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August 26, 2006
The Death Of Summer
Originally Uploaded here by CATeyes
It isn't over, but at the same time it is. The heat, the season, the trappings of finality, remain. But I've changed my sheets, remade my bed, and it doesn't look the same. It's cleaner, safer, but different, sitting weird against my skin. I dream of moments of such sublime potential that I almost collapse under the weight of it. I am informed by my past, like the erosion of a coastline into the borders that define a continent.
I can't put it into words more than that. It is now just a feeling, an abstract sense of loss that defies linear record.
There was a moment, a moment of such sublime joy, that I could reach up and touch the black of the sky and feast upon stars like celestial grapes. It broke under the strain. It could only exist at that moment of tension. It's breaking was not inevitable but definitional. Now, everything has changed. I want it back, but know with perfect certainty that that moment can never exist again. The probability of an exact result is zero.
I miss you, I miss the way you break me by your very existence, shattering my thoughts with such tearing madness that I could feel release. I loved you, I wanted you, and, amazingly, you loved me and I respected you. But you were already halfway out when I fell completely for you. You were unlike anyone I have ever been with before, and now you have moved on to become someone else. You seem reasonable enough to be ever making decisions to make you better off. I hope that you were successful this time, that you are happy with the shift.
I'm not.
Written On: Home Computer
Alternative Title: Drink You To Heaven Before The Devil Realises You're Dead
August 23, 2006
Struts, Not Of The Disco Kind
Originally Uploaded here
I'm working seven days a week. Like a mantra, some point to hold onto, something said that, while not entirely accurate, is true enough. Barring flights and momentary pauses, most that I pay for (literally, not figuratively), seven is the rule.
We played a game, you were just some girl. I'm sad you couldn't keep up. You cannot but imagine my excitement when you started to play back, even coming back with such an exquisite return. Let us play at this, these are my faults, these are my secrets. But instead, your age showed, and we parted. That momentary fire burnt out by mine, a match to a bonfire. Disappointment should be expected. You were just some girl.
You really are a point of sanity for me, no matter how out of character. You understand me enough and are woman enough to say when you don't. I respect you, in a strange roundabout way, and even being able to say that is something. The nature of our relationship pleases me, I hope you remain responsible enough not to move it. Other places, other ways, wouldn't function. Thankfully, I'm not present enough to make that easy. Not impossible, just not easy.
Things have been interesting, long rides, vomitting, raves, and unassociated drama. I simply have not had the ability to record it here. The problem is lack of time, not desire. Suffice it to say, good, but...
Things are slowing down, like gears. I'm being careful, must not break self, must not break my projects either.
Eventually, I'd like to have weekends, often do nothing after work, play some video games, watch some movies, read some plays/books, chill out...
Written On: Home Computer
August 19, 2006
Icicles
Originally Uploaded here by Johnny Blood
Cold, frozen, jagged water, the kind you'd cut your tongue on if you weren't careful. The eyes, it is always the eyes that rope me in, strangle my reason and leave me breathless. You're very pretty. What would you have done if I had told you what I really wanted to? That your eyes were like the winter trapped in summer, a cutting breeze on that comfortable day. Bitch, I prefer honest, even though, given our society, they are often synonymous. My ability to break social convention defeated yours, resoundly, because mine was honest. And that, dearest, cuts far deeper. Yours is a defense mechanism, mine is true iconoclasm.
Written On: Mother's Computer
Currently Eating: Chicken Cannelloni
August 15, 2006
This Is The Most Amazing Picture I Have Ever Seen On Flickr
Originally Uploaded here by antimethod
And, like A Tale of Two Sisters, I stand by that.
Written On: Mother's Computer
August 13, 2006
Quiet
Originally Uploaded here by Craig Shillington
Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: Sympathy For Lady Vengeance Soundtrack
Quarter Centarian
Originally Uploaded here
I'm twenty-five now, a moment that passed with little recognition. A few people gave me words, some gifts, even though I didn't ask for them. My accidental birthday party having already passed, coupled with the usual minimisation I do of my birth, makes it entirely unsurprising.
There was one thing I wanted for my birthday, but other than bringing to mind the late-night dialogue in the church, it also was selfish, and not in the enlightened way. Patience, perhaps, it seems to be the singular solution to all my problems.
Is that why you seek out women, to get more cats? Y'know, because you don't have any of your own, and after a while your girls can become surrogate cats.
Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: still Iron & Wine...
August 10, 2006
Being That Which Matters Most Does Not Grant Priority
Originally Uploaded here by ONE/MILLION
Do you understand, are you starting to see? This worries me. We banter back and forth, trying to explain the meaning behind the ordinal nature of our behaviour. I still posess the ability to still lose mountains in your eyes and the desire to taste iron because of clumsily mouthed roses. Thorns, my love must always have thorns, as a reminder. You'd prick yourself and I'd kiss it better. Too much, my little love, too much. I'm wondering if eventually I'll slip and let you know, either through action or inadequate subterfuge.
