| and so... |
[Jan. 3rd, 2004|08:13 pm] |
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In Two-thousand-and-three I lived in three different states. It's Two-thousand-and-four. |
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| i am afraid you'll find this. all of you. |
[Dec. 26th, 2003|01:10 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | ecstatic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | freezepop - lazy. | ] |
I am afraid of writing what I really want to write. What I need to press to page. It’s not the cliché I’m worried about, since my life as a human mimics so many others before me that I can’t help but repeat the sins of hundreds of generations past. I’m more afraid they’ll find it. They are all the souls I’ve stolen. I’ve co-opted their pain as my own, and encapsulated them within a sea of commas, semi-colons, and periods. I’ve peppered them with adjectives and given their pain new life in a sea of painful verbs.
I don’t want them to find me out. Holed up in my mountain stronghold, I envision them trudging up mountain paths with pitchforks raised to the heavens and aimed directly toward my fragile brain. I know they’d love to tear to shreds the fragile wiring running through my soft grey tissue. I’d never again put their collective sufferings through the clumsy meat grinder which is the written word. Nuances fall by the wayside, and events tumble out of order as I turn lives into ground meat. Love and loss become the filler which I pound into patties and sandwich between two neat bookends. ‘The End’ to a life I was never meant to lead, the end to an event I wasn’t meant to witness.
I wasn’t supposed to witness. Yet I’ve been forced into a leading role of a drama I never expected to play out. Yet they force me to shadows with my pad and pen, for I fear what will become of me if they notice I’m watching; I’m scribbling notes in the dark for a story I wasn’t meant to write. |
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| i never miss anything... |
[Dec. 9th, 2003|04:33 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | drunk | ] |
| [ | music |
| | studio 33 - party compilation 8 | ] |
I remember sitting on the roof, with a brand new orange milk crate from Wawa supporting my exhausted frame, on a beautiful spring night in my first real night in the city I would call home for the next six months. That night on roof I had no idea it would be gone so quickly; a moment on my time line that would inevitably be eclipsed by other apartments, other cities, other states, even other countries. On this night, this was home. And for months it was, as I memorized each street that I trampled my feet upon. And they were always there. I watched them more than they ever watched over me. With every trip out of town I craned my neck as I passed over the Schuylkill and watched them disappear between the girders of the nameless double-decker bridge. Of course, personalities were left in the streets which draped the feet of my visual frames of reference. For every skyscraper, however few, I left behind; I stole a moment from them all, all those people.
That first night, my eyes lit up just as the lights at Liberty One flickered off one floor at a time. Liberty Two followed clumsily a few minutes later. |
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| i think i can i think i can... |
[Dec. 4th, 2003|10:28 pm] |
i think i can start updating again! lots of activity as of late, followed up by a complete lack of accomplishment.
i'm in new york city now. bye philadelphia! |
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| thinking... |
[Sep. 21st, 2003|12:26 am] |
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i'm in poland. i've got a week left here. then maybe i'll be back for a few more years soon, just maybe? |
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| i left him be inside that box. |
[Aug. 20th, 2003|03:15 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | awake | ] |
| [ | music |
| | common people. | ] |
he didn't have a name. maybe it was because his mother had forgotten to give him one; but more than likely it was just that nobody had bothered to ask him in so long that the world simply forgot it. lord only knows the world already had forgotten him. the earth already tried to swallow him up; when it had him down to his ankles it started to gag and threw him up onto the street in philadelphia covered in phlegm and failure.
so i reached for a scrap of paper, an old envelope, a pen. it was the latter i couldn't find in my bottomless bag so i just stared. no actual documentation, just a memory. an apparition. then it came to me! robert! robert would be this man's name! from the salt of the earth i created new life in the form of a common beggar.
so what if the life i had made wasn't vibrant? so what if it wasn't even colorful?
robert wore a pair of brown three eyelet comfort shoes. they'd never sat in the window of the shoe store. tucked far away and backed into the corner, the shoes waited. it was ten years ago to the day that robert came and bought the shoes. they weren't flashy or fast. they were comfort shoes; and they were comfortable! robert paid for them in cash. this was when robert had money; had a job. now robert wore the same shoes but wasn't very comfortable even though he looked it in his current position.
