I'm not that basic, I swear.

I took that picture of myself today. I like how my eyes look in it, so I figured I would share it.

I've working on my book slowly and irresolutely. I would say I have roughly 1/2 a page of a story that is a exaggerated glimpse of part of my life, that I'm probably going to read over, delete, and repeat the process within the next hour. Starting a book is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I mean I can easily phonemically transcribe virtually any language and I can name every bone and tissue in the larynx. I have never gotten anything but A's in math class. I focus on being creative because It's the one thing that I could never get a knack for. In my room there are at least three canvasses; half painted and deserted. Embroidery thread, sewing thread, knitting needles, yarn, fabric, craft kits, wire, beads, a whole craft store is hidden in the confines of my room. All the reminders of things that have been attempted then abandoned.

Anyways, I need to write something everybody can relate to. Something they can read and feel complete and total empathy in what the story is presumably about. I need a funny/passionate/intricate/raw/deceitful/mesmerizing approach to a situation that everybody has been in before.

Easy, right? Not for me, apparently.

Well, I was thinking about relating to people. I mean it's easy to relate to people as in interests in movies, music, restaurants, cars, children (or no children). How everybody nods their heads in agreement and laugh slightly before they tell their opinion. I can relate to people on those things. I can laugh my head in agreement, and listen to music, and watch a flick with just about anybody. I want a story that can do that but on a much more intimate level. A personal confession that not everybody can accept but absolutely cannot deny.

The night is young,

Alexis Bea

Inspiration-less

My sickness has kept me as a hermit the past two days, but tonight I am going to watch a film with a friend that is in the same ASL class with me.

The inspiration for writing is lacking, so I'll update when I actually have something else thats worthy to write.

I really really want a BFF, or a man. And a job. Damnit, I'm a failure.

Love,

Alexis

"Da Penthouse"

The past three days I have been freed from the grasps of the internet with the exception of a "tweet" honoring the passing of the wonderfully talented, very creepy and indebted Micheal Jackson. On the first day of this esteemed journey I scooped up two good friends from the isolated po-dunk town of DeLand and brought those two fine gentleman to Daytona Beach with me. After a refreshing dip in the salty Atlantic we took the elevator up to the penthouse (oh so classy) and grubbed on some sandwiches. They proceeded to drink some booze and we laid back on the balcony and yelled at tourists passing by. They were then grilled by my grandpa with slurred speech and repetitive questions. The night went similarly with some loitering in front of a sketchy Mobil and drinking on the sunroof with a cool breeze at our face, listening to and envying our comrade's success stories.

I could elaborate on my emotions regarding this whole night but I think I will take a rain-check for when I, personally, am slurring my speech or am in a somber mood. But, the truth is, I don't really want to write anything negative in this entry. I mean even losing money at the dog races was fun since it was my first time gambling. Daytona really is a wonderful city full of busted hookers and ex-cons trying to skeez their way into a job and free sex, but they mostly just get drunk with tourist's money and pay for sex regardless.

So, cheers to an internet-free trifecta of days and hopefully many more to come. Maybe I will work on writing a book or doing something productive as a past time.

Vacation!

It's that time of week again, heading out to a friends house and partaking in festivities. But these festivities I actually feel like I have earned because I helped out with my roommate's student film for the past few days. Although my acting had no dialogue and my photographs were sub-par amongst film school elitists with their expensive lenses and pretentious attitudes. Nonetheless, I feel accomplished for having contributed to a team even if it was just bringing people cigarettes and roaming aimlessly around the set.

The rest of this week I will be spending time with my family in Daytona Beach, catching some rays and catching up. My cousin, Mac, crashed at my place last night after his long drive from Michigan. It is exciting that everybody on my Dad's side will be together for a large portion of the vacation since last year only a few of us could make it. Truthfully, we all need the vacation and relaxation time with the terrible economy taking tolls on everybody's funds and employment hanging on a wire. It's a good chance to just get away from it all. Plus, watching my Grandpa get drunk, eat about 30 wings, and talk like a German is premium entertainment.

