HeyItsRazzy's Xanga

Encourage in the face of insecurity.

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 01:33:21 GMT

If you’re going through hell, keep going. If you find trouble, don’t go around. Go through. Replace your own insecurities with imperfections of what blocks you. The only way to try is to be tried.

Go away!

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 02:29:53 GMT

I blink too hard.
I crush my eyelids together and refuse to open them up until
it goes away.
I hold my breath.
I pause my body for a moment, hoping that I can keep the moment where everything
goes away.
I crave sleep.
I countdown from the second my alarm goes off to the one I crawl into bed.
And the day goes away.

Leave me alone!
There is no sorrow and there is no pity,
no sadness, no burdens, no grief.

I wish there was just more time.
More time to do nothing.
More time for everything to go away
so I can have everything.

Tonight was nice.

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 05:08:43 GMT

Carlos called me Cello. Wally and I went on an adventure. Kyle and I developed the actual idea of Crap: The Musical. People laughed at my stupid jokes. Khyle, Kyle, and Dandan were my body guards. My carpool made me smile a lot. We made funny faces. We stripped in front of another band warming up. Everything was JQ's fault. There were ghost cookies! We rickrolled everyone when we got back to the school. Clover, Khyle, and Monti did the Single Ladies dance. Khyle and I dropped it like it was hot.

Our performance was better. I had a lot of fun doing our show. We felt like a band, a unit, a group of happy kids. Everyone was nervous before we went on, and that was odd; usually only the new kids are nervous. But it vanished as soon as we started, and it became really fun.

I feel bad for forgetting that we were missing someone, but I don't think I'm the only one.

This is the kind of rain...

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 22:50:13 GMT

This is the kind of rain that makes me want to listen to Death Cab and Youth Group and soft, mellow, acoustic music. This is the kind of rain that makes me want hot chocolate and Christmas songs, and sticking your hands in the jacket pockets of someone you love. This is the kind of rain that makes me think of cliched movie scenes of two people sharing a warm drink and an umbrella while laughing down a wet and abandoned street.

This is the kind of rain that makes me want to bake bread, or pies, or make a nice stew. This is the kind of rain that makes me want to indulge in all the things we seem to overlook in the sun.

Maple Syrup: The First Competition.

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 16:28:40 GMT

Yesterday morning, I thought I was going to be late to rehearsal. When I was getting ready, I asked my dad to make me a pancake, and he did; that made me really happy. I was sitting at the counter eating my fluffy pancake, letting the good vibes flow. I was excited for the competition, even if I knew we wouldn't do well. But then I went to pour more syrup on my pancake, and the cap came off. I spilled half a bottle of $30 maple syrup all over the counter. I paused to look at the puddle of it and thought, "This better not be how my day goes."

And that is how my entire day went. I'd have something making me really happy, like a fluffy pancake, but then something bad would happen, like the syrup spilling all over the counter. It was being proud of Jeremy for trying really hard to catch up, then Khyle/Kyle/D being injured. It was finally doing a whole run-through of the show without forgetting anything (although it was still a poor run though...), then finding out we have to play at the football game instead of using our extra hour for practice, as originally intended. It was having a really good talk with Kyle on the way to 7-11, then having to go out to the football game in full uniform (although the lack of shakos was nice). It was the car ride with underclassmen, The Beatles, and making faces at the Percussion Girl car, then my mom not knowing where the hell she was going. It was feeling good and having good chops during warmups, then epicfailing during the show. It was relief at the fact that our performance for the evening was over, then the circle around Mr. M. It was laughing with K-Dom while watching other shows ("Well that was anticlimactic..." and "Err'one mourns the wicked, whatwhat!" and "Steven Jr, the giant turd."), then finding the frisbee people huddled around a sick Crystal.

That led to bickering and arguing and lying and stories and disagreements. I walked away in tears, I couldn't stand to see everyone fighting. Khyle found me, and we took a walk. We sat somewhere and talked for a long time. We talked about specific people in band, past years, maturity, family, each other, ourselves, the future, and I felt better. We walked around some more and eventually made our way back towards the parking lot. Fanene found us. He knew I was upset because he saw me walking away earlier. He asked what happened, I did the same. Apparently everyone was okay, and they were goofing off around the truck. I'm glad I missed it to be upset.

We went to watch the last few shows, which was fun. Khyle and Kyle were fighting over JQ, and I was in the middle of it. Dandan came by, and Kyle ended up whoring himself with both Johns. I rubbed Khyle's back, Jeremy put his head on my knees, and Monti gave me a massage. We established nicknames like ThangDuVeryMuch (Thang), Captain Crotchwater (Daniel), DingSing (D), and Bojangles (Jeremy). The announcer liked to shout the names of schools, and Jessica Schuler licked JQ's shoe for a dollar. We didn't do chants, which was kind of sad but also kind of nice. We got our scores and nobody was surprised, and for a moment, everything felt okay.