his shirt was the long sleeve variety. woven into a dated flannel blue check pattern. it was buttoned down to his belly at which point his small paunch of a stomach appeared, albeit covered by a dirty gray undershirt. he seemed at peace. robert was older with a full head of gray hair. in his weathered face i could see the job he had lost; the sweethearts who had left him; the mistakes he stumbled upon. i was fortunate i could see neither his eyes nor his teeth. i'm sure these would have both revealed some sort of unspeakable horror with a simple sideways glance. his shoes sat motionless. his feet rested on their heels, his back rested against the wall.
i had no idea how robert had gotten inside that room. i doubt he had a bank card; much less a bank account. but somehow robert ended up asleep beside a full service automated teller machine inside a small room surrounded by glass. beside him was a shopping bag from daffy's that had been expertly plucked from a trash can. clothing bargains for millionaires in a country of beggars and thieves. inside the bag robert lived out of. he had no home, so why did he need a name? nobody needed to address him. he was sitting asleep on an overturned trash can; dreaming of a life he never had a chance to lead. i was standing wide-awake on the sidewalk; peering into his life and making it up as i went along. |
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| carpet... |
[Aug. 16th, 2003|05:08 am] |
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so maybe the carpeting did look like it came out a public school's office. that didn't make it any less luxurious to my eyes. a base of black, or maybe it was blue. maybe i won't even finish this journal entry tonight. |
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| this is not what i call summer. |
[Aug. 15th, 2003|12:38 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | depressed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | robert palmer. | ] |
i just watched two crackheads walking into an abandoned house to fuck. the house is a strange one, regardless of who is doing what inside. it has no street entrance; neither hicks nor 15th street offer it a sidewalk to stretch it's old tired limbs alongside. it sits at an awkward angle behind another abandoned building, one that fared far worse and caught on fire a few months ago on a hot summer night in philadelphia. a fence and overgrown vegetation block out any view of the dilapidated house of sin from 15th street. that does not matter though; they always walk into it from hicks. i stared as they walked inside; we acknowledged each other silently. nod and walk on as they walk in. i'm as much a sinner as they.
i played in the fountain in love park today. it was a lot of fun. i saw a movie at the ritz for free. i ate dinner in manayunk. the chicken in my salad was cold and tasted like dying. we never got our nachos; maybe it was because i expressed my doubts about black beans publicly. i gave the waitress my phone number and a huge tip anyway. if she calls i'll ask for my nachos. she won't call. maybe.
michelle and ryan are great friends. i love both of them. i told ryan my secret to dating; it's that i love all cute girls. i don't mean a fake love; i genuinely love all cute girls! then michelle asked ryan if she was cute because she didn't want to be left out.
i keep seeing you everywhere you little tramp. quit looking at me like that! i saw you get picked up from that show by your dad. i see you everywhere i go. i can't escape you without smiling back. leave me alone or say something but stop staring! i'll rip your black hair out!
i swam in the fountain in love park. i have full blown aids now. comment. |
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| wahhhh. |
[Jul. 29th, 2003|01:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | sad | ] |
| [ | music |
| | don henly. boys of summer. | ] |
i'm really awfully sorry that nobody dead in my family had money to leave me. really, i am. gag me with a swoon. |
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| fake entry. |
[Jul. 4th, 2003|07:41 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | sad | ] |
| [ | music |
| | piebald. | ] |
i promise i will update. i've been very bad about that recently. life has been... interesting. i haven't figured out if america is for me yet. i need more time to decide before i board the ship. please just give me a few minutes.
thanks! |
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| sorry! the game of life. |
[Jun. 8th, 2003|01:57 am] |
| [ | music |
| | blue collar love. | ] |
the body in the casket; the casket in the ground. my body still in bed; my mind fluttering. lots of stories. i don't remember most of them.
