| 8/19/2003 11:50:00 PM |
[ for want of a better name, they sometimes called it peace ]
mmm, my room is under construction. the carpet's on the sidewalk and the grimy walls will soon be some wonderfully mellow shade of something-or-other. it feels very right. the unusually unforgiving floor, moaning away my footfalls. the eerily exotic colors creeping around my eyes. the bad dreams. things are changing... better put my feet up and read. what could possibly go wrong? |
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| 8/18/2003 12:14:00 AM |
[ so then they sent me to the padded doom ]
hrm, i reeeaaally wish i could see a mandala right now. they mean so dern much. and i think being near one would have some nifty curative effects. what's to cure? you ask... *looks at shoes*... i lost my tao again. hehe, ah! although, the first instinct is to leap at the leash. all you have to do is whistle, i think. comes back in a flash. yeah, i never metaphor i didn't like. |
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| 8/12/2003 11:17:00 PM |
[ winter mild ]
hrm... i'm just another rainy day kid, i guess, skinny wrists and all. catching the coolness in hand and forgetting to notice that my fingers are leaking at all. everything good seems to result from being laid-back. how could it possibly be any other way? |
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| 8/07/2003 12:07:00 AM |
[ Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux ]
Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux... Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux... Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux... Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux... Vive le Roi! ... er... sorry. i was just ponderizing. about heroes and being heureux. you have to see that if you haven't, king of hearts, that is. along with dr. strangelove. they're so brilliantly absoid.
i've changed so much, it seems like. yet, somehow i always get that aching sensation that this year never happened. my voice is completely different, but i'm still staring, dumb-founded at some flickering lightbulb, one hand in my pocket, the other reaching up to tap futilely at the casing. it's so very hard to not just shrug, to replace the bulb or will the current one to be brilliant. it's not that "it'll just go out again," that makes it hard. it's that, for almost everything, the flickering is enough. enough to be heureux... right. so that's why i've decided to make light-bulbs that last-forever and never flicker, and flying robotic arms which will replace all of the current stinkers... and can also slap anyone who uses the phrase "how many flying robotic arms does it take to change a lightbulb?"... hrm, i'll get on that... as soon as i finish grinning at belle and sebastian. oh yeah, it's assumed that my flying robotic arms will be able to rock out. 'cause, honestly, what use is a levitating disembodied appendage if you can't hum along to it's sinister hovering?
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| 8/03/2003 01:09:00 AM |
[ laid-off, bad cough, bob dylan, what a villain... get born ]
ever so thirsty. it's pretty strange: looking glasses, that is. reflections. reality. water. bloat-belly proteins. no shoes. big moons. cartoons. zanzibar. old car. shiny pants. ant dance. uh... okay, so i like senyor dylan, no throat, billy goat. outta tune, open woun..d. he helps me think. in the background. even without attention, the patterns wash away confusion. like a heartbeat. echoing in my ears. allaying my fears. filling cups. forcing me to see just how much i'm brimming with it all.
hrm... that is one problema with these pesky metaphors. they start to overlap when you mess with 'em enough. the half-fullness issue only matters with mugs. but the glass, the glass is definitely still full. couldn't be any other way. no matter how much we drink. no matter how much stumbles and spills. it rains so darn much. it stays full. hehe... even if it's never quite over-flowing, it's full beyond repair. |
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Moosi
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