Then the maple syrup spilled; Mr. M had a talk with us all at the truck before we left. It was discouraging, and it was true. He mentioned the band having cliques and not being as unified as he'd like. I agree, we are not very close this year. And with everyone getting mad at each other earlier in the evening, it seemed even more true. During our show, I heard a field show judge say something about being "very disjointed." I know better than to let the comments I hear stick with me during the performance, but afterwards I couldn't shake it, and I still can't. It's true; our music is not together, our feet are not together, and I really do believe there's a correlation between those things and us, as a group, not being together.

It's not supposed to be like this. I said that to Khyle during our talk. This season is not supposed to feel like this. We're supposed to be a family, a group, a unit. But our show and our academics and our personalities are clashing.

We are disjointed.

Dear Razzy,

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 02:54:42 GMT

I'm sorry for neglecting you. I'm sorry for putting my words in other places. At first I thought I was ignoring you, but that's not it; I just think you deserve better. My every thought feels too stale for you. You've been with me longer than I've really been with myself, so I don't wish to slander you with maudlin and meaningless muses. I feel like words I type into this box should be as timeless as my thoughts.

But I suppose that's the trick. Words give thoughts face value and a tangible sort of interpretation, and often they fall short. There is nothing more pure than an idea. Expressing the idea can be a convoluted and precarious task, and lately I've felt like I've been failing at doing so. I do not write as often, and I do not write about as much as I used to. I write about writing, I write about words.

I want to write about people. I want to write about love. I want to write about the past and the future and how it all boils down to what we do right now, but my words just scream with picayune frailty and I feel like a failure.

Failure with words feels like devastation of an unspeakable caliber to me. And I don't wish to reflect that in you, Razzy. I'm sorry I've let you down.

-Rachelle

Art.

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 23:56:36 GMT

What defines an "artist?"

Nothing, really. Technically, it's someone who produces art, but I feel like there's more to it than that. That quality is harder to define. Maybe it's something that is possessed by someone who views the world in a certain way, a different way.

I view the world based on the way things feel. I look for elegance, not perfection. I look for simplicity rather than superfluousness. I find the most random things to be filled with meaning; an empty sky, the transparency of a glass of water, the color of someone's eyes, a simple melody, or the sound of someone's laugh... To me, they mean so much more than simply what they are.

Earlier, I was talking to my friend Jonathan about going to San Francisco. He told me a story about one time he went there and was walking around by himself. He came across this homeless man playing a guitar, and he stood and watched him play. After a few minutes, the man asked Jonathan if he wanted to play. At first, Jonathan said no, but then he changed his mind and ended up playing. He said that he "felt like he should play." It felt like the right thing to do. So he did. And he really liked it. It was a really positive moment. At some point, he was playing a Bob Dylan song, and a random man came up and started singing with them. The homeless man ended up with more money in his tin can after the half hour of spontaneous street jamming.

Now, when you read that, do you think, "Wow, he played with a homeless man?" Or do you think, "Wow, that's a beautiful moment."

I think of the latter. It's a truly beautiful moment for obvious reasons. People often never give the homeless a second glance, and interaction with them is even slimmer. Jonathan was explaining to me how he told that story to a girl in his math class, and she gave him a weird look. She couldn't believe he played with someone living on the streets and asked what he thought he did with the money.

Who cares what the man did with the money? Who cares about what the man might've done that put him on the streets? The point of that story isn't what happened before Jonathan was there or what happened after he left. The point of the story is to share a rare experience and a precious human interaction. A single moment in someone's life where everything felt harmonious.

There was so much more to Jonathan's story than him playing a homeless man's guitar on a random day in San Francisco. And if that's all you take away from that, I'm sorry.

I feel privileged to be able to see simple things and see them as extraordinary, to see beauty in random moments. On Wednesday of this week, I was walking across a parking lot and heard "All You Need Is Love" blasting in a broken-down car stereo. It made my day. It was one of the best things to happen that day. Why? Because it was beautiful. There's not much of a way to describe it. I could've listened to that song anytime I wanted on a much better sound system, but there was something about that particular instance that filled me with the most wonderful kind of joy.

A little deeper into the conversation, Jonathan turned to me and said, "You're obviously an artist." I didn't know exactly how to respond to that, but it made me involuntarily smile. I was thinking about it on my walk home, too. I'm not an artist when it comes to music; I can't improvise on my trumpet at all. I'm not an artist when it comes to drawing; I can't keep a steady hand, and my mind lacks vision for those types of things. I'm an amateur photographer, but that feels more like a hobby of mine than a form of art.

But I've considered myself a writer for a long time. Not always a very good one, but I've always tread through the periods of time where my writing is ghastly. I've come to realize that I have a knack for words. I love learning new words, and I flip through dictionaries when I get bored. Just knowing that there are so many different ways to say so many different things is a thought that I love to think about.