sorry for not answering my phone; calling back; or calling drunk. |
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| i can't help you. |
[May. 31st, 2003|02:55 am] |
when your heart doesn't ache it can't be real. death doesn't exist when home is more than a stone's throw away. i can only speculate. i'm a reporter babbling incessantly on your tv. my commentary won't change a thing. turn me off; go back inside yourself. that is where you'll rip every fiber of your soul apart strand by strand.
analyze!
it's the clarion call. over and over, rinse then repeat. i can't help you. death sends me packing. all i own is stuffed inside parcels that i tuck under my arms before i take off running. at least i can't bear to chide. it's much too close for anyone but a monster to think of such a thing. existence is fleeting.
i want to be. to simply exist. that is my goal. death is my destiny. i want to overcome destiny. that final hurdle that catches on the edge of my shoe. if only i could lift myself but an inch higher. but i fall; tumble endlessly into nothing. we all fail. |
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| to nobody in particular; |
[May. 30th, 2003|10:15 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | hopeful | ] |
| [ | music |
| | marszalek band. | ] |
stumble into my life with arms flailing.
if ever bad feeling
will enter between your love and mine
believe me that all will be just fine
the sun will keep rising
happy days will win as they've been
always and ever you will see.
to be all for you
feeling touching you
my heart is aware
that you are the one i care
just say that you want me too
to be all for you
feeling touching you
my heart is aware
that i will be always there
if you say you want me too
i love polish eurodance. granted all eurodancemay be great, but polish eurodance is a whole other level; especially when they write songs in english. you can thank the marszalek band for this masterpiece. fall quickly. |
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| carbon monoxide. |
[May. 30th, 2003|09:57 pm] |
my roommate heather called the gas company yesterday because she thought that the basement smelled odd. my other roommate lauryn said she got a headache from being in the basement too long.
( philadelphia gas works. ) |
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| nineteen sixty-eight. |
[May. 22nd, 2003|12:09 am] |
wawa raspberry flavored iced tea is my favorite.
i have a new bicycle. it's a bianchi. it's shiny.
it cost me more money than i have. i will not eat.
love.
jako. |
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| healing massage. |
[May. 11th, 2003|09:19 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | the dream of evan and chan. | ] |
the toaster sits upside down; next to the three foot high lamp found out with the garbage next to rittenhouse square. the toaster can't sing but it knows it's name. it calls itself 'sunbeam model t-9'. it's a nice toaster but it needs repair. maybe i can fix it. it's worse off than i thought.
if god himself is nothing more than an 'it' with myriad pages starting with an A and ending somewhere near Z, then my chapter sits somewhere in the middle. i just want to rip out the pages sometimes. |
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| for rental only. |
[May. 6th, 2003|12:35 am] |
| [ | music |
| | the dryer tumbling. (& freezepop!) | ] |
my room smells as though somebody dumped a bucket of chum into the center of it. after attempting to use the handheld cleaning tool attachments (tm) a lot of smoke came out of the back of the vacuum which smelled like dead fish. it still smells like that. maybe tonight i'll sleep on the couch.
( maybe i just won't sleep. ) |
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| 676 guided me true. |
[May. 1st, 2003|09:38 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | indescribable | ] |
| [ | music |
| | dntel. | ] |
welcome home. |
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| interview(ed) |
[Apr. 17th, 2003|01:43 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | this is tech pop. | ] |
the thing i worried about most was my hair.
that being said the interview went very well. i will be up here permanently soon. i have to go get a new cell phone and a bank account set up now. it's kind of surreal at this point. it will set in shortly. hopefully that reality won't destroy me. i already miss everything and everyone but i'm not even gone.
cut me loose kids! it's that time. |
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| random posting. |
[Apr. 16th, 2003|01:18 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | stressed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | joy electric. | ] |
there is so much i want to write here. i want to chronicle every experience and feeling in my life word for word. i'll copy my life story verbatim from my mind and end it with a simple dot. a single dot that becomes more, that turns into a hole punched in the paper with a ballpoint pen. oozing out all that is me onto the paper.
( i will write stories. ) |
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myemptyroom's journal