Cheers,

Alexis

endless rain into a paper cup

I can feel myself slowly crumbling and disintegrating into the depth of my despair. I am caving in, and floating away. Taking personality tests like they will somehow save me from my own demise and give me insight into how my mind works. But all I get is a percentage on how different I am from others, a glorified answer with no suggestion how to fix it. I'm a perfectly polished apple and with one bite you will find my rotten core.

I don't want to me rotten anymore.

Want. The method to my madness, it drives my insecurities as they bubble to the surface and explode into a myriad of colors and shapes. All indistinguishable yet persistent. I want more have.

But tomorrow will be another glorious day, am I right?

My heart's as big as Texas

Last night I made my way downtown for a hip-hop concert featuring my good friends of Not Them, Steffanotto, and Bop Gun. I was very impressed with all of the musicians and had a lot of fun at the show. I went up there alone, and did not know really anybody at the concert, so of course that leads to me awkwardly walking around the theatre scanning the people walking in hoping for a familiar face and flirting with the doorman because I have nothing better to do. As I was standing against the wall daydreaming a girl named Emily introduced herself to me, then introduced me to the people she came with. It was a very nice gesture and she reminds me a lot of some people I went to high school with. 

The night before that I decided to "rage" as some people like to call it. Drinking beer and a drink called a bullfrog (mountain dew, vodka, and red kool aid) the whole night always proves to be a silly idea. At least fifty percent of the night I was looking down in my lap at my mobile device sending messages to a dear friend that lives in Boston. It is truly unfortunate we live so far apart though. Timing never really was our niche, being that when we met I was dating somebody. Then after that somebody and myself split apart there was lots of drama and we never really got the chance to spend too much time together. My outlook is grim as for ever seeing him again, but my hopes are still high. 

I got your message as I walk into a teenager's apartment

My head still clear and pondering my words to have my heart sent

first class ticket through my phone, you know i really meant it

Please show up and illustrate because the concept of SMSes is bullshit.

that fire in your retina is the spark that keeps this love lit.

This woman is amazing.

May I illustrate to you how amazing There will be Blood is? Just like the classic The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly there is absolutely no dialogue for the first 15 minutes of the film, yet the shot composition and activity are entertaining enough to the point where dialogue would be futile. The first words uttered in the film is a monologue by Daniel Day Lewis pitching his oil company to people that own the land he wants to drill on. His first words give you an insight on to all his cares in the world: money, and oil. As I am sure you don't want to hear me rant about this movie even further, if you have not seen it I definitely recommend it, especially if you are a P.T. Anderson fan (Magnolia, Punch Drunk Love, Boogie Nights). I could yammer incessantly about how much I absolutely love his films but I will save you the grief.

For me, watch at least one Paul Thomas Anderson film this week. 

For Now,

Alexis

"Sad are only those who understand."

Today I am about to put a good foot forward and attempt to get an internship. This will be the third time that I go into the office, since the first time I waited over an hour without being called and had to leave to go to class, the time after that they told me to come in the next day and as it turns out the lady I need to see did not work that day. So, let's hope that she is working today. Afterwards I am going to head out to the dog park and give Harvey a much needed bath, on top of relaxing and walking around at the park. After that I suppose I will meet up with a few friends and catch up since I have been out of town this past weekend.

Otherwise I don't have much to write, as I am not even sure that this entry is worth posting. But it veers away from the sappy and depressing poetry and prose from my previous entries, which is a good break. I mean I am not in a sad mood all the time. I believe that sadness and remorse is an emotion that I cannot comfortably communicate verbally or personally, which is why I write it down either in this blog or in my journal. Happiness is a comfortable emotion, easily conveyed through speech. But sadness is insightful and sometimes beautiful just because of the fact that it is rarely illustrated. Some people show sadness as anger for fear of getting hurt, and others show sadness by curling up with a good book and avoiding the world. Some people go to their best friend or lover and cry on their shoulder, because everyone needs a helping hand every once in a while.

My sadness has grown into a melancholy, wistfully carrying me into moments of happiness followed by questioning and despair. But it's really not all bad. I just haven't found what I'm looking for just yet. Maybe when I do the birds will lift this burden from my shoulders and I will walk effortlessly through life. But who really wants that?

I'm what you call a social wreck

I'm a goldfish in a shark tank, waiting to be eaten alive.

Tick tock.

My secrets and regrets are building up as the water boils and overflows onto the counter.

