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David

[ website | ...You mean I'm supposed to write something here? ]
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[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

ho [06 Jul 2006|08:22am]
hello out there all you happy people
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Goodbye, snoopy [13 Aug 2005|08:22pm]
[ mood | sad ]


Snoopy
????-2005

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This is the best description of me i've ever seen!!! [04 Aug 2005|10:56pm]
Global Personality Test Results
Stability (86%) very high which suggests you are extremely relaxed, calm, secure, and optimistic.
Orderliness (30%) low which suggests you are overly flexible, improvised, and fun seeking at the expense too often of reliability, work ethic, and long term accomplishment.
Extraversion (63%) moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly talkative, outgoing, sociable and interacting at the expense of developing your own individual interests and internally based identity.
Take Free Global Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com



On top of that, here’s some brief description of me.

"Messy, disorganized, social, tough, outgoing, rarely worries, self revealing, open, risk taker, likes the unknown, likes large parties, makes friends easily, likes to stand out, likes to make fun of people, reckless, optimistic, positive, strong, does not like to be alone, ambivalent about chaos, abstract, impractical, not good at saving money, fearless, trusting, thrill seeker, not rule conscious, enjoys leadership, strange, loves food, abstract, rarely irritated, anti-authority, attracted to the counter culture."

That is who i am.

hmmm
:-,
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To Kaya: [12 Jun 2005|02:56am]
[ mood | sad ]

"Lost in moments of wasted time’s wishes redeemed in some semblance of what could have been.

Drift toward and outward in vessels made to steer its way through broken dreams. I’d navigate at night by the star of limitless possibility.

To close my eyes yet flow awake through endless seas of mercury.

I’d only wish to dream of you this way. An epic siren song of loss and things so distant still the chill is felt.

the storied path: so worn and yet to be deprived of wealth
for the messages are always there.

Follow the best vision of the world you see.
You are the only answer to the questions in your tears in every permeation.

Remember in whole our story together…
Because it’s better to have loved and lost then never to have known the fear.

But somewhere in a place unseen, under a star of limitless possibility, under the shelter of my dreams, you and I will always be.

Hands in folded one upon another.

Speckled sky & navy blue with everything we left behind
You can’t ever take some things with you.

Lost in moments of life and regret.
I dream to make peace and make sense out of grief.
I dream and ascend to behold you again
A float through endless seas of mercury

A kiss and a wave and a knowing release.

I drift on a vessel laid out to the sea.

The ocean of pain and my own broken dreams,

The stars in the sky where you and I should be,

I navigate by our star of limitless possibility,

and I named my vessel

Anemone."

Be well
-C

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By Haruki Murakami [11 Jun 2005|08:57am]
[ mood | contemplative ]

It was short one-paragraph item in the morning edition. A friend rang me up and read it to me. Nothing special. Something a rookie reporter fresh out of college might’ve written for practice.
The date, a street corner, a person driving a truck, a pedestrian, a casualty, an investigation of possible negligence.
Sounded like one of those poems on the inner flap of a magazine.
“Where’s the funeral?” I asked.
“You got me,” he said. “Did she even have family?”

Of course she had a family.
I called the police department to track down her family’s address and telephone number, after which I gave them a call to get details of the funeral.
Her family lived in an old quarter of Tokyo. I got out my map and marked the block in red. There were subway and train and bus lines everywhere, overlapping like some misshapen spider-web, the whole area a maze of narrow streets and drainage canals.
_________________

The day of the funeral, I took a street car from Waseda. I got off near the end of the line. The map proved about as helpful as a globe would have been. I ended up buying pack after pack of cigarettes, asking direction each time.
It was a wood-frame house with a brown board fence around it. A small yard, with an abandoned ceramic brazier filled with standing rainwater. The ground was dark and damp.
She’d left home when she was sixteen. Which may have been the reason why the funeral was so somber. Only family present, nearly everyone older. It was presided over by her older brother, barely thirty, or maybe it was her brother-in-law.
Her father, a shortish man in his mid-fifties, wore a black armband of mourning. He stood by the entrance and scarcely moved. Reminded me of a street washed clean after a downpour.
On leaving, I lowered my head in silence, and he lowered his head in return, without a word.

