Percival Lowell Rocks My Mars

My First Post in a Long Time

I woke up this morning to someone banging at the piano. I thought what the fuck, and promptly fell back asleep. Again, the piano. The notes were all rubbery. Oh, it's the tuner.

Then TWANG!

Oh, shit. I was still half asleep, so I did nothing.

A third time, a creepy old man saying, "Well, I don't think I can do anything else."

And Dad, "Well, if you can't do any more...."

"I think I'm just going to have to give up on it. I mean, I've already broken three strings."

My eyes were open.

"I've done all I can do. I'm really sorry, but if you took it to anyone, they'd wouldn't put new strings on it. It should be taken out for junk. You've got a nice bench, though. If you buy a new piano, you'd have to pay extry for a bench."

Extry, I'm not fucking joking. Why do we trust this man?

He broke three strings, which put two notes out of whack, and made worse the keys he was trying to make better. I am so fucking angry. How dare he come to my house and molest my piano and say she's junk? How dare you?

I went into TD's room and cried. He thought it was all his fault and Mom was saying "He did the best he could." The bast that man could have done was say "No, I won't try tuning it." He told Mom and TD that a few strings might break, and they told him to go ahead. Where the hell was I? They said go a-fucking-head. He should have said NO I WON'T.

If no one else would replace the strings, why is it less dangerous to tune them and WHY THE HELL WON'T YOU REPLACE THE STRINGS YOU BROKE?

I'm getting a second opinion.

Mildred is not junk. She is gorgeous. They just don't make uprights out of mahogany, not carved the way she is, anymore. I don't care if she is a hundred years old, you can't not replace the strings. There's nothing wrong with the harp, it's made out of fucking metal.

You'll rue the day.

In other news, I can't get a hold of my roommates, my ears are finally peeling, and Mallory called.
  • Current Mood
    distraught
  • devca

living and working abroad

summer is tripping over spring, scrambling to take hold of the weather. an endless blanket of grey covers everything, pollution is almost at its maximum capacity, and the water is toxic.
irony lies around every corner, unless you're a native. oh but there is sincerity and a beautiful kind of determination in the spaces between the vagrants and petty thieves.
one can only endeavour to string together some meaning, some validation of the every day. translation is like some overlooked pinnacle towards cohesion, a craving that goes unheard.
unheralded, arrives a self-awareness about a dependency on convenience. 'make do' is like an unwanted and inescapable trend. and i am almost disappointed in myself like that.
fatigue is almost a fixed state of being. working everyday, repetition, repetition. bleakly waiting for insomnia to set in. these extensively vivid dreams are almost just as damaging.
but amongst the painted-over shit, i find some kind of inspiration, a desire to write. to expand the mind despite circumstances. to find solace in something that cannot be touched by grubby hands.
there is an undeniable homesickness. and a desire for time to quicken, for the brighter-looking future to arrive sooner. without the sense of satisfaction, the now, the moment is quite lost and almost wasted.
a needed reminder: this period of struggle, is a means to achieve an end. and the simplicity of a smile goes a long way.
progress has been made. no longer am i so fixated on the past. my old attachments are but memories stored away in the aft. my past achievements however, remind me of what i'm capable. self-underestimation is like a familiar habit.
i'm learning a great deal, assuredly so. this realisation might come later, in another context, one which leaves space for reflection and fine-tuning. just have to endure the onslaught, the price, till then.
  • Current Music
    david bowie - she'll drive the big car

hey, i'm new.

my name is katie and I am sixteen. Only sometimes, it doesn't feel like i am. i feel like a little girl stuck in the body of a 16 year old. Even though to me - i still look like a little girl. Right now i would love to pack some things, get a taxi to the airport and fly to somewhere far away when nobody knows my name, who i am or where i've come from. But then i guess all you can understand that...
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    blank blank
krazy_kt

hello

Hi I'm new to the community just thought I'd introduce myself. My name is Amy, I'm young and depressed in america. eh, weird beginning, never been in a community and I think I will start it off by posting some poetry. Critisism much appreciated.....

Her opaque skin-pressed against a blade-Her craving for attention-trying not to fade-her matted messy hair-covering her face-her internal fire fading-what a terrible waste-her salty tears burning-into her delicate flesh-Her vaginal cavity growing-she laughs even less-her sunny disposition-starting to fade away-her doing drugs to spite her parents-though she’s the one who’ll pay-her intelligence diminishing-only a remnant of what it was-her ruining her life-even though it’s filled with love-Her sparkle in her eye-Is now just a dot-Her saying that she’s worthless-because she doesn’t know she’s not-her sullen face-no longer able to smile-her tries to be herself-but her attempts remain futile-her cries for help-though her parents seem to not notice-her withering away-soon to not exist.

So tell me what you think!
  • Current Music
    Fiona Apple-Shadow Boxer