Truly, Madly, Deeply

Just hear this; then I'll go.

You gave me more to live for,

More than you'll ever know.


Shall we call this a lesson learned?

Christmas time is here, happiness and cheer.

It's cold, quite cold. My feet have started to go numb, but my heart is as warm as a roasted fish. I love the holidays for more than two reasons. But obviously, there's nothing more inviting than a hot mug of steaming cocoa after a pleasant walkabout with your next of kin. Amidst the excitement and romance of the holidays, I cant help but remember all of the people I've loved and forgotten over the years. I'd like to think that they are all sitting around having a drink in great company, and have forgotten all about me. It makes life seem a little less hurtful. That maybe our parting of ways was mutual and our hearts remain unblemished at the end of our parting. And there's no easy answer, no blame to forgive, only an easy sever to the tie that bound us together. But those killing lies don't mean much, in the end. I've never been one to keep anyone in my life if they don't want to be there anymore. It ends up making you feel blue as hell. Maybe I'm just too young to keep good love from going wrong. So I'll just wait and I'll burn. Lover, you should've come over 'cause it's not too late.

I'm alone, on a bicycle for two

It's not as hard as I anticipated, being alone I mean. I used to wear it fairly well once. I'd like to get back to that point in my life when everything was exciting and new, and those people were all plastic, and I could understand without feeling like a rotten piece of meat. But things are different now, mostly me, but still I guess it's easier to blame other things for our own unhappiness. Unhappiness isn't really the right word to use here. It's more like solidarity. I don't know what I'm saying, but I've decided that it's probably better to ramble on about hum drum things in this blog, than just go for weeks and weeks of not writing about anything. It sort of makes me feel thin and waif like. I don't think most people can understand that feeling, seeing as how everyone likes feeling like they've just eaten a mountain plate of turkey and mashed potato genosh. It's quite a funny sort of thing to say. Mountain plate of turkey and mashed potato genosh. Mountain plate of turkey and mashed potato genosh. Mountainplateoturkeeandmashtpotadoganosh.. I think it's easier to type with a mouthful of marshmallows stuck in the hollows of your cheeks. I like hearing the pitter pat pit patter of the rain on my head. I like it. It makes me feel nice.

Everything's gonna be alright.

I've got to push on through.
No woman no cry.

You shall not dwell in tombs built by the dead for the living

Here I am.



A vision of black and swirling mist grabbed hold of me in restless dreams of midnight. In the expanse, I heard a swelling tide of silent trepidation, of hundreds of silent voices all raised as one, forming the scenes of which I now will speak. a vast white light engulfed us, we stood on something, which is to say, nothing. Just a surface on which to be.

Cracko Jacko! Down goes a teenge hoodlum

It's getting harder to be somebody.
" Lord, raise me up, from the ground. I've been here too long, I said Lord, raise me up from the ground. I've been here way too long. Lord, won't you raise me up."
Redemption, coming like a runaway truck.

Sea Lion

It's probably better this way. I'm not saying that we didn't have good times. But, it's hard to look back, and my neck is starting to ache. There were things that I could've told you. There was a time and a place. But now they've past us over, and there is no longer a bond of trust or vindication, save an unhealthy growth that has engrossed our friendship. It may be pride, or insensitivity, or shameful desires. But I cannot want you, and you cannot have me. Selfishness has wrought our gray and grimy decay. Poor little Fortune boy, I only wanted to lose you.

Loveology

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE

If I could write it down in a book, on the very last page, I would. I guess it's just one of those things that, if said aloud, would diminish. But may be, by writing it in a book, where someone has laid down his life through tears and ink, you might understand just what it means. It's set there, permanent, irrefutable. A fact, a part of this world, a part of another. Proof that someone lives and cares. Proof, that no one dies alone. I'm here, I'm living, I'm breathing .. for you.

Wondering where I've been.