I use words very technically when I have to. I write well-formatted essays, I know basic grammar rules, and then some. But to me, words are more than just things you put together so people know what you're saying.

To me, words are my life. That sounds a bit cliche, but it's true. I would not be able to truly live without using words as a form of art or a form of expression.

Which brings me to the point I intended on getting to much earlier: I have been holding out on my words. I have been living by an agenda in my head, focusing on my priorities and responsibilities and making sure I get everything done when I need to. I haven't set aside the time to take a break, look at life, and write. I haven't opened my notebook in weeks. I haven't truly expressed myself in far too long.

And that's killing me. I've realized that without words being a constant for me, I only feel half-alive. The fact that I'm taking the time to sit and write all this out is rejuvenating. You have no idea how happy I am to see words pouring from my mind so easily again.

Because like I said before, words are my life. And without a life, what am I but existing?

Saturday... and some of Sunday.

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 02:28:23 GMT

MB: Single line Indian Run. Firebird arm circles. Neck stretch fail. "Just the way I like it. Wet." Noises through drill charts. Mambazo dances in drillspots. Nazi breaks with Mars. Derek making a joke. "FOR THE POWER." New assassin cards. "Spoiler alert!" Daniel = band crybaby. Successful sectionals. Clover's mouse ball. Full ensemble legitimacy. D's stand fail. October 30-fest and Homecoming!? Unknown radio stations. Crankiness. Getting home and showering. Realizing that my day is about to get amazing.

Jason's Party: Hellof roadkill. Nathan and Justin having the same clothes. "Bir-th-day-CAKE." SIR Paul McCartney. "Nathan, can I touch your boob?" Passing the "tsssss." Chocolate milk and root beer. Anal urination. "What if farts were liquid?!" Crusty Urethras. The butt pillow. A poop bag for the cake. Jew/Ethnic/Helen Keller/Sexist/Dead Baby joke circles. Making Garren cry. "If you go in that room, you're a cockblock!" Apples to Apples. "Easy: dead babies- they can't say no!" Michael justifying every card with, "C'mon, haven't you ever [______]?" Bangkok = sexy. "I'm scary, frightening, and horrifying!" Useless, Painful, Obnoxious, Arrogant, Awkward, Radiant, and Sexy. Couple portmanteaux. "Raisin?" Ridiculous stories regarding drugs and injuries. Field trip to Nina's house! Nathan "jumping" the puddle. Funny gangster walks. Stopping at stop signs. Nathan and Justin being hella ghetto. Symeon going through the windshield. "T-pain, pronounced Tie Pain." Free office chair. "This road is PAVEMENT!" New personas. Symeon carrying the chair. Spock and Sir. Michael's magical pillow. "FAT PENGUIN." More drug stories. "If you told me you were high right now, I'd believe you." Stealing seats on the couch. Dizzy, exhausted, and uncomfortable insanity. Burying Nathan. Finally sleeping... for two hours. Unpleasant mornings. Hiding. Breaking. Being found. Remembering why I love Jason. Being ridiculously cheerful. Super Smash Bros. Futuristic Christmas presents. "Like a prostitute!" Michael's tank. Jumanji and half napping. Coming home to my mom's enthusiasm. Taking a three hour nap. Not doing homework. Being happy.

This makes my life happy.

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 16:24:42 GMT

Finding random things on tumblr ftw!

Listen!

First day.

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 02:18:47 GMT

It doesn't feel like a brand new school year. It feels like we just had a long, long weekend. It doesn't help than I sit in the same EXACT place in my Pre-cal class as I did in my Algebra II class. And I'm going to sit closer to where I sat last year in French. And frick. The classes are too big. There are over 35 students in half of mine. I don't like having that many classes a day; I'm not used to it, ergo I get really worn out by the time lunch rolls around. Plus, it feels like the class periods are way too short. I loved having four classes for an hour and a half each. I have no choice to get used to it, though. So I will. And I'm tired, so of course I'm just going to bitch about it.
But this week is going to be a struggle to get through.

I do like the prospect of the future for some of my classes; I feel like APUSH and French will be my favorites. Physics could be fun if I don't lose myself in the actual subject. Pre-cal will be just like Algebra II: I'll have good days but I feel like I'll eventually get consumed by higher level math and Met's unpredictability. I have no idea about English and Concert Band. Both those classes got started all out of whack today (Why does everyone play the fucking flute?!).

I don't know what to expect from my classes and the people, and I'm not sure if I'm happy about that or not.

I feel freakin' fantastic about myself, though. I'm done with a lot of the crap I used to let get to me, seriously. I don't need anyone's fucking approval because I'm damn happy and love what I've established in myself. I'll wear what I want to wear and think what I want to think and say what I want to say. I'm me, so deal with it.