| apple green ice cream |
[11 Jan 2010|12:21pm] |
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mood |
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recumbent |
] |
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music |
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mazzy star - disappear |
] |
hello, it seems you have happened to (somehow) stumble upon my journal. it's about 40% friends-protected, while the rest should be pretty self explanatory. i'm not very good about updating -- and can be incredibly inconsistent at times, but if you would like to be friends, feel more than welcome to add me, and leaving a comment would be much appreciated. thanks.
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[29 Nov 2006|11:09pm] |
pressed up against the glass
i found myself wanting sympathy
but to be consumed again
oh i know would be the death of me
and there is a love that's inherently given
a kind of blindness offered to appease
and in that light of forbidden joy
oh i know i won't receive it
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| You Lied |
[24 May 2006|09:07pm] |
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music |
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espers - tomorrow |
] |
weeks come and weeks go, and with the pass of each day it has become increasingly clear to me that you haven't changed -- and moreover, that my suspicions of you disinterest all along were quite true. no, there isn't any harm in being honest, but there is a great deal of harm in holding the truth back from someone. & more than you could probably imagine.
how did it become so incredibly easy for you to use people at your own expense and treat them nicely in the process, only to leave them behind? i can't possibly imagine. then again, it is probably just me that this has happened to. i can only hope you don't do this to anyone else for their own sake. god help the suckers dead in your path.
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[12 Mar 2006|11:42am] |
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music |
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october project - deep as you go |
] |
dear leonard. to look life in the face, always, to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. at last to know it, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. leonard, always the years between us, always the years.
always the love. always the hours.
.
my hair is no longer black, but i think i'm starting to miss it that way.
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| white flag |
[25 Jan 2006|10:20pm] |
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music |
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school of fish - three strange days |
] |
october 31, 2001: the day the world came to a screeching halt. and here we all are trying to scrape by like idiots when we fully realize in our hearts that we have nothing left but our own happiness to sacrifice in order to try and attain something higher of sharper and more exact value that will contribute to building something better.
there was a time when i can safely say that things were good, safe, and warm. but even in it's warmth, i could still feel the cold but life still thrived. one evening, the floodgates opened, and no one saw it coming. it swept away art, friends and loved ones. the small deviations in the population were too minimal to notice at first, and people kept going. they would put their best foot forward and march on, only to suddenly stop in their tracks to think of a friend that had once disappeared, or something that moved them only to realize that it had disappeared without a trace.
with the fullest extent of my being, right now i can honestly say that the life i am a part of isn't the life that i feel i have a place in. maturity and carrying on regardless of loss may give the badge of integrity and win you the shiniest trophy, but the trophy has no soul. what's so real about the cry of the oppressed that keeps the audience too intimidated to raise for a standing ovation?
in june of 2002 i tried to kill myself. my body was yellow and sick and my eyes were sore and lost. my room had been cleaned and my backpack zipped tight and placed neatly on my desk that i never used. at that particular moment, i was possessed. possessed by the fullest sense of realization of the culmination of events that whirlwinded across the globe and collided with the atmosphere with such force and disaster that would be forever remembered by others as "my life: a memoir". with that in mind, i tucked myself into bed, fully ready to fall into the arms of 0, an empty and inviting purity warmer than any nursing mother and more discerning more than any close friendship could be -- utterly free and unasked for.
waking up was much harder than dying. there was chatter, and a small television with jay leno playing silently in the background. the world wasn't wholly mine yet, and instead lay before me the foggy stillness of limbo. soon enough, psychologists came in, asking me my reasons and intentions and more than anything i knew of at that moment, i knew that in gaining life once more i still sorely lacked the ability to speak of it. i wish i could have said "what i was doing was drawing the last line of the circle but i couldn't when i realized that i had lost my compass"
the years afterward amounted to a trail of everlasting afterthoughts. a drift of smoke easily cuaght by hand and evaporated into dissonance. i didn't want to fall asleep to realizing that this was a very bad dream only to wake up to realize that reality was the very mistake i had made it. but ultimately, this is the fruit of life, ready to ripen into what it fully wants to become. an ideal life shouldn't be the answer on the tip of your tongue that you can never come to fully substantiate no matter how many times you shut your eyes and concentrate.
timing is everything. the right time to think, the right time to observe, the right time to look through, and the right time to finally sit up and take a stand. i've studied the blueprints of the hourglass until i was up to my neck in the sand and what it comes down to is that life is truly meant for those that are alive in heart and in mind. and when that light dims, the skies and stars suddenly become much more apparent.
the universe says, "yes, i was here all along."