I changed the name of this blog to mirror the changes in my head. "Kaddish" is a Jewish prayer recited after the burial of a loved one. It's really, much harder than I anticipated, to explain. But I guess it's a sort of tribute to my disillusionment. I feel the dignity, the terror, the serenity of loss and bereavement, and I must lament. Kaddish is the eternal appeal , It is the river of light, the stream of idealism, the lament for the transended. It is a rememberance and reverance shown for an absent state of being. One part of my life, has transcended. It is gone, dead and fortifeid. I will remember it, and say a prayer to let go of it. This is my means of moving on, just as the Kaddish is meant as a closing of a book, a letting go of something that was loved.

June July and August said

A picture of you, holding a picture of me.
I still don't know what love means.

It's probably hard to plan ahead.
But ahead I shall go, until I see a strange face,
or feel apart of this human race.

What color is the feeling cold?

There's a lack of color here.

I've found myself in a rather peculiar state. There is no "happiness" and there is no "sadness", just a calm sense of knowing. Knowing, but not healing. Speaking, but not curing. In fact, it's quite abysmal in many ways, but also, it remains quite interesting. There are things I don't really understand, but then are those things that seem to hit me on a gut level so quickly and precisely that it unhinges me. The mind holds a very powerful connection into the souls of others.

I really see you upside down.

It's all just a matter of perspective, isn't it? We all go different ways, but as for the right way, the only way, the correct way, well, is there such a thing? I find that most people never really see themselves as individual dealers of fate and destiny. I am not a logician, but I believe in this meaningless, beautiful chaos of existence, and I am most often willing to go with it to wherever it takes me without prior rules about what it should be. But why is it so hard for us to accept other people's truths and untruths? Ignorance is a right that must be allowed, for if ignorance is forced to disappear, then knowledge would seem altogether worthless. You give education, you must also allow for the will to resist it. So it is with love and sorrow, grief and happiness. Some choose one over the other out of ignorance, some out of sheer repetitive research. Who are we to offer advice or dictate their choices? How long will we crucify others in hopes of redeeming our own convictions and condemnation?

A gamut of emotions from A to B

I know I've been a liar, and I know I've been a fool, but I'm banking on your intellect and your infuriating calm to validate my efforts. I know what it's like to love someone who doesn't deserve it, 'cause they're all you've got. To take down the ceilings and light the walls on fire just to see them burn, to love for the sake of feeling just a little less alone, I can't understand your sense of shelter. I am, but a swarthy and incensed stranger living in a loud and contaminated wild. But, If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life is destroyed. I just don't understand why people, why every fucking person is so bad to each other so fucking often. It doesn't make sense to me. Judgment. Control. All that, the whole spectrum. Well, it just...

Nine out of ten times, they're just mean bastards at heart.

Why did you have to change? I miss you already.

Won't you feed me Jack?

What's the use in all of this talking? I know full well that there's nothing to get hung about. It's just that sometimes I wonder if I'm strong enough to take everything they give me and swallow every last bit of it with an attractive smile on my face. I want to leave them with themselves to criticize and regulate. To push their positions on, to fight with and ignore, to deny and to constrain. I understand that I am young, but is not youth a pathway to life? Is not the only way to grow, to gain experience. It is wrong to live only through philosophy and others. Books can take you only so far, knowledge, into a room of convalescent faces and ruddy neck ties. I want to live even if that means making mistakes and falling down. Why must I remain imprisoned by their fears? But as The Shins say : " A stronger girl would shake this off in flight, and never give it more than a frowning hour." so, thats what this is. This is my frowning hour. And then I shall not mention this again. Then, I shall pull up my knickers and find a way to liberate myself. In 2 years at the very most, I'll leave with my family behind me and the future ahead.

On certain pale nights,

Had we nothing to prove, we might have leaned all night at that window, merely beside each other; not curing, not healing, just holding each other until the morning. Watching the quiet street and garish yellow street lamps of that drunken hour talking about life and death. but there were obligations and formalities to such passion; so we sealed the shutters and you drove me home. We raced along the darkened streets not speaking, not hearing, only gazing out into a night that remained silent as if holding its judgment for the pair of lovers speeding along in blissful silence. Always, a glance for the brightening window of experienced lovers, or a confirmation of sorts to substantiate the feelings that need naught to be said. We are not soulmates, we are lustful traders in this teenage wasteland.

