| art school dropout. |
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| 03:41am 22/10/2005 |
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some pictures i recently took for a photography class assignment. my gorgeous girlfriend was lovely enough to be my subject (and i can't thank her enough for her patience. i'm truly the luckiest guy in the world).
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Read 3 - Post |
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| redlight romance (love at a leisurely pace) |
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| 11:53am 29/06/2005 |
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just then, i looked down and my feet flowed like water upon the tiled floor; one constantly crashing over the other. everything else, plastic dollheads, wooden stars, and all, remained undisturbed by my rocking. step by step, i quietly ascended and descended the dim aisles; when my calf muscles tensed, i briefly lurched upward and searched for her from behind the partition. i found her across the room and tried not to blink. i pushed my eyes wide, round like beacons, hoping to guide her back to me but the signal was cut short with every sinking step. i mindlessly began touching everything that i passed, the textures changing as they rubbed against my fingertips; smudged fingerprints remained on all that they graced. in my wake, bags of plastic animals gently swayed side to side. any evidence of my presence would soon by buried by dust and momentum's loss.
one only has to feel the blood ferociously surging through the veins to know that they're in love. it's as though a dam has burst and there's no outlet; so the blood backlashes against the heart. the levels rise to dangerous heights and the heart, overcome by this sudden excess of emotion, drowns (not in death but in love). i've died at least a thousand times since i met marisa, but that's how i know i'm still alive; that's how i know i'm still in love. in past relationships, the blood thinned but it did not flow. i found myself drained; my limbs numb whenever we embraced. in them, i only discovered death. in marisa, i found a person who awakens me anew everytime. it's still all so new to me: this feeling of elation in every small death. i'm born again in her eyes; all the malfunctioning parts now fixed; all the chaos and confusion now clearified. i have unveiled a doctor's compassion in my lover's touch.
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Read 8 - Post |
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| when the bones finally embrace flesh... |
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| 10:43pm 14/06/2005 |
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it's been too long (i know) but i'm finally back from my *unplanned* hiatus from online journal writing. life's been hectic but absolutely wonderful. i have the greatest girlfriend in the world and i've been spending almost all my time with her. i've been writing a little bit here and there but i've hardly been in the same spot long enough to finish a thought. expect tons and tons of entries to follow in the next week or so. as for right now, like these past couple of months, i'm about to turn right around and head back up to see my baby. so, in the meantime, here's some pictures from the last couple of months to hold you over and the words will follow shortly. (originally, i was going to incorporate all these pictures into their proper word entries but i just don't have the time for that) these pictures will make more sense once you read the entries. i hope everyone else is doing as well as i am and is just as happy. thanks to those of you who wrote inquiring about my whereabouts and just to check to see if i was still alive. i appreciate it. and for the rest of you who didn't give up hope and kept me on your friends list despite my absense, thanks. i'll be back in a few days to start catching up properly.
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Read 15 - Post |
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| sketched in dusk. |
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| 08:20am 02/04/2005 |
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her face rose as if to meet the sunset. slivers of amber and gold were streaked from temple to chin. they poured down her brow, wrapping around her eyes, flowing across the bridge of her nose, and collected in pools at her dimples; briefly dissapating only when sun and trees collided at the skyline. then, her smile would carve a hole into the shadows to let the light back in. the last few days flickered across her face and i watched as she stretched her sleepy eyes wide, trying to prevent these precious last hours from abating. i held her hand in mine, gripping it firmly, to let her know that she was still awake and that i was still there. we slowly spiraled up mountaintops with the sun to our back. the mountains moved as we moved, one rolling into the other, as though they had a purpose. in my rearview, it looked like my town had caught on fire in our absence. for several minutes, the sky was ablaze, a reflection of small town demise, before the sun was extinguished behind deminishing mountains. in its twilight wake, the sky turned to smoke; the stars still hiding behind ashes. however, the night had yet to completely pinch out the day. subtle details were replaced by thick outlines. shades kept growing longer until they met another and returned to the fold of night. headlights joined headlights in a rally to rouse the stars; but i was content to hold onto my love in darkness. even then, i could make out every line of her features; listening to fluttering eyelashes for changes in expression. the night finally settled in as we neared new jersey. she propped her feet against the dashboard, pulled the blanket up, and rested her head upon my shoulder. i knew that coming to see her would never be the same again; because now i had the memory of her next to me and without her there, the long drive would seem longer until she filled that empty seat once again. i didn't want to let her go and i knew that she didn't want to go either. i drove slower than usual, trying to ward off an impeding depature that i knew i couldn't avoid. still, i tried; attempting to squeeze minutes out of seconds. we drifted along steadily, lazily, like a boat rocking against the seashore; and i thought about how these had been the best four days of my life. i couldn't imagine them being any better.