.
.
i am a curator of such a great and vast museum, now. i walk the halls admiring all of the things i once had the vigor and vitality to create and fuel only now to dust them off and live in the memories that their creation provided to me. for the sole reason of being able to later appreciate it when i needed it the most? but ideas aren't a constant river. i wax and erode; my face leaving a stark and tarnished impression into the rocks.
life is not only provided from the self, but of the inter-woven veins that fuel the fire that is the whole and complete motivation and vitality of others. thus is the self and the heart complete.
this is he, and only he so he shall be until the end of me.
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| impressions |
[18 Jan 2006|09:28pm] |
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music |
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q lazzarus - goodbye horses |
] |
notes to self:
· if i wasn't fully aware of this in every extent possible already, life can really suck when it wants to.
· if a box is shut, it is shut for a reason and probably doesn't want to be opened.
· and if i ever did come to a point later on where i ignore this and do decide to open it, i really shouldn't be prepared to find anything worthwhile or that would have the possibility of making my life any better of a place to be. it is up to me and me alone to find reasons like this -- not anyone else.
· idealisms aside, people move on. for the better or for the worse. and looking back, they probably don't regret it either.
.
connections, to me, seem like such fragile things. it is a black, bare wire -- stretching with all it's might to cross roads, bridges, oceans.. and sagging under it's own weight. and in it's wake, things happen. weather, much like time, erodes and degrades it until the black skin peels and wires stick out like metallic marrow -- singed and tangled. i must admit, i have a problem. when i lean forward and squint hard enough, i can see these discrepencies, and in their wake i feel that i am the one to blame for them and that it is ultimately my obligation to fix them. but frankly, i am tired of being a repairman. no one is asking me to do it, and more than anything the only reason i run back in my medic astronaut suit is because i feel; blindly and disoriented. it feels as if every part of my being magnetizes me back to my mistakes and refuses to let me go until they are taped up and twisted back into place. simply shutting the door doesn't work for me, and that very well may be one of the hardest lessons i will ever have to come to face.
.
.
letting go is so hard, because at the same time i fear that nothing i care about will stop me.
and if they don't care, then why do they deserve such urgent obligation from me?
this is probably something that will always be left unexplained. but god, i am so tired of being blind. i was always born with bad vision, and even with the strength that i have been born with in order to be able to muster it up, it doesn't seem like enough. i wish i could lie back, take a deep breath, and say "if i leave it alone, it will heal by the work of someone else's hands." but for the most part, wounds will always probably attract me to them until i am driven into madness.
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| the fig tree |
[18 Jan 2006|09:27pm] |
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music |
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tool - third eye |
] |
...i saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
from the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was europe and africa and south america, and another fig was constantin and socrates and attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
i saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because i couldn't make up my mind which of the figs i would choose. i wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as i sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
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| supercilious ways |
[28 Dec 2005|11:06pm] |
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music |
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bjork - unravel |
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as a whole, right now i feel generally disappointed and alone in the world. not only in the world, but in people too. i can't say that i expected things to be any better than they are now, but more than anything, this experience has caused a severe lack of faith in my life to occur. it feels like someone pulled a drain plug inside me, and all ambition is siphoning out.
katherine was, at one point in my life, one of the few people that kept me alive and living. she gave me a certain faith in humanity that i couldn't obtain from anyone else. but in the end, as i look back, i realize that she wasn't there for me because she particularly wanted to or felt compelled to, but because she was so used to being around me that she didn't even think twice about whether she really wanted to be or not. and most likely, problems that consumed me at the time didn't matter to her, and over time, have only mattered less and less to her because she feels so comfortable around me. it seems ironic that time would cause someone to feel less and less lax with their "best friend(?)", but in this case it doesn't surprise me and it really is something that i should have realised earlier. she really isn't a friend to me anymore, and probably hasn't been for quite some time now.
