Leaving opportunities behind
I've left time and time and time again. And each time I always seem to return for more. So here it is. For what I hope to be the final time.
I'm leaving this alone for now. I would say forever, but it's such a long time to say forever and I know my own short comings that I won't say that.
Tybalt is meowing his approval, or disapproval... I'm never sure which is it.
I know that you still think things. I know that I still think things. And sometimes I wonder if things still need to be thought or if they need to be left alone. But I've always been one for embracing the moment. And right now the moment is sad. It's sad for a lot of reasons. I don't know all of them, but I know enough of them to know that it's time for my semi-annual emo post of doom.
I was looking for some specific entry, but I didn't find it where I was looking and wound up places from ages ago. Truly years ago and multiple different versions of Lucas ago. And it instantly reminded me of a conversation I had a month or two ago that I will laugh my ass off about in a few years. It was a conversation that revolved around looking back over the years and how I always thought I was so much older than I am. Well, in some ways it's definitely true. Hell, tonight I got mistaken for a 35 year old. Off by a mere 10 years. But that's not the point.
The point is how we grow up. How we reflect on the things that we did and the ways that we were. It has been ages since I started ljing and I'm so glad, yet disappointed, that I no longer have access to my first two poor attempts at ljing. I'm glad because #1 I shudder to think about the spelling, but more importantly I don't want a reminder of just how juvenile I was back then at the young, ripe age of 16, 17, 18, or however old I was. And so in this conversation I said something along the lines of "I am 24 going on 40. And then when I'm 40 I will look back and shudder at that."
And so I'm distracted by trying to find the right music, but such is life.
So going back to a few paragraphs above I wound up in a place that made me laugh. It was something by some pancake person describing a desire for a fight for the ages. Or maybe not even a fight, just a scolding. But not because it was needed, but because of love. And I wonder again where the break down occurred. Was it the communication? No. Was it the lack of communication? No. It's something that has taken me ages to learn that I need to learn and still may not have learned. An ability to articulate to someone who'll listen what I require.
I always seem to find the wrong person to articulate my needs to. I don't fault this in communication skills. I fault this in selectively wrong communication needs. Selective out of incompetency? Lack of desire to figure out the right one or way? Unrealistic ideals?
Who knows or cares.
The problem exists either way. And it is something I am working on.
So this is where I'm left. Wondering whatever did actually happen to that flannel of mine? God knows where it is, but not in my possession - that much is evident. I'm left wondering how much longer it would have lasted without inevitable waking up. Twice. Fucking twice. That's what kills me. Another valuable lessons learned there. Wondering if the wild seeds are sewn. Wondering where you stand. Wondering if Somewhat Damaged applies. If Schism applies. If I walk the line applies. Or perhaps it's something unknown waiting to... bewilder me instead, applies.
Resolution supposedly came to me in a dream a few months ago. And I suppose it did, but it didn't answer questions that are left lingering.
How are you?
What went wrong?
What do you feel and think?
Are you still mad?
and most importantly
Where are you?
And yet I feel that none of the answers to this actually matter. I feel like perhaps getting some kind of acknowledgment would only validate asking more, perhaps truly unwanted questions.
And maybe I'm just over thinking, over analyzing or instead am I trying to push the envelope and watch it bend.
But most of all, maybe this will never matter. Maybe this will never go further than this page. Maybe this will never be read. And maybe, most of all, that would be for the best.
I won't lie. I don't think of you regularly. In fact, it's a pretty rare occurrence. But when I do think of you, I'd like to be able to make a phone call and find out how you are. I'd like to be able to send an e-mail knowing it would be read and responded to. But it's not like I'm wanting the type of interpersonal relationship that was once 6 years ago (holy shit it has been that long) or even 4 years ago or even 3 years ago. Just a friendly ability to say hi if we run into each other.
And yet I am that scared 15 year old who is too chicken shit to ask his crush out on a date and actually say any of this to you directly. So does any of this count? Do you still read? Do you ever look or are you more stubborn than I could ever hope to be?
And did xckd actually get it right? I like to think not. A lot was said but a lot more was unsaid. And I think that for the most part the parts that weren't said were understood. And perhaps I'm just naive and completely misunderstand the inner workings of the world but I think I've got a better handle on it that you are willing to give.
And maybe Peanut Butter had it right - the question isn't how are you. No, in fact it's probably better said like this.
How are we?
My end of the answer is skeptical, worried, scared, and all manners of things that are not positive... and yet .... and yet....
"tryandreadbetweenthelines" has always been one of my favorite lj interests. Part of it has always been and always will be because of Ænema, but another part simply because of the way that it has been typed out. It's clever. It's charming. It makes me look SMRT as I'm the only sucker who's thought of it as an interest. But more important than all of that is because of it's message.
There is always something between the lines. At least there is when I am typing up entries. I tell people I wear my heart on my sleeve, but how often does one wonder "What the hell is he really trying to say and is it worth my time to try to figure it out?" The answer to that question is more often than not, it's not worth your time unless I am a very key ingredient in your life.
And just now, as I'm typing this up, I realize that I actually am a pretty open book - but only when you talk with me. Back and forth. Back and forth. Two way road of friendship. What I type up in lj is a hollow shell of what is going on.
And so I guess at this point in time the original point of this post is somewhat lost, but in an attempt to salvage it...
You always tried to read between whatever lines were drawn and more often than not did a great job. And that is something I doubt will come easily to someone else for a long time. And I think that may be what I miss. You know how you always have that one friend who will call you on your bullshit no matter what? Who is that for you now? Is there someone for you? I hope so.
You were one of those people for me. And so now that Danny's drums are going and Maynard's words are flowing and this and that and those and these...
And and and....
Such a great series of words.
So this is how it starts.
