Dino Jo

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Diaries: Yay or Nay?

So, the other day, I was reading over one of my diaries from grade seven, and I laughed and I cried and I smiled and I swore and I relived every moment. And then I got to thinking, perhaps there was a reason why my mind had made me forget some of those events, especially the rather depressing ones.. And then I got to thinking, that maybe that crazy desire inside of me of to remember every little detail was truly horrible, and I should learn to let it all go. I wish I didn't remember. At least some things, most things, many of the things I've written here. Which gets me thinking, maybe I should stop writting. Maybe I should burn all my diaries, destroy this site, delete all my files and throw out all the notes. Perhaps I should rip the pages out of my agenda, and delete all the comments and give away all my spare notebooks. Perhaps I should stop keeping record of it all. Perhaps. But what if they are the only reason I'm still sitting here before all of you? I've always been one to act on impulse, but slowly I learned to control it.. by writting. Whenever I felt like I needed to explode, I would write. Here, diary, binder, agenda, spare papers, in a message, in a note, a letter, a comment. Anything. And I would concentrate on every word leaving my mouth, and it would make me forget. Forget the pain, the ugly, the hurt, the bad, the everything.

So maybe I'll keep them a little.

Posted at 10:11:40 pm by dinoxjo
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Open Windows.

A Metaphore.

A beautiful summer day, with a calm breeze, just light enough to cool the hot burning sun. You spend hours putsing around, in a beautiful summer dress, with the windows wide open and the sound of birds and leaves rusling. Not a care in the world, not a single one. And soon, in through the tear in the screen on the window, flies a hornet. And it circles you, and chases you, and eventually, it stings you, and it dies. And you wonder why, you ever had the windows open to begin with. And summer day after summer day, it happens over and over, until you finally decide, to keep the windows shut, to stay in your pyjamas and to shoo the birds from behind the glass.

Posted at 10:04:29 pm by dinoxjo
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Saturday, May 17, 2008

Another

day,
another waste,
another waste,
another waste...

Posted at 11:06:34 pm by dinoxjo
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No words, nothing.

I want to be reminded of a simpler time,
when you were nothing more than a dream,
and I was no less than an infinite dreamer.

Posted at 9:20:50 pm by dinoxjo
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Friday, May 16, 2008

The Maps.

So a day, today, will come to an end for me,
And I will crawl into bed, with his sweater,
And I will lay on my side, with her book,
And I will press play, on my CD,
And I will let today go, where it should be.

Posted at 11:16:49 pm by dinoxjo
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A Poem.

From: The Perks of Being a Wallflower
By: Stephen Chbosky

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it.

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.

Posted at 11:07:10 pm by dinoxjo
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photography site!
^{NEW JULY UPDATE!}

“The past, I think, has helped me appreciate the present - and I don't want to spoil any of it by fretting about the future.”
- Audrey Hepburn

“We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”
- Albert Einstein

“Just because you get distracted by the silver lining, doesn't mean there's not still a huge dark cloud behind it.”
- Drums, Girls and Dangerous Pie

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