I CAN SCREAM AS LOUD AS YOUR LAST ONE (but I can't claim, in a sense)
By the time he pointed out Jelle standing a little further ahead of us, I'd been staring at his scars for a while, counting them, detailing them in my head, thinking about other things in the meanwhile - I was about to start shaking, or to be rawly honest, to say everything I'd suppressed all day, all through the morning and the long walks and the Bagel & Beans visit and the photograph-walks and the Weggeefwinkel and the cinema. I gladly took the opportunity to walk towards Jelle, before [...]. Jelle was quiet, dignified, distant. I wish I was more like that, today. I could've used it.
I hadn't seen Dylan/Matt in two months. (And three days.) The plays I was planning on going to turned out to be playing tomorrow - if I'd known, I'd have spent today home alone, trying to be useful, but we were both there and I wasn't going back now that I was there. We went to the cinema in the afternoon, to The Happening, which Matt wanted to see. He thought it was boring, I thought it was okay - I don't watch Hollywood films very often, but he sees films like these all the time.
The House of Sounds was open. I bought six VHS videos, two DVDs and a record (lp). Hopefully I can go again next week, with more money on me - they're selling everything extremely cheaply since they're closing (definitely closing this time, apparently) before July.
I'm curling up next to my parents as often as I can. Years of distancing myself and now, independent as I've ever been, I'd rather curl up restlessly at their side than hang out with bored friends talking bored talks and doing all the things we've always done. This is temporary, I hope, I think, this feeling of wanting to be more distant from my normal friends.
I despise materialistic people. I don't say it often, but I despise them about as much as I despise racists and small-minded people. It's such a turn-off. Materialism is disgusting, and I have no respect for it, especially when people openly try to justify themselves for it, thinking up excuses for it - there is no excuse. I cannot respect it. I... understand that people can appreciate material goods, but that's not what I mean, I'm talking about blatant materialism.
E-mails. Letters. I'd lock myself up in this house for a while if I could. I don't want to be alone; I want to be away from you. I want to have to introduce myself and exchange quiet smiles and phone numbers and drinks. I want people to write me letters.
My father's hurting, I told my mother how beautiful she is today, how much more beautiful than her conservatively religious colleague who's sitting in our living room today with her talkative husband. I hope I'm not worrying them by my closeness. I'm thinking, thinking.
frozen in the waking instant...