stream of conciousness
i think i'd like to fall in love with ira glass. we'd discuss complicated things and retell heartwarming stories and remove ourselves from judgement. we'd be sickly objective.
maybe it's the weather lately, but moths are flocking to my light and they keep slipping in the sliding door every time i step out for a smoke. and the flutter aimlessly around the room when i flick the lights out, stupid and scared and suffocating.
last night i wrote two poems, sat down and wrote two columns of conflicted confusion. the first time in a long time. and who knows what they're about. every time i do, it's blatant and nonsensical and i can't see to which side i might lean towards. but i couldn't fall asleep because i'd stayed up past that certain hour when you stop being tired, so i wrote. and in between feeling awkwardly horny and pathetically lonely all at once, it started to rain and one of the moths burned alive on the light bulb. pretty insignificant, but monumental to him, i'd suppose.
and now it's just a countdown. well it's been a countdown for a while. ten nine eight and three two one. and all of my misplaced desires are sticking to me quick.
i finally fell asleep around 5 am. but my neighbor is some kind of determined carpenter. he set up shop at 9 am in the pouring rain and has been sawing ever since, seeking safety beneath his tarp with two minute cigarette breaks.
i think i'll take a shower, have a cigarette, then drink some tea reading catch 22 and listening to this american life podcasts.
because sometimes it's really fun to pretend i am an intellectual.
quirky of sorts.
but it's warm in my bed, and my dad's watching westerns, and i feel like losing myself. i feel like not remembering that i'm waiting for a call.
maybe it's the weather lately, but moths are flocking to my light and they keep slipping in the sliding door every time i step out for a smoke. and the flutter aimlessly around the room when i flick the lights out, stupid and scared and suffocating.
last night i wrote two poems, sat down and wrote two columns of conflicted confusion. the first time in a long time. and who knows what they're about. every time i do, it's blatant and nonsensical and i can't see to which side i might lean towards. but i couldn't fall asleep because i'd stayed up past that certain hour when you stop being tired, so i wrote. and in between feeling awkwardly horny and pathetically lonely all at once, it started to rain and one of the moths burned alive on the light bulb. pretty insignificant, but monumental to him, i'd suppose.
and now it's just a countdown. well it's been a countdown for a while. ten nine eight and three two one. and all of my misplaced desires are sticking to me quick.
i finally fell asleep around 5 am. but my neighbor is some kind of determined carpenter. he set up shop at 9 am in the pouring rain and has been sawing ever since, seeking safety beneath his tarp with two minute cigarette breaks.
i think i'll take a shower, have a cigarette, then drink some tea reading catch 22 and listening to this american life podcasts.
because sometimes it's really fun to pretend i am an intellectual.
quirky of sorts.
but it's warm in my bed, and my dad's watching westerns, and i feel like losing myself. i feel like not remembering that i'm waiting for a call.