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Here's a New Years Fucking Resolution for you: I'm going to be more honest with myself. That's right, I know what it is that I want, and I should try and get it. I feel that I owe it to myself to admit what I feel, think, know, and want. Sure, I've tried and failed, but I'd be a fool to let that stop me. You're worth every penny of another trip to Benihana, every last penny. It's funny... so many people want to have so many things. Me? I would kill to give you the world. I've missed you.
Late at night, in the early morning, that is, when reading what you wrote, and remembering what you said and did, if I listen carefully, if I listen past the minor piano arpeggiated chords, and think about everything, but yet about nothing, if I insert my name into the spots occupied with the ambiguous "he" or "you," if I take myself back to the appropriate time, the appropriate place, and, above all, the appropriate mindset, if at this particular moment I listen most carefully, more carefully than ever, I can hear you laughing at me, and it is most disheartening.
Everyone continues on with their lives. I look around and they still hustle and bustle and all that sort of thing. I suppose you can't ask them to stop. I suppose you can't expect them to give it up. I think it is what gives them life, or... that which resembles life. In any case, it shouldn't affect me. I can walk right past them, right through them. I don't have to acknowledge it until I am alone in my room. The universe will continue to expand, and one day... it will collapse upon itself. Maybe then... it'll expand again.
Starbucks tells me that "when coffee dreams it dreams of chocolate." I'm thinking that this is some sick marketing ploy so that you buy chocolate for your coffee, and when the coffee doesn't eat it, you do. There is an incredible amount of danger in all of this, though... because you know how people love to sue. They're going to prove that coffee doesn't dream, let alone of chocolate... and then sue Starbucks for false advertising. This is the world that we live in. This chocolate sure is good, though.
So I gave you a rose. It was long-stemmed, pink, and not quite yet in full bloom. You said it was beautiful. The color was perfect for the situation. What situation, you ask? Well, that's a good question. A red rose is for love, and a white rose is for friendship. A pink rose, well... I'm not so sure. You can assume that it is some sort of tender compromise, since pink is literally a combonation of red and white. This, however, still manages to leave the interpretation wide open. You can decide, though, because the rose is yours, now.
I think its funny when everybody looks, and they laugh because you're laughing. They don't see anything funny about it, but they just... laugh. I think that it is funny, so I laugh. Needless to say, countless individuals (more appropriately named a group) look at me and laugh. This is just the way it goes. I wonder what would happen if you had multiple people thinking the same way I do. Everyone would be laughing... looking back and forth between this other person and me. Weird. Maybe this would go on forever. Maybe we'd all explode or die, or laugh.
He was average height, average weight, worked nine to five and was paid a decent wage. He was generally unconcerned with other people, generally unconcerned with himself, and (generally)... unconcerned. There was one thing in his life that did not fall victim to mediocrity: his clothes. That's right folks, Bob's (even his name was painfully common) attire was the most outrageous (and ugly) clothing in the world. He wore the brightest colors and you would have thought that he made a conscious attempt to not match. However, Bob was Bob. He always was, and always would be, uncommonly mediocre... Bob.
In a crowded room, it is unavoidable that you will make contact with others, and that they will make contact with you. Of everyone that it could possibly be, you probably have a wishful thought about who it was. You can smile because there is that chance... that possibility that someone who you secretly smile at just reached out a hand... took that chance that you were too afraid to take. The downside of all this is that you would have to hold yourself out similarly to ask if it really was that person. You'd be risking laughter. Now what?
It's a sad ending to an on-off fairy tale, at least for today. Something I can look back on and shrug, or at least I tell you that's what I'll do. For once I felt empty and unfufilled when I laid out everything. I hang my head, ultimately, because that's the only reaction that I'll show. I wish to be mute, deaf, dumb... unable to write this. There would be no danger there. I hate the danger of disappointment, but I think that it would be unjust to let that outweigh the value of remembering how I felt today.
I think that a life of being schooled can fuck up our values. It makes us feel that making the grade is so important. When we get out of school, we go to work. We don't throw away these values, we continue on with this same frame of mind. We want to make the most money possible. Sure, it seems good, but have we sacrificed things to get where we are? As a society, we do everyday. We sacrifice the very planet on which we live so that we can have more money. We should stop and reconsider some things.
I stood in the middle of the road. The speed limit on this particular stretch was 25, but people generally went 30 or 35. I stood there in the middle of the road that night. At this time of morning, there weren't many people out driving. Every time I saw a car, though, I would egg it on. C'mon, car, do your worst. Here I am, I'm waiting for you. Asshole, don't swerve. I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't want to be. It went on like this all night. I never found a person as desperate as myself.