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Read 3 - Post |
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| sitting on the coin's edge. |
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| 06:42am 21/03/2005 |
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the two young girls, maybe 14 or 15, walk by. their skirts cut so short that childhood hangs visibly between their thighs for all to see. it's poorly stiched; a thread coming lose, slowly unraveling a pink heart on white panties. yet, they don't notice. they keep moving; chewing their gum and rubbing their hands over the pale, exposed flesh of their bellies. what little innocence that they have left is squeezed out between cleavage from shirts that are two sizes too small. a pack of cigarettes falls from the one girl's purse and she casually squats to pick it up while pushing the hair from her face; and when she looks up at us, we can barely see her eyes hidden behind enlongated eyelashes that droop limply from the weight of make-up. "if i ever have a daughter, i wouldn't let her dress like that!," my co-workers exclaim as they touch the corner of their eyes; unconsciously attempting to fix their own make-up which has become more subtle over the years (but is still abundently evident). "i don't know how their mothers can let them leave the house!," my co-worker says; the same one who only five minutes earlier had been grinning ear-to-ear as she told us all about her third date with a different guy this week. |
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Read 2 - Post |
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| arriving upon departure. |
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| 02:23am 12/03/2005 |
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the big-rig slunk into the side of the mountain like a dying brontosaurus. its long, broken neck twisted and craned as if to look one last time upon the length of its limp, metal body. the eyes were frosted over and silent in the falling snow. there was no movement, no breathing. it laid helpless while its shape diminished in a wintry burial.
it was images like this which were indicative of my journey east. i weaved my way through treacherous mountain conditions. cars filled the roadsides and trenches, slain by the hands of winter. some still sat smoking, still trying to rub wires together for warmth and another chance; but others had simply given up the fight, already growing stiff and cold. the people could be seen walking circles around their cars and then they were gone, lost in the static of dirty, gray clouds. after awhile, i stopped looking. i didn't want to be reminded of these images. i didn't want to be yet another casualty. but i wasn't worried. i knew that as long as i have her, i'm with her, or i'm on my way to see her, then no harm can come to me. i've always hated the word faith. it's a despicable word. yet, if i had to call it something, then that would be close; because i believe in her, in us, and as long as i keep believing, then i'll always be fine.
i followed in the lines of those who had come before me, keeping a sharp eye out for parts of the road that were briefly seen. i coasted along past the cautious and cowardly. the windshield wipers kept a constant rhythm that began rocking me to sleep and i found myself drifting off in the snow drifts. i warmed my hands over the heater, occasionally wiped away the sweat accumulated on the windows, and thought about her. my hands were steady but my wheels weren't always responsive. at times, my car leaned into snow banks or pulled a hard left or right. hand-over-hand, i spun the wheel until the back end fell in tune with the hum of the front wheels. i glided up inclines, moving closer to those gray clouds; and every so often, there would be a break. no sun shown.
however, for a couple minutes at a time, i could see for miles. i could see distant mountains and small, slumbering towns, all sleeping soundly under blankets of snow. it was beautiful. but then the snow would come again, hitting hard, and i'd lose sight of all but the front end of my car. it was as if mother nature was going in and out of a coma.