the past is important. if we didn't look back on it and understand and learn from it, then the world would probably be in a much worse state than it already is right now. but katherine is so critical of what has happened in her past, that she refuses to let go of the wrong doings of others, and because of that will probably never move on. self-reliance is important, but it really shouldn't dominate a person's life the way it has in hers. if she wants to continue to be bitter about it, than frankly, she can be bitter alone. and in her case, it will probably be for the better.
hunter was, for the most part a much less significant part of my life now than i ever imagined he could be about two or three years ago. if i learned anything from my experiences with him, it was that even pure and unadultered dedication can't solve any relationship problem. chemistry is self-sustaining and works on it's own, misguided and unpredictable path. it somewhat bothers me when people ask me today about him as if i still cared.
the more i write and write, the more i feel disgusted with it. it, like feelings, just build and build until i have to spil them out. not because i particularly want to -- but because it just feels necessary in order to keep on going. sometimes i think about how i should act, or how i should be and every side of the square i turn to just seems incorrect and in the end, probably cruel or bad in some fashion or another. i wish i could properly cultivate my feelings into something that was meaningful and tangeable right now, more than anything. but because my life lacks so much meaning right now, i find that there really isn't any drive or inspiration for me to try and prove otherwise, even if it is just to a journal or an invisible audience.
helping others is extremely important to me, but lately i find myself just wanted to shut myself in my room and be alone and read books all day. i haven't felt this compelled to read in quite some time, but right now it seems a lot more appealing than surrounding myself in the people that are my friends. any normal person would probably be in heaven right now if they were able to be reunited with everyone they cared about in real life, but the problem is it just doesn't work out as ideally as it seems. i find myself more often getting agitated with those that i care for rather than appreciating their presence, and if anything it just proves to me day after day that i'm slowly becoming less and less of a human being. the most exciting thing to me these days is work. i anticipate it as if it were recess in elementary school, and when i'm not at work the most i can do to keep myself happy is busy myself with something -- do dishes, do laundry, do something. anything just to keep my mind occupied. and after all is said and done, it probably is pretty cowardly. but honestly at this point, i feel like i already realize this, and realize how my actions reflect and what they mean long before they even happen.
it makes me feel pretty safe, but when someone is aware of what they do wrong, it leaves them with no excuses, right? the only problem is, the right path really isn't as obvious to me as it should be.
.
"what do you mean by absorbed?"
"it's as if when you're in the forest, you become a seamless part of it. when you're in the rain, you're a part of the rain. when you're in the morning, you're a seamless part of the morning. when you're with me, you become a part of me."
"when you're with me, then, you're a seamless part of me?"
"that's true."
"what does it feel like? to be yourself and part of me at the same time?"
she looks straight at me and touches her hairpin. "it's very natural. once you're used to it, it's quite simple. like flying."
"you can fly?"
we are for each other, then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
and death i think is no parenthesis
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| you said we were the real thing |
[11 Nov 2005|06:34am] |
the thing that frightens me the most about problems between us is that there is no escape -- no comfort zone. when it happens, it is in fat, red, bold ink. not obscured, not opaque. the only clarity that we lack between us is the understanding of our own personalities. when you draw close to me, my fears surge through me from all corners of the universe like a magnet -- two opposing ends sore and awkward, clutching for dear life.
i hate being unsure, more than anything in this entire world. it consumes my entire life. question marks -- the great bottom feeders, scour me whole and pour out of my ears, leaving me pure as an nun. the antannae is bent, focus is lost. the remains are beyond repair, but the damage is the art. it is the striving, the desperation, the catharsis.
the maddening shroud -- i press against the wall terrified and appauled.
this is the fear that takes lives, that eats and eats and eats
and today it devours me whole.
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| promoted to leader, reluctantly |
[28 Oct 2005|05:44pm] |
this morning is the last time i will be sleeping in my own house for a few days.. i will be leaving to Oregon. i have to admit that i'm somewhat pensive about the entire thing, being that the person we're going to visit was extremely spiteful of me for quite some time.. but hopefully most of that is gone, or at least can be overlooked so that things can go well. even though katja keeps insisting that i stay with her there for the entire time, i feel like the entire experience would be a lot more meaningful for her if i wasn't actually there. it's a lot easier to get closer with people and spend time with them without having to be concerned about someone else.
more than anything, i really hope that she finds what she's looking for there. i too have journeyed far across the country in order for some sort of signal from someone that they want to keep moving, going.. it's a risk that results in a lot of vulnerability.