Summer in the City.

I'm taking a three-day vacation.
"boomerang"

The Ghost Of Corporate Future.

I was sitting in a non descript room, swelling with absurd faces and lousy neck ties. There were comments on the weather, and blotchy , rather grotesque articulation in regards to the state of things "on the Market." The walls were blank except for a ridiculously painted "tranquil" scene of a boat docked on a tropical island shore, looking out onto the ocean. I decided to pull out my copy of "A People's History Of The United States" by Howard Zinn, to will away the muddiness of it all. A rather boisterous looking man sat on my left talking very fast, into his small blue tooth cellular phone attachment.. It was rather strange sitting next to a man in deep conversation to a person I could not see, while I, being a mere observer, tried not to interfere as to candidly point out that this man's sausage like index finger was clearly intruding in my personal space.

" Oh come on, Charlie, you know that The Dow closed up 73.03 to 11,288.54. Broader indexes were little changed, with the Standard & Poor's 500 up 1.38 to 1,262.90 and the Nasdaq composite down 6.08 to 2,245.38," blabbered the man.

I then wondered rather surreptitiously, sitting quietly next to the man talking to "Charlie", what He looked like while making love to his wife, or walking his dog, or taking a dump, or taking his kids to soccer practice. I wondered if He knew where his teenage kids go at night, Or if he'd ever made another woman moan, even his wife. As I sat pondering this, I thought about my life. I thought how horrible it would be to end up like this man, talking about stock exchanges and and owning a phone that contains a life of it's own. When people make you nervous, an every body's features have somehow started blending, and everyone is plastic, and every one's sarcastic, and all your food is frozen and needs to be defrosted. You'd think the world was ending.

After a few minutes, this man hung up his mouthpiece, and unplugged his cellular device. As we sat in silence, I had the sudden urge to talk to this man. I said, " Hello, how are you today sir?" The man seemed very surprised. He turned to me and just stared at me for a few seconds before answering. " Oh... well quite well young lady, thank you for asking." replied the man with the most absurd haircut I'd ever seen. It seemed to say, ' I am to be respected'****. He turned to face forward once more, though still looking my way out of the corner of his eye. I said, " Excuse me sir, may I ask you a personal question?" He turned to me once more, and yet, did not look me in the eye, and said, " I don't see why not..." " Do you look at your life sir? Is it fulfilling, in your opinion?" Now he looked into my eyes with an expression of sheer and complete shock. He hesitated for a moment, and then half smiled at me. " How old are you, may I ask?" I replied, " Sixteen." He then smiled wryly with a fatherly expression on his face and replied, " Aha, now I know why you have asked me that question. Well if I am to speak frankly, I should tell you that 'No,' I do not feel fulfilled with my life." I said, " If I may ask sir, why is that?" He pondered for a minute or so and said, " Well... I think I don't spend enough time with my wife and kids. My daughter is around your age, and I don't believe I know her well at all. And my wife... my wife.." He ran his hands through his hair wearily. " My wife is not very happy with me at the moment." He looked at me again and seemed to be slightly embarrassed. " I'm sorry," I looked at him and smiled. " No, please, don't be. I think it was lovely of you to share that with me." He seemed to relax a bit. " You must think I'm some sort of working stiff." I turned to him and smiled a little wider, and said, " On the contrary, I think you do what you have to, and that deserves nothing but respect." He looked inquiringly at me and asked, " You really believe that deserves respect?" I replied, " Yes, I do." He said " I want to be with my wife and kid. I want to be there for them and live life with them, not march off to work everyday looking like I'm going to a funeral. I mean I'm in a suit for god sake. I wasn't always like this." I considered him for a moment and then said, " May I make a suggestion?" He looked up and said, "Please, please do." I said, " for starters, maybe you should just drink a lot less coffee and never ever watch the ten o'clock news. maybe you should go home and make love to your wife or lick a rock, or both. maybe you should cut your own hair, cause that can be so funny. It doesn't cost any money, and it always grows back, hair grows even after you're dead."

