My room is heavy with shit. I can’t think straight through it. I don’t want to clean it. Hopeless. I am letting my surroundings own me lately. A direct relation to my psyche, which I don’t bother to clean up either. It just sits there and turns slowly with the movements of my day, attempting to keep up but not trying too hard. At night it finds itself blank and empty and bed-bound. That is the most exciting thing it has to look forward to, because at night in can play with whatever it wants. With fire. Free of the shit of the day. Free of time and body. And yet, it just waits for a clearing in the day. In some day, somewhere in the future. Always there is anticipation… for an open space to seep through and seize all the flying shit, item by item, intercepting their orbit around my room and my brain, scooping each thing into a trash bag. Little does it know, I never take out my trash!

I always have these dreams that make me feel pathetic all over again.

On a lighter note, I will tell about the past couple, oh say, weeks. I never write in this thing. I don’t know, I have always been very particular about the feel and the atmosphere of who is reading, who there is to read up with, and such for online journals. I liked Xanga for so long but it became tainted because I would write things that were colored because of the people who I knew would read them.

Staging has started off really beautifully. The first day I was definitely completely present dramatically, which made yesterday, a less present and tired day, feel totally unsatisfying. That is okay though because some days can be just for rehearsal’s sake…I guess.

Lately I have been thinking about my own assimilation into the “normal” crowd. Or at least, what I considered as more “normal,” “bland,” “boring,” when I wasn’t so much those things. I would say opera singers, as opposed to other artists of sorts, are way more bland. I decided it was easier to make friends with people I wouldn’t normally be friends with because of convenience. I stopped thinking so much about.. everything…and decided that people who are happy are just uncomplicated.

I know that in some areas I may have “improved” because of what others thought of my hygiene (meaning my kitchen, laundry habits…) or at least attempted to improve. But I think I sacrificed a lot of other things. And I don’t those people should have been complaining anyway. At least, I have never complained about anyone’s….anything before. I try to be as easy going as possible. At least, I really am on the inside. I really don’t care.

Anyway, this is just one example: how I feel about push-up bras. I would never, ever wear one. Sometimes when I am with my cousin, however, I will buy things I wouldn’t normally buy since she is a big shop-a-holic. Just, sort of as an experiment. I bought a black and white polka dotted one from Victoria Secret just because it was on super, super sale and I liked the pattern. The way it made my boobs feel was O.K. and I figured that for certain shirts sometimes it might come in handy. But anyway, my girlfriend at the time really liked it and told me it looked hot. I told her they aren’t really my boobs.. all of them. She said, “I know, that is the point of a push-up bra.” Okay, I feel like that should have been a red flag. I am just so used to girls in sports bras, or no bras at all, being my objects of affection. I felt like an object then, and come to think of it now, I have often felt that way with her.

“Just because things are different, doesn’t make them bad. (Hansel, Gretel, they’re the finest names we’ve ever had!)”

Singers. We all know and love them, or really.. none of us do? But you can bet if there is a loud gaggling group of females, and males that seem feminine, all dressed up in way-too-fancy-for-whatever-they-are-doing attire, and you can’t really tell what any of the girl’s faces look like because of all the make-up they are wearing, and you can’t hear your own thoughts over them, they are probably opera singers. They surround my every waking task on a daily basis. They can of course be sweet. They make good friends much of the time. But there is something about always subconsciously competing for a spot in your line of work against the only people you ever see and call friends, and having it come down to every little detail of your life being criticized essentially, that takes all of the personality out of someone, inevitably. It is not that I think they would be any other way, or should be. It is just about wanting to be the “it” thing through doing things that make you feel like you can be “it,” but which really just takes all of the things that made you special, away. And you don’t even realize it. But you see it, time and time again, right in front of you on stage. At auditions. Little waify sopranos doing generic hand movements. Were it not so true, it would be enough to make you gag. It just makes me depressed though.

It is not about any of this though, really. It is about losing myself. Losing my psyche. My footing. I’ve lost my heart recently, my passion for simple things. I threw in the towel for wanting something better. I thought I’d had it, and I probably hadn’t. So I went for something—someone—simple, and just resented it the whole time, but didn’t let myself know that I resented it. I pretended like life was golden—on the outside. Except to one person, who resented that I told them about it. I’ve lost the ability to cry not because I can’t, but because of quite the opposite. Although, it feels so stupid to think I should cry or even have a reason to. Everything seems so futile. I put all of the things that reminded me of her, and of caring in a box and sent them down the river. I think I may have put too many things in there.

