(no subject)
I spent today winding through country roads, hands on the golden wheel, listening to Julian hum in the passenger's seat and occasionally stopping to take pictures. The light turned yellower, then purpler, and then eventually faded to shades of gray as we took right turn after right turn and gawked at the snow-covered scenery. It felt much more alive than a lot of my days have been feeling lately, and for that, I am grateful. Now I am listening to M83 radio on last.fm and watching the kittens hop, skip and jump, look out the window, pause, lick chops, repeat. My head is full but for once, it doesn't seem like a bad thing.
And all we're all
really looking for is just
to feel alive
Sometimes it boggles me just how many existences there are on this earth. And I don't mean just people, because when you say "person" you think of same faceless human body walking around - I mean existences. The sum of a human life. Every person who walks this earth has a past and a history and a place that they came from and a least favorite food and a smell that makes them sad and some funny ticks and stories and see? One existence alone is pretty hard for me to fathom, let alone - what? Six billion? Eight? Ten? However many, too many. Or just enough. But too many to fit in my tiny head.
and sometimes I think about this
especially re: what am I going to "become"? What am I going to "do" with my life? And I wonder if any of that even amounts to anything anyway, but I guess we all have thoughts like that every now and again - maybe some of us moreso than others - and then I decided that fuck it, I'm just going to enjoy myself and that's all anyone can really do anyway and
and
and i want to buy this record because I think it would be funny to own
and probably even funnier to actually seduce/massage someone to it, and I have to wonder if men of that creed were considered attractive in the 70s? It seems that there's a lot of men who looked like that in that era, so clearly somebody found it attractive, right? I would like to meet them, and their children.
I feel better today. I feel more positive today. I feel more me today.
I ate a quesadilla earlier and that was fine, but I wish I didn't think so much about health and fitness and my stomach and so on and so forth. Lately it's been bordering on an obsession, but maybe it's a healthy one (pun intended?), so maybe I shouldn't worry about it. I'll take the same view on this as I took before: just stay happy, and the rest is fodder. Who cares if,
I just hit a writer's block. I hate when that happens. I love nothing more than when my fingers are flying across the keyboard, full-speed, helter-kelter, won't-stop-for-nobody-not-no-way-not-no-how, not even caring for punctuation or logic, just writing and writing and writing with such OOMPH and emotion that I barely even form a thought before it spills out through my fingertips and onto the waiting screen. Those are moments that make my breath come short they're so fantastic. Almost like a first kiss, but I haven't had a significant one of those in a while.
No, that's a lie. I have. He just decided to run for the hills before he became any more...significant.
His loss, I'm told.
I'll believe it.
Julian and I agreed to write a story each about these papers we saw scattered on the highway. There were dozens - maybe hundreds - of them on an exit we took.... all these uniform sheets, looking like pages out of torn books, or maybe journals, and we were exceedingly curious as to why they were there. So I challenged Julian to write out the scenario that led to their dumping (or whatever), and I said I would do the same. Yeah, I think I will
With my journal entries I often feel like I should maybe wrap them up in some cutesie or circular way (seehowthisrelatesothebeginnningit'sallanendlesscycle), but sorry, it's not always so easy like that.
And with that in mind:
the end
And all we're all
really looking for is just
to feel alive
Sometimes it boggles me just how many existences there are on this earth. And I don't mean just people, because when you say "person" you think of same faceless human body walking around - I mean existences. The sum of a human life. Every person who walks this earth has a past and a history and a place that they came from and a least favorite food and a smell that makes them sad and some funny ticks and stories and see? One existence alone is pretty hard for me to fathom, let alone - what? Six billion? Eight? Ten? However many, too many. Or just enough. But too many to fit in my tiny head.
and sometimes I think about this
especially re: what am I going to "become"? What am I going to "do" with my life? And I wonder if any of that even amounts to anything anyway, but I guess we all have thoughts like that every now and again - maybe some of us moreso than others - and then I decided that fuck it, I'm just going to enjoy myself and that's all anyone can really do anyway and
and
and i want to buy this record because I think it would be funny to own
and probably even funnier to actually seduce/massage someone to it, and I have to wonder if men of that creed were considered attractive in the 70s? It seems that there's a lot of men who looked like that in that era, so clearly somebody found it attractive, right? I would like to meet them, and their children.
I feel better today. I feel more positive today. I feel more me today.
I ate a quesadilla earlier and that was fine, but I wish I didn't think so much about health and fitness and my stomach and so on and so forth. Lately it's been bordering on an obsession, but maybe it's a healthy one (pun intended?), so maybe I shouldn't worry about it. I'll take the same view on this as I took before: just stay happy, and the rest is fodder. Who cares if,
I just hit a writer's block. I hate when that happens. I love nothing more than when my fingers are flying across the keyboard, full-speed, helter-kelter, won't-stop-for-nobody-not-no-way-not-no-how, not even caring for punctuation or logic, just writing and writing and writing with such OOMPH and emotion that I barely even form a thought before it spills out through my fingertips and onto the waiting screen. Those are moments that make my breath come short they're so fantastic. Almost like a first kiss, but I haven't had a significant one of those in a while.
No, that's a lie. I have. He just decided to run for the hills before he became any more...significant.
His loss, I'm told.
I'll believe it.
Julian and I agreed to write a story each about these papers we saw scattered on the highway. There were dozens - maybe hundreds - of them on an exit we took.... all these uniform sheets, looking like pages out of torn books, or maybe journals, and we were exceedingly curious as to why they were there. So I challenged Julian to write out the scenario that led to their dumping (or whatever), and I said I would do the same. Yeah, I think I will
With my journal entries I often feel like I should maybe wrap them up in some cutesie or circular way (seehowthisrelatesothebeginnningit'sallanendlesscycle), but sorry, it's not always so easy like that.
And with that in mind:
the end