Elephant.

Just a little older, that's all.

that's not all I'd do for you.

Lately, my hands, they don't feel like mine. So I bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes, that I know I'll never smoke. I guess I just did it, to mirror my unrecognizable behavior as of late. These kids are fucking nuts, but I seem to love every minute of what they give me. I know I'm rather peculiar, but they seem to dig that, which is completely foreign to me within these city walls. Of course, I have stumbled upon a few like these before, however not often, as I believed them to be few and far between. I just wanted someone who I could be myself with. Someone who could appreciate what I give and don't give. Most people just want you to hand everything over to them. But what people never really get is that those people who just spill themselves all over you, do it because they don't have a lot in them to start with. I guess I just thought high school would be different. But it turns out that I'M the one who's different. And people don't think "different" is too hot these days. Look, I'm not trying to say I'm some kind of misfit, crawling around on all fours stirring up rallies or holding up picket signs about how "different" I am or anything. I'm just saying, that people are a lot more intolerant than they'd like to admit. But I don't feel like making this a painstakingly long entry. I cry when I should and laugh when I can. That's mostly how it goes these days. And so it is, just like they said it would be. Or It could just be the power of red knickers.

Oh, for fuck's sake, don't tell me I'm starkers on top of everything else.

nuero-centro-might-be-fucked-over-compensating-lucid-languid-syndicated-fuck.

I opened my door.
And there he stood.
Lovely, putrid, and pale.

Where are we going Walt Whitman? The door closes in an hour. Where does your beard point tonight?

"Towards the eastern skies, my dear. Take me to your king, so I may tell him what a lovely guide you have been."

But Walt, I need a sign, something to give to my children. No guns, no gays, no immigrants will do. I need poetry or prose, something insurgent and mutinous.

Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a small steel bench. We thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and starry eyed, surrounded by swarthy young henchmen.

I says to him, "Jack, these guys, they're not real cool."
He says to him, " Hey man, get off of my shoe."
That guy says to me, " Hey chump, find your own goddamn bench."

Why does everything worth anything have to be imaginary?

Death and all of his friends

I've been thinking about death, immoderately these days. I don't know what it is that intrigues me so, but when I'm lying in bed, I tend to think about life and death and all of the people I've known who have passed on and the impact that they have left on this earth. If nothing else, I know that these men and women have left their marks in my heart and my life. And maybe it's enough just to impact one life while you're alive. To spark a light in the dark for someone who's searching and learning and looking for more, for a feeling of unity or love or something like that. Maybe its that every death signifies a passing on of something inside of you as well. It hurts, it burns, its a flame, so coarse and strange that some never fully recover. And, there are some whose touch on the earth, is alone, the very act of dying.

I knew this man, a very young man with a young wife and a little girl who had just moved to the U.S from India; full of life and excitement and the thrill of opportunity and luster in their sails. My family and theirs became as close as any could be, sharing our lives together, praying together, and celebrating each others life and triumphs. We had only known each other for about 6 months, when unexpectedly and most harrowingly, This young man was diagnosed with an advanced case of colon cancer. The world stopped for them, for all of us. (I've never talked about this to any one of my friends. They'd have never understood death or loss, or maybe wouldn't have even cared. It hurts to say that, but I know its true.) But anyways, they were devastated. As were we. They were a young couple, married only for about 7 years. So in love, so beautiful. Their little girl was 6, and full of life, when suddenly, everything turned to black. They were so scared. You should have seen it. It was enough to make anyone sob and sob and sob until no tears remained. Only after 6 months in America, full of optimism and opportunity, and only have a death sentence to show for it. We as good friends, supported them, and loved them as much as we could. We stood with them until the very end. To see the rapidly deteriorating man, who was once so young and strong for his family, turn to dust. To see his once vibrant and beautiful young wife weep with such pain over his coffin, and his little girl look at her father's lifeless body with tears streaming down her face. For this, we stood. For this, we wept... For them. They had only been a part of our lives for 1 year. But they will stay with me for the rest of my life. Its the kind of hurt that runs too deep for words. To see youth and love stripped away so viciously and cruelly. To see a woman destroyed, and a little girl left fatherless. Its the kind of hurt that doesn't go away. I think about them often. I think about their pain, and how their lives might never be the same. I think about my life, and how it will never be the same. This man, so young and vulnerable; was the mark he left on this world, his life? Or was it his death?