Maybe there is an advantage or two to being lonely. If not, it couldn't hurt to tell myself there is. So here goes... my attempt to convince myself that everything really is okay. Well, when I swear at everything around me, everything that is painfully inanimate, none of it can really hear me, even though I sure as hell act like it. I can sleep naked and be as vulgar and unkept as I want. Then again, if I wasn't alone, I probably would have no desire to be any of these things. I'll never cry with a shoulder there.
It's pretty sickening how I still hold on to all of these memories. I want to vomit them all out of me and into the toilet bowl, flush them down into the sewers beneath this house of mine, the sewers of things long past and forgotten. Rotten and putrid, the stank of anguish penetrated everything. Down the dirty green stream floated everything that I used to know, repressed now into the recesses of my mind which I care not to ever access. Now I'm seriously considering just jumping down into the water and drowning myself in everything that had been.
Hunched over in front of a desk, alone and disconnected, without smile or frown, it is a solemn face. Deep into the steel blue eyes you can see a memory. Behind you is a line of trees, suddenly stopped by a hill of grass. All around you is empty space. You sit on grass and hang your legs off into the air. Only that foot of ground between you and certain death, but you gaze out ahead. You see I-470 going down to Elm Grove, to I-70 which takes the cars on to Washington. The little cars drive all around.
Fade into me, don't close those tired eyes, and don't be afraid to cry. It'll end soon, when the sun comes up again, and we can forget the angry night. I'm fighting your words, I force some laughter, but we can't be happy ever after, after all. It isn't supposed to be, there's no need for apology, just drive your car home without me. Watch the stars fall, watch the sky loan me tears, see it conquer all of my fears. Catch the streak of light in your eye and keep it for a time when someone special is watching.
In retrospect, it wasn't such a bad idea, turning into a fish. I no longer have to stand all day, waiting for my legs to tire of standing, nor am I forced into sitting all day, waiting for my buttocks to tire of sitting. I needn't spend precious energy holding my head up high. Walking to the kitchen for a drink of water is obsolete, and my greatest fear: being burnt alive while sleeping, is no longer an issue (as I have no bed or bedroom). And with no bed, there are no morning backaches. It's good being a fish.
Nothing ever changed, it's all perception. Everything has always been this way, and it always will be. All you can do about it is try to look at differently, or run. When you decide that it's not worth it, not for you, you run and you never look back, and you don't stop until you pass out on the side of some street and as busy cars drive by and kick dirt onto your motionless back, you smile. You've made it. You could die there and it wouldn't matter. Bury your face in the gentle ground and cry happy tears.
Did you ever think that we should all go outside? We could look up at the stars tonight, look how they shine. They dance and sparkle in the sky, much the way that you do in my mind, your eyes soon meet with mine. But our desires we deny, think "it'll all happen in time." Fall into my arms and everything is fine. For once you are okay saying that you're mine and we are both now blind to the pain and the hate that is outside this little world that binds us. Dance over here and we will fly.
Feel the rush of an artificial life that drives you into the hole of reality. There's no guarantee that you'll make it out alive... or that there is even any such "out." If you were thinking clearly it might occur to you that there is no proverbial light at the end of this not-so-proverbial tunnel. But you might as well go somewhere, and why not tunnel ever-deeper? Sure you run a risk, but what are your other options? Sit around and wait for the end of the world? Sometimes I think that it would be nice... all the pretty lights.
Things that make me feel that way: winning by 1, making good kills in nerf, letting a friend know that I'm here after his girlfriend breaks up with him, making someone smile, making someone laugh, having someone tell me that they tried to call me today, looking back at 100 words and knowing that I really did live those days, making the wrong decision and winning anyways, making the right decision, knowing that I'm better than that, knowing that there will come a time when it won't matter anymore, knowing that when that time comes... I'll be far, far ahead.
I love Phish. The tires are the things on your car that make contact with the road. The car is the thing on the road that takes you back to your abode. Bummed is what you are when you go out to your car and it's been towed. I woke up one morning in November and I realized... I love you. It's not your headlights in front, your tailpipe, or the skylight above you. It's the way you cling to the road when the wind tries to shove you. I'd never go driving away and come back home without you.
