Super Human Bean
Current mood: adventurous
Category: Writing and Poetry

I carefully peeked over the edge and imagined so many possible outcomes of the present situation I found myself in. As I positioned my body on the tip of the rock, I started to ponder the concept of balance. It's usually not a very good idea to ask such physiological questions when hanging on the edge of a cliff, but my vindictive dramatic mentality sprung the question for shits and giggles.

Erik and I hadn't had an adrenaline rush since the time we climbed our first rock. Today's list wasn't any different from the other times we had climbed. In fact, today's list did not include talking to strangers, nor climbing fatal rocks.

Perched on a boulder, enjoying the view, we peered over the flat edge and spotted Ana and Sean. Ana and Sean were there reason why our plans for a simple hike were altered.

"My friend here can teach you how to climb that rock from where I stand," Ana yelled from the foot of the rock directly below us.

My mind immediately interjects with the notion, but as my thoughts were assuring me that I didn't want to follow her plan, my mouth was betraying my feelings and being macho.

"I'm down."

We didn't chat too long, just enough to cover introduction FAQ's. I tried to stall but, Ana's face was already buried in the mountain. Although she was brave, she would frequently ask Sean for his help. Sean made the climb in what looked like one stretch.

Then it was our t u r n . . .

As I approached the rock, I couldn't hear the voices of Ana or Sean anymore. I decided I had to climb. I embraced the rock and felt every pocket and nook. I was shaking vigorously and I reeked with fear. Although, the shaking was making it impossible to get a firm grip, it was too late go back.

"You made me look like an amateur," Ana and Sean were audible again. I turned and saw Erik's head peer up from over the edge of the rock. We did it. We didn't rent, we owned.

Story Overview:

If you think that the moral of the story was to overcome the fear of climbing rocks and how it relates to overcoming personal barriers of success, then you are completely wrong.

If you think that the moral of this story was to brag about how I climbed this rock, then you are correct, and I win.

Sexiest Song Ever

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3XWTKJGGzc

Be a Man

Zipping up my pants.
Tying the laces on my shoes.
Putting on the last accessories.
Curling the lashes.
Taking out the trash.
Getting out of the house.
Going to work.
Being a man.

Get shit done.

The Human Report

The Human Report.
Subject number 1.
A seeker of danger.

Observations:

The subject closes the box. One that cannot be reopened.
A friend, he will say from the teeth on out... (repeated pattern)
But I am neither convinced nor moved.

My Intentions:

To see the world through different eyes.

Gained:

-Knowledge. There are others like me. Those who listen and give.
-A scratch. Not enough to sting, but enough to notice.
-Experience and journal material.
-A jazz cd and a doodle.

I lost:

-A bit of sparkle from the shine.

Lesson Learned:

-I am not the observer. I am the observed.
-Keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.

Next objective:

Have no objective.

Keep inspiring me. I'll get there soon.

The trip to him

He is waiting patiently at the end.
I am taking an adventure to find him.

There's no rush.
He will wait. I will get there.

Sometimes I take him for granted.
But I am forever grateful.

Insightful

2 weeks ago I decided that the thoughts brewing inside and out of my face lacked a certain rhythm of steadiness. It was becoming predictably unpredictable and I needed to make sense out of my self destructive behavior. I decided to see a shrink. 45 minutes later, my dear friend had found me to be a delightful complex hybrid of ADD, ADHD, and bipolar combined. WTF? I was thinking maybe a hint one of the three, but a complex version of the combo? You gotta be kidding me? The psych reassured me that it was based on a prediction and that further testing was necessary. I assured him that the world of categorizing was full of shit and that it was a simple case of me not loving myself enough to stop being a depressed fool. He said I was very insightful. No shit. I pay attention to every fucking detail. My real problem is finding where the details apply or why they exist. Tomorrow is session two with my dear friend "the paid listener." What a great job. Maybe that's something to consider huh? A psych major... oh god. It's my tail again... why can't I stop chasing it...

Love from the Outside

You're waiting in line for lunch at the high school cafeteria. For just $2, you could get a meal that covers all your basic supplements of the day: calcium, protein, breads, sweets, greens, and juices. For just $2,you can fill your stomach with a really shitty meal. The lunch meat in your sandwich tastes like mutated plastic pig slices. Mash potatoes are a general mound of slop. The tator tots are never crunchy but you will eat them. Everyone still buys their lunch despite the known fact that cafeteria high school food is comparable to dog food for humans.

Not me. Today, I'm brown baggin it.

This girl wears her heart on her sleeve...

It's the best way I know how to communicate. Enjoy a treat from my diary to you. Maybe you could even partake in the unraveling of the mess of life I make and push me to spring clean my head.

So far I get that I am extremely dramatic drama mama. It is either cold or hot but never warm. I thought that in writing, the plot must be thickened in order for readers to stop for a moment to absorb a piece of my thoughts. Perhaps I am trapped in my storybook life that is much more interesting than a self depressing martyr who waits for life to happen and does nothing to kick start the movement, but insists on writing about how there should be movement. Wah wah fucking wah.