i have to admit that i am getting pretty tired of being put in a place where i am forced to lead and make decisions for other people -- i never wanted it. it is becoming increasingly difficult to trace the border between taking charge -- the dull patriarchy, and independence. they scare me to the core, and i know better that i'm not prepared for such a task, nor would i ever feel comfortable with embracing it as a part of my personality. this isn't me, this isn't me. if it were possible, i'd take the back seat any day over the steering wheel.
these days, the only thing my mind has been seeing are fireworks. fireworks and cogs, endlessly chugging and turning(my soul dies before it). expand, bloom, invert, suck, divide.
my head feels like a balloon, and for the most part i really wish there were a string attatched to it so i could just let it go and fly up.
changes appear in the distance, and i can see them waving.
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| did you really want |
[28 Oct 2005|05:42pm] |
sometimes i get the impression that the past can't be gone back to because it really isn't meant to be touched again. when i lie down, my mind spins into a whirlwind of faces, and whenever it comes upon yours, i become absoutely terrified. i never thought i would ever see you again. you were once a friend, but over the course of time, became a hopeless innocent who's life was ultimately ruined. by my own hands? it probably contributed to it, yes. but i think it was a consentual ruin -- one that you enjoyed, whether you think so now or not. but in reality, i think you are innocent because you are purposefully naive, and instead of being a victor over the chalice of disillusionment, you have lost your own personality in the process and have yet to find a niche of your own.
i used to be a firm believer that the past was a better place -- something to run and hide to when the present became too scathing and ugly to bare, but i don't really feel that way anymore. as bad as the present is, the past seems much worse, and instead of idealizing and only thinking of the parts that i enjoyed, i completely purged the horrible parts out of my mind. so much, that even to this day i have an extremely difficult time remembering things. people will bring things up every so often -- really significant events in my life that meant a lot, and i can't even imagine how, or why i managed to forget them. purposeful amnesia? maybe.
winter is looming near, and all i see are lost breadcrumbs under the snow.
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| you're not here |
[21 Aug 2005|11:34pm] |
tonight, the world came dangerously close to spitting me out once again. so far, it has happened twice -- once as a child, with my head sunk in Marianne's grave and my legs flailing out toward the stars in musky tents, and now, with my sunglasses hazed, looking not behind, but forward to what was once stonehenge -- knowing that even if it were once that i could climb higher than everyone else and look down on to their heads, i could still very well be capable of doing it today. would i still be called back to the ground?
and each time i arise new as a blue sun, soaked to the bone, my eyes covered in clouds of cataracts. it's really a strange, alienating feeling to realise this entire time that everyone around you was tiptoeing around you, with a jerk and a twist at every slightest sight of your distaste and apprehension. they knew, someday that you would eventually go off and springs would shoot out of your head until you flew up in a fury, but it couldn't come any later. in itself, things end up a lot easier when you are raised around mental illness -- when it swims in your blood, jutting out in thick red clouds that pass by as the time lapse of days. this is the blood flood: the time lapse: the circulation. it's a stream, it's a thought, it's a pulse. for a split second, it shot down with a sharp bolt, splitting me in two as a tree. my leaves tinged, my eyes fizzled, my sockets rolled until i was cross-eyed and backward; the voice of nothing cracking of the echoes. this was truly my madness -- the madness that was placed out for me.
but since this time i have caught the seed of it in my hands. i held her so close, and she said "this is what you truly are -- and if it's for the best, let it go."
and i did.
in this case, i was truly led by hand out be to the beguiled anemic royalty.
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| affliction -- or, right is a world |
[06 Aug 2005|12:56am] |
where to begin, where to begin. lately, it's been difficult to recall a beginning. it seems like everything has always just been going and going -- a piston that always was in motion. i wish the truth, instead of being a state, were just a red steel door in north dakota, where i could just take an airplane and fly out there on a whim to a barn in the middle of nowhere, and run inside and peel apart the hay, and there it would be waiting for me, inconspicuously. but of course i wouldn't get there in time, and as i saw it lying in front of me, the black van would be there to take me back.
but that would be too easy, wouldn't it -- too cumulative.
it wouldn't fit the blueprint, the archetype set out for everyone.
