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syndicate
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| Tuesday, January 10, 2006 |
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| Sunday, December 25, 2005 |
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The idea that we're not the same people anymore. |
| Sunday, December 25, 2005 |
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Songs are killing me. Eternal Sunshine is killing me. Keepsakes, Ideas, Things we have in common due to the same sad fact. Brokeback Mountain is killing me. Dreams are killing me.
Like coughing so much you've lost all the air in your lungs, but still coughing, you have nothing else to give up. Like laughing so hard no noise comes from your mouth and you can't breathe. Like being squeezed between two enclosing walls. Pushing the wrong direction in a revolving door. Pinkie-swearing. Like driving madly down a hill. Like watching a woman watching for the contact of her heel on the marble floor, the sharp click it leaves. Like the back of someone's head as they walk in front of you. Like thinking about retiring. Like wanting to use the words you heard from a book or a poem or a movie. The satisfaction of a perfect response. The failure in thinking of lost chances and missed marks while walking down the stairs and stopping suddenly. Like the oddness of the same word spoken twice. Like your first steps after riding an elevator; after jumping on a trampoline. Like throwing up in the sink. Like reacting how you would like yourself to be. Like the idea of someone crying and eating at the same time. Cold sweat. Cold food. Cold laundry. Like anticipating powerful dissapointment. Like laying in bed all day but never sleeping. Like the blue light from windows minutes before sunrise and the slivers of faint lines they leave on the floor cutting it up into bite size pieces. Like precaution. Not moving to fast, not moving too fast. Like the guilt of violence with the air with your breath as you cough, hacking because you've coughed enough. |
| Wednesday, August 3, 2005 |
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test test
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| Monday, January 24, 2005 |
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asked some questions today, realized that eye contact is overrated. day of studying was wasted, yet easily the day was tied into knots. it's been compacted. facts are purged, diarrhea of the mind, now release. deserves a boyscout badge. so many kids wasting away. for instance: the outlook that life ends at age 16 or else i'll make it so. still i'm shuffling forward in the freeway zone. either they're way ahead of me, or i'm lapping their rounds. compound. |
| Sunday, January 23, 2005 |
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everything's moving too fast. i want to at least see the stupid petals of flowers long past. scents is nonsense. the heavy feeling in my chest. anxiety attack? too quick to say. my horoscope told me that i can fix things. in fact, i must fix things. inacted tinactin. |