I met her in autumn nine years ago, when I was twenty and she was seventeen.
There was a small coffee shop near the university where I hunt out with friends. It wasn’t much of anything, but it offered certain constants: hard rock and bad coffee.
She’d always be sitting in the same spot, elbows planted on the table, reading. With her glasses – which resembled orthodontia – and skinny hands, she seemed somehow endearing. Always her coffee would be cold, always her ashtray full of cigarette butts.
The only thing that changed was the book. One time it’d be Mickey Spillane, another time Kenzaburo Oe, another time Allen Ginsburg. Didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was a book. The students who drifted in and out of the place would lend her books, and she’d read them clean through, cover to cover. Devour them, like so many ears of corn. In those days, people lent out books as a matter of course, so she never wanted for anything to read.
Those were the days of the Doors, the Stones, the Byrds, Deep Purple, and the Moody Blues. The air was alive, even as everything seemed poised on the verge of collapse, waiting for a push.
She and I would trade books, talk endlessly, drink cheap whiskey, engage in unremarkable sex. You know, the stuff of everyday. Meanwhile, the curtain was creaking down on the shambles of the sixties.

I forgot her name.
I could pull out the obituary, but what difference would it make now. I’ve forgotten her name.
Suppose I meet up with old friends and mid-swing the conversation turns to her. No one ever remembers her name either. Say, back then there was this girl who’d sleep with anyone, you know, what’s-her-face, the name escapes me, but I slept with her lots of times, wonder what she’s doing now, be funny to run into her on the street.
“Back then, there was this girl who’d sleep with anyone.” That’s her name.

Of course, strictly speaking, she didn’t sleep with just anyone. She had standards.
Still, the fact of the matter is, as any cursory examination of the evidence would suffice to show, that she was quite willing to sleep with almost any guy.
Once, and only once, I asked her about these standards of hers.
“Well, if you must know…,” she began. A pensive thirty seconds went by. “It’s not like anybody will do. Sometimes the whole idea turns me off. But you know, maybe I want to find out about a lot of different people. Or maybe that’s how my world comes together for me.”
“By sleeping with someone?”
“Uh-huh.”
It was my turn to think things over.
“So tell me, has it helped you make sense of things?”
“A little,” she said.

From the winter through the summer I hardly saw her. The university was blockaded and shut down on several occasions, and in any case, I was going through some personal problems of my own.
When I visited the coffee shop again the next autumn, the clientele had completely changed, and she was the only face I recognized. Hard rock was playing as before, but the excitement in the air had vanished. Only she and the bad coffee were the same. I plunked down in the chair opposite her, and we talked about the old crowd.
Most of the guys had dropped out, one had committed suicide, one had buried his tracks. Talk like that.
“What’ve you been up to this past year?” she asked me.
“Different things,” I said.
“Wiser for it?”
“A little.”
That night, I slept with her for the first time.

About her background I know almost nothing. What I do know, someone may have told me; maybe it was she herself when we were in bed together. Her first year of high school she had a big falling out with her father and flew the coop (and high school too). I’m pretty sure that’s the story. Exactly where she lived, what she did to get by, nobody knew.
She would sit in some rock-music café all day long, drink cup after cup of coffee, chain-smoke, and leaf through books, waiting for someone to come along to foot her coffee and cigarette bills (no mean sum for us types in those days), then typically end up sleeping with the guy.
There. That’s everything I know about her.
From the autumn of that year on into the spring of the next, once a week on Tuesday nights, she’d drop in at my apartment outside Mitaka. She’d put away whatever simple dinner I cooked, fill my ashtrays, and have sex with me with the radio tuned full blast to an FEN rock program. Waking up Wednesday mornings, we’d go for a walk through the woods to the ICU campus and have lunch in the dining hall. In the afternoon, we’d have a weak cup of coffee in the student lounge, and if the weather was good, we’d stretch out on the grass and gaze up at the sky.
Our Wednesday afternoon picnic, she called it.
“Everytime we come here, I feel like we’re on a picnic.”
“Really? A picnic?”
“Well, the grounds go on and on, everyone looks so happy…”
She sat up and fumbled through a few matches before lighting a cigarette.
“The sun climbs high in the sky, then starts down. People come, then go. The time breezes by. That’s like a picnic, isn’t it?”

I was twenty-one at the time, about to turn twenty-two. No prospect of graduating soon, and yet no reason to quit school. Caught in the most curiously depressing circumstances. For months I’d been stuck, unable to take one step in any new direction. The world kept moving on; I alone was at a standstill. In the autumn, everything took on a desolate cast, the colors swiftly fading before my eyes. The sunlight, the smell of the grass, the faintest patter of rain, everything got on my nerves.
How many times did I dream of catching a train at night? Always the same dream. A nightliner stuffy with cigarette smoke and toilet stink. So crowded there was hardly standing room. The seats all caked with vomit. It was all I could do to get up and leave the train at the station. But it was not a station at all. Only an open field, with not a house light anywhere. No stationmaster, no clock, no timetable, no nothing – so went the dream.

