| (no subject) |
[Apr. 18th, 2006|08:15 pm] |
1. Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie/book/fictional character reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a substance to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me. Or at least me.
5. I'll tell you my favorite memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal or plant you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 24th, 2003|02:28 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  okay | ] |
lately i've become suspicious of my subconcious. i try to figure out my own meanings behind my own actions.
quitting smoking didn't take the pressure out of my chest, or the shortness of breath. wondering what to pass it off as now... emptyemptyemptyemptyempty enough. fucking. empty. enough.
it's sad, because i'm pretty sure I know what it all means. even if I do love, who says I have any idea what to do with it anymore, and how long it's been there.
crap. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 20th, 2003|11:49 pm] |
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i am heavy beneath the heavy air of this hot apartment, my dry eyes and contact lenses, breaking in a new hat. i haven't learned yet how to spend 'free time'. spend with you, spend with me, wa.ste. i walked my dog 3 times today, i ate 3 meals, i drank 3 jack&ginger.jack&ginger.jack&ginger. the city is full and time is empty, i am wasting time - and all i can do is hope that it doesn't matter, because some day i won't need this time back. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 20th, 2003|11:44 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  drunk | ] |
i hate to sit beneath you on the floor, handing you pictures taped to recipe cards: "is this it?", "no", "is this it?", "no" - it never is. always enthousiastic when words slip from between my lips into your ears, content to learn and understand, content to know but uninterested in touch.
open to epiphany but never to intercourse. you let me pull the white or brown or green or orange sheet from over your head and reveal your skin, but never to feel and know it.
but yet i'm content, and in my strew of sunflower petals and character sketches, i'm collecting pinky fingers and eyelashes, collecting photographs of other people's wedding vows - and you, the model sitting on your cotton coloured toadstool, are slowly unbuttoning your blouse.
one... two... and i'm heating up, i'm starting to sweat, my skin thickens as my blood races... three... and i realise it's too much at once.
so while i was strolling, lazy and penetrable down the street, i floated upon the smell of your hair in the night sky, and i smiled and spoke, "thank you for letting me be me, before we eventually become one" |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 10th, 2003|08:36 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  mellow | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Constantines - Arizona | ] |
You drew a bus for me, you endure me, you suprise me, now you keep my icons organized. You're awesome.
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| Slight buzzing sickness |
[Sep. 10th, 2003|02:06 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  sick | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | White Stripes - Hello Operator | ] |
The only good thing about a terrible head cold is how fast the liquor takes hold, it creeps into the blood and rides among the antigens and red blood cells directly into the brain. It finds home among the tired and weakened synapses in the brain and immediately begins to take control. Blessed alcohol, further confusing the phlegmy mess and causing a slight, swimming buzz between my ears. The cold is at it's worst, when I'm not blowing my nose I'm sneezing germs onto myself. I'm a snotty mess. Happy Tuesday. Hopefully I'll be better soon. |
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| Murder! |
[Sep. 6th, 2003|01:01 am] |
I'm tired, it's Friday night. Thanks for the code Kya!
Thanks for holding me up for 20 minutes at the elevator Pirate Man. Thanks for talking in half french, half english and smelling like rot. Thanks for telling me all about killing people, not being allowed over the border, the car accident that they still owe you for 35 fucking years later, how you're so well hung that your mother asked you to rape her, and for the way you said it all to me.
I am still into the city, staring out the window at a chipped white building. Days away from envy, days removed from bathing suits and free fall. I hope you'll like my journal. |
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