the sky is falling?! i wish you had told me sooner...
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02.11.2003 @ 1:07 am
i've been...[insert appropriate emotion here] lately. so much so, that there's not even a word for it. *shrug* i don't know....i guess i'm just feeling kind of lost. not completely lost...just like i'm headed in the general direction of something, i'm just not sure what that is. i haven't really been doing anything lately either...i haven't written anything that looks even close to being a complete idea, i haven't drawn in forever, and i actually stopped playing guitar. my nails are long, and look fairly nice. mostly out of sheer laziness. they grow this way, and i haven't put in the effort to cutting them. and it's almost 1:30 again...and i'm not tired. some days, i wish that i wanted to sleep. i wish that i didn't sit here until all hours of the night/morning, doing pretty much nothing. i have a nighttime mindframe that is totally unproductive after a certain point. it's almost like sleep, because my brain isn't really into functioning......hey! i've got it! this is like the ultimate version of multi-tasking. i can sleep and do other things at the same time.... 'sounds familiar'
the weakerthans
we emerged from youth all wide-eyed like the rest.
shedding skin faster than skin can grow,
and armed with hammers, feathers, blunt knives:
words, to meet and to define and to...
but you must know the same games that we played in dirt,
in dusty school yards has found a higher pitch and broader scale than we feared possible,
and someone must be picked last,
and one must bruise and one must fail.
and that still twitching bird was so deceived by a window,
so we eulogized fondly,
we dug deep and threw its elegant plumage and frantic black eyes in a hole,
and rushed out to kill something new,
so we could bury that too.
the first chapters of lives almost made us give up altogether.
pushed towards tired forms of self immolation that seemed so original.
i must, we must never stop watching the sky with our hands in our pockets,
stop peering in windows when we know doors are shut.
stop yelling small stories and bad jokes and sorrows,
and my voice will scratch to yell many more,
but before i spill the things i mean to hide away,
or gouge my eyes with platitudes of sentiment,
i'll drown the urge for permanence and certainty;
crouch down and scrawl my name with yours in wet cement.
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