I don’t want to be this assimilated gumby opera singer anymore. I don’t want to wear the new boots I got with heels on them. I want to go on adventures. I am afraid of getting distracted and failing, and not being successful. But what is success? Can’t I do it without being too confused about what it is that will actually get me there, or do I seriously need to fall into that trap completely only to send a rescue squad in to get myself, once I am the lowest, most unconscious, most sell-out individual? Will I even realize it before? Or, am I making everything up?

I wish I had someone to tell all of these things to who actually got it enough to talk to me about it, and cared enough to be interested even though what I seem like on the outside is not someone who would attract the type of mind I am interested in. As people grow, differences just become more different…gaps grow bigger. Divides are stronger, and those who haven’t picked a side are probably going to be left stranded in the middle of two polar options. Maybe if they are quirky enough, someone from either side will be interested in being there, but not try to force them in either direction.

So, I guess I am one of the guys. The lesbian, male confidant of the vocal department. We bought cacti together, the tenors, Julian and I, at the Philadelphia International Flower show. We bought lots of what we called “Ralphs” and discussed hot girls. A “Ralph” (we gave one to Ralph who has fuzzy white hair):

Then, Diego and I fought over one. A girl, not a cactus. A dancer who was in Vixen with us. Well, he was with her first but… anyway, that is when the brotherhood got a little fuzzy. Not sure how it is now, but she definitely told him what’s what, and I am happy. And she is super inspirational and beautiful. I brought her to Blackbird Pizzeria. She is vegan. I think I might go vegan too. ;)

Written yesterday on the plane:

38 minutes left remaining on my battery power for my laptop. Again I feel alive, having just broken up with Amy and had an awesome day yesterday of old faces, a new face at length, and listening to some incredibly singing. I had a coaching with Matt Glandorf on the Handel Gloria and felt bad about not knowing what the words meant—but it was the traditional latin text which accompanies most sacred music of that time that corresponds directly to the creed.  The runs whipped my butt a bit.

I had dinner with Carly and Blackbird Pizzeria since she is vegan, and we stayed for about 2 hours talking about life and what we thought relationships should be… and I love her mentality on it. We walked to her place where I inspected her room which was quite lovely. She writes poetry and fragments of it were posted on her partially bare wall. A tiny humble futon bed below a tapestry wall hang, and her closet and desk were outfitted with some headbands, peace flags, small trinkets, and lots of quotes and ideas. I really liked the vibe. I always believe that so much can be learned from seeing one’s bedroom. After we stopped back at my place so I could check on Zeke, we headed out to Fox and Hound to meet a bunch of singers and Vinay and Matt E. Matt and I did the “bro shake” which involves a handshake and a hug smack on the back and some twist and snap thing. I tried to do it as bro-ly as possible. Carly and I matched in our little fuzzy hats and wavy red hair, both standing about the same height. We shared some Mike’s Hard Strawberry Lemonade at Diego’s—he had people over after Fox and Hound. At the bar though, before we left, Diego confronted her and asked her what she was doing. He said she had been weird, and asked her why she was here with me. He said he didn’t think she was into that, and she said well actually I am….he said he didn’t think I was a candidate for her (romantically) and she said she felt like I was. Then she told me about it….it made me so happy. She is a beautiful person. Not sure.. no, I am positive I don’t want to jump back into anything right now, but she made me feel so alive and that was the point. And it was fun to laugh with her as we ran across the street and joked about.. gosh I don’t even remember now… on our way to Diego’s. I don’t think she likes me…. At least she doesn’t show It too much. But I am pretty bold when I like someone. I figured she would be too but I am not so sure. She is probably used to people being aggressively into her. Well, I won’t do that. I want to be friends with her and take it really slow if anything since she has ever been with a woman. I feel like if we continue to have a strong connection though, and if there is any attraction whatsoever to me, our getting together in some form is inevitable. I am excited!

