (2) |

it seems like every day i show up at the music store in the early afternoon.  i pin my nametag onto my self-designed sweatshirt (they are very lenient with the dress code and supportive of employee creativity) and help about five million people find buck cherry or michael buble or taproot cds.  it is usually dark when i leave.

she tells me i'm different than she is, because i don't just accept things.  "don't you ever get frustrated?" i ask her.  she says that yes, things suck sometimes, but she just does what she has to do. 

it is true that i don't accept that.  life needs to be meaningful, dripping with meaning and music and beauty.  i hate when it feels wasted.  i hate when time feels stolen from me.  but now i'm doing all right because i like making jokes with my pierced, wild-haired coworkers. 

but when the frustration rises in me.  that is what i need to write about, want to write about because it produces such a chaotic smoky jumble of words shouted inwardly, lighting-streaked screams and slashes.  when life doesn't understand my hidden longings. 

Posted by: noreia at 15:14 | link | comments (3) |

oh, i long to thrash and scream, to feel the bass in my chest, altering my heartbeat under no lights but red.  to be male and female, to want male and female.  to smell the sweat and cologne and smoke.  to plead, "love me?  love me."  to be lost in a crowd, anonymous among moving bodies, to hear music again.  to bleed again.  to go far away and be fully myself, in the face of all the Christian teenagers this world has to offer.  what must that feel like -- no secrets, no lies?  and maybe i would do it, if it were only about me.  but it's not only about me. 

last night i tried to call a boy, to see if maybe he would drive me on freeways for hours under city lights, if maybe he would offer me a smoke, if maybe i could feel normal somehow.  but the phone screeched in my ear, and i read in front of a fire and slept in uncertainty. 

love me

Posted by: noreia at 08:52 | link | comments (7) |

from my comments to shadowfall:

i used to sit under the stars, too, wide-eyed at the impossibility of the universe. i know what you mean about sepia and leaves, and dancing in the rain -- remember that day we ran around as it poured, we jumped in piles of leaves? remember in the target center? remember lying on your bed listening to nutshell? i miss all that. i feel the need for depth and beauty, but i don't feel . . . as you said, connected to anyone in it. i try to awaken it in her, to recapture what we once had so naturally. i don't know. it just sucks, dude, that's how i feel. i want to go far away to college and wear clunky black boots and smoke weed and meet beautiful skinny pale boys with the blackest hair. i don't want time to keep passing as i'm sitting still. i don't know. why does it seem like the beautiful phases just have to happen naturally, that you can't really create them or search them out, no matter how hard you try? but i do try, i have to try. i will rage and scream inside, i will mark myself with curved lines and breathe in something deeper than all of this.

Posted by: noreia at 08:39 | link | comments |

a waiting period, "of the used jazz," the Lattenpink:

today i took about nine thousand CDs out of their security cases and put them into other ones -- no wait, i did that the other day. today i made "Used Jazz" labels, which are pale pink. i did put some CDs in cases, though.

heute nahm ich ungefähr neun tausend CDs aus ihren Sicherheit Fällen
heraus und setzte sie in anderen eine -- keine Wartezeit, tat ich daß
der andere Tag. heute bildete ich Aufkleber "des verwendeten Jazz",
die Lattenpink sind. ich setzte irgendein CDs in Fälle, zwar ein.

today I took approximately nine thousand CDs out of their security
cases and set her in others one -- a waiting period, I did not do that
the other day today formed I stickers "of the used jazz", the
Lattenpink am I began any CDs into cases.

Posted by: noreia at 21:09 | link | comments (5) |