One is silver and the other gold.

A series of broken relationships.

My old pals, how I love them, but things are ending.

But with this perhaps some old spectres will also die. Perhaps I will be free from the shackles of history.

Though I don't really expect this to happen until grad school. The deshackling, that is. The slow death is as is: inevitable.

Alone wrote

8,000 Americans dead in 9/11, Iraq and Afghanistan.

Don't email me with your "but what about" and "how can you equate--" It's a fact, not a moral reckoning.

Every one of them is missed by someone.

Every one of them leaves behind a half-person, or perhaps twice a person, as they have to both eat pizza and open presents and smile at work while also carrying the burden of pointless emptiness.

You hear his voice in a park, see him just rounding a corner. And every morning before you open your eyes you try to wake yourself up back--

But time goes only in one direction. Better than spiraling inwards, towards nothing, as it does for parents who are left marking time after their child has moved on.

There's no shame in making him a memory and moving on, but there's not much relief in it either.

Hail and farewell.

Can't help but be reminded of suicide. What about those parents? There is no shame, no stigma attached to the death of your soldier son.

Let us gaze upon the wilde Pushmi-pullyu!

Been up late every night, sleep in late every day. Never wanna go to sleep. Never wanna wake up. But I do manage to get a lot done. I just miss alotta phone calls in the morning. And early afternoon.

I kind of hate how easily I see parallels between the lives of characters and my own. Is that warped empathy or extreme narcissism? As if I wanted their faces to all turn into mirrors.

No. I don't want it. I don't like what I recognize in them most times. Not in a self-loathing way. Just in a but-why-is-life-so-complicated way.

My brain is stuck on William Zanzinger and poor old Hattie Carroll. Just keeps repeating. Also,

They're just old light.

Some things you lose and some things you just give away.

Stuck on net change.

State A being preferable to B. I perceived there to have been a shift from A to B, but realized that I cannot define how the shift occurred. I first assumed it had been due to action. I had been unable to figure out what a plausible state shifting action was. What had caused the movement from A to B? Not action! Inaction! That is to say, stasis at A required something.

I was looking for a push. There is no push. Simply put, there ceased to be a pull.

A song he gave to me...

I already gave it to someone else.

Poetic hearts are a liability. Increased susceptibility to polarity.

Growing weary of symbolism. Even so I was tempted to follow that up with bird-bones. Ugh.

I just wanna go to Orlando and enjoy not being a punk but going to punk shows anyway.

Or maybe I'll just paint instead. OK.

(The echoes in this place make me feel like I'm not alone.)

What am I looking for? It's been more than 3 years. The trail has gone cold.

It's like I believe the wild theories put forth by my dreams. But in reality, I'm sure somebody else has just happened to have adopted his old handle.

That my heart pounded with such hope and apprehension blows my mind.

How fucking irrational can one get.

Jesus.

Foot, mouth

Open antpile, insert stick.

Interactions begging for reaction but there's no room for footnotes in reality, no matter how beautiful the story.

Oh.. oh.. see, there goes the proportion. You've gone and messed up the proportion again.

This is a place not sacred nor hidden.

Just this place like one I once knew.

And I hate to chisel in stone, but.

I don't understand, motive or impulse or resignation.

And I couldn't hear them but I could hear you. And even in these echoes expect I hear you more than you heard yourself.

I hope you forget. I hope all comes to naught. I hate the mocking overlay. I hate your nervous laughter. The sudden flight from reason.

My silence is like so many mincing steps.

No, you are not beholden to me. I am not your mother. You are right. Because I won't raise my voice, won't extract vengeance. I am so many beats of silence.

Understand: I am risk averse. It comes in part with rationality. It's left in part by blunt forces.

What are you slave to? It's something beyond fear. I cannot see it. I cannot understand it. I do not accept your reasoning.

I will not accept that it is a lie I cherish.

No outlet. No recourse.

Don't take this to heart. I stopped shaking a while ago. I am tired. Baseless.