I still remember that eerie afternoon. The twenty-fifth of November. Gingko leaves brought down by heavy rains had turned the footpaths into dry riverbeds of gold. She and I were out for a walk, hands in our pockets. Not a sound to be heard except for the crunch of the leaves under our feet and the piercing cries of the birds.
“Just what is it you’re brooding over?” she blurted out all of a sudden.
“Nothing really,” I said.
She kept walking a bit before sitting down by the side of the path and taking a drag on her cigarette.
“You always have bad dreams?”
“I often have bad dreams. Generally, trauma about vending machines eating my change.”
She laughed and put her hand on my knee, but then took it away again,
“You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”
“Not today. I’m having trouble talking.”
She flicked her half-smoked cigarette to the dirt and carefully ground it out with her shoe, “You can’t bring yourself to say what you’d really like to say, isn’t that what you mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Two birds flew off from nearby and were swallowed up into the cloudless sky. We watched them until they were out of sight. Then she began drawing indecipherable patterns in the dirt with a twig.
“Sometimes I get real lonely sleeping with you.”
“I’m sorry I make you feel that way,” I said.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not like you’re thinking of some other girl when we’re having sex. What difference would that make anyway? It’s just that--” She stopped mid-sentence and slowly drew three straight lines on the ground. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“You know, I never meant to shut you out,” I broke in after a moment, “I don’t understand what gets into me. I’m trying my damnedest to figure it out. I don’t want to blow things out of proportion, but I don’t want to pretend they’re not there. It takes time.”
“How much time?”
“Who know? Maybe a year, maybe ten.”
She tossed the twig to the ground and stood up, brushing the dry bits of grass from her coat. “Ten years? C’mon, isn’t that like forever?”
“Maybe,” I said.

We walked through the woods to the ICU campus, sat down in the student lounge, and munched on hot dogs. It was two in the afternoon, and Yukio Mishima’s picture kept flashing on the lounge TV. The volume control was broken so we could hardly make out what was being said, but it didn’t matter to us one way or the other. A student got up on a chair and tried fooling with the volume, but eventually he gave up and wandered off.
“I want you,” I said.
“Okay,” she said.
So we thrust our hands back into our coat pockets and slowly walked back to the apartment.

I woke up to find her sobbing softly, her slender body trembling under the covers. I turned on the heater and checked the clock. Two in the morning. A startlingly white moon shone in the middle of the sky.
I waited for her to stop crying before putting the kettle on for tea. One teabag for the both of us. No sugar, no lemon, just plain hot tea. Then lighting up two cigarettes, I handed one to her. She inhaled and spat out the smoke, three times in rapid succession, before she broke down coughing.
“Tell me, have you ever thought of killing me?” she asked.
“You?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’re you asking me such a thing?”
Her cigarette still at her lips, she rubbed her eyelid with her fingertip.
“No special reason.”
“No, never,” I said.
“Honest?”
“Honest. Why would I want to kill you?”
“Oh I guess you’re right,” she said. “I thought for a second there that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get murdered by someone. Like when I’m sound asleep.”
“I’m afraid I’m not the killer type.”
“Oh?”
“As far as I know.”
She laughed She put her cigarette out, drank down the rest of her tea, then lit up again.
“I’m going to live to be twenty-five,” she said, “then die.”

July, eight years later, she was dead at twenty-six.

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[24 May 2005|12:44am]
Hold your light,
Eleven.
Lead me through each gentle step by step
by inch by loaded memory.

I'll move to heal
As soon as pain allows so we can
Reunite and both move on together.

Hold your light,
Eleven. Lead me through each gentle step by step
By inch by loaded memory
'till one and one are one, eleven,
So glow, child, glow.

