'you've got hair that recalls me of rivers. it runs softly while you dream of you.'

[acoldsteadyrain]

It's Saturday and I'm replaying drunken 1, two, 3333333's from last night, humming 'Crow Jane' and feeling lonesome like before in New York. Taking all these steps, heedlessly, freely. I've been getting a lot of reading done. I keep wanting to turn back to people, to talk and interact with people. But I know I'll regret it instantly. Getting weary with people, tired and restless of keeping a grin. Only a grin. Thinking of Teddy and the big ol' USA on a bike. Adventure. Taking down Sam Adams here tonight, for you. The person gone impersonal, you hear, and I say. Ubiquitous? or precise? who knows the wheres anyway? My directions leading to the ground, down an old freeway, startled, cold and in my car. The Two Gallants are glorious, magnificent. My desires have flat-lined, run out of space to run. Hit a wall, have become uninspired, mainly lonely. Bizarre, think the French. Proust is a freak. But Derrida knows what he is talking about, Baud-y is off his rocker, I smell like beer. Bike-riding and the Bloc Party? Strange. For once, I don't think I can sleep this bug away. But it's only Saturday, really, why stress? class is facile anyway, I'm a jerk to my maybe friends, but I want to be alone - the self-referential liar. I can't tell who cares anymore, or even if I care? Am I who I am, who I want to be, who I want to be with, or who I never wanted to be? It's cool, really, and anyway, the weather will only get cooler, I need to do something with this life of mine, and for some reason love will not be there. I don't even know what it is anyway? Too sharp to miss all possible opportunities, who would want to be this level-headed? Speaking of heads, where is that one, the one I seem to miss, directionally, purposely? My self-image as violent in my mind as I want it to be. Cutting, wet, harsh, untouchable. Always alone, catastrophically so, but cool about it, a walking contradiction who just needs sleep. Careful, minds the past, careful because you need comfort, remember you were gone for all that time, old sheets sound nice, but what do you really need, or is what you need the only thing you will regret, is desire meant to be substantial, meaningful? All those loves are only deceptions anyway right? care for what you will, be careful not to be a subject. A love; lover, or loved, which is it?

'and if liquor's a lover, you know I'm a whore

if liquor's a lover, you know I'm a whore'