nothing really matters

nothing really matters. 

nothing really matters. one of the reasons I am sometimes extremely confused by my lack of courage in uncomfortable situations and in myself. listening to Freddie Mercury repeat in a calm, collected, and reassured, and wise voice that nothing really matters makes me feel ridiculous for never realizing it before. because really, really, what matters? what are the reasons we do things in the first place? to make ourselves happy? if it doesn't make you happy, it doesn't matter. If it ruins your life, the problem doesn't matter. If you feel lost and have "lost" yourself, don't know who you are, why worry about it at all? it doesn't matter if you say it doesn't matter. who says it matters? why does it matter? why think it matters? questions like these I really like, for once everything, all together, every last emotion piling down on myself is lifted. possibly, nothing matters. and for that we have nothing to worry about. we are who we are and the world is what it is. we do what we do possibly for a reason. if happy with what life throws at you fine, you don't need to fix it, because it doesn't really matter. so simple its complex and vexing. it doesn't matter if you think it makes no utter sense. 

An adventure is what I experienced. So lost in another world that I wasn't in reality any longer. I was inside a movie, but not the star. Not the star, and not really in it. And it wasn't a movie either. Except when I picked up the phone and pretended to report that someone had been murdered, because the blood on the paper illustrated something had happened, then, I was in a movie. And when I walked up to the lit water fountain in a graveyard I felt like I was in a movie. -Just a moment, what is it I am talking about? Well how about I don't tell you this time. How about you read and try to piece it together, because that is what I did last night. I walked inside a reality of mystery, and became a detective, room to room I engulfed myself in clues without a goal in mind. What was I looking through? What was the mystery? The mystery was making sense of all the nonsense and of all the papers and of all the actors and of all the confusions and illusions and suspense. It was everything I have been craving for the past few months, a little sense of adventure, and the ability to leave the realm of everything being swell and entering danger, that wasn't real. I could do as I pleased, follow any instinct that existed within me. To follow that murderer, to follow that women eating raw meat, or to follow the man obviously driven mad, or to simply follow the smell of fake blood, and then find myself in a room of papers, full and full of insane asylum human reports. It was the ability to lose myself in places where humans faces are completely replaced with masks. And there was silence from our lips, the only sound penetrating my ears was the sound of music playing from hidden old fashioned radios, and sound tracks that told the actors what to do. It was like walking in a dream that someone else was having, and trying to decide what was happening, and how you had anything to do with it. The attention to detail in this place was deceiving, to the point where you begin to think you aren't in a house in Manhattan, that these people are not actors but are real, and everything before this was merely a dream. It was an adventure. I can't stress that enough! An adventure. Sleep No More Lily! Sleep No More.

click here for the answer

Sometimes

the key to nonsense is accepting it.

Chronomentrophobia

(art by me)

I am very unhappy with clocks. In fact, I wouldn't mind swiping them from existence all together. Back in the day, people would get up when the sun rose, people would go to bed when the sun set, people felt free and open to doing anything. Okay, maybe not that last part. Back in the day, people my age worked in factories. But beyond that... I really do wish we didn't invent clocks.

Without clocks, for one I would never be late to spanish class again. Or, let's see maybe I still could be late. I would not get there by the time the sun rose over the tree. Oh my flying geese! There will always be a way to measure whether or not I am late. But that is beyond the point!

What I personally have against clocks is the sense of a timer they send. Tick, tock, tick, tock. TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK. Like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. " I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date! No time to say hello, goodbye! I'm late! I'm late! I'm late!" But after a while I think... what am I late for? Nothing. Nothing at all. It's just me being afraid of time. The fear that if I don't spend every second doing something productive soon enough I will find myself an old women! Possibly a hobo at that if I don't get any studying in... Don't get the education up my spine and get a decent job. I mean, now that I have these free bagel hobo connections being a hobo isn't as bad but I still don't like the idea.

GAHHHH. It's 6:21. I--I--- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I think I have Chronomentrophobia. And possibly a worrying desease too.

Goodbye NEST+m

Goodbye Nest. I hate you. I love you. I'll never wear your nest shirt again, I'll miss your rotten chicken wings, and frozen milk. I'll miss you're squeaky clean building, of which you have spoiled me. My high school building is an ugly duckling compared to you. 6 years I spent under your walls, and as much as I'll miss them, leaving is what I've been dreaming for since I entered.

I'm going to miss my nerdy school. The innocent little nesties, with khaki pants, nest polos buttoned up, bulky sneakers, colorful braces, rolling backpacks and frozen milk in breakfast cereal. Insane teachers, screaming over jeans. Good bye nerdy nest. I think I might miss you.

Oh Regents.

Oh Regents. What a stress you bring to these children's lives. Children of middle school. WHY? Why must you come among us and spoil our time to be free and play? We are in 8th grade! We should be playing like little babies. Oh but no. Oh but no. We take these tests. We work till the last moment. We get no rewards. No nap time. No play time. Nothing. Oh Why? NEST. Why?

Only 13

A stuborn artistic drama queen, stuck inside the nerds point of view. Only 13, already stressing over life, as though she's 62. Already declining adventures for her room. Slumped in front of the computer screen, watching minutes and hours fly by the second, the clocks hand moving at uncontrollable speeds. It's unpredictable the pathway she will take. The view in her eyes, with no mistake a yearning to do what she loves. Which is to write. Which is to perform, to act, to sing. The stress of being a teen.

Food Fight?

How is it June 2nd already? I mean really?

Does it not seem like last month was February to you? School is really starting to fly by. Don't you remember being little? When the school year went by like decades, and everyday was long and fun. But now. Now everyday goes by like a blink of an unaware eye. And when I finally realize what time it really is. And what part of the year it is, and realize what this all means... I am just like, WHAT?

Graduation is in 20 days. Schools out in 26, and there are as little as 15 full school days left.

In 20 days, I am going to officially be a High school student. AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

High school is such a scary word. At least for me. I just remember High school as this place big people went to. I remember entering Middle School and thinking the same thing. I mean, life is going by so fast, I just... It's creepy.

Soon enough I'll be heading off to college, and my little closet sized room will be used for storage. Or for my sister. And then, I'll be off. And be thinking the same thing about Adult Hood. And then, BEFORE I'll know it I'll be a grandma.

I just don't want to miss out on anything. I want to live it all to the fullest. So for the last day of School at NEST +m, this school I have just barely stayed a live at. Just barely held myself back from ripping apart, I want to leave a mark.

I know the High school senior class a few years back let grasshoppers loose in the school hallways, some people lit a garbage can? But all I really want, is a food fight. An organized. CRAZY, food fight. Where I get ketchup in my hair and completely assault my clean Nest shirt. I want to throw a pie at some friends, and receive some back, and I'm good.

I want to arrive at school with horrible hair, and mess it up more. AND. More then most things. I want to throw pies at my teachers. SO what do you sayy??

Let's.

Be free.

What is this world we live in?

Do you ever feel trapped inside a wall of restrictions?

I wish we could just be free.

I need to go berserk one day.

Be the spectacle of the streets.

Throw banana peels at tourists.

Jump in front of cops and scream.

I need to act on impulses.

I need to fly.

Run in the wind.

Run in the rain.

I'm tired of thinking.

Of worrying.

I need to get it in my brain that life is short.

And before something drastic happens, I need to make sure we all understand it.

I need to go to school, and not care what people think.

Be who I am.

Scream randomly.

Jump when excited.

And tell people what I think when I think it.

I need to act,

I need to do what I love.