So, in terms of Amy.. I am not really sure what to do other than not be with her. When I talk to her it is clear she wants to be with me and is quite sad about what happened. The problem is, I do want her close. I want to spend time with her because it is comfortable. But, it is comfortable like being with Cody was comfortable. Except that I feel more love and more like taking care of her that I ever did with him. But, she doesn’t light my fire. She isn’t some force to be reckoned with, isn’t incredibly inspirational, and is rather snappy. She makes me forget the little fibers that I feel for Stephanie—-for Jazimina and Ariadne and Kristen and all of the really amazing women that have been in my life the last couple of years—the ones that really touched me and inspired me. She doesn’t do that, and I can’t fall in love with her because of it. Though, she is a beautiful person and I do want to keep her around. Just not in that capacity. Not now. She is 26… she is in a different place in her life which leads me to believe slightly that the stakes in our relationship could be higher for her than for me. I am still a 21-year-old shenanigan, not even out of my undergrad. She has a masters and a full-time job now. She is passionate about what she does in Philadelphia and has no reason to move. She has family and roots here. I am a vagabond, wanting to love everyone who creates in me the power to do so, and to learn and to discover, and  maybe even get back into writing poetry because Carly inspired me to do so. And I want to see what happens with Stephanie, maybe. I want to live in the loft that I always dream about and I guess if that means I have to build it myself, I can. Or I want to live in a tree house. I want to create everything I own—I want to get back on that track again. Growing plants and herbs for tea for sure (I want to grow all my own tea next year in the dorms as a starter) and maybe even be vegan because of the way it makes me feel, and I am reminded of that by Carly. In her closet there were a bunch of odd and end looking items—like dresses or scarves—things that looked home made. I have a sewing machine so I should definitely use it. I am for sure going to bring it to the dorms next year.

My landlady called and said that in order to consider me within the month I would be paying for in April, I would have to be out by May 14^th, although she would pro-rate each day after that that I might have to stay, which is awesome. I am thinking about doing my best to be out, however, and just crashing at Sasha’s place for the leftover time. Zeke would have to be there too, but that is okay. And Stephanie…. I hope Stephanie comes to Idomeneo and my Handel concert. And, I think she will. I don’t know where we would stay together—maybe Sasha would let us stay on her futon. And, I talked about visiting her today in Aspen at the end of August when I am done with my program and on my way back to PHL. I could go there and see nature and hang out for like a week, and then drive back with her to IN and fly to PHL after that. It would be a bit crazy, but since I am getting paid this summer rather than paying for my summer, I will have a bit of money to spend on one extra flight. And hopefully something from Musical Merit pulls through. I am going to work really hard on that repertoire and try to make it the absolute best it can be.  

Some people are just beautiful and it is important to never let those individuals go no matter how much they scare you into realizing something disgustingly lacking or awkward in yourself when you are around them. You must bite the bullet and fight to stand in their presence.. in the wake that you know will give you life. The trick is to not be a nothing just standing there, waiting to feel stronger. You won’t if you don’t actively seek it. You must have motion, like all things, and as you encounter each individual and they leave you, you must be leaving them. You must be consciously making the decision which you indeed actually do not have too much power over, but must pretend like you do. Life is about pretending.

Dreaming is about pretending something you like to pretend you don’t want in waking, only to find out you can’t help but be lost in it after all. And being awake, confusing the two quite dreadfully.

When the wind blows, squint and glance in the direction it comes from rather than looking away.

Take note: Man drops his gloves…tell him. Everyone fucking passes by. Girl is asleep on the train as it approaches her stop, which you might have just imagined you overheard, but take a friendly risk in waking her regardless. She thanks you.

Don’t eat popcorn and chocolate at 10:19 pm. WHOOPS, FAIL! Next……

Love, love, love thy cat as if he was thy human son. Love him and squish him steadily to your bosom nightly, even if he cannot fathom what kisses precisely mean on his head. Love his hair all over your clothing and sheets. Or, don’t love, but accept gracefully, though it may piss off your girlfriend. He is your fuzzy accomplice whose duty in life at the present is nothing other than to keep you happy. Strange for an animal to be put in such a position in the first place.

Call old friends. Get the most out of those who you know will always pick your brain.

Never be too “broken hearted” to talk to someone who you loved. You loved them for a reason.

Continue to eat popcorn and chocolate.

Take things slow. Upon waking up, calmly rise from your bed. Take your shower leisurely. Apply lotion and clothing without checking the time.