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Read 5 - Post |
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| a million miles from consciousness. |
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| 01:54am 12/03/2005 |
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when you haven't slept for three days, you begin questioning what's right in front of you. everything takes on an entirely new (or at least different) meaning: from the cut of a stranger's jaw to the distance between your eyes and nose to the lone blinking letter about to burst on a convenience store sign. the only significant question is: "how did i get here?" it's not so much about the method(s) used to move from point A to point B, those fleeting flashes of fuzzy moments that occasionally boil over the iris, but rather it's about how you survived.
we are self-regulating machines. the heart pumps, the blood flows, our lungs expand and contract, and we go on living. we don't seem to question why we breathe all that often, yet we question why we're alive, our existance. we need to be more specific. we need to start out small before going big.
it was that same question that i pondered on saturday afternoon. i leaned against the mall's brick walls, slowly sinking into them, and looking out across a crowded parking lot to the trees and sky beyond. i fumbled through my pocket, pushing aside gum and comb and chapstick, scrounging around for my lighter. once i felt it secure in my hand, i pulled it out slowly, consciously, and examined it in the light. the cigarette hung limply from my lips, hardly held on by more than spit and sunshine. the act of bringing the lighter to the cigarette's end came in fifty stages, each one with its own exaggerated motion, before i finally felt the heat at the tip of my nose. my jaw relaxed and i sucked down the smoke. pulling the cigarette from my mouth was like uncorking a cheap bottle of champagne. a pull, a tug, and a pop. i ran my fingers across chapped lips as the smoke seaped out, rolling over knuckles and the tender pink flesh where fingernails once dwelled. i gingerly applied pressure to the cracking surface and i smiled when it stung. she had left her mark. on my ghostly face the lips stood out like plump, glistening apples. she had spent the entire night polishing them with her kisses and i wouldn't soon forget. i can still feel her on my skin long after she's gone.
i blinked and the sun shifted to the west. i blinked again and it moved back east. i didn't know what to believe anymore. i stared long and hard from below hooded eyelids into the eyes of everyone who passed. i wanted answers. i had lost track of up and down, black and white, but no one seemed willing to help me regain my bearings. so, i continued to drift. i needed something, anything, to anchor me to this reality. i clutched my tie tightly for whatever support it could give me (but all it did was pull my gaze downward). when i looked back up, their eyes would still be empty; tiny pieces of sleep encrusted in the corners and expressions devoid of dreams.
we're not very different. the dreamless wanderers and the sleepless wanderers never rest. we all keep moving, always trying to push ahead. the only difference is that i still have my dreams. i have circular direction; a place to go; momentum built up in these idle feet. we are divided by the motivation that generates motion. we are bound to move either way but what will get us there? some people are led by their brains, many by their dicks, but most (i hope/believe), like me, are led by their hearts. the heart is like a metal detector: constantly surveying the surface in an attempt to detect something hidden below. when the ticks grow louder, the closer we get to finding something (real) and the quicker we move in that direction.
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| & we kiss to the idea of lighting our own path. |
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| 04:51am 20/02/2005 |
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& it snuck up on me like the first frost of dwindling summer days: a sign; washed over in a turquoise glow that wore away the sharp edges until, at last, its soft shoulders showed. "last exit in ny." the words always hum a lulluby in the moonlight; begging the proud, the lovelorn, the restless to sleep off regret and stay another night. it's the city's calling card and i'm its best customer. yet, the yellow lines skip by like a metronome, not a single beat is missed; and i can feel my heart swelling; overflowing the walls of empty eyes now deprived of a beauty unparalleled. i want to pull a hard left and knock this city off its feet; the cold concrete piling up like loose carpet behind my wheels. but i've already crossed borders and boundaries and the sound of distance echoes off the harsh city skyline. a flock of black birds flees from the rooftops and takes flight to guide me along my way. we are the creatures of night always in search of a place to rest our wings; but i've found my place set permanently in her eyes and i'm ready to come down from these clouds and land in her arms. nevertheless, there goes another yellow line and then a thousand more. on nights like these, the goodbyes stretch from one milemarker to the next and the cobwebs formed in between glisten behind diverging headlights. we've been saying goodbye for far too long. it's time to retire the phase and breathe some life back into the longevity of hellos. i can't bear the thought of leaving her on the threshold ever again. everytime i turn away, i become the strongest man alive for having the strength to life my feet and walk away from the only true love, the only good thing, that i've ever known. it's time we paint over these signs and make some of our own. it's long overdue that home is a one-way street.
