Friday, December 19, 2003
the newly discovered pleasure of being alone
last night, i read five incidents concerning the flesh and the blood by frank moorhouse. it was one of those short stories where i keep mentally highlighting the quotes i want to use later. in here. in my AIM profile. on a tattoo. those are my favorite stories, the ones that make me want to write, the ones that make me want to steal the best lines and say they are my own.
i keep thinking of what i'd be doing right now if i was still in boston with nothing to do. i'd probably still be sitting here writing this entry. probably different words about different things. about the boy i saw for five days straight. about the valentine's day card i never sent. about how i would like a boyfriend but don't need one. maybe i would have went to the photobooth and taken more cheesy photos of the back of my head to show off my new amelie-esque haircut. i'd be doing things like that. toting around a thai iced tea.
i left with a bag of 10 cds. ones that will most likely make me want to get up and do something. there is music that i just listen to and enjoy and then there is music that makes me ache. music that makes me want to invent/create something for someone else to enjoy. i want to pass that feeling on down to someone else. i've been called a muse. i've had people say, "yeah, that one thing you wrote, it made me want to write a song." i think the best compliment i've ever gotten was that my words were beautiful. that meant a lot more to me than saying i am beautiful. i'd like to be remembered by what i did, not what i looked like.
once, my friend chase who lives in ohio now. he wrote a song for me. he said, "i wrote this while thinking of you" and he put the phone down and played the song for me. on piano. it sounded beautiful. i told him that. i could hear him smiling over the phone. that is the last time i remember chase thinking about me at all. he probably doesn't even remember my name anymore. funny how his made such an impact on me.
¶ 12:06 PM
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last night, i read five incidents concerning the flesh and the blood by frank moorhouse. it was one of those short stories where i keep mentally highlighting the quotes i want to use later. in here. in my AIM profile. on a tattoo. those are my favorite stories, the ones that make me want to write, the ones that make me want to steal the best lines and say they are my own.
i keep thinking of what i'd be doing right now if i was still in boston with nothing to do. i'd probably still be sitting here writing this entry. probably different words about different things. about the boy i saw for five days straight. about the valentine's day card i never sent. about how i would like a boyfriend but don't need one. maybe i would have went to the photobooth and taken more cheesy photos of the back of my head to show off my new amelie-esque haircut. i'd be doing things like that. toting around a thai iced tea.
i left with a bag of 10 cds. ones that will most likely make me want to get up and do something. there is music that i just listen to and enjoy and then there is music that makes me ache. music that makes me want to invent/create something for someone else to enjoy. i want to pass that feeling on down to someone else. i've been called a muse. i've had people say, "yeah, that one thing you wrote, it made me want to write a song." i think the best compliment i've ever gotten was that my words were beautiful. that meant a lot more to me than saying i am beautiful. i'd like to be remembered by what i did, not what i looked like.
once, my friend chase who lives in ohio now. he wrote a song for me. he said, "i wrote this while thinking of you" and he put the phone down and played the song for me. on piano. it sounded beautiful. i told him that. i could hear him smiling over the phone. that is the last time i remember chase thinking about me at all. he probably doesn't even remember my name anymore. funny how his made such an impact on me.
¶ 12:06 PM
|