When will I grow some balls? Just because I surround myself with movement doesn't make me a mover. And moving for 1 week does not uphold against the 3 weeks wishing I had kept moving.

Am I moving yet? No. I am still writing. SHIT SHIT SHIT!

I am reluctant to set up goals because goals have been insignificant due to the over use of writing them and forgetting about them. I should set some permanent goals in permanent ink on my wall in my room and see how that works for me. But then I will want to change directions a week later and the permanent ink will mock me and remind me how consistently unstable this head on my shoulders is. Then I will avoid my room because I am too embarrassed to show myself in front of the goals and then I will do my best to pretend I never wrote them. Going out of my way has become a lot more work than actually fulfilling my goals. What the hell is wrong with me?

Coincidence?

Every Thursday I get a headache.

Every 1st of the month I am happy.

3/4s of the way into the month I am depressed.

I'm out on the outskirts of the danger zone now.

What is this pattern man. . .

God I love this song...

I once thought I would be the world's greatest animator under the name lanabeans...

This is all that remains...

http://lanabeans.com/Test/beans.html

Song of the day

Hmm...

Did I say photography minor? I meant Theatre minor. . .

<|:[

Is that even possible?? Whatever. At least I know I want to write somehow. . .

I got photography covered at home. I read!

Dream a Dream

Once again I had that going back to high school dream. Let me give you the background on this reoccurring dream and why it bothers me so much.

When I was 17, my father was fired from a job that supported our ridiculous spending habits. We weren't rich, we just had enough to make bad purchasing decisions with the excess.

I was a blossoming junior at my school. Straight A's. Varsity soccer player voted best defensive and most improved. I had a cute boy digging me that I had eyes on forever, finally. Then SNAP. That sound was similar to a dried fairly thin branch snapping in half. My dad lost his job and in my senior year, we would travel to the other side of the U.S. and rebuild from the bottom. This life I left symbolized my childhood. 16 years I had spent creating memories that would make great flashbacks. I grew up with these people. They could easily tell you stories about when I would defecate in my backyard because I couldn't do it in school and I didn't have the keys to get into my house.

So my subconscious feels like there is something I missed and we keep going back to the place where I felt the most comfortable.

Well subconscious, it's time you stop replaying those memories over and over. It's not fair to my heart. You think I wanted to leave all my buddies behind? Just stop. Stop it now. It makes me sad.

Everyday is a Masquerade!

The Safe Zone

"Everyday should be a Masquerade." He suggested jokingly.

But I was already thinking the same exact thing except in a more serious manner. How lovely it would be to hide behind my mask as I pretend to unroll my fantasies of being anything and anyone I wanted to be with nothing or no one to bother me.

I went to a masquerade last night hiding behind two walls. One of them being my mask and the other was my camera of course. The mask was my tool to hiding my face from anyone who would be able to read my expressions and see the fear of crowds that I hide so well. My camera was the key to popping in and out of different groups and getting inside people without having to reveal myself or talk to anyone. If I could, I would be a fly on the wall so that I can observe freely and not have to reply or give opinions.

"What's your story?" "What's your name?"

What do I say? My name is Yolanda, but I changed it to Lana. I'd prefer Yolanda, but you can call me what makes your day brighter because I attach no sentiments to what you decide to call me.

"Whoa. You're crazy."

Exactly.

There is a specific reason why I am deathly afraid of social crowds. It is not because I am not secure. It is definitely not because I am afraid of what people will think. It is simply because I feel like I am not sure if I want people to know who I am. I am special. No like really really special. I'm an acquired taste and dammit you can't understand me or get the gist of me with a simple, "Hello, my name is __. I like __. Yeah." I need substance. That's all. Don't get me wrong, I can function in big crowds and I'm not miserable if I can find a place to hide out or be with someone I know.

That's why everyday should be a masquerade. I would hide behind my mask and be whoever it is you need me to be at this social event while I peacefully watch you and listen to you without worrying about having to small talk.

The End

I met a friend that I admire. I took a picture of him and I love him. I wish to express to him very much how he has liberated a big beast of pressure buried inside of me. Thank you friend.

I want my mommy

An oldie but goody:

Written on May 9, 2008

I am a weak headed 24 year old bitch face. I cry when I know someone is getting hurt. I try my best to fight for others that cannot fend for themselves. I cannot figure out what hurts me, but I can see what makes you sad. I can fix you, but not myself. Can I be your mommy?

I am sick. I'm not cold sick. I don't have the sniffles, nor do I have a fever. I am sick of being alone and independent. I just want to be taken care of for one day. One day, I want to wake up with her fingers softly tracing my eyebrows from the center to the ends over and over. I want her to kiss my eyelids and tell me everything is going to be okay. I want her to bring my magic towel and put it on my head to suck away all the bad germs that have been trying to hurt me. All to be left the mommy kisses that would fight any bad feeling in my tummy and my head.

(Insert tears here.) (Give me about 2 minutes, then proceed.) That's me crying if you were trying to block that. Feel free to insert your own.