& these streets are becoming second-nature like veins on the back of my hand; and she has her finger on my pulse. i can feel the blood slowing down, pounding heavily, under her loving touch; and when i look down at her delicate wrist snug against mine, i smile to myself like someone with a secret. the traffic moves along steadily while the music is barely audible over a growling engine; but during the pauses, when silence prevails and the angry machinery is briefly tamed, i catch her singing. it's hardly more than heavy whispers but it's more than enough to polish the columns of the spine; her voice tingling between every vertabra. i watch as her lips continue to shape the words until her lips come to a stop and she looks over, then quickly away, slightly embarrassed by the display. her beauty shines the brightest in these most subtle gestures. i smile warmly at her, squeeze her hand, and kiss her face right as the light turns green. we steal moments like these as often as possible and i can only hope that our silhouette burns a perpetual hole in the night sky for all to see. someone nudges us along with the brief burst of a horn and we smile about it as we turn up the music and continue on our way.
& i'm practically doing a soft shoe shuffle amongst the cracks in the sidewalk where the grass has grown through; our hands interlocked, swinging freely, counter-balancing the sway of loose hips. i take a deep breath just as the arch of the door appears to swell and shrink (and i feel like alice going down the rabbit hole). its been over a year and yet the store hasn't changed a bit. the faces are all the same. the stories told when the moon is hight are more than enough to make them look familiar in my eyes and i want to press every one of them to my chest. i get chills when i'm referred to her as her boyfriend and i awkwardly grasp for the right things to topics i know nothing about. my words are like bolts stripped of their edges and it's impossible to get a grip on them. they're hard to turn loose. when our hands aren't locked together, i find myself not knowing what to do with them and i fidget with them in my pockets or i'm crossing and uncrossing my arms. i'm calling out to her with body language while she leans against the counter only a few feet away. i know that all eyes on me and it's too much. too much. too much. but when we burst forth from the entrance, i breathe down the crisp air, the clouds, her scent; and my wooden limbs become limber to make this body a home once again.
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Read 15 - Post |
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| the art of chipped teeth. |
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| 03:33am 11/02/2005 |
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there are days when i wake up and i can't remember the name of the first girl i ever had sex with. i have to struggle just to remember; like pushing a boulder up a hill. it makes me question the significance of that moment. it feels as though i'm forgetting who i am. i'm slowly losing myself in the mundane motions of today and tomorrow. i'm worried that the most substantial and important moments of my life will eventually disappear; becoming replaced by numbers and equations that seem to hold my life together by a thread. my childhood is turning into pin numbers, the time it takes to make it to work and back, the cost of gas, how much i can spend on food just to get by. i'm beginning to forget those things that i never thought i'd forget. they're not completely gone yet, but they're steadily fading. first it's the names, then the details of the faces, then the moments spent together, and eventually the last sensation/impression, too, dissolves. i'm haunted by these memories and feelings. i'm having more and more trouble placing them in chronological order. age 5, 7, and 10 are becoming interchangeable.
i'm losing control. i am a ghost house; a breeding ground for lost thoughts. deja vu has become a prevalent part of my life. i watch events unfold and something stirs inside. i know that i've done this all before. i know because i'm still moved by moments; yet, i fight to make the connection. these moments are still alive in me, somewhere, like scars; but even scars eventually disappear on the surface. i'm left rubbing the spot where the scars were; not really sure why i'm rubbing them but just knowing that there was once a reason. its become habit.
it's a terrible feeling when you can't tell if these things are real but that they've lost all but a lasting impression, a lingering sense of actuality; or if they were mearly dreams. everyday is an eternal, internal battle to prove that i've ever existed.
the "i" is deteriorating. language isn't enough to hold us, to validate our existance. if anything, language is only holding us back. verbal and written communication is limited/limiting. we need to move past it. we need to let go; but we can only do that once we've stopped trying to define ourselves. we are beyond words; and yet we still shackle them to our existance like ball and chain; as if we aren't living and breathing without saying that we are.
