(no subject)
I just looked at my livejournal for the first time since I changed all my entries to "private" about 3 months ago. My friends page was FILLED with cryptic, loaded entries. Apparently, mad goat season is in full effect. I would say "cheer up," but it's just so trite; when was the last time that pulled someone from a meloncholic stupor? Never. I'm beginning to chafe at the social constructs in which I've become so engrossed. There is a new town, a new oppurtunity in store for me, but I feel this perpetual shrinking away from commitments that's been part of me for as long as I can recall will render me antsy for an indefinite amount of time. Perhaps a long amount. Probably a long amount. Bottom line, though: Everyone else feels shitty. I might as well enjoy the like company.
---
Life was hard when we were kids; mostly, we exhausted our resources too fast. Allowance ran out. The sun went down. Moms lost their patience. I was never sure, but cruel and comic aptitude seemed the barometer of personal wealth when I was young-ish. Look at these hands: speckled, and riddled with a sickly kind of pallor; weathered, but never having worked
too hard
for anything.
Some stuttering windows shivered against an up-start April wind. Look at those trees: once stripped, now clothed, and run up and down with bars and cryptic knots. But never having
measured much
but time
on the inside.
When we went to the ends of our driveways later that spring, looking for letters and invitations to garden parties, we sunk our hands into post-office boxes full of ashes. Everyone had sent their good tidings to the same place on accident. Naturally, the post office was inundated with good sentiment. So the postmaster general began pushing the coals into the sorting bins. All the adults greeted each other with sheepish, and then mawkish, displays of bafflement over the loss of said invitations. Look at these wishes: callow, and dripping with social tripe; not much of a
motive
but something
to work towards.
So we spent the following season swallowed up in heat, and stewing in tepid neighborly gestures. Sweet and sweaty dreams stained like summer fruit, whether or not they touched me. Like a mouth that opens and closes in fervor and anxiety: expecting warmth, and receiving
only the brine
I only shut my mouth
to keep out the salt..
Life was great when we were kids. Sometimes we could lie on the grass, and watch clouds take on fantasies. Sometimes we would grow accustomed to inactivity, fall asleep, and take on fantasies. Then, within moments, we'd awaken, asking each other "When you close your eyes, are you somewhere,
someone else?"
....
"Yes, well, I guess that I am too."
---
Life was hard when we were kids; mostly, we exhausted our resources too fast. Allowance ran out. The sun went down. Moms lost their patience. I was never sure, but cruel and comic aptitude seemed the barometer of personal wealth when I was young-ish. Look at these hands: speckled, and riddled with a sickly kind of pallor; weathered, but never having worked
too hard
for anything.
Some stuttering windows shivered against an up-start April wind. Look at those trees: once stripped, now clothed, and run up and down with bars and cryptic knots. But never having
measured much
but time
on the inside.
When we went to the ends of our driveways later that spring, looking for letters and invitations to garden parties, we sunk our hands into post-office boxes full of ashes. Everyone had sent their good tidings to the same place on accident. Naturally, the post office was inundated with good sentiment. So the postmaster general began pushing the coals into the sorting bins. All the adults greeted each other with sheepish, and then mawkish, displays of bafflement over the loss of said invitations. Look at these wishes: callow, and dripping with social tripe; not much of a
motive
but something
to work towards.
So we spent the following season swallowed up in heat, and stewing in tepid neighborly gestures. Sweet and sweaty dreams stained like summer fruit, whether or not they touched me. Like a mouth that opens and closes in fervor and anxiety: expecting warmth, and receiving
only the brine
I only shut my mouth
to keep out the salt..
Life was great when we were kids. Sometimes we could lie on the grass, and watch clouds take on fantasies. Sometimes we would grow accustomed to inactivity, fall asleep, and take on fantasies. Then, within moments, we'd awaken, asking each other "When you close your eyes, are you somewhere,
someone else?"
....
"Yes, well, I guess that I am too."