i want to write. but nothing to write about. so, i’ll do. this. and wait. maybe something will come soon. tomorrow. is today. today started three hours ago, which was then, with the addition of one minute, yesterday. but i still refer to today as yesterday, and today as tomorrow. blah blah

blah so i got some news today. hmm, to put it vaguely. someone, whom I shared a something with, this something made me feel a mutual-something with this someone, has lost this shared something. So, I’m back to square one, before I found out I shared a something with this someone. Which I’m not excited about. But this was one of those things that couldn’t last forever.

It could not. It was too dreamlike, like a novel or a movie where every character makes passionate, earth-shattering love to almost every other character in the story. I always tell myself that no one person can feel all of that love for that many people. It’s tiring just thinking about it. let alone doing it.

and doing it. but maybe i think pornography is “dreamlike”.

but obviously this isn’t the kind of novel or movie i was referring to. those stories where half the characters are fucked up, and the other half are really fucked up. not horny mind you. but a story where a given character can spend all day longingly, hopefully, canvasing the city, looking for this person that passed while you sat some place hip (a techno tea room lit only by black lights and strategically placed mirrors dangling, at various lengths, from the ceiling). You find this person after an exhaustive search. A journey’s end at the downtown crackhouse. It’s symbolic. it’s addiction. love. drugs … the story ends without typical resolve. Instead, the man climbs a mountain, talks to a hole, and stuffs the hole with dirt. Fade out. really fucked up ryeet? these “dreamlike” things don’t last.

dreams are like bright red shirts. they’ll fade and fade away until you have nothing but the faintest watercolor of an image. This image is painted by the most delicate waifs with the grace of silk ribbon dancing. super faint. I already feel like the edges of every person/place/thing in every memory of this dream are struggling to hold on to their detail, bleeding color from every pore. there was a lot of color.

the earth is actually low on color, so when a certain place comes to be so colorful that you can’t stand it, there’s actually another place on earth where it’s so dreary, dreadfully void of color that you can’t stand it just the same. could you live with yourself? knowing that you enjoy the benefits of a life of color at the expense of others who must live with  grays, and light grays, and salmons and light purples. Your happiness equal in amount to their misery. Or, would you live in a place where the color is neither exciting nor disappointing. Do you think you’d come to love it eventually? or hate it?

that’s about as useless a question as they come, but since i’ve already thought about it, i’ll jot down my answer anyway. I think i would hate it. cause i live in a place like that. irvine. i like irvine. but not because the color is neither exciting nor disappointing. relating back, the end of this dream is neither exciting nor disappointing.

it’s just the end.

the edges of the dream bear the weight of the color the dream once filled itself with. the color is all there just the same, but nothing that vivid can be contained by any one person, any one place, any one thing. it’ll bleed from the weight of its beauty- the edges of life unable to bear any more such sentiment.

i hope i have that dream again.

*****

here’s a song i wrote, please let me know if you like it. (cause i’m not so sure i do)

Plague

“we’ll plague the air that we both inhale
we’ll save each other warning
you’re great, i don’t care, I’ll pay
if you stay until the morning”

my life these days:
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I spent about 15 minutes looking for my glasses in the aftermath-of-a-tornado which is my room this morn when I woke up. my room is especially messy, i’ve been especially busy. not necessarily time-busy, but mind-busy. I have other things i’m thinking about, like how i love being legally blind … I went to a [...]

i met a girl named molly last night. I approached her after a beautiful rendition of a Bob Dylan song at an open mic. She mumbled, but sort-of an angelic, nasal slurring, through “ballad of a thin man”. i stalked her outside and asked for another. She gave me three. Two more Dylans and an [...]

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i could go for some kind of rebirth … -ing. i look down at my hands when I write, and often imagine them shriveling down to fetus-size. The rest of me shrinks into my hands, placenta creeps over them, then the rest of me is soon covered. everything within sight fades down to a blackened [...]

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its sunday morning. I looked at my face just now and saw that i’m really tanned. and realized that I was outside for a majority of the day yesterday. then i saw a gash on my forehead. my drunk friend threw a cup of yoplait yogurt at my face the night before. i was drunk [...]