My interests are pretty much contained within the areas of writing and music. I also enjoy photography, but it's not where my attention goes. I am the entertainment editor for my High School's newspaper, Eye Of The Dragon, and I aspire to do music journalism as a career. As for music, I play a variety of instruments, but I'd rather listen to someone else's music than play. My favorite artists/bands are- Death From Above 1979 Stars Elliott Smith Trophy Scars Minus the Bear The Postal Service Tyson Loveall You can visit me at my last.fm to get a more in-depth idea of what sort of music I listen to. http://www.last.fm/user/heykellyhey There is the url to that for you. I enjoy reading, too. Kerouac, Ginsburg, Bryan Charles, Kafka, etc. Suggestions are always welcome. But anyways, I am a friendly person, and I love talking to new people with new ideas and thoughts on things, so pay me a visit on myspace or last.fm. Send me a message! I'd love to get to know you.

I press my nose against the window and cloud it with anxious breath. The car keeps driving. I turn around and sit down for the 7th time that hour. So much time spent waiting. Waiting for someone to call, someone to believe, someone to arrive. Someone to leave. Fingers leave marks of pumping hearts on prefect panes. I keep on saying I don't care if they ever call. Although I really do, but you already knew that, didn't you? You know the way my head works; you know what I think of when I lay awake in bed at night, trying to stay so still that I can feel my heartbeat in my palms. I hate being so transparent to you. Honesty? What use is honesty anymore? You are slamming doors and holding your head in your hands but it's not doing anything to help, these things you could never control. Why would I even bother placing a shaking hand on your shoulder and speaking to you in my quivering voice when I know it's the last thing on your mind? That is why I am leaving and you are heaving up your late dinner, sitting on the curb outside your father's old house. That's why I am choking as I try to walk home. That's why I don't make it the whole way without stopping to sit down and compose myself. Why don't you believe me when I tell you I love you? Why do you think so little of yourself? Why are you wasting your summer drinking your parent's cheap wine and sleeping all day when you could be out wandering with me? You are better than you give yourself credit for, but not for long. Once your intelligence atrophies, once you become a self-pitying piece of shit, that's when I'm done. I've seen what you can do to yourself, and I won't be a part of that ever again. Oh, and time! Without the steady heartbeat of the clock on your warped walls, perhaps you would wake up and learn to walk though the empty summer streets again. But until then I will be waiting… Your face is slowly growing pale and blurred until there is nothing left of your features but smudges on a smooth-skinned canvas. You reach out to calm me but I shy away from your empty touch. I am watching you flail blindly at the air, seeking out my face with hands that bear no fingerprints. Is there any way you can grow feeling for me? Typewriter pages are flowing from your mouth and I am pulling them out one after another, reading through all the conversations we used to have when we were in love and I was happy and you were alive. Where did all this pavement come from, and why am I laying on it? My arms are covered in paper-thin scars from running through the woods to reach you, and they remind me of the time before lies and death. I am backing away from what remains of you standing before me as I read. Suddenly I turn and hold your rigid body as tight as I can. I caught a glimpse of a word, a glimpse of a promise. "Always."

There you go. If it's all you can do, it's all you can do. End of story. So, Kelly. Can we build a ladder to the sky soon? Yes yes yes. In fact, how do you feel about right now? I miss the stars. I've been leaving my house at about three nearly every morning for the past week. I've just been wanting to start walking up to the sky. Right now sounds very, very good. I wish so much. Honestly, I want to, you know? Let's build it. GOGOGOGO! I'll get the hammer. You know, we won't even need a hammer. We can build it out of memories and failed attempts at loving and realizations and genuine love for life. Yes. But surely a hammer is needed to compact all of those things together! no, we can spin a yarn out of all our unsaid apologies, mine alone will be thick enough to hold it all together. We will paint the night sky with our sorrows and regrets, as our feet glide across the silent tranquility. We will be sewing the seeds of redemption, Kelly. And never will anyone on earth have seen anything as beautiful as when all the seeds begin to grow and flower and burst into eternal bloom. They will throw a party that will last for eternity. But we wont go, someone has to take care of the plants. That has to be one of my favorite message chains of all time.