The front is sure when I'm a steak. Nothing grizzly will ever break. I love the stars, their beast is mine. Whatever mouth, before it mine. Would you like a bit of my word salad? It's tasty, can't you see? It's tasty as can be. Word salad is for me. Ladle-laden jack-in-the-box. Water runs through I eat the sock. Avid bus son on rabbit of king. Intent to be there and stuck when I sing: Would you like a bit of my word salad? It's tasty, can't you see? It's tasty as can be. Word salad is for me.
It's nice to close my eyes sometimes and pretend that this... this right here... isn't where I am. It's nice to believe that I'm back at the beach, alone, walking in the sand, looking out at the ocean. I'm wearing a t-shirt, or at least have it slung over a shoulder. I have some nice comfy shorts on, and to complete it... I'm wearing my Birks. I'm listening to String Cheese Incident and I'm on top of the world for the time being. If only I had a cigar with me out on the beach at night. Smoking, smiling, dreaming.
Sit there, eyes closed, muscles relaxed, breath controlled, ears alert to the uncertain future of sounds around you. In the silence, imagine that something wonderful is happening. You've gone back a few years and all of the mistakes are erased... everything is okay. It's okay to smile again, it's okay to be happy. You have the right to show your teeth and laugh and feel good, because it isn't real at all. Don't open those tired eyes until you're ready to face reality again, ready to take everything that is carefully engineered to make you frown. My eyes remain closed.
Run and hide from all the little people who watch from the corners of dark rooms and the other end of that dark alley. Pick ‘em up and put ‘em down, that's what they all told you. They're coming for you and all you can do is stand and ask, "Who?" Don't you feel the hairs on the back of your neck, all standing up and at attention? Don't you hear the footsteps echoing throughout your little world? Closer, closer, closer they come. Stop. Close your eyes. You can hear them talking. "You are just a Type 1 paranoid schizophrenic."
My body floats high above the earth, gaining potential energy with every passing second at some exponential rate. When will it fall? My mind soars in a path which spirals downward from my body. It makes contact with the ground and instead of splattering, it goes right on through and out the other side. It doesn't stop, but is it going up or down, now? My eyes drift along and scan the earth as everything is as tiny as it has always been. My mouth forms a smile and I start to laugh as gravity regains its power over me.
Look at the flourescent happiness emanating from my room. It smiles with its perfect white glow. Look how it shines. Some people might say that something so flawless could only be artificial. I would disagree – the flourescent bulb is oh-so-real. Take that, naysayer! I bet your room is lit by candles? Is that what makes you so special? Is that why you judge? What an inefficient method to use, candles. Most of their energy is dispersed as unwanted heat. My flourescent bulb has a cool glow about it, and it is uses each bit of energy to its fullest potential.
Eyes open now, little sleeping beauty. Time to conquer the world. Breakfast comes first. Eat your unbuttered toast and have a glass of orange juice. Throw up breakfast. Off to school, now. Don't take their shit. Tell them they are wrong, and you have mom on your side. Everyone grimaces as you walk by. You own them. They resent it. Aren't you on top of things? Water and saltines for lunch. After school, do homework. Suck up to parents. Eat miniature dinner. Talk to uninteresting boys and shallow friends about things that don't matter at all. Go to sleep. Repeat.
We all dance around the room in one huge circle. It is held together so tenderly with our dainty little grips on the next hand. Who knows what the effects of one more person would be? It is estimated that we are at maximum capacity, but the door opens and in she walks. She looks around, dances by herself for a second and then she spies a spot that she feels is her own. She dances over towards the circle, her head spinning, legs kicking, arms swinging. We stare her down, but she keeps coming. We scream as we break.
I can't help but wonder what West Virginia Business College could possibly offer anyone. Does anyone hire people who come out of there? 9 to 18 months and you are prepared for what? Sounds like a crock of shit to me. I feel sorry for the people who pay to waste their time there. I find it hard (or maybe sad) that there are colleges out there that feel the need for advertising jingles. Do they have no reputation to stand on? Apparently not. It just bothers me to have to watch commercials for these institutions of supposed higher learning.
Well, it's the last entry for the month and I'm thinking that I should probably apologize for all the entries that weren't terribly interesting, or those that were filled with grammatical or spelling errors. I can assure you that they are due not to my incompetence, but rather to the fact that I only count the words, and I don't generally read back over what I've written to check it for errors. Anyhow, thanks for reading. There are a few other things I would like to say: taint, cottage cheese, rabbit, paring knife, peanut butter cup. Okay, that covers it.
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