Burning my toes and the soles of my feet

I have been walking in this desert with nothing but a leech

sucking at my insides pulling at my heartstrings.

My betrayal is something I will keep

as it slowly works backwards until we first meet

my brain being the lion and my heart is the meat

you passed out on the floor, I passed out in his sheets.

I am despondent and remorseful for being a cheat.

Fraud, fake, sham, charlatan, quack, mountebank, swindler, gonif, snake oil salesman, fraudster, racketeer, cheat, confidence trickster, phony, con man, con artist, scam artist, bastard, bluffer, crook, charlatan, deceiver, double-dealer, mountebank, phony, racketeer, swindler, impostor, sorry.

home free!

Back in Tampa

Caught up with mom and dad

watched a Motley Crue documentary (not a fan)

ate some amazing ice cream

about to watch Hot Fuzz and go to bed early.

Feels good to be home.

Photo adventure with an old friend tomorrow, possibly. I'll post the good ones.

"In pretending to be a man in love, he became a man in love."

I talk as loud as anyone but when asked to make a point I tend to whisper

Can't you see my insecurities seeping through the pores of my skin, lathered in two different types of foundation, cheeks brushed with bronzer and eyes blacked out with two thick coats of waterproof mascara. Black and gold eye shadow distracting from the subject with beige shimmer lining the inside next to my tear ducts repeating underneath my brow. Oh but it's so much more beautiful when you can't see me. My smile is lined with twenty brackets with a wire running through, and sometimes when I drink ice gets caught between them and causes my whole body to shiver. And as you watch me sip my whiskey and Coors can you see the terrified look underneath everything? As I'm trying to forget my timid tendencies so maybe somebody will remember me, only to black out and wake up in a strange place with a strange note wearing strange clothes searching for my car keys. 

Drinking is a good idea that wears away quickly, I think maybe if I talk more I will be able to swiftly sweep someone off their feet and he would call me back, and he'll pick me flowers and write me a poem methodically illustrating his pent up feelings toward me. Yet, I am far too inhibited to even show a sign of affection, and when I do it is always uncomfortable conversation and inelegant movements.

As for now I am going to sink deeper into my room absorbing myself into arduous novels and scribbling cursive nonsense into my journal. At least until I get another opportunity to expose my timidity after communicating back and forth through text message and them meeting over beer and soggy chips and more nervous chit chat.

when we say your name our tongues catch flame

Last night I went out to a dance night called Crush, which I used to attend ritually and regularly; dancing with people that I just met and trying to make conversation in a loud and smoke filled venue. The ritual has been overdone and overplayed and the people there are even more so. Of course, I try and attempt to feel like I should be there as I make the most awkward movements on the dance floor and try and slink away for a few seconds to possibly find someone to talk to. The petty drama lingering in the girls bathroom is always a humorous and genuine way to escape the pounding repetition of the monotonous music. But the fact that all the toilets are broken and about to start overflowing is discouraging and disgusting. I may have caught herpes or the swine flu just standing in there. Even after a few drinks when my words spill out like cold water from the outside hose I still feel awkward. Then I even got caught up in a conversation with an ex-lover, as my curiosity got the best of me I spewed out awkward and invasive questions that I truly have no right to know. But that was probably the highlight of "Crush" to be quite honest. Besides the people that I went with, since we were "goonin" (all wearing the same color, meaning we were trying to start mischief) and we had each other's back.
On the Walk back to the car as per usual we were stopped by a man trying to get money, bullshitting his way into it not even realizing that about every single person in this whole city has heard the "my wife is in the hospital" sob story. Then a angry drunk started getting upset because nobody wanted to talk to him, while I subtly instigate him in hopes of some excitement or at least a good anecdote. 
As If anybody really is interested in all of this anyway. This song is good, because when I listened to it for the first time it struck me in a way that is very personal. I enjoy listening to music that helps you come to realizations and philosophies about yourself and your own life. Enjoy.




but i am still alive and loving wide eyed in my time
not a mummy shrinking in its cloths
your cat clawed out my eyes while i's distracted by your smile
and now my sockets sit like empty catcher's mitts waiting
and you ask me if there's anybody else that i'm dating.
Love,

Alexis Bea