My name is Lucas Michael Moore Spath sells caramels. Caramels galore. And you are?
I'm leaving this alone for now. I would say forever, but it's such a long time to say forever and I know my own short comings that I won't say that.
Tybalt is meowing his approval, or disapproval... I'm never sure which is it.
I know that you still think things. I know that I still think things. And sometimes I wonder if things still need to be thought or if they need to be left alone. But I've always been one for embracing the moment. And right now the moment is sad. It's sad for a lot of reasons. I don't know all of them, but I know enough of them to know that it's time for my semi-annual emo post of doom.
I was looking for some specific entry, but I didn't find it where I was looking and wound up places from ages ago. Truly years ago and multiple different versions of Lucas ago. And it instantly reminded me of a conversation I had a month or two ago that I will laugh my ass off about in a few years. It was a conversation that revolved around looking back over the years and how I always thought I was so much older than I am. Well, in some ways it's definitely true. Hell, tonight I got mistaken for a 35 year old. Off by a mere 10 years. But that's not the point.
The point is how we grow up. How we reflect on the things that we did and the ways that we were. It has been ages since I started ljing and I'm so glad, yet disappointed, that I no longer have access to my first two poor attempts at ljing. I'm glad because #1 I shudder to think about the spelling, but more importantly I don't want a reminder of just how juvenile I was back then at the young, ripe age of 16, 17, 18, or however old I was. And so in this conversation I said something along the lines of "I am 24 going on 40. And then when I'm 40 I will look back and shudder at that."
And so I'm distracted by trying to find the right music, but such is life.
So going back to a few paragraphs above I wound up in a place that made me laugh. It was something by some pancake person describing a desire for a fight for the ages. Or maybe not even a fight, just a scolding. But not because it was needed, but because of love. And I wonder again where the break down occurred. Was it the communication? No. Was it the lack of communication? No. It's something that has taken me ages to learn that I need to learn and still may not have learned. An ability to articulate to someone who'll listen what I require.
I always seem to find the wrong person to articulate my needs to. I don't fault this in communication skills. I fault this in selectively wrong communication needs. Selective out of incompetency? Lack of desire to figure out the right one or way? Unrealistic ideals?
Who knows or cares.
The problem exists either way. And it is something I am working on.
So this is where I'm left. Wondering whatever did actually happen to that flannel of mine? God knows where it is, but not in my possession - that much is evident. I'm left wondering how much longer it would have lasted without inevitable waking up. Twice. Fucking twice. That's what kills me. Another valuable lessons learned there. Wondering if the wild seeds are sewn. Wondering where you stand. Wondering if Somewhat Damaged applies. If Schism applies. If I walk the line applies. Or perhaps it's something unknown waiting to... bewilder me instead, applies.
Resolution supposedly came to me in a dream a few months ago. And I suppose it did, but it didn't answer questions that are left lingering.
How are you?
What went wrong?
What do you feel and think?
Are you still mad?
and most importantly
Where are you?
And yet I feel that none of the answers to this actually matter. I feel like perhaps getting some kind of acknowledgment would only validate asking more, perhaps truly unwanted questions.
And maybe I'm just over thinking, over analyzing or instead am I trying to push the envelope and watch it bend.
But most of all, maybe this will never matter. Maybe this will never go further than this page. Maybe this will never be read. And maybe, most of all, that would be for the best.
I won't lie. I don't think of you regularly. In fact, it's a pretty rare occurrence. But when I do think of you, I'd like to be able to make a phone call and find out how you are. I'd like to be able to send an e-mail knowing it would be read and responded to. But it's not like I'm wanting the type of interpersonal relationship that was once 6 years ago (holy shit it has been that long) or even 4 years ago or even 3 years ago. Just a friendly ability to say hi if we run into each other.
And yet I am that scared 15 year old who is too chicken shit to ask his crush out on a date and actually say any of this to you directly. So does any of this count? Do you still read? Do you ever look or are you more stubborn than I could ever hope to be?
And did xckd actually get it right? I like to think not. A lot was said but a lot more was unsaid. And I think that for the most part the parts that weren't said were understood. And perhaps I'm just naive and completely misunderstand the inner workings of the world but I think I've got a better handle on it that you are willing to give.
And maybe Peanut Butter had it right - the question isn't how are you. No, in fact it's probably better said like this.
How are we?
My end of the answer is skeptical, worried, scared, and all manners of things that are not positive... and yet .... and yet....
"tryandreadbetweenthelines" has always been one of my favorite lj interests. Part of it has always been and always will be because of Ænema, but another part simply because of the way that it has been typed out. It's clever. It's charming. It makes me look SMRT as I'm the only sucker who's thought of it as an interest. But more important than all of that is because of it's message.
There is always something between the lines. At least there is when I am typing up entries. I tell people I wear my heart on my sleeve, but how often does one wonder "What the hell is he really trying to say and is it worth my time to try to figure it out?" The answer to that question is more often than not, it's not worth your time unless I am a very key ingredient in your life.
And just now, as I'm typing this up, I realize that I actually am a pretty open book - but only when you talk with me. Back and forth. Back and forth. Two way road of friendship. What I type up in lj is a hollow shell of what is going on.
And so I guess at this point in time the original point of this post is somewhat lost, but in an attempt to salvage it...
You always tried to read between whatever lines were drawn and more often than not did a great job. And that is something I doubt will come easily to someone else for a long time. And I think that may be what I miss. You know how you always have that one friend who will call you on your bullshit no matter what? Who is that for you now? Is there someone for you? I hope so.
You were one of those people for me. And so now that Danny's drums are going and Maynard's words are flowing and this and that and those and these...
And and and....
Such a great series of words.
So this is how it starts.
My name is Lucas Michael Moore Spath sells caramels. Caramels galore. And you are?