Maybe if I sang you a song or wrote you a note you would take me back. Maybe? I made a mistake, honestly, this is all my fault and I can't be happy living with this around my neck. I told you I'd send you a letter and I should've had it in the mail by now but I haven't even started. Every time I try I end up ripping pages out of my notebook and crying. And I don't cry so easily, you know that. Only, only when? When my grandma died, I think. Maybe a few other times, but you know what I mean. What I'm trying to say here is that I'm going to write this fucking letter tonight, and it's going to explain everything. It's going to be everything that went unsaid between us, and everything that was said. It's going to be every hug and every phone call. Every time I saw you, and every measured moment of the last few hours I ever saw you. I remember that night at the Ike Box, holding hands and meeting that boy and crawling through windows. What was the band again? I don't even care anymore. All I know is that September 29th, 2007 was the last day I saw you, and I don't want it to be the last day ever. We had something, we were close. I trusted you and knew you in ways I never have before or since, and I probably won't ever again. Unless somehow you turn over your stubborn ways for maybe just a few seconds and forgive me. Anyways, wait for my letter, it'll come, I promise. I just know that this is my last chance, and I really want to make sure it's perfect. I loved you, I still do. I can't say how sorry I am in words, but I'll try.

So it's getting late and I'm sitting here watching my dead clock grow teeth and spit out vulgar words at this angry room. I'm thinking about thinking about thinking about. What I always think about. You know what I mean, but you don't pay any attention to my obvious scribbling across your closed eyelids. I'm standing above you as you dream of piles of garbage devouring the forest. I'm watching as you clench your face and writhe in the middle of your bad dream. I'm jealous. Every moment of my existence is a bad dream. My fingers crawl across the keyboard, searching for a pen. All my pens have burst and spilled their ink across the wall in a pattern only decipherable by you and your subconscious. There are shapes shifting in front of you, everything is melting in front of your eyes so you are closing them once again and watching the flashes of yellow on the inside of your lids as you convince yourself you are alone and safe. But you aren't safe because where am I? Where is me and you on this warm night in July? I'm so young and you're so you're so you're so different. You are mature in every way I am not, and I feel five years old whenever I hear you call my name. I can sit here and wish for all my dreams to come true but what the hell would that do? My dreams are full of dark figures and mistrust and injury. Who would I be to wish for that to become my wakedness as well? I pull the sheet over my head and pretend I am invincible. Sleep comes violently. And don't stop calling, you're the reason I love losing sleep. I am pacing around my room because I am not tired even though it is nearly 7:45 AM and I have not yet slept tonight. I have music playing but it isn't the right song. It is never the right song when it isn't about you. I shut it off but immediately wish I wouldn't have. I settle on Broken Social Scene and go sit on my bed. The beat grows and grows until it is standing in front of me, forcing open my mouth and crawling inside on legs made of snare with bass antennae waving. I lose consciousness and run into a concrete wall of emotion. Life is death is life again. I take the time to look at the new pictures on the updates list. People people people. Where have you been? What have you completed? Nothing? Same here. I recoil at your touch and turn away into a quivering wall of embarrassment. You don't understand, you never do. But that's why you mean so much. What purpose do I give to these speakers? Eat electricity, shit music. Turn the knob to the right and wear the fuzz like my favorite sweater. It is late and I am cold. Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, a drawing of mountains falls out. I cram it onto my wall among ticket stubs from seeing my favorite bands live and pictures from when I had friends I could love and my calendar that has the different star formations on it. Love is love is love is. I stand up and run. The tall tall grass brushes against my fingertips. I take the risk and close my eyes to run blind. There is nothing but flashes of light and dark on my eyelids and the grass against my hands and my feet guiding me so recklessly through the field. I stop and spread my body out on the ground, the sun is warming my skin and maybe even a little bit deeper than that too. I am living and dying and laughing and crying and I am breathing I am breathing and then not.