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Read 4 - Post |
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| stitches of time. |
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| 11:05pm 05/02/2005 |
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every day, i pass by them, one by one, and i wonder if they've completely given up. every one of their blinks is louder than my own heartbeat. it becomes hard to distinguish life from the mechanical movements; the foreground from the background; the end of a smile from the beginning of a frown. everything slows down when you look at people straight in the eye. the blood slows, begins to curl, almost to the point of curdling. the sky falls into the trees, the trees fall into the ground, and the ground falls away until you're left with nothing but history; watching them evolve from birth to the present; seeing their many faces rolled into one; and wondering if they understand you any better than you think you understand yourself. however, i know that i'm just trying to find myself in their eyes. they don't see me anymore than i see them. synapses fire, steps become synchronized, and instinct takes over. time thaws and the world reveals itself once again; and everytime it does, i find myself standing on its edge, looking down and then back, wondering how i've come so far to always end up in the same place.
when i look back over my shoulder, i shall catch their glossy countenance: seamless; flawless from its conservative use; unmarked by the stitches of time. i want to know where they hide their memories; the ones that jut out at the temple where the pulse runs rapid. i want to run after them, press my hands to their face, stick my fingers through their muscles, and form an expression, an emotion, anything. i want to bait their mouths with my crooked, hooked words.
yet, i keep on walking: walking past those who oppose every idea because they're afraid to die without a struggle; those who have stopped thinking for themselves long ago because they say it's easier that way and those who have yet to start thinking at all; those who avoid complication by coming up with new theories; and those who claim love is dead because they say that love never existed.
i continue on, never walking in a straight line, as a thousand choruses encircle my head, drip from my ears, and settle in the dust around my feet. i lift my chin to the east; always hoping; always knowing where my love lies. one day, i know that i shall finally push the sun through the moon. there's no way i couldn't when she makes everything seem possible; when she makes me feel like the most beautiful creature alive.
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Read 7 - Post |
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| fireflies in winter. |
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| 03:19pm 28/01/2005 |
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the snow & mud mingles caking the tips of my toes & i'm tracing her steps falling in sync behind her my own footprints overlapping her's mesmorized by the way her hips rock to & fro like a pendulum slicing time in two taking a piece of this moment to carry with me into the future & leaving the rest to look back on (during those nights that never seem to end & "i love you"'s echo off empty walls before the sunrise engulfs them whole) we stood on the corner pushing off of one another reminiscent of elementary school days as the yellow buses drove past with the frosty glares of children in every window those days when the world spun in slow-motion when we had the time to shape every word until they dropped from our tongues like polished gems & i stepped back to admire the fireflies trapped in her eyes while the afternoon sun slowly melted the snow all around us washing away the dirty memories of summer down the drain once & for all a kiss from moments before still wet on my lips settling into the lines of my mouth the taste of her rooted between every tooth as we walk back i'm watching the people with halos hanging heavily upon their hands weighing down their eyes until every glance falls to the ground & we cautiously step over them one by one i'm sketching the details of her face with my eyelashes picking out her smile from before my time trapped between pages which have grown soft with touch & moments creased between a broken spine which flaps loosely between my fingers fumbling wanting to touch her in ways that child looks won't allow wishing that every love poem i've ever written was about her because it's impossible to believe that there was ever anyone else & as she rehashes old stories the pictures come alive the shadows on the wall cast her in a light all too familiar & i draw her closer as classic rock seeps through the ceiling runs down the walls but our hearts are louder chest exploding heart rocking & the blood rolling words forming along the iris of her eyes & i'm reading into them understanding the desire to be alone together understanding that i'll never be alone again the camera bounces along my chest undisturbed her hand in mine & i'm pulling her along aisles of books some of which are claimed to be the greatest story ever told but knowing that i'm living it & inking the pages with her silky smile to show the world yet old men groan sunken in overstuffed chairs while we laugh & roam & unhinge the silence stolen by the living words of dead poets i lean against