"right" is a far off country lately, beckoned away by my own reasoning. i'll think about writing a letter to the people who inhabit it someday. i can only imagine who could possibly be a part of it.
is that all we are, is what we cultivate from the senses, from media?
that's the great filter -- the senses take in what they like for the brain.
i imagine it to shoot through my eyes like a crack of sunlight,
hitting the earth in me and sprouting the raw ores.
if that's the case, then i feel like an overexposed x-ray.
i believe in the substance of nothing.
but rather, i wish i could take those figments of what i love,
and gather it all up in my hands, soaked in a rag -- and squeeze
the life out of it until it's rawness spills out, covering my hands.
i feel so silly being alive. i honestly do, and i think it shows,
and why people feel uneasy around me.
the die collide as stars --
one cold green spark,
and a baby is born.
will you give this chance a name?
it can't always be the same.
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| i'm standing in your line / i do hope you have the time |
[12 Jun 2005|10:51pm] |
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music |
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beck - lost cause |
] |
i feel like i've been tricked, by the oldest trick in The Book. the kind where someone makes you look at the palm of your hand and then slap you in the face and nearly break your nose. i never meant to say yes; i never had any intention of falling for such a stupid trick ever again of admitting my feelings to someone who only wanted to know just for the sake of it. it must have made your ego feel pretty good, didn't it?
"i just don't want to make it awkward for you, it's the last thing i would ever want. i need nothing more than to be your friend, and i'll be perfectly happy." but then again, mentioning it would probably even make it worse, sticking out like a sore thumb.
and defeated on all corners, i want nothing more than to rise for the last time and say, "i wish i were female, i really do." but then again that probably has nothing to do with love anyway, does it.
pushing the boundaries isn't fair. it isn't fair to anyone. and i shouldn't feel ashamed for what i can't change but i do, i do.
and if it means going out and staying away,
then count me out any other day.
today, today.
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| sound and fury |
[05 May 2005|09:52pm] |
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music |
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angelfish - king of the world |
] |
"she smelled like trees." the mentally handicapped benjy repeats this in his head persistently, insistently, not really knowing what he's saying. but all of a sudden, you understand. she smelled like trees. now she doesn't. she's gone. and there isn't even anyone left to miss her, and there's nothing left of her except that vague memory of the time she smelled like trees - a memory locked away and tormenting someone who can't understand, much less explain, anything else but that one fact. she is defined only in the way in which she is not there - in that one way in which she changed, then was gone. this is what loss is.
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| sorry now that you're falling from my eyes |
[03 May 2005|12:32pm] |
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music |
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tool - third eye |
] |
god, i never knew how much a picture could change a person's life until this point. i've slept better, i've felt better, i've lived better -- all because you were the only thing left that i even marginally cared about, and now you too, are safely put back on the shelf. every day i wake up now i feel like a new person, pure and shed of old skin. but now everything else seems so dull and old, and i can't help but wait for the day when they too will come back anew. is this the feeling of spring?
but regardless, these days i'm happy. happy in such a boring, pointless way. things just happen for the sake of moving on if nothing else, and i'm moving along with it and standing my ground. no regrets and no looking back.
today i read that jupiter was supposed to be a sun -- it was governed to be one, in all means of scientific reading possible, but for unknown reasons, it never became one. and if it did become a sun, we would all be dead and the earth would be a boiling hot planet full of cracks and lava. but if Jupiter never existed to begin with, we would all be dead because it absorbs all the meteors and asteroids that are directed toward the earth in it's cloudy vacuum of gas.
the smell of paint has been making me dizzy, but it feels good to do it. i really like painting, but i think i apply it the wrong way. it always ends up looking so smudgy and thin on the walls once it's finished.
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[23 Apr 2005|01:59am] |
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didn't know our love was, so small,
couldn't stand at all..
i have adored this song for so long, but only now do i really find myself really beginning to fully understand it's meaning. i used to be so, so afraid of the concept of "if you love someone enough, sometimes the best thing you can do is let them go." i thought it was a copout, where you have no place left to turn but to just throw your hands up into the air and forget things happened and 'move on'. but after what has happened, i'm beginning to realize that i think all love is meant to be that way. it is something that is made to be built up and built up unitl it swells like a fat red balloon -- until it finally bursts in sheer emotion, and in that you have to decide whether to hang onto it, or let it go. in the past, i have dwelled, and dwelled over people, until there was nothing left that i hadn't covered. but now when i look back on every relationship i have had with a person, i feel nothing but glad that i let it go. i have never felt so angry in my life, but at the same time so happy.
