this is me, being weird and so on
2006-02-11||11:37 p.m.
forgive the incoherency, i assume you know why.
i didn't like the crush of bodies or the yelling or the heat of the pressing. i didn't like the cold sidewalk or the anger that spread like fire or the aching in my body. but the music and the sentiment and the dragons were well-placed and enjoyable in theory. it was enough to know that i made it out of my bed today.
i thought about throwing my phone into the bay today. or the ocean. whichever came first. i just wanted it gone. no real reason other than it suddenly repulsed me and it would be that much more dramatic for it to fall into water than to break it any other way. i think i might have too, if i had come upon any bodies of water. it's a good thing then - at least for my mother's bank account's sake - that i live in the middle of a city now instead of having a roaring beautiful river in my backyard. a good thing, but not very satisfying. the roar of a bus can't compare to the rush of freezing water over slippery rocks and sand. i dreamed about it last night. the river, under the bridge in the spot where i like to walk. i dreamed about the time me and mom found an empty cash register there and the time charles and i built a path of stones across the shallow edge. i dreamed that i could feel the stones pressing into the bottoms of my feet as tiny fish and water snakes slipped past my knees. and the instant numbness that comes with standing in snowmelt water raced through my body and i woke up feeling cold and crystal clear. and i missed the way the hot asphalt felt under my frozen feet as i walked across the road above the river.
seasons don't exist here, which is a strange feeling. it's like the whole place is on hold. waiting for something that's never going to come. something that's never going to happen. or maybe it's just me.
and the sound would break through you like a knife taken to yellow butter. soft and greasy, but painful just the same. irreperable marks, because no matter how hard you try to put yourself back together there's always fingerprints left in the butter where smooth expanses used to lie. so it's better without the chaotic storm of sound, you've decided. it's worth it to merely see - albeit blurred and in black and white - than to have to deal with pain and breaking and grease. but no matter how hard you try to extricate yourself from this mess of lard you're in, you find that you can't. and all you can do is hope that someday you find the fingerprints that cover your body to be beautiful.
regards,
me