Carbon copy carbon copy carbon copy. Stop, think, expand. Maybe if you could spend just a little bit of time looking out instead of looking in, you would understand that it's no use elaborating when there's nothing to elaborate. You can spend all the time in the world analyzing your situation, but nothing will make it better. Sit back and relax. Spend more time laying in the grass than you do sitting at your computer. Spend more time driving in a car with your favorite music playing than you do watching television. Everything is relative, I just hope you're making these relations in the proper ways. Don't be too judgmental, but don't be too forgiving. Hold your head up, but not too high, or you'll trip on your own fucking feet. And on and on and on. I'm 15 and I already feel old. I am already tired of everything. I proclaim hatered more than I do love. I back out on things readily, and prefer to sleep than to do much else. But there are times when I am with someone who makes me excited and happy. Elated voices will fill my bedroom to the brim and slowly crush me. Maybe I'll die young and innocent. And time is the glacier that smooths out old wounds.

In all honesty, I'm shitting lies. I think I leave Wednesday morning for Ashland, and that's the day of Scout's other party. I really want to go, I want to say fuck it to all of my responsibilities and my family and all these plans that I've made that I will break and reform over and over again in these next two years before I graduate. I don't want to sit in a car for five hours listening to music and getting carsick from trying to read before I finally give up and just fall asleep with the murderous vocals of Stars and the subtle sway of the car to comfort me. I want to sit in your driveway and cut hair in the park and get taught how to longboard by the best smelling girl in the world. I want to spend the Fourth of July on someone's roof, identifying constellations or maybe just not caring about them at all. I want every week to be like this one. Where I know my place and my responsibilities, and as long as they're fulfilled, I can go anywhere and enjoy this summer. I love the freedom of a bed and a friend. I love only being home one day of the week. I relish in the sun and the grass and the lack of stress. A car door slams. My mom and hermano mejor are home from Montana. My week of stress-free living is over. But that's okay. Sometimes I'd trade in all that mellowness just to have dinner with all my family. Mom and Dad and Steven and Brandon and Ryan and Henry all crowded around the table. Maybe Catie or Anna thrown in there too. Steven opens the fridge, complains about the lack of food. I finish my glass of water and smile. Everyone knows I've never been good at missing people. I walk back into my room and lay down on top of the frenzy of blankets and pillows and papers full of my incomprehensible scrawl. I press my face against the cool comforter and close my eyes. A Stars song chronicling a murderous affection comes out of the player and crawls up across my cheek with its delicate insect legs. I lay still, too scared to brush the feeling off. The song ends and I stand up quickly. They'll be here to pick me up in an hour. I grab my book and leave my room, pulling the heavy wooden door closed behind me. The stench of fish hits me in the face, and I feel sick. I say a quiet thanks in my head for having not eaten yet today. I sit down on the couch, just far enough out of the traffic lane of my house, and I begin to read, but I never find my interest. I put the book down on my leg and turn to look out the window. I think about you and immediately look away. Something about the sky always reminds me of you, which kills me. Because the sky is everywhere. I lay down and fall asleep contorted on the couch, wishing that my cat would come sleep with me. My eyes close and I am calm. Fade out.

During lunch, we (Jade, Jennika, Karly, and myself) went to the tree, and on the way there, I saw a bunch of flowers in the field. And they were all so pretty, I had to get them. So I was going through the field picking them, and when my hands were full, it was time to go back to the sidewalk. So I ran towards it. Little did I know that there was a hole hidden in the grass, covered up by more grass. Soooooo, pretty much, I was running, then I stepped in this superdeep hole, then I fell. And I just lay there laughing. I have grass stains on my knees. And that was the best part of my day, falling.