Sunday, April 13, 2003
God?
written October 24, 2001
Staring at a world gone mad. I sit and stare looking for meaning in everything. The jar of peanut butter offers no solution, other than life is sticky so deal with it. Yeah, let's deal drugs on the corner of life, tips of our brains handed out to new strangers and adventures. We are hidden within others and soon cannot distinguish what is them and what is us. Turned up nose, disgusted chin ~ everchanging tune from pop, to ska, to hip hop, to jazz, to punk. Lost within a world of emo hipsters and wingless scenesters -- each wanting to fly higher than the next. We cannot distinguish each "fact" from "fiction" -- we make the facts and slide them into jelly jars adn play phone tag then spit tham out again in rhythm to what they want to hear. Cowering behind colored drawers -- the first one open revealing our hearts. Missing, bleeding, useless suckle that dribbles down teh chins of wasted high school pop stars. We lose ourselves in the memories of movies, fall in love with Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston, only to wake up and find out it's not us but them. We try to move on and find ourselves tripping again to rock geek style. Pitiful allusions of days gone past and new acceptions to the word T-R-E-N-D. Makes me sick and I vomit my punctuations out on these blue lines hoping to discover some new insight that I have overlooked in my twenty years of being alive. I close my eyes and it turns dark, blood crusty on slit wrists and I dream and dream and dream of newness and light and I fade above into nothing.
i like to think i have made some progress since then.
¶ 10:11 AM
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written October 24, 2001
Staring at a world gone mad. I sit and stare looking for meaning in everything. The jar of peanut butter offers no solution, other than life is sticky so deal with it. Yeah, let's deal drugs on the corner of life, tips of our brains handed out to new strangers and adventures. We are hidden within others and soon cannot distinguish what is them and what is us. Turned up nose, disgusted chin ~ everchanging tune from pop, to ska, to hip hop, to jazz, to punk. Lost within a world of emo hipsters and wingless scenesters -- each wanting to fly higher than the next. We cannot distinguish each "fact" from "fiction" -- we make the facts and slide them into jelly jars adn play phone tag then spit tham out again in rhythm to what they want to hear. Cowering behind colored drawers -- the first one open revealing our hearts. Missing, bleeding, useless suckle that dribbles down teh chins of wasted high school pop stars. We lose ourselves in the memories of movies, fall in love with Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston, only to wake up and find out it's not us but them. We try to move on and find ourselves tripping again to rock geek style. Pitiful allusions of days gone past and new acceptions to the word T-R-E-N-D. Makes me sick and I vomit my punctuations out on these blue lines hoping to discover some new insight that I have overlooked in my twenty years of being alive. I close my eyes and it turns dark, blood crusty on slit wrists and I dream and dream and dream of newness and light and I fade above into nothing.
i like to think i have made some progress since then.
¶ 10:11 AM
|