I know these words. So well that I know how powerless they are.

Please.

Why?

Google Voice

Been playing around, trying to get a neat number for myself. I'd prefer a 407, but we'll see.

Here are open ones I've come across that were atleast almost amusing.
(810) 689-GTFO
(860) 631-RAWR
(559) 949-RAWR
(570) LOL-WUT7
(530) WUT-U-SAY
(260) TOTS-RAD
(256) 2PE-WPEW
(708) WOO-XKCD
(615) BOOM-LHC
(708) 3RG-SPEK
(484) RAR-TREX
(347) 8CY-LONS
(708) HOB-BIT5

I'll make one eventually.

Dear? Oh! Dear.
Sometimes I've gotta wonder if you find my stock in rationality misplaced.
But I think that it's poets that have got us thinking that love short of obsession is lacking.


And when it comes down to it, love, I don't see that there's much that we lack.

Really, what they're trying to say is

Really what I'm trying to say is that, I don't like how people pick me up use me and then throw me down,
But really what I'm trying to say, is that not all so called urban writers are uneducated hacks diguising porn as literature.
Sorry for the rant, really what I'm trying to say is you have tons of understanding from here!
Really what I'm trying to say is when you start over (if you do) look for things that you didn't see before.
No really. What I'm trying to say is we need to call sin sin and temptation temptation.
So Really What I'm Trying To Say Is, Your Normal. But You Gotta Be Careful, You Need Those Organs, Yeah Know?
But really what I'm trying to say is sometimes you can't pay attention to words you hear around you, especially when they are repeated from mouth to mouth.
Sorry, not really! What I'm trying to say is 'do you actually want to?' What's in it for you?
Really, what I'm trying to say is that the teachers are pretty tough on us as a year group.
Really what I'm trying to say is that it shouldn't be that easy to look up Whois information.
really what I'm trying to say is. God please don't take her away from me.
Really what I'm trying to say is people are blind. We're trying to teach the youth.
Really, what I'm trying to say is that I'm a huge dork, and this is like crack for me.
Really, what I'm trying to say is this comment is BIAS.

Really, what I'm trying to say is that Chuck Klosterman is an idiot. <--Hahah yes :)

Craigslist

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Looking for part time work has never been so much fun.

Not thirsty enough

So easy to forget that there are always blank pages for dry throats.
Or rather, easier to neglect reflective exercises when the night knows company and the day obligation.

So what then? What's to convey then, beside the extent to which I've screwed my tomorrow over. And I mean this in the immediate sense! How then, this..

Even in my contentment I find conflict. Qualms that I sometimes wonder as being more than toys for my mind or indicators of my partaking in larger themes, unknown to myself.


Living between two lives, can I really give myself fully to either? Do you admire the steadfastness of a pendulum or accuse it of periodic neglect? Trifles, maybe. Weak in the warm glow of summer.


All else aside, I'm surrounded by love. I feel so much more stability within my life than I had been accustomed to, to the extent that I forget how we're all hurling through space (and bitter time!).
Except for a face that keeps appearing in my dreams yet. Almost three years. Or rather, only 3 years.

Tonight I am unsure how to proceed.

Like visiting a photograph.

Change. A lot of talk about it. Mostly useless babble. How we've changed, how we haven't. Spurts of introspection aching like growing pains.

As for me. I've displayed some irritation at these murmurs. Nothing I've too closely examined. I haven't changed so much as my circumstances have. If I changed as quickly I'd be perfectly adaptable. Would be a useful trait, but perhaps offsetting to friends I have but intermittent relations with.



Maybe I will sleep. I haven't much to keep me occupied through til morning. But I will then sleep late and miss out on much.

Back to Orlando soon. No matter where I am I miss where I was. But I miss home the most when I am here. I suppose it is because it is like visiting a photograph. Everything looks proper, but there is no life to it.
Hopefully my father will be home soon.



Why is it so difficult to have all the people you love in one place?