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| in memoria |
[18 Apr 2005|12:50pm] |
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music |
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nirvana - oh, me |
] |
i think a lot of things about my life revolve around repair. there is so much for me to do, and so much that i honestly try to fix -- but the problem is, as soon as one solution is attempted, another problem that was previously fixed is slowly falling apart once more. my troubles probably revolve around the fact that i have a difficult time juggling everything.. i honestly do. i never was good at juggling, nor am i any good at it now.
school, above all, has helped me realize that most things in life are about systems, and understanding them. if you know the formulas to arithmetic, then you will excel just as much if you know they proper system to live and keep yourself going on a daily basis, you will also do well. i wish, above all, that i were good at living. that i could just make sense of simple things like getting up every day, doing what is required of me, and giving into the leisures that pull me back and keep me away from obligations. pressing on requires bravery, and i feel that the only bravery that i can cultivate is from sleep, which for the most part, i sorely lack. if i deprive myself enough, i wake up so afraid -- of absolutely everything that i nearly refuse to allow myself to go on.
and in that sense, maybe since i have spent so many years only allowing myself to do what i want and nothing else, that it has a possibility of being above all, the sole reason why i no longer feel obligated to keep going. i've done what i wanted, how i wanted for so long, and i think that the reason a lot of people keep pressing forward is because of their lack of control. their lives are taken on a path where they aren't wholly allowed to choose where and how they went to be, and because of that they choose to work and work to a point in which they will be able to live freely and do whatever they please.
i lack so much discipline and structure, that i think there eventually comes a point where you divulge so much in free thinking that you completely lose track of any previous framework you may have had. i thrive in adaptation, and finding happiness out of it. i don't need mansions or endless trampolines, although they still hide in the back of my dreams, and i'm alright with that.
school seems like such a dull, boring repetition. every year i try, and i try. there is motivation, and a sense of trying to get somewhere that i am required in order to go on, but even those places don't particularly interest me. i have a feeling that, even if i come to a point where i can no longer keep trying, i will just sit and wait it out anyway. it seems so idealistic that the majority of the past three years i have spent sitting in the reception room of a fancy office, reading a magazine and never getting called, only to make my imagination turn it into places that i don't have much of a chance of ever discovering anyway.
the sap
wells like tears, like the
water striving
to re-establish its mirror
over the rock
that drops and turns,
a white skull,
eaten by weedy greens.
years later i
encounter them on the road --
words dry and riderless,
the indefatigable hoof-taps.
while
from the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
govern a life.
the words are out of control, and i guess that explains a lot about the future as well. there's a certain understanding that really seems unnecessary -- the understanding that regardless of everything seeming so simple, you have yet to master any of it, or moreover have any chance of resuming control.
i suppose i'll place my faith in the stars, wherever they might bring me.
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[13 Apr 2005|03:50pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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tired |
] |
| [ |
music |
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final fantasy crystal chronicles - across the divide |
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for someone with so much history -- so rich in your own ideas that you were immiediately ready to run away at the soonest possible moment that you could, i have never seen someone that could possibly make worse decisions than you have in your life. "it won't happen again, don't worry." but it does, it does. and in spite of my lack of authority, i sit here living in this pile of shit waiting for the day when you finally stop running away in your mind to a thousand different places and look over your shoulder to the endless circles you've been walking -- and all the people lying in your path, livid and wasted in the smoke. your father looks on, sitting so quietly in his box, heaving in his ashes among the tapestries. does it intimidate you? does it scare you?
and if you were the outlaw, she was the eccentric social. she sunk back into the corners of the house, damaged and calculating. lost in her own world, she spread her words so far and wide with utmost contmpt and evasiveness that the powerlines would shudder as she spoke. when you ran away, you probably noticed her on the street corner, passing out brochures for her latest lunatic street prophecy.. her hair tangled and yellow; sour hay. "give not thy strength unto Him nor your ways to that which destroy queens." people would gather in awe, mezmorized.
years fold back and retreat, and we're packing our bags.
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