10:06 p.m. - 2006-03-22
it's human nature.
my fingers are twitching to type, to write, to say something. but there's no way to express it and there's a reason we keep secrets.
I've been trying to sleep for days now.
typical story. we'll feel bad for despising this when it's gone.
maybe.
big dark eyes. poetic details. sensitive. sweet smelling. yet there's smoke, teh comforting kind, that embraces and cradles. campfire scented.
a whole map of a pathetic, wasted life written in car wrecks, breakdowns, and sequels of worn out brakes.
this is typical?
folding clothes. trembling. trying to help. she's sick. just...help her get better. please. wash dishes. something we don't understand is going on. it;s just beyond our comprehension. it is happening though. but keep teh door locked. and cover the keyhole. lock it inside.
"it doesn't matter what you do. In the end, you are going to be judged, and all the times that you're not at your most dignified are the ones that will be recalled in all their vivid, heartbreaking detail...distorted and exaggerated and replayed over and over, until eventually they turn into the essence of you: your cartoon."
Hide within it. it's easier if they hate you. people always leave. it's easier if they hate you and never get attached.
completely oblivious of the codes of silence and anonymity that govern us in places of public observation.
sadness has never chosen us. we chose it. melodramatic vibrato.
is teh waver authentic? are you? are we?
tinged with regret, self-pity, or a pleasent show for the people. it's tainted.
"there probably isn't much different between being in love and acting like you're in love."
bravo. encore.
but the goodness moves out of us like the color moves into our faces when we blush. it's there....and then it's gone.
Soldiers! come quickly! the earth..it's still beneath my feet.
manipulative. repressive. repulsive. hatred is a definite possibility. it's amazing how hatred unites some of us and isolates others.
they say we are one. a whole. a unified whole. who are they? where do they come up with these ideas?
Someday you'll love me unconditionally. you'll forgive me. you'll be sorry. and maybe you'll remember that i tried instead of that i failed.
no, no, no. remember me for the times I have ruined you, not made you smile.
spinning smiles. spinning webs. spinning tales.
we were silent.
"maybe love, like suffereing, is relative."
"We all require a certain amount of pain to justify ourself later, and if we aren't lucky enough to have parents who beat us and force us to shoot our beloved pets, the stab of an unkind word or a neglectful shrug of teh shoulders will do just as well."
Are you fucking serious?
"An anorexic in a country of starving people." that's what he said. that's what it is. The complaints fall on deaf ears, but compassionate ones. Ones that understand suffering.
Death.
no point in worrying about it. it will come sooner or later. duh. that is not insight. I'm taking off thirty points and charging you with impersonating someone who has more then just basic knowledge.
we get mostly the same raw material and we recycle it. we're more alike where it counts. okay?
"we are already lost, even to ourselves. we slip helplessly into parody."
infinity is unfathomable. so is zero.
Can't you see that I'm real?
giddy with the terrible irony of it, the sarcasm of God.
if God appreciates irony and sarcasm, well, he must think my life is dime, lemme tell yah. actually, don't.
don't let me tell you.
don't ask for the details about march. don't ask for a laundry list of someone elses complaints.
it's human nature to complain, but it's also human nature to adapt, transform, and adjust.
six o'clock blues. no news tonight.
beaten down in greens and old shoes. we are disappearing. you will never give me myself back.
and yet, we forgive. not for a long time, but we forgive.
and we move on.
abandoned, btu still existing. still breathing. still swaying to the reggae beats and embraced in sweet smelling summer smoke.
boys the color of summer, covered in sea salt, ask questions that don't make sense. their sense are in a different season. sort of like when the moon is out in the day. it doesn't belong, btu it's still beautiful.
the audience claps impatiently. slow down, i wnat to yell.
I'm afraid for them.
he says he went in to get away from his parents. but he wants me to stay away. he wants me to refuse to even humor them.
I'm hearing noises. phone calls from passengers who are afraid to fly this one alone.
I'm not piloting this mission.
I'm staying in bed. I'm sleeping through teh curtain call.
do actualities always fall short? I don't know
"The ocean is becoming rough; the waves come in slowly, tugging strength from far back. The moment before they somersault, the moment when they arch their backs so beautifully, showing green and white veins amid the black, that moment is intolerable. They finally crack, dashing fiercely upon the sand, actually driving, full force downward, against the sand, bouncing upward and forward, and at last petering out into a small stream which races up the beach and then is recalled... scarecely intersted in its harshness."
fatal. merciless. passionate. shocking. oceanic.
we can't get off the merry-go-round. it doesn't stop. and this train your riding is called death. the death fo innocence. a conductor you don't recognize.because we can't be saved from it. we're going too fast. there's no way we could possibly stop.
"You'll be put out, and you paid thirty-five cents to come in" That's how trivial it all is.
All we get is a lifetime. that's it. nothing more. you get what you paid for. cheap.
everything you do matters too much. before you know it, you end up awake, the windowsill shining with snow and the morning screaming for attention. screams that go right through you, making your toes shake with discomfort.
disquietude.
real smiles. not scraed ones. not lines. not lies. who is sleeping? lying awake? lying?
who can you depend on?
who will be there to laugh at your jokes?
You don't even have a name.
she's so afraid. doesn't she know? we're all afraid.
doesn't she know?
we're all dying a little inside
doesn't she known that I almost didn't get out of bed today?
no. keep your lips sealed. stop talking. stop telling secrets. stop getting involved. stay out of it.
don't I know this already? don't I know not to get caught up in expectations?
don't I know not to expect anymore else?
are you seriously saying these things?
You are a bird. I am a fish. and if you catch me, where would we live?
I don't know how to write this song for you.
I don't know how to compose composure or explain hwo being vague is now vogue.
swing life away. with pool tables. and pick up line jokes. with counting headlights and keeping score. counting games. how many m&ms? how many cars? how many? how many? how much? how often? when? where?
no, no, no. That's not it at all.
why? well, why not?
hold my hand. Guhadeeni.
relay, rely, a lie, a fucking lie.
she calls them bright-eyed, death cab cuties.
I think it's clever. i think she's clever.
I think I'm tired. i think I'm sad. I think I'm nostalgic. i think I just...need a friend. or a hug. or maybe nothing. needs are subjective anyway....
sorta like emotions.
sweet dreams.