One of these things first.

I guess when it comes to the future, there are three kinds of people: those who let it happen, those who make it happen, and those who wonder what happened. I haven't always been tiresome and over analytical. Sometimes I think to myself, "who the fuck are you?" well I - I'm the most terrific liar you've ever seen in your life. As of the last two years, I've turned into this ticking clock, counting down the seconds to when I think my life should begin. OK, granted I'm not in the most formidable city, flanked with terrific people, but I think I need to do this for myself. I need to stop being so goddamn asinine and reserved. I used to be bold and confident, free spirited and ready to go. But as of late, I feel completely diminished. I'm constantly over thinking things just to be absolutely right. And who the bloody hell wants to be right all the time? By sitting here, talking about affecting the world and loving everyone and everything, I'm not satisfying myself. In fact I feel completely stupid. So, you know what? I'm coming out of this cloistered shell I've built for myself. I'm going to love them until their ears fall of and their toes curl. I'm determined to live and experience everything I've ever written in these entries.

Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism.

I value honesty and beauty.

It takes strength to be gentle and kind.

Oh, the starkness of the streets and the vastness of the universe!

Are you naught but a mirror image of our hearts?

Little glass luminous orbs float into a dark, and incredible expanse.

Are you and I but a small part of some inconsequential breed of lovers and kind-hearted missionaries?

If so, As candles lighted at full moon; do not let the sun dim your flame, so phantastical and bright.

A tender heart, hating the wide black void, may illuminate this squalid and impenetrable darkness.

Be ignited if not for you, then for me.

But I want you to stay, sometimes.

I had it coming, I've always been a sentimentalist with too much to gain. I'm a complete idiot when it comes to those with heavy hearts and a smile to discover. But why can't I speak with an air of estranges and detachment? It seems, people enjoy that more than when one speaks with a cadence of kindness and an eagerness to please and comfort. They don't want a friend. They want someone who will sneak up when their not looking, and write "Fuck You" right under their noses. I cannot fake interment once I've fallen in love. And I fall in love with everyone I meet. Is that so hard to recieve? Why do they make me feel like a first class idiot for trying to love them?

Wax Worth.

Love me, because love doesn’t exist,
and I have tried everything that does.

I have cultivated my hysteria with pleasure and terror.

Joy and sorrow are inseparable.

(tobereadinonebreath)

I feel like screaming,
with grief and trembling,
happiness riddled with sadness,
but wait for me in my hour of preoccupation,
for Life Is Just A Four Lettered Word.

Love one another; but make not a bond of love

I'll look for excuses, a warning sign.
Don't make me sigh, or tell you my dreams.
I'll break your heart, to save it.
We know not what love is,
and your guess is as good as mine.

It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us the most.

My task is not to seek love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within myself that have shielded me from it. We are all of us born with walls and blinders, this, a punishment of Man. Our journey in life can be influenced and defined by whether or not we have eradicated these barriers and indeed loved another so fiercely, that in the very end, all question of Man's Deity is vanished.

Everyone else is either asleep or having sex. I've been watching cable television and eating jello.

I am longing to understand how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other. Being a wallflower is very strange, in that, you see what most people don't and you learn to keep quiet about them. That's why everyone likes you and smiles at you because they know that it is you they seek to impress. So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be. I don't know if you've ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but maybe it's good to put things in perspective. But sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Well fuck, not everyone has a sob story and even if they do it's no excuse. Things change, and friends leave and don't give a damn anymore, and life doesn't stop for anyone. I really don't know, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. Sorry, I've been ranting a lot over the past few days.
Just bare with me, alright? I'll get through it.