I'm heading back home.
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obsession [05 Apr 2005|02:28am]
[ mood | tired ]

!Warning!
*So convoluted in subtext, back story, fused events, people, places, emotions, metaphors and shit I will never admit till the day I die you would be very foolish to assume anything about this piece.*

As of recently my thoughts have been drawing back to a moment in time in which I did something horrible and felt strangely fulfilled and at peace in the action. It was an act of kindness that I gave away and the very action has caught me suspended in its rapture and enslaved to its kind quiet memory long after it’s time had past. It felt like I had waited a life time for that one moment and when my time came I desecrated something I held in solemn worship. A singular moment I took on the virtue of its availability, killing any beauty it could have had. I’m lost in the regret and quiet obsession that comes with the thought of that moment. It all should have been so different, I should have taken you in that moment and made love to you in the way that every kiss and passionate argument promised. I waited my whole life to make love to you and the moment came in the cold and the rain and I gave away my most anticipated moment for what was likely and I feel robbed by the cold fate of it all. That moment was suppose to have been the apex of everything we ever meant to each other: ratified, given a beginning and an end. It was the last step of our moving on from everything that once was into us: new and different. That moment meant so much to me and its meaning holds me obsessing over what could have been different that night and how bittersweet it was to know you for the first time. I spend my days denying it’s meaning to myself so as to forget but in truth, I long for that moment back and I wish I could have it to do over.

I long to make love to you again, the idea of it haunts me like sin not known.
I want to give myself to you, just once and after that you can be done with me.
I want to hold you till you sleep in my arms.
At peace with the moment and its conclusion
I only wish to show you a love I promised you so long ago.

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see ong-bak [28 Mar 2005|07:56pm]
oh my god i just saw ong-bak!!!!

GO SEE ONG-BAK!!!!!!!!

Just go see it.
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Dedicated to Tati... [24 Mar 2005|11:06pm]
[ mood | He's got some huge brass balls ]

Your gentleman caller...
Well, he's been calling on another.
He loves his forbidden fruit...
And as it dribbles down his chin
He cries, "Baby, I've been drinking with some friends! Now how 'bout a little kiss..."
Bad boy...
Rub his nose in it.
What a mess.
... and he's playing dumb.
Do do do do do do do do...

I'm not looking for a lover...
All those lovers are liars.
... I'd never lie to you.
You say you want to get even?
Yeah, you want to get your bad man good?
Well, are you in the mood?

You bad girl...
Does it feel good being bad?
And getting worse?
Do do do do do do do do...

But in the morning,
on the sober dawn of Sunday...
You're not sure what you have done.
Who told you love was fleeting?
Sometimes men can be so misleading
to take what they need from you.
... Whatever you need to make you feel
like you've been the one behind the wheel.
The sunrise is just over that hill,
The worst is over.
Whatever I said to make you think
that love's the religion of the weak..
This morning we love like weaklings.
The worst is over.
The worst is over.

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[22 Mar 2005|07:48am]
A cold and wet November dawn
and there are no barking sparrows
just emptiness to dwell upon.

I fell into a winter slide
and ended up the kind of kid who goes down chutes too narrow
just eking out my measly pipe.

But I learned fast how to keep my head up 'cause I
know there is this side of me that
wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just
fly the whole mess into the sea.

Another slow train to the coast
some brand new gory art from way on high
I sink and then I swim all night.

I watch the ice melt on the glass
while the eloquent young pilgrims pass
and leave behind their trail
imploring us all not to fail.

Of course I was raised to gather courage from those
lofty tales so tried and true
if you're able, I'd suggest it 'cause this
modern thought can get the best of you.

This rather simple epitaph can save your hide, your falling mind
fate isn't what we're up against there's no design, no flaws to find
there's no design, no flaws to find.

But I learned fast how to keep my head up 'cause I
know I got this side of me that
wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just
fly the whole mess into the sea.
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what i wrote to some one [22 Mar 2005|12:39am]
Prologue: He said “I know” and I immediately thought “okay so? I don’t care” but I honestly felt bad so I said a combination of the two. He didn’t see clearly that I don’t care about how he personally feels about and he sent something to me calling me a “ghoul”. Not an ass-hole or midget fucker. I guess he took the classy route and I respect that but I still don’t care about how he feels about me personally. So I wrote what is below.



Okay, look seriously here is the last I’m saying about any of this:

Whatever you are currently dealing with in terms of your girlfriend is none of my fucking concern. As far as my part to play in any hurt you have had because of anything I’ve done, I’m truly very sorry. You may have been a dick to whomever but you never did anything to me and yet I was upset at you. I took sides against you with tati while ignoring her indiscretions and worse yet I took active part in something that was done in the hopes of hurting you (among other things). I didn't even care until I started dealing with you one on one and now I honestly feel ashamed by my actions.


And that is that, Marvin. I fucked up and I was wrong so I’m apologizing. You accept: good
You don't: that's too bad

But beyond that I couldn’t give a shit.
You want to create some drama were you were wronged and im a villain and your "I know" was going to be the shock that scares me into admission and guilt.

