December 2009
24 posts
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10:45 PM in a quiet room.
i hear the fireworks outside. i’m texting friends in the city. i feel like half of me should be there.
—-
5:01 AM sleep is for the weak.
the last day of 2009.
cheers.
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time is such a strange thing. there’s so little and so much of it at the same time.
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i’m still happily in that state of nothingness. walking barefoot on cold tile, uncombed hair, listening to silence.
this is the difference between here and there.
there: noise, rush of adrenaline, possibility here: quiet, endless tryptophan, stagnant
i’m never satisfied, am i?
—-
i want ties to this world. hold my hand. i’ll let you.
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“i shall never grow up.
make believe is much too fun.”
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nowadays: i never sleep before three. i wake up quiet. i walk in silence. i forget to inhale.
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http://www.marcjohns.com/ →
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i feel so different here, a stranger to everything outside of this house. four months is so much time for change.
there are people here i don’t want to see. but it’s almost obligatory that i attempt a meeting, just because of our history.
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i’m home now. florida. it’s much warmer here than new york. that was an unnecessary statement. of course it’s warmer here. it’s quieter as well. another one that goes without being said.
i fell asleep on the plane today on my way back here. i held in my hand a book from a friend—in it, a photo as a marker—tied with red string to two of my notebooks, black.
...
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i want to hold the hand inside you. i want to take a breath, that’s true. i look to you, and i see nothing i look to you to see the truth
again, sitting in my room alone, listening to mazzy star. it’s 2:17 AM.
you live your life. you go in shadows. you’ll come apart, and you’ll go black. some kind of night into your darkness colors your eyes with what’s not there.
...
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flight cancelled. scrambling to get a new one.
right now, alone. own door propped open. neighbors’ door propped open. cleaning. packing. cleaning. packing. laundry.
ready to be up all night. worried about getting home.
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if all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops, oh, what a rain it would be! standing outside with my mouth open wide, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! if all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops, oh, what a rain it would be!
if all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes, oh, what a snow it would be! standing outside with my mouth open wide, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! if all...
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“oh, the future’s got me worried such awful thoughts.”
—-
i hope i get home on christmas.
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skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood.
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she stood there, talking herself through each layer of clothing. this was the right thing, she knew. this was the right time, she was sure.
her sweater, pulled over her head just before she entered the room, lay in a mass by the door. the thin fabric of the shirt she wore now brushed against her toes when she shifted her feet.
her fingers were at the waistline of her jeans, the metal button...
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last night, i had one of the most vivid dreams i’ve had in a long while.
i dreamt you were here with me; across the park, over a hill. you were visiting. i didn’t want to leave you, but i had to sleep. so i slept. then i dreamt within my dream that my mother let me find you early in the morning because i wanted to see you. you pulled me with you. you said you had some place to...
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sometimes i want a warm body to lie against.
i don’t really need it, but i want it badly enough i can imagine how it feels to rest my head against skin or shirt, pulled taut, firm against the ribs, the lungs.
i can imagine the beats of the heart and the rush of air going in and out.
in and out. in and out.
the rise and fall of a chest.
—
the countdown continues.
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i wonder how it is that i can be so insecure and still come across as confident.
…fifteen days until i am home.
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in schoolwork, i’m at the point where i don’t care how things turn out as long as i get to the end of thursday.
my to-do list has 15 items, and i’ve only had 5 things crossed out.
my insides are really just aching to be back home in florida, with my family, in my bed, falling asleep on my sofa, in front of a television broadcasting re-runs of cooking shows, going to the grocery...
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i left my residence hall eighteen years old. i came back nineteen.
the first recognizable song i heard in my nineteenth year was “minor threat” sung by a bunch of rappers at a warehouse party in brooklyn.
it’s 3 AM, and i’m exhausted. a shower is necessary and then sleep. i see my mum again in the morning.
also, did you know the pavement glitters at night when the car...
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