Say the unsayable, make the invisible visible.

We are islands to discover, and I've got to tell you what a state I'm in. Well, amidst happiness and charming squalor, there lurkes a feeling. A feeling of heartbreak and sadness. It is for myself and what I used to be. I am moving through a chapter of my life as if there were some great dormant monster waiting to devour me. I suspect that this monster, would represent life, love, and responsibility. You see, although most would disagree, I am still a small child in this world of ridiculous games and tricks. They can't understand that I do not understand. I am mesmerized, but I shall never take part. Its all too strange and cumbersome. I am not yet so corrupt, as to feel fufilled.

I could feel it go down.

I miss the indescribable charm of weakness. Being strong is something held on a pedestal only for the weak, and the weak are the most deserving of strength, and yet, it is not given to them. I'm tired, I shouldn't care, but I do. So I'll cry for myself and for you. I'll cry for the pain that we share, and the suffering that we bare on our shoulders. I'm missing something. I taste it in my mouth, and I hear it all the time. It's you, its me, its what I used to be.

Too Much Too Soon

If I was some kind of neurotic,
I'd understand my plight.
But I am a woman,
in a time of sodomy and sin.
Revolutionaries blow too far past my head,
and most never stop to say hello.
I've been stumbling for blocks,
and not one has paused to tell me their name.
I am a friend to the trees and clouds,
of soups and sounds.
I love, but cannot be loved.
I am loved, but cannot love.

Sideways

This feeling is tormenting flames and ambiguous phrases.
It is disheartening and empty, a vacant and thrilling chasm marked only by desolation and failure. All that I hate, I am. All that I want is unattainable. I am alone in togetherness. Does no one care for the disabused and melancholic youths? To the shy and the quiet, for whom do you keep silent?

I am a man and a woman, a child and a beast. I am the wealthy, the poor, the sexfiend, and the monarch. I am the druggie, and the violent. I am the punk, the gangster, the teacher; the fucking salt of the earth. I am the daughter and heir of nothing in particular. I love and I self indulge to the point of reckless abandon. No, fuck that, I am a ruling planet in a solar system of Bullshit.

Dare to be one of us, girl

My hands smell like someone.

My fingers tingle, and my breath sighs in shades of gray.

I have succumbed.

ah, ll, rig, ht..

You're not obliged to swallow anything you despise

The people who think the most interesting thoughts, are those who decide to use leisure as a means of mental development. People who love good music, good books, good pictures, good company, good conversation, and spend their time, considering, searching, and diving into them, are some of the most openminded individuals you will surley ever meet. People who realize that "finding" ones self is creating ones self. These people don't just swallow everything they read, everything they hear or see. They question, anything and everything. Free-Thinking individuals. Once learned, it becomes easier to understand that, those who do not think for themselves, should not think at all.

Love is natural and real. But, not for such as you and I, my love.

And I wouldn't raise my kid inside this city anyway, Where they grow up too savvy and grow up too fast. And they know about buying shit and know about sex. And they know about investment banking and also about brokerage firms. And they know about the numbers and they know about the words. And they know about the bottom line and also about stones. And they know about careers and about the real deals. And they all grow up and become people's people with people skills.

If I kiss you where its sore, will you feel better?

This the strangest life I've ever known. The strangest city, with the strangest sort of people. I want to love them, because I know how much they want to be loved. I want to kiss them, just to make things a little easier.

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls

"The reality of the other person lies not in what he reveals to you, but what he cannot reveal to you. Therefore, if you would understand him, listen not to what he says, but rather to what he does not say. The soul that sees beauty, may sometimes walk alone. What difference is there between us, save a restless dream that follows my soul but fears to come near you?”

- The Prophet Kahlil Gibran

There is a tree in Paradise, and the Pilgrims call it the Tree of Life.

