Known Some Call Is Air Am

Sep 21, 2006 00:35


Sometimes when people write plays they don't know where to start, they can't find that starting point, so they just begin in the middle, they feel like that’s more natural.

Sometimes i experience the world by actually seeing the things i look at when I’m walking and it amazes me.

Often i sleep to dream.

Frequently i don't sleep.

I find extreme humor in most situations. I like irony. I love awkward situations; they make my heart race with pleasure. I’m not kidding. I think they are fabulous. Juicy somehow.

Listening to music and walking sometimes really trips me out. Scratch that, i just get tripped out randomly, and to the extreme. Some might call this insanity, however, i feel my brain is just creating interesting situations to keep itself busy in an otherwise fairly uneventful period in my day, say, like showering or standing in line at the caf.

I have vowed to not eat in the caf. Well, as infrequently as possible. In doing this i am proving my snobbishness and spoiled ways. I like to take care of as many things at one time as possible. Probably proves elitism and slight pretentiousness.

Most of the time i feel like everything I’m doing is wrong, or a lie.

Lately i feel like i have a dimly lit future. I had huge, bright, Broadway lights when i imagined life in high school.

I can't tell if I’ve been thinking too much or not enough lately; more, too much on things that don't mater..

I miss France. Nique la reve americane

Working is consuming, money is controlling, i need to find a balance, and I’m trying to find a balance.

Things are shifting, like my home.. They can't sell that house. They will sell my house. I love, more than the word love can mean or ever imply, our house. It makes me dizzy to think about visiting my mom in some foreign place. I can't say I’m going home. Someone else will live there.

I feel a little abandoned by them. My family. Because we are bad at communicating. And my mom is busy.

There is a wicked, terrible amount of confusion in me over two people in my life. I have typed late-night epics that rival the book of the dead and the census for length about my feelings. And what has come of that? Absolutely nothing. So that gives me direction and confidence in my life.

Something has changed, in me, and i don't know what it is but its not good. Something has turned off, been buried. Laughter and excitement, maybe. hope, passion? Some crucial element. Maybe a few. When i find the person who gave me a lobotomy sans permission I’m suing them for all they are worth.

Memories of the past often hang in my mind for just a second, just a window frame where i can look and see the idea of a memory, a sensation, a feeling. But they are veiled and elusive and before i can even put them in clear focus they vanish, leaving me wondering and searching in vain for something that I’m not even sure ever existed.

Many times a week i find that i don't believe the place I’m in, this is going to be one of those dark ages in my memories, a time that i won't quite remember. This maybe will be a rare document from that blur, well, this blur. An anchor.

The Internet is like the 5 1/2 min hallway and I’m lost in it. But not my body just my mind. I’ve disappeared, I’m off the radar, and my body is here listening at the door, listening to the sounds and waiting for it to come back.

Fuckin’ a.

This is where i go to say what i want to say at a particular point in time without having to fight to get it in. i can be my captive audience here, sometimes that’s all you need, to say it without fighting.

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