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really old

Saturday:

No matter how many people I come into contact with on any given day, I almost always still feel sort of lonely when I go to bed. If someone else goes to bed with me, I sometimes feel even more alone.

Wednesday:

tick
tocking
in my head.
get the fuck out of there.

rick
rocking
squeaky wooden chair
hollow empty feeling in my gut.

Something sinister.
Something sheer.
Something frightening…
Something queer.

Ta ta tippy toes.
To to tommy knows.

Categories
really old

Wednesday:

I am part of something greater.
I guess it might not be fate. I might just be under the control of another power. The nature of the power, whatever it might be, puzzles me still.

And I suppose I am supposed to be puzzled.
Yep. Supposed to be.

But, I have the feeling that something powerful and spiritual (c’est possible!) is circling around here. I know my horoscope has been making me think that for a few weeks… But I also know it might be true. And it doesn’t hurt to believe what you want to.

It doesn’t hurt to love what you want to, and think what you want to, and hear what you want to, either… but it can.

Sunday:

Sunday:

speckled seasons
frowning reasons
bleaching sandals
and beaching vandals
exploding our desire to thrill.

Categories
really old

Sunday:

Long thinking about long faces and longer spaces between words.
Trailing thoughts and trailing dots and an ease of mind escapes us.
Boiling imbeciles might release some tension, but not for long.

Wednesday:

Life swirls.
Tumble girls.

Categories
really old

Wednesday:

The LA Lakers won the championship the other night.
It was sort of exciting.

And then, it got annoying as I was blocked from going to Del Taco by a bunch of cops in riot gear and helicopters flying overhead. The Del Taco I go to is right down the street from the Staples Center, where the Lakers play. You gotta love that sort of enthusiasm…

43 bonfires, 8 cars set on fire, one person shot dead in Huntington Park (where our office is!)…

http://dailynews.yahoo.com/h/nm/20000620/ts/nba_riot_dc_5.html

Monday:

Singing, and praise.
Hums from the bums on the street.
You tip your hat and laugh and cry.
And the neighborhood safety and service patrol nod.

Less than everything.
More than something.
Better, almost, than nothing.
With the overhead of tugging complications.

A piece goes out to you.
A peaceful time for me.
Watching the children wandering by,
noting the nothingness in their eyes.

Nothingness for change.
Nothingness for the deranged.
Nothingness for caring, and somethingness for video gaming.
Sorta somethingness for the future, but nothing specific, really.

And this is not hopeless.
Not at all. Not one bit.
And this is not hopeful, either.
But I suppose it could be. Or it could just be over.

Categories
really old

Monday:

lots of laughing. Lots. Way more than you can ever imagine.
Coming from all around you. Everywhere. Nooks, and crannies, and grannies on the street. Everyone.
Unescapeable. And you try to join in. But you can’t. Because you’re not sure what’s so funny. But you want to be sure. You want that. Freedom. Or not.