Take your time and you'll be fine, And say a prayer for people there, Who live on the floor. And if you see what's meant to be, Don't name the day or try to say, It happened before.

Don't Think Twice, It's Alright.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that this all feels very familiar. But this life is not really mine to be familiar with. I just know that someone has felt this before. When its peaceful outside, and you're thinking about your future, and listening to Nick Drake and thinking about someone you've never met, and all the books you've read have been read by other people, and all the songs you've loved are loved by other people, and all the people you think are attractive, are attractive to other people, and all the lies you've told have been believed by other people. And if you'd -a thought of all these things while you were happy, youd feel great because you're describing unity, I guess. And you're ok with that, and you begin to feel optomistic. And you think of all the wonderful people you'll meet and all of the people you don't hate, and all of the life still ahead, and all of the mistakes you'd like to make, and ..

A man impoverished, is ambition.

Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head.

Ah- I've got some nasty habits, I take my tea at three.

Love is found in us all,
a dormant monster awakened,
at a glimpse of its counter in another.
I feel tiresome.
I need to feel something,
other than drooling conundrums,
and philosophical, abundant, shit.
Thats all I can spew out today,
Theres too many swedish fish whirring around in my head

Come on Bartender, won't you be more tender?

Am I a prisoner to instincts, or am I destined to live free and detattched as boats to a dock? The future seems a long ways away, and yet its looming over my head. As I sit in school, recoiling in the midst of high pitched squabblings and truly archaic faces, I spurn the sudden urge to grab my bag and books and tear out of those absurdly blue double doors, skiv off my lessons, and run through the streets, tearing my clothes and running, screaming, kicking, and dancing out of sight. Out into the streets, mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, destined never to yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles, exploding like spiders across the stars. And in the clouds, see the blue centerlight pop and a light so warm and brilliant, until it comes chasing after me. Is that abnormal? Well other than that, I've got nothing to say, I've got nothing to give.

Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying.

I should think we'd live a bit more to the limit.
And maybe, with a little less whining in between.

The pain passes, and the beauty remains.

As humans, we seem to think
that life is too enigmatic, reality, a common wasteland.
In our pain, through our sadness, we lose our love for people.
We love only our pain, we care for only our sadness.
Is love a dying breed?
In our world of instant gratification, of slow and incepid sedation,
have we forgotten our own?
What commonplaces we all share, the pain in which we all revel in,
have we turned a blind eye to our fellow humans?
Yes, I cry.
I cry all the time, but so do you.
If you are a stranger, merely blown here by the winds of chance,
I'll share this with you.

We are friends and I do like to pass the day with you in serious and inconsequential chatter. I wouldn't mind washing up beside you, dusting beside you, reading the back half of the paper while you read the front. We are friends, and I would miss you, do miss you, and think of you very often. Eventhough we might be changing, and of course, trying to find our place in this world, we all know that when tears fall or smiles spread across our faces, we'll find eachother because no matter where this crazy world takes us, nothing can change so much as to change our comradery.

Everything is illuminated.

It's just like the movies, I eat from the trees.

I need to leave,
And go someplace nice.
Someplace where the ground is cold.
And the city sleeps.

Traveling, I believe produces marvelous clarity.
We are all of us naturally confined.
We are all of us naturally enclosed within ourselves.
We tend to see no farther than the end of our nose.
The world is after all, a great mirror in which we must all see ourselves, in order to know who we are.
I think I've known this all along.
There are so many different types of people.
There are so many different types of point of views.
There are so many opinions, laws, and customs, and new experiences in this world.
These I suspect, teach us to judge wisely on our own, and to teach our judgement to recognize its countless imperfections and natural weaknesses.
Change is the essence of life.
I'm willing to surrender what I am as of now, to what I can become.
Changes for the better or for the worst are always accompanied with discomforts and disatisfaction.
Irony is a hidden factor that creeps around us in life, letting its presence be felt only after its left.
I don't want to be a victim of it just yet.
I want to improve myself as much as possible, and create a person that I can be proud of.