my car with her in my arms suggesting days of art & motel rooms undressing her mind with mine my heart pounding against my inseam leaning now against coffeeshop walls without any concern of being obnoxious the cup warming one hand & her hand warming the other i wrap my scarf a little tighter not leading nor following but walking across the moonlight together telling tales of scars with my head down tracing over the raised surface having trouble with my words but she being so sweet cuts me off with a kiss & all the edges sharpen the world re-aligning my camera capturing these moments that seem to teeter on a volcano's brim melting & molding into something that no one's ever seen before with the tv on promises of love roll off my fingertips & get tangled in her hair lips bruising as pink consumes pink consumes breath & every unspoken word her skin bronzed glistening & peeling around all but half-moons she's golden perfect & i'm kissing every beauty mark that i can find nuzzling my chin in the nook of her neck & i don't need anyone to tell me how lucky i am because i know all too well ready to stand on the edge of the world & jump off already dreaming about bringing all ends to an end & continuing on forevermore moving beyond the ending credits & final string plucked pulling her into me & just five more minutes please more minutes pleased by every (last) minute more talk of times ahead when we'd think in seconds rather than hours & the road would fold in upon itself the miles shrinking until towns were large enough to hold both our hearts at once i embraced her one more time trying to hold on for as long as possible sleepless nights catching up to me as i coast down the road drifting high on new music & thoughts of her when the lights were turned low it's enough fuel to carry me home i'm tapping on the gas the gauges the steering wheel singing along by the third time around & at every turn estimating how long it would take to turn & go back attempting to beat the sunrise because home is no longer home it doesn't look right in daylight it doesn't look the same without her the blankets strangle & the bed sinks unevenly uncomfortably without the weight of her next to me & i'm already counting down the days finding a use for a calendar for the first time in my life because these are the days that i never want to forget these are the days where everything begins & ends with her these are the days... |
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Read 6 - Post |
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| holding steadfast. |
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| 11:13am 11/01/2005 |
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i glance casually over at the kid next to me. i remember him. he sat next to me in a class last semester then, too. a round, frumpy kid with a penchant for always wearing ugly tye-dye shirts of bands with only one original member left who hasn't died from an o.d. i saw him earlier in the day, in front of a different building, and overheard the conversation he was having about the unappreciated genius of pink floyd's lesser known albums. as much as i tried to tune the two out, i couldn't help but listen. i leaned against the brick wall, my stray glances occassionally falling upon unfamiliar faces, not really caring if i recognized anyone. at this point, it doesn't really matter. i slowly pulled out another cigarette, lit it, disgusted with myself for continuing such a bad habit while becoming mesmorized by the trail of smoke being pulled from my lips and intertwined with the passing wind. now, sitting in class, all i could think was how glad i was not to be this guy. it made me feel better about myself, my life. i was better looking, had better style, and obviously had more charm from the way the guy talked. i started feeling a little guilty for feeling better about myself because of him; but i still felt better and happer nonetheless.
nothing's changed at all. it's still the same buildings, feelings, people, etc. the faces don't have to be the same. they're interchangable. they flow like water, some more shallow than others, but no different than before. i've found myself at this same, familiar table again; still with my face in a book or writing; still with ears full of music to drown out the voices enough to add my own dialogue to those who pass by. it's from here that i watch and write, sipping on coffee in the midst of a winter's cold that i've never experienced before. when i look down, my hands are shaking. they were already pale before, but now they're almost transparent, with only a touch of redness and beginning to chap along the edges of the fingers. it's difficult to turn the pages. i have to pull all my concentration into it. the cigarette shakes so much that it almost misses my lips and i have to fish for it with my mouth; and i suddenly feel strung out (or at least that's the impression that i feel i'm giving. even with a tie on and every wrinkle rubbed out, it still seems like i've just rolled out of a gutter or back alley). i study my hands for what feels like much too long; trying to resist the urge to bite my nails (and thankful that i haven't) until the urge finally goes away. i notice just how much my hands resemble my father's and suddenly i hate my hands. i turn the music up louder before staring at a bleak, overcast horizon in disgust. the distant mountains have never looked so vulgar.