How can a few hours be too much and too little at the same time? Promises and proclamations, explanations and expositions, moments of sublime understanding and, for lack of a better word, love. I understand our interaction better now that there is an element of tragedy to our relationship; it's small, to be fair, but comforting. That fact is sad but truthful nonetheless. I agree that a photo was necessary, that our triumvirate should have been recorded using digital celluloid. We are all three so respectful, and I wonder if we all love each other as much as I think we do. It is amazing feeling, I'll miss both of you.
Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: Iron and Wine - Such Great Heights (song d/l)
Too Tired For A Title
Originally Uploaded here by danielle_blue
I'm tired.
I slept in to 11 today, having asked for the day off. I didn't ask for it off, per say but more implied that I'd be willing and happy not to work as I'm so incredibly worn out. I need a break, something furious, because this amount of stress and work I simply cannot sustain. I'll figure out something, I don't know how, but I will. Maybe I'll manage to slip away to Summer Breakz V*, that would make me happy. The trick, of course, is how.
Currently Listening: Dabbler - Hard Times (track d/l) drum n' bass warning
* (Reid Speed, Phat Conductor, ANGST, Ill Esha, Influenza, Queensyze, Autobots, Akeel, Czech, Soo, Manos One, Dabbler, Dig Dug, Capital J, etc etc)
August 7, 2006
Too Much Stress Can Lead To Excessive Vomitting And Pain
Uh, yeah, that's about it.
On a related but upbeat note, I'm having a party tonight. You should come.
Written On: Mother's Computer
August 5, 2006
Stare Into Space
Originally Uploaded here
Growling trade speech mannerisms have begun to take hold, pushing aside high toned and lyrical soft words. The pitch turned down low, with grunts and profanity substituting for complexly claused sentences meaning the same thing. My surrogates laughed at me for it, and still they wonder why I put up with them. The short answer is because I love them, because of it not in spite.
Last night I attended an early music performance of Bach's suites for an unaccompanied Cello numbers 1, 4, 5, and an encore of a dash of 2. It was magic, dark alchemy performed in front of a full house with all the head waving, weezing, and fingerboard flaps that befit an aged sorcerer. Gorgeous.
I dreamt of you again last night, I do that frequently now. Wrapped in sinuous folds of metaphor, we wander through parties and fairs and parks, with an almost mirrormask-esque surreality to it. I still don't know though, no matter how much you invest my dreamscape, I still am entirely without understanding or knowledge. The things I do know are not useful, and the ones I don't are those that I need to. I would say things to shatter your illusions, but I feel forgotten, and that is, perhaps for the best. I wouldn't know though.
I've yet to go job searching for almost 6 years now, perhaps more, perhaps less, depending on whether you define it as "looked for job that you got". I looked for a job a few years back, but wasn't successful. I had an interview that ended when he asked me if I could do something I couldn't and I replied honestly. He was shocked, stunned, but that's what I'm looking for. And, after a few more uncomfortable moments for him, I finalised it with well, good luck finding someone and he stuttered out a good luck to you too, but the weirdness didn't wear off until I left. My wage continues to rise, I'll probably break the 20/hour mark in the next few years. Depends entirely on whether I feel like it or not.
I'm still depressed, but working all the time doesn't leave much room for recovery, and even then, perhaps you need to remove the knife for the wound to heal might be more true, it has been in the past. Maybe it will merely grind away into nothing. Not that my depression really seems to affect my productivity much. I finally broke that weakness' back, like the coward in need of culling it was.
Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: something by Benjamin Gibbard...
August 3, 2006
Not A Pop Culture Reference
Originally Uploaded here by elstar Logistics
I am working seven days a week.
I suppose this isn't new, but still I have the impulse to pass the information along. A why-I'm-never-around answer to an unasked question.
Strangely, I've been convincing myself that I have time for social endeavours. Even now, there's two different things I'd really like to do tonight (no, Meghan, they aren't women). However, the need for sleep is overpowering.
Written On: Mother's Computer
Alternative Title: If x is a theorem, then so is x + 1
August 1, 2006
Renamed/Rewritten
Originally Uploaded here by dmcd
Words stream out in a useless stream of nothing, clumsy renditions that do not evoke or inspire understanding or even enjoyment. Stilted, broken, stumbling words. Backspace, backspace, backspace. All my actions performed behind a wall of blindness, an instrumental approach with a blindfold on. I am aware of facts, but not of feelings, and my actions feel inhuman, possessing of some jilted objectivity like I am a puppeteer for my own vessel but not the owner or inhabitant. The strings both controls and receptive wires, cut my puppet and I bleed.
I recognise my fortune, my collection of moments, but I know them for the random shash they are. I will not have my life be that of a drugless addict, euphoria keeping the teeming relentless tide of joy lethargy at bay. The truth is the sadness there, the foundation upon which the superstructure is built. I will have my life be happy by design, with probability threatening the status quo.
Not visa versa.
Written On: Mother's Computer
Alternative Title: Swords Are Hammered Into Existance