Listen to your own recorded voice and decide what you love about it.

Keep concussion-headed ladies company until they can safely go to sleep.

Pay. For dinner. Dessert. Anything. Be generous. Give gifts. Don’t expect anything in return, but know that you shall receive it. If not from the same person, from someone else, someday. Rather, don’t KNOW that you will receive anything. Know that the world will take care of you with the ebb and flow of wealth, karma, artistry and spirituality.

Talk to someone who makes you shy every day.

Eat healthy and work out—but don’t worry about it.

Be generous with your words. Tell her you miss her, kiss her often. Don’t fear heart break or rejection because it most nearly will always stem from a lack of giving on your part—a lack of passion—in combination with a lack of confidence as well as attentiveness.

Use old technology until it is absolutely defunct.

Only apply make-up when your face isn’t still screaming about the last application.

Let your cat lick your sock, however gross it seems.

Love who you love, innumerably and hard, without falter or expectation. Don’t just love one person in one way.

The end!

A gust of wind pushed back my hood to force my eyes to realize the morning sun. Readings of White Oleander on the train revealed a mother who had gone too far out on a limb for art. Destruction is everything.  Mistakes realized over time can show how petting someone’s head in a bed with no gut sensation, and crying in fits of helplessness without end in one’s shower can turn into one in the same. Is trying to fall in love the same as falling in love, or is it just as simple as losing it? I wonder if for everyone these fine lines exist of being there vs. not being there, and that pushing it over the edge to be something is simultaneously the only thing creating it and destructing it. Perhaps I should cast off the consciousness and allow my “gut feeling,” without explanation, take me down the road. But I feel like that is just so cliché of adulthood, and I writhe at the thought of throwing away what I had suffered to achieve in Middle School.
People have photos of their past and make each other scrap books. People have siblings who they laughed with and talked about mom with. People have something in their past to make them either stay near home, or flee from home because of it. I don’t feel like there is too much to push me in either direction, and the lack of an anchor, rather than purely a passion for travel, is enough to confuse me around the world. Who is to say what is right? I do know that compared with others, I lack a clear and solid foundation of people in my life who were actually…you know, there. I heard from aunts and cousins, received money. I read a book that my Grandmother wrote about my family. I hypothesized what it was like.. related to what it could have been like to have a father and therefore claimed to have understood it. Then when I got one, I could make no connection. I think that insanity isn’t actually created from a something pushing someone there, but rather from a nothing with which to relate, where the one in question becomes placed in a box they could not even fathom, designed by others who have somehow, out of purposelessness, had agreed upon experiences.
And yet, they look so happy smiling in all of those photos. Then, and now.

Hello, and welcome to the world of Alize. For now, I know the only person reading is Stephanie, which is A-Okay with me.

Let’s see. I saw Eisley last night. Tried to make awkward conversation with them. It may not have been that awkward except the fact that I was suppressing my giddy-ism into, “Hi, you are just random girls I am meeting at a street fair”-type behavior. I just like to talk to people that I am a huge fan of, or that do have huge fans, as though they were normal people. Hi, I am a normal person who likes your music, but I want to know the real you. The only one I got that desire off of was Chauntelle, who I have decided is really cool and down to earth. Well, she is also the oldest so that makes sense.

Yesterday and today are warm! I don’t understand it, but I did love sitting in the park last night with Amy. We just watched human-dog couples walk by and commented on their likenesses to each other. Even in moments where you wouldn’t think the dog, or owner, solely based on appearance would be like their dog, on further observation you realize that they have mannerisms such as their walk, other quirks or ticks, and overall morale that is consistently JUST like the other member of their duo. HILARIOUS.

My scab v.2.0 from hip black swan is just starting to crust. I am glad I got it redone.

I better get cracking on Ilia. It needs to be memorized by the beginning of March. My schedule is shittily full today. I will write more later, and hopefully have some inspirational thoughts.

FUCK YOU TUMBLR FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

I keep deleting everything I just wrote.

I strongly dislike when I go to a museum and all I can see is this:

Well, I can’t even find a picture remotely as good as the one in my mind where two Asian people came up right in front of us and started taking pictures of themselves, alternately, with peace signs, next to a Matisse, I believe. Just.. right in front of us. This sort of behavior runs rampant at the MoMA.