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| drugs of choice. |
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| 07:56am 08/01/2005 |
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i just watched "garden state" for the first (and fourth time in a row) while in the midst of reading "less than zero" and its put me into this mindframe that i just can't shake (not that it's necessarily a bad mindframe to be in. i simply can't shake it).
ps: my beautiful girl had been sending me text messages all day trying to entice me to hop on a plane and fly down to florida to spend the weekend with her and her friend at the beach...and you don't know how close i was to doing just that (if it wasn't for the lack of extra money and the fact that i have to work all weekend).
pps: i returned my crappy digital camera and used the money to order a pair of running shoes (just like my old ones) and some sweat pants and a new portable cd player to replace my recently broken one; and i don't have a single regret about it. i'm determined to get back into shape. there's a zillion reasons i can think for doing this but only one that really matters to me.
ppps: after the fact, the best song of 2004 (in my humble opinion) was "ambulance" by tv on the radio. i've literally listened to it hundreds of times and it only gets better each time. |
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| building bridges in the night. |
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| 07:49am 08/01/2005 |
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the george washington bridge shook, almost rocked, to the rhythm of my wheels. like a puppy looking for love, the wind nudged my car; pushing it right and then left. it was impossible to drive straight when my concentration was elsewhere and i allowed the forces of nature to take control; briefly leading me where i may go for the minute, the hour, the night. i gripped the steering wheel loosely with one hand and leaned forward to admire the night sky. the stars had all come out; gathering 'round and blinking on and off like some sort of wild, broken machinery in the night; sending signals down from the heavens to all the unreceptive minds; and seeing me off with a brilliant farewell. however, soon, the stars were gone, replaced by a snowfall that hid the dreariness of a restless city; filling in the cracks that fractured down the sides of dirty factories and brown buildings and along these neverending highways; distorting every line until even state boundaries were no longer distinct. the world, for a moment, lost all its details and glowed below the moon in a glorious singularity; with all the differences of the world pushed aside. it was a beautiful thing. the snow came down and unrolled like a carpet before me; but unlike the last time, it wasn't preventing me from where i wanted to go. if anything, it was only holding me back, urging me to turn around and stay for another night with the girl i love.
everything was falling perfectly into place and, for the first time in my life, i understood. i knew the true meaning of happiness and i knew where to find it. i knew where it rested its head and how it takes its coffee. i knew the way it smells at sunrise and the look it gives when the world stops spinning.
there were very few reasons not to turn and go back and even less reasons to continue on my way home. it seemed that even nature was on my side. the streetlamps shot by, one right after the other like a rapid series of firecrackers, until they eventually fell away and i was left along in darkness on an open road; feeling like i was facing the world for the very first time. my sleep-filled eyes burned, puffy and swollen with love, while trying to focus on this new world that stretched out before me; and with every blink, my eyes filled with images of her.
i began thinking about timelines and history and eternity; and how some of the greatest, most monumental, evolutionary changes took place over hundreds of thousands of years (or even millions) but when looked at on a timeline compared to the overall history of the world, these things happened in the blink of an eye. somehow, to me, that's a comforting thought and, after the days before, made perfect sense; especially when i thought of how i had just been staring into her gorgeous brown eyees an hour before. new worlds may take millions of years to be created but, on the larger scale, it's hardly more than a moment; and i've been creating moments with her, stringing them all together, to make this new world: a world that i finally understand, feel a part of, and one that doesn't leave me feeling afraid to open my eyes in the morning.
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| digging my heels in deep. |
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| 11:44pm 02/01/2005 |
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the sun shone down like make-up on a broken face; draping pinks and purples across blacks and blues; trying to cover up the imperfections of a past year with its twilight bliss. but i wouldn't be so easily fooled. i wouldn't soon forget. you can make an ugly face beautiful, but the blood below shall always flow in the same direction.
as the sun rose higher, divulging secrets in concordance with a diverging horizon, i slid further down the wall; my fingers spread wide and collecting the cement's coolness in the center of my palms; and my jacket scraping, being torn lightly and unraveling, where my spine protrudes just above the surface. i sat and walked the corridors between my mind and my heart; opening and closing doors along the way; putting locks on others just to be safe. the occassional car drove by, a glimmer in a far-off dirty window like a bottle at sea with an unanswered, urgent message, and then it was gone. there were no leaves to rustle. there were no birds to chirp. there was no life in these apartments that stood all around trying to hold off the sun's touch. nothing had changed (but the numbers) and i set my sight westward.
