ineptly yours, sincerely sorry
March 02, 2004 @ 8:24 p.m.
Today was a day of little class and lots of relaxation, so of course I didn't relax much. I read plenty, for class (Catch-22) and for pleasure (Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers).
It's as though the more time I permit myself to get happy, the sadder I become.
Everything's always so worrisome and I hate that. I'm tired of worrying about bills, about money, because I don't spend all that much money, in honesty. I don't know where it goes. I wouldn't care, either, if I had enough of it when I actually needed it.
And it seems as though I'm just complaining all of the time now, and so weary from complaining, and unable to stop from doing it. I am starting to write again -- there have been a few poems, nothing special -- but I am writing. It seems exhaustion and supreme boredom are the main drives to creativity.
Another old person re-entering my life, of sorts. This time, it's based on my doing, not his. This is Kyle's new thing. If you care what he looks like, he's the guy in the blue shirt in all the pictures.
He looks good. He looks really good. And seeing his face again just brings back all of the really good and really bad things. I only regret a little of it. And I miss much more than that. His face makes me remember the past, when I thought I had at least a chance at becoming someone (and being with someone) that I would be proud of.
There is a Mad Generation show this Friday and I must go, if only to tell myself that it's all right to feel like I do and still venture out in public. In any case, it might keep me from drinking myself into a stupor this weekend. I might have fun, if I can quit being so uptight and quit remembering the harsh judges.
please let it work itself out
we've got time to melt
you haven't said a single thing
a six month reoccuring dream
your eyes are a cloudy morning
my lips are this sealed letter
ineptly yours, sincerely sorry
it's something you feel
in the sole out of your shoe
on a loud city bus
on some aching afternoon
Feeling: like a six-month reoccuring dream.
Listening to: The Lawrence Arms's "There's No Place Like A Stranger's Floor" is in my head
<< | >>
- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006