Get over it now. There's no room for sensitivity or weakness in this world. No one wants to see you break, it's just not allowed. I don't care for sympathy, I could use some empathy. Don't get caught relating to someone just like you. If this takes away from my character, than so be it. This is who I am. This is what I will never change.

Call me Achilles if you want. This world has a way to constantly stab at my heel. It usually misses because I am quick on my toes, but sometimes, just sometimes, I get hit and I fall.

So this is me on the ground. It took being sick to finally sit down and realize it. Ugh... I'm tired. I'm just so damn tired.

But like I said, get over it. Sitting and sulking will not do you any good.

So here I am. A fat head 24 year old girl face. I'm stronger than the bond between your grandma's gums and her chatterbox teeth. I don't care for fighting or arguing so if you don't have a point, I leave. I will climb mountains blindly without a harnass and bite cats if they bite me first. But here I am, sick in bed, like the little pussy I am, and I want my mommy.

For Lucas. Because I love you.

Liver's block

Clash of The Titans

This Text has nothing to do with my image: Good God. My major has changed yet again. What will an indecisive English lit major and minor in photography do with herself? Why, be exceptionally broke yet disgustingly happy of course. It's so sick I can't wait.

I'm tired of happy stories. My next story shall be a sick one!

:o)

hah aha h ah ah a hahahah ah ah ah ah ah ahah ah ah ahah ahah ah a

OOOOH!

I made this Halloween scene for you!

Happy Holiday! My favorite holiday of the YEAR!

My New Band

This could be you...

"Excuse me... Excuse me... Hi. What line is this? The waiting line? I thought this was the taking action line? Well, can you please tell me where the line for taking action is? What's that you say? There is no line for taking action? Then what the fuck are we all waiting for?!"


WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE ALL WAITING FOR?!

I just found out today that if you want to do something, you just do it. So I did it. You should too. Don't wait for Monday to start exercising. DO IT NOW! Don't wait for tonight to tell me you love me. TELL ME NOW. Don't wait for the end of the month to call your mom. CALL HER NOW. Stop pushing off projects, stop wasting time, stop wasting money, stop wasting life, stop wasting your breath, stop killing yourself, stop hurting the ones you love, stop being an asshole, stop spreading rumors, stop holding it all in. SPEAK YOUR MIND. COMMUNICATE. Speak with clarity. Say it with your heart but use your mind.

PS stop waiting to be rich. Make the most with what you've got, so IF you ever make hit it big, you can adjust. Stop thinking that WHEN you get rich, you will be happy THEN and ONLY then. BE HAPPY NOW or you'll never make the adjustment. Unless you are super-adjusto-freak-o which is possible.

That's about it really. Nothing new here, just a reminder that I hope you hear.

Oh, by the way, I LOVE YOU.

This world is a silly silly place....

So here at Pierce College, we just had a BEAUTIFUL Botanical Garden built for us and already people feel the need to trash it. A lovely sign in all four corners quietly and maturely warn us that smoking is not to be permitted. It must be "Opposite day" everyday. Maybe a sign should be made to abide the rules of "Opposite day."

This is my attempt:



This won't keep people from tossing out their butts in the garden but at least it will make us stop out of our busy lives just for one moment to think....

Ninja Status

Dear Gas,

I just wanted to let you know that I met a bike a couple of months ago. I have been riding her here and there, but didn't get too close because she made my crotch sore. Well, after riding her for a while I got used to the feeling. In fact, I am riding her daily to school if you haven't noticed. I get to school on time while people are still searching for parking spots. I am almost completely independent from you but it's hard to carry all my work on my back. I'm working on that though. I just wanted to say that we had good times together. You powered my car so that I can get to the beach, school or work. Now don't get sentimental on me and don't start attacking my bike. It's not her fault. My bike may leave my crotch sore, but you do realize that you have been relentlessly sodomizing me without any emotion or care? Not to mention my bank account has plunged greatly because of you. That's not the point, the point is that I want you to stop harassing people. Stop making us feel like we need you because we don't. There are other ways.

I will part with a song we both know and love by The Manhattans.




Arrivederci!

You won't be missed.

PS this is a picture me and my bike while I was working on her body...



I know, I'm immature. What can I say? I'm just GENUINELY HAPPY.

Bye bye Middle Class

We set ourselves up for disaster didn't we? Excessive shopping. We fell for the trends. We got the biggest cars. We have the coolest kicks. We ate the finest foods. Daily. We have the emptiest bank accounts.

For some reason we felt like we had to embellish our details more and more in order for us to be a part of a society that was tangible if only we had self control. We spent our money recklessly always hoping that the future held huge sacks of monies waiting for us. To live flashy is to be poor. Too bad we are realizing the big picture a little too late. This almost feels like starving all day and stuffing our faces in a matter of minutes without drinking water in order to eat the most food. Then what happens? We're extremely full and have to eat again in 4 hours. Couldn't we have just eaten half now and the rest for later?

I'm so sad. I was so sure that spending all this money would truly validate my place in this society. I was so wrong.

In English Class today

Ms. Atkins today said something that made me really sad. She said, "some people never grow up. Then they get power and become your boss."

That scared me.

Out for the Winter