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A romp through the graveyard of dreams

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Friday, September 28th, 2007
Friday [09/28] around 12:33am - Seriously, though.
SO. I was pouring over the differences between myself now and myself, say, four or five years ago. I don't know about the rest of you, but I am amusingly similar. I realized that the biggest difference between then and now was probably that nobody knows how I feel now. Not in the classic teenage "nobody understands me" sort of way, but in the much less optimistic "i have no one to share my thoughts with" sort of way.

And here I am, a little stung by the ever-dwindling list of friends but empowered by the same idyllic promise of electronic community that the media assumes so many people are consciously giving themselves over to just to say, "hey guys, I'm going to lurk for a while and mess with my layout, but don't be too surprised if I start pretending that I'm comfortable with this avenue of communication. also, why the heck is it still so hot??"




yeah, looks like I still can't take anything seriously either

1 rose to devour your notes.

Monday, January 16th, 2006
Monday [01/16] around 5:01am
I do not do this. This is not who I am.
I do not do this. This is not who I am.

This thought echoed in my mind for untold lifetimes in an instant. It reassured me and disturbed me. I am safe from this torture, but what mind convinces itself it is not itself.

I do not. This is not. Do this. Who am I.

Always what. Always is or is not. Definitive, yes/no, is/isnt, a or b or c or all of the above, but never why. Never for what reason. Never from where, for who, for whom or for whim or for won't.

Always what. Never why.

There was a quiet about everything. Not the quiet before the storm or the peaceful silence of things coming together, leaving an opening for the mind's montage. It was a quiet from death, a quiet from the grey aura that all things exuded. The neat black lines that surround all objects fade and melt and blend together. Not harmony, but an unwilling violation of once clearly defined borders. The neat black lines that surround all of our life fade and melt and blend together. No harmony. Always what, never why.

The quiet extends into the water. The water so cold that the air steamed into it. Cold with promise, cold with resolution, cold with the dream that one day, everything will be ok. And that day is today. That night is tonight. Placid like a mirror reflecting the porcelain nothingness of our own life. Light passes through infinitely, and thoughts and deeds dreamt reflected away pass effortlessly below the surface and stain the pure white bone. We see the marks and designs of the world as reflections from the surface, but the mirror only reflects inwardly. It only shows what we already are and have been made, never what is sneaking up behind us. We always prepare for the past thinking that it is the future as well, blind to the simple truth of looking over our shoulders. Constructs and defenses and promises are made without a contingency plan. The future is never what it once was, and the present never makes a place for the changes that always come. Today, tonight. Always when, never why.

A sharp edge, pulling and scuffing at the marks on the bone-white basin. Coaxing the impressions of the ones we hate and love to find their way back home. Cut up and shuffled but never gone, just out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind. A sharp edge, pulling and scuffing at the marks on your bone-white skin. Cut up and shuffled but never gone, just out of your sight. Out of your sight, out of your mind. Always where, never why.

The water will be warmed. Not by the superheated air, because if the water is so much colder than the air then it must be the air's fault. Just be happy, air, you aren't fire. Fire is always wrong. Fire always did it. And if fire argues with water, water will always win. Fire always picks on water. Fire burns water up, drives water away, but water always comes back and puts out fire. Puts fire out on its hot-to-trot ass. Puts fire in the doghouse and rains through every crack. Takes fire, soaks it down to the smallest flame, and surrounds it... an island of fire in the middle of the sea. And if fire talks back then there is only more land between the two- more black unyielding lifeless land. Full of potential and ripe for the picking, but forever a scar between the two, a sign of fire's ultimate failure and water's infallible wisdom. The water is warmed, not by the air, and certainly not by fire (who never did the trick in the first place), but by it's own pride and content. Water boils not because its told to or even out of desire, but because water gets the job done and the done job gets water, because but desire is brave enough to step up and take the fall, no other emotion stands a fireball's chance in hell. Hell is a cold place. Cold like the water before fire. Cold like the water with fire. But after fire its just pride. Ask the water, it can't lie. Its word is law. Its word is warm. Its word is the most comforting, inviting cold of all, and it strikes you down when you take the first step in. Always, never.

And it will be done, now. Its fine, because this is not what I do, this is not who I am. That will not be the stain of my life spilt on the porcelain reflection of the world. That is not my fire spilling out and taken in by the water, consumed by it for nothing more than its own pride. That is not my reflection you see coming at you in the water.

I do not. This is not. Do this. Who am I?

Theres no more worrying, its all out in the open, in the opening, in the curtain call. And before the curtain falls, the air will find a new, colder place to warm, and the water and fire will both dry up. And when they do, there will be nothing of the water - cool blue and fluid - and everything of the fire - blood red and stoic. It will cling to everything white and everyone reflective. So don't hold your breath, breath out the air and open up to the water and feel the fire in your lungs and your veins. Be open and be empty and be like me. Be like I will be and you won't have to think one damned more thought.

3 rose to devour your notes.

Tuesday, September 20th, 2005
Tuesday [09/20] around 2:00am
Lets settle this.

I organized almost all of my music today. The only songs in any sort of disarray are the ones that I can't find information on quite yet. Because I sorted ALL of my music (went through it all, for sure) I got a thorough look at what kind of music I listen to. I still love all of my eclectic music, my popular-somewhere-other-than-here music, and a lot of the good/popular indieish stuff (plus an array of dance, electronica, gothic, soundtrack, and rap music). The Mars Volta, The Prodigy, anything Nobuo gets his hands on, Jarabe de Palo, and the list goes on. Namely, one genre come to mind, something called "shoegazing" that I am apparently a huge fan of (look it up on wikipedia). On the other hand, I love the new Bright Eyes, Death Cab, and two bands called "Houston Calls" and "Jack's Mannequin." I think the latter is pushing me into emo territory, but I honestly wouldn't know anymore (haven't heard any emo in a LONG time. knock on wood). So yeah. I know there are tons of popular bands and old bands that are good, but I want to know what you guys really like that I probably haven't heard of. Go for it!

7 rose to devour your notes.

Monday, September 5th, 2005
Monday [09/05] around 11:21pm - take 128
Oh yeah, I copy people. Ask me any question you want. anonymity is fun!

4 rose to devour your notes.

Wednesday, August 31st, 2005
Wednesday [08/31] around 12:42am
I want our school to split into rival gangs, like in westside story. We can have a snap-off.

5 rose to devour your notes.

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