there's so much potential in a new day, a new year, a sunrise and a sunset. there's so much potential for new beginnings and happy endings when we can finally wipe away our fingerprints from those bad times/memories that we mangled in our hands; but i'm afraid that no matter how much i scrub and clean, the evidence is still there (even with a new year freshly unfolding). it's just not that easy for me. in the past, i've hung up each new calendar with so much hope attached; and even as much hope as i have for this year, thinking/feeling (truly feeling) that it'll be the best yet, i just can't do it. i can't allow myself to give so much significance to a new number. hope is as much humanity's downfall as it is its savior. no, i will not let hope get the best of me. i shall bypass it, overcome it, and make things happen for me.
this year, i shall be more than a dreamer. this year, i shall throw the shovel aside and stop digging my own grave. this year, it shall be my hands that keep the world spinning; throwing a rope over the sun and another over the moon and digging my heels in deep.
(even now, i sit here with a single word written in capital blue letters across my right hand: TIME. i've gotta find the time, make the time, get the time to accomplish all my goals and dreams. i need to remember this. i need to make a difference. i can't keep re-living the same year for the rest of my life. a few years ago, life seemed to stop for me and ever since i've been trying to get it to move again. this year, things shall start moving forward again)
i brought in the new year talking to the girl i love so much and i shall try to end it with her in my arms. |
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| the year in review |
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| 06:10am 31/12/2004 |
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i'm really sick of seeing all these "the year in review" lists; on the tv, radio, in the papers, etc. yet, as much as i hate these lists, i can't help but feel the urge to make one myself. i was looking through my journal for things that i could include in my writing portfolio and just remembering how i felt throughout the year. so, i decided to "borrow" this idea from the girl i'm enamoured with and list quotes from my journal that sum up each month accordingly. (edit/warning: this turned out a zillion times longer than i originally had expected it to. of course, this entry is solely for my own benefit) here goes...
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| snowflakes like miles (until distance is no longer a factor). |
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| 04:00am 29/12/2004 |
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the snow came down gently like the hesitant hands of new lovers. the wind howled, kicking up the snow, and every flickering streetlamp became a fractured snowglobe. it could've been a beautiful sight as my wheels kissed the white for the first time and left a trail marking my downtrodden path that faded into the oblivion of my rearview mirrored eyes. the beauty of the scene was heartbreaking because the snow only came down harder; forming a wedge between lovers; blanketing the town in pure, untarnished heartache. i began counting snowflakes like miles back to where i had left my heart, with her. the more that fell, the farther i become from her.
my crippled car hobbled into the parking lot. i turned the engine off and, with a debilitating sigh that shriveled my lungs, i rested my head against the steering wheel. with my eyes squeezed shut, colors spiraling out of control upon the insides of my eyelids, i couldn't see nor hear the snow falling but i knew it was still coming down. it may as well have been rocks falling all around me. i finally gathered the strength to push myself from the steering wheel and got out of the car. i stood and stared at my wheel; staring so hard and hoping to will it fixed or to have changed the events that had taken place. it had only been a few hours since i heard the sharp hiss at 70mph and cursed the world while trying to safely maneuver my way to the shoulder. the force of the passing cars shook my spine and lifted my blazer just enough to expose the hollow of my back to the cold. my hands were soon black and numb, but not as much as my mood. i questioned karma, wondering what i had done that was so horrible to deserve this and keep me from the one i loved; but i couldn't come up with a single thing. i put on the donut and drove home slowly and emotionally defeated. staring at the tire now wouldn't change a thing.
the only thing worse was having to tell marisa the bad news and it wasn't something that i wanted to do. we had made these plans a month ago and we talked with so much vigor everynight about it. it had been the thought of this night that had kept me afloat when all the pains of everyday life had come crashing down. if it wasn't for marisa, i'd have surely drowned a long time ago. i also didn't want to tell her because i knew how she'd react and she did just that. she took it as a sign, claiming it just wasn't meant to be; and in those words, i feared what i feared the most: that she was giving up on us.
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zombiesinlove's journal