2:11 p.m. - 2005-05-01
I never told you that.
Talking in circles. These square little pegs are more then enough outside the box thinking. Oh my God, this hurts so much. Kidding. Joking. Call my jest, I'll call your phone. We'll meet and live forever. Everlasting in a moment, a night that refuses to end. Time means nothing. It's been raining for a week now and that's how long the world has been in my control. Listen to the pretty girls, clicking their heels on their way to church. I'll pray for them. With so many possibilities for trouble, I hope we screw this one up right. I'm an outlaw in a shadow. How can anyone live like this? I'm joking. Hips trembling, dancing. We all gather at the stomping ground to dance to the music in our hearts. By that I mean, we're too alive to stop dancing. It's more a spinning, a shout, hands above our heads and we're so damn alive. We're floating. This ghost town is celebrating everything from the color of your eyes to the the last rain drop that will fall today. Cults gather outside my window. They chant. I do not comprehend. The traffic is so consuming and I'm evaporating into mist. You can only imagine what it's like to be this invincible. I am not caving in. I'd call it sleeping under the stars in a thunderstorm before I'd call it a cave. Walking past apartment buildings in the early morning and begging for a reason to stop being bored. There are things to be done, people to see, and places to explore. Teen souls dream of cement that stretches to a perfect sunset and a highway sign that guarentees there is enough gas to make it to paradise. Someone has to teach me to be patient with the weather. Someone has to teach me to fall in love with the day time. What a difficult job for anyone who does not know how to love. Claiming such a talent and then proving contradictory should be a crime. It should be outlawed. Door mats tell stories of cases such as these. My army of inanimate objects could slow your breath and add an extra beat to the rhythm of your heart. The walls can talk and they're telling all your secrets. We all need a little magic. Haven't looked at a mirror in days. Alice got lost in the looking glass, why should I try to find a place to become lost? Colors tell the secrets of activities that are not open to the public. "I am not a funeral,!" they scream. I hear them with my eyes. Parallel worlds collide and intertwine and there are questions as to whether or not this will ever be returned to what is known. Novels that propose fantasy have me smiling and I'm fairly sure that there are a few to thank for that. Blushing. Blinking. Smiling. Looking away. All reactions that we'll laugh about in an hour. Let's forget everything that means we couldn't say what we meant. I don't feel obligated to tell anyone what has happened or what will. Waking up means feeling grateful and being tired means I've worked hard today or slept little in previous terms of engagement. I'll come back for you when it's safe. Never wait for safe. Mazes make me excited. I love getting off track. It's almost disappointing when I find the end. I always find it, too. Always. No compromising. Can't you hear the sunshine? Can't you hear the birds? They're all singing for you. We can't hope to survive this. The only truly unique adventure is the one few want to take. I don't understand it. I won't rush it. That seems too foolish an occupation, but I don't understand fearing the unknown. I don't speak this language. I do not comprehend. Reality is daily, escape is a cause for celebration. Here's your holiday. I hope you enjoy it this time. Sounds like summer. Sounds like a postcard from the west coast after we've all gone down in a sunk ship. That word means for always and despite everything. Fights can't break it, time can't take it, and the saddest part is only a few will truly make it. If this is a dream, I want to sleep in and spend forever writing the next scene. My novels will be letters to readers unknown and perhaps you'll read and call my jest and perhaps I'll smile and wink, what a useless act, and that will be our secret. A secret between friends. A secret that never needs to be voiced aloud. Am I understood? Your back door creaks everytime I sneak out and makes a defining screetch when it reunites with its frame. No secrets can be kept in this house. What a lovely career to be an architect. I'll build bridges to connect lands that seem far too different to unite. It will never ever be walked on. One similarity. One single object binding them together. Learn how to set a fire? Use it on yourself. Flames go out at the first touch. Go down as a torch. I speak treason fluently as well as sarcasm. Irony is my favorite actress and if given the choice, my calendar would be replaced with a picture of a dandelion, with each day of the year written on a petal. Three hundred and sixty five petals. Three hundred and sixty five days. Each day would not be crossed off, but given a sticker with a mood review on it. I could remember how I had felt for years. I won't be anyone's generalization. I want the deatils down to how many pieces of grass. Lie. Catching on? I can't stay here any longer. I'll be seeing you in all those old familiar places with flowers just because it's Wednesday and poetry memorized and written on old napkins. This is what it means to be free. Have a wonderful day.
