(no subject)
- That wave you wished for is finally here.
Crashing on your eyelashes,
flashing sunshine catching
the tidal ebb and flow;
its crest a serpentine green,
a sea-brine gleaming glow.
Smashing pathways to and fro.
Weaving happenstances and decieving
sidelong glances.
Thrashing tender romances,
this seething wave,
this gnashing krakken's maw.
The answer to your wish,
that wave you wanted
is finally here. -
Happy New Year, on-line journal.
It's been just forever since I've posed so, I'm going to more or less bring it up to date. Just for the hell of it. Just because I've forgotten what swift keystrokes sounding off over tender tunes weeping from the speakers sounds like. I like the sound, but frankly, I like the music more. I turn it up. How was your New Years? What did you do? Mine was peachy. You would totally disapprove. All of you. I'm sorry, but I had a fucking blast. Anyhow it had to have a lever of insanity comparable to last New Years. It did. This song is beautiful, but it is too slow. How have things been going? I don't think I really understand why you cannot speak with me. To me. Perhaps that really drives you to resent me. Even moreso than before. But why? How can I rely on your ambiguous actions anyway? Do you expect me to? Is that what our chase is now? Do we have a chase? Is it just me that wants one? I want one but not like this.
Whoa.
Pardon the tangentiality, I will resume course. The last year has been sparkled with extreme beauty, wonder, hardships, convolutions of plot, terror, love, but most of all an understanding of my relationship with the world around me that I can't stop learning to appreciate. I've got stories, motherfucker. All. Kinds. But, now in the hazy aftermath, I seem to have no one to share them with. I share them with a little book.
At the beginning of last year, I was a fresh resident of what was to become a domain for debacle, a party house to house the parties of a corporate food-chain's fifty or so employees. Last year's New Years was the first time I sniffed White Bitch and tried X all while sipping a metal shot glass of Absinthe. Much of January seemed like that, and it was so until Febuary. Things slowed down and we cruised through the end of winter and right into spring in fleets of canoes. Actually, once we did go floating in Febuary. The water had to be in the thirties. Spring swept in and we leaved easily, the refridgerator loaded only with leftovers and beer; the freezer with bocadillos and liqour. We nourshed ourselves on Little Debbie. She hosted our dinner parties. It was spring when Stasis Eubanks, Jessie, Nate, and I dined on her creation so wonderfully named "Smackle." Crunchberries swimming in molten marshmallow goo with molten chocolate bars and molten peanut butter, all molten in the oven into one hell of a rice crispie treat spin-off. Summer heated the world up, and work went to hell. The landlord sold the house we lived in. We all disbanded. People quit. I quit. More people quit. I began working at Emelia's and took up a very quiet life. So I go out 7 out of 9 nights? I drink and smoke the next couple of months away. I meet someone. Hard. She is taken though. Always...always, they are taken. My luck with women plummets. I can still get laid, but I seldom attempt to. It ends in awkwardness. It ends in weird looks where amourous looks once reverberated. It ends in stories being spread, and it ends in ultimate seperation. I want a version of unity with someone. I just cannot seem to find it. But, I enjoy living for me. I think if you can't live for yourself you can't live for anyone. If you aren't selfish enough to keep other people from governing who you are, chances are slim.
I can't wait to see what happens.
Since I've encountered this optimism, I feel like I've been born anew. It's fucking nice. How'syer momunyem?
Crashing on your eyelashes,
flashing sunshine catching
the tidal ebb and flow;
its crest a serpentine green,
a sea-brine gleaming glow.
Smashing pathways to and fro.
Weaving happenstances and decieving
sidelong glances.
Thrashing tender romances,
this seething wave,
this gnashing krakken's maw.
The answer to your wish,
that wave you wanted
is finally here. -
Happy New Year, on-line journal.
It's been just forever since I've posed so, I'm going to more or less bring it up to date. Just for the hell of it. Just because I've forgotten what swift keystrokes sounding off over tender tunes weeping from the speakers sounds like. I like the sound, but frankly, I like the music more. I turn it up. How was your New Years? What did you do? Mine was peachy. You would totally disapprove. All of you. I'm sorry, but I had a fucking blast. Anyhow it had to have a lever of insanity comparable to last New Years. It did. This song is beautiful, but it is too slow. How have things been going? I don't think I really understand why you cannot speak with me. To me. Perhaps that really drives you to resent me. Even moreso than before. But why? How can I rely on your ambiguous actions anyway? Do you expect me to? Is that what our chase is now? Do we have a chase? Is it just me that wants one? I want one but not like this.
Whoa.
Pardon the tangentiality, I will resume course. The last year has been sparkled with extreme beauty, wonder, hardships, convolutions of plot, terror, love, but most of all an understanding of my relationship with the world around me that I can't stop learning to appreciate. I've got stories, motherfucker. All. Kinds. But, now in the hazy aftermath, I seem to have no one to share them with. I share them with a little book.
At the beginning of last year, I was a fresh resident of what was to become a domain for debacle, a party house to house the parties of a corporate food-chain's fifty or so employees. Last year's New Years was the first time I sniffed White Bitch and tried X all while sipping a metal shot glass of Absinthe. Much of January seemed like that, and it was so until Febuary. Things slowed down and we cruised through the end of winter and right into spring in fleets of canoes. Actually, once we did go floating in Febuary. The water had to be in the thirties. Spring swept in and we leaved easily, the refridgerator loaded only with leftovers and beer; the freezer with bocadillos and liqour. We nourshed ourselves on Little Debbie. She hosted our dinner parties. It was spring when Stasis Eubanks, Jessie, Nate, and I dined on her creation so wonderfully named "Smackle." Crunchberries swimming in molten marshmallow goo with molten chocolate bars and molten peanut butter, all molten in the oven into one hell of a rice crispie treat spin-off. Summer heated the world up, and work went to hell. The landlord sold the house we lived in. We all disbanded. People quit. I quit. More people quit. I began working at Emelia's and took up a very quiet life. So I go out 7 out of 9 nights? I drink and smoke the next couple of months away. I meet someone. Hard. She is taken though. Always...always, they are taken. My luck with women plummets. I can still get laid, but I seldom attempt to. It ends in awkwardness. It ends in weird looks where amourous looks once reverberated. It ends in stories being spread, and it ends in ultimate seperation. I want a version of unity with someone. I just cannot seem to find it. But, I enjoy living for me. I think if you can't live for yourself you can't live for anyone. If you aren't selfish enough to keep other people from governing who you are, chances are slim.
I can't wait to see what happens.
Since I've encountered this optimism, I feel like I've been born anew. It's fucking nice. How'syer momunyem?