I’ve got my own life to deal with and I don't want to be in your soap opera.

Let me save you some time from you and hers mutual drunken, stupid, shenanigans and skip to the bottom line for you and her. You both are massively irresponsible, mutually fucked up, philandering assholes who have a tender sweet understanding side that you hide because you are both so fucking scared of being hurt that you’d fuck around just to get even on something that neither of you had done yet. You deserve each other in the idea that no one should have to date someone as fucked up as either of you, so it’s good you took each other of the market.

I had a point

Oh yeah, accept each others faults. You both fucked up. You both were wrong and you need to forgive and (for once) forget and move on. That’s what love is. Don’t do anything to stupid.

And if by chance you’ve already taken this advice (or not) then leave me alone.

i don’t care

I’m done with all of it

Good luck with the rest of your life

Don’t message me anymore.

-C


Epilogue: Went and read tati’s journal and I’ve been mad at her for so long I forgot that I could feel sad for her. I hope they work everything out. They made each other really happy and that’s not an easy thing for those two to be. Maybe I care a little but he still shouldn’t message me.
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[07 Mar 2005|12:07am]
saved by mo
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"Oh god you owe me one more song..." [03 Mar 2005|03:27am]
[ mood | awake ]

"Oh god you owe me one more song
So I could prove to you
That I'm so much better than them."


I'm so ready to be back in the lime light of love and adoration it's not funny. My whole band is. Just fucking itching to hit the stage with riff after riff of punk attitude and metal power and the diversity of musical taste and influences of another family at war.

Lame fucks that have the brass balls to call themselves rock with a straight face. Oh man, just give me a mic and a bad ass drum line/rock riff and I’ll remind the world why people feared rock. Trendy polo shirt wearing "heart-rock" pussies.

Rock has always been emotional but it didn’t become gay until those lame trend-whores got a hold of it.

(And I don’t mean guy on guy "gay", I mean gay like a Viking)

Oh Joe's ready; he's so punk rock ready. Jared’s ready in his laid back cool-ass John Constantine sort of way (book not movie). Sab’s ready (shit, sab’s been ready since before we graduated high school)

“We’re coming out guns blazing… it’s out time now.”

Just give me the song to sing and I will own it in ways you’d be hard pressed to duplicate.

“We're gonna rise above
We're gotta smash it up
Let me hear it tonight
I've got to hear it tonight
Let me hear it tonight
You won't abandon us again”

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the remedy [16 Feb 2005|12:19am]
[ mood | sad ]

Damn, who remembers abandoned pools? They had that song "the remedy" a while back. I remember when that song came out. I was with kay and she was still in cathedral. I was at such a different place and time now, god it shakes me up. I remember thinking "this song is unnecessarily sad but okay" now when i think back it seem to encaspulate that time perfectly...

God, so much is lost and gone. All those cathedrial people, angie, carmen, mike, erin, donald, lestie, jelecia, mexico hell who remembers alvero but me and jose?

The drama and issues and the people who gave life such color. Going back to fannie lou or making deliveries around cathedrial and i feel like i'm haunting.

whats left? tati and marvin kay, me, heather, nichelle and who else? guys come and gone. lives fucked and refucked. friends dead and buried by distance, time, and fading relations.

and look at all of us.
look at what growing up did to us. we were stupid but fearless and naive but one hell of alot less jaded and goddamnit sometimes we were honestly happy in the pure uncomplicated-ness of our time together

back when me and kay seemed like a sure thing.
it hurts to listen to the song.

those times werent always great but goddamnit they were pretty okay sometimes.

...i need sleep and something to forget.

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Let me get this straight... [12 Feb 2005|08:39pm]
Don't you need to have an actual personality before it splits?
Oh fuck off!!!
See these are the excuses people use when they dont have the ballsac it takes to be an actual bastard!

Pretend bad guy donnie darko wannabe bullshit.

Le Sigh...
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a summary of sorts [04 Feb 2005|11:43pm]
She seemed dressed in all of me, stretched across my shame.
All the torment and the pain
Leaked through and covered me
I'd do anything to have her to myself
Just to have her for myself
Now I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do when she makes me sad.

She is everything to me
The unrequited dream
A song that no one sings
The unattainable, Shes a myth that I have to believe in
All I need to make it real is one more reason
I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do when she makes me sad.

But I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me


A catch in my throat choke
Torn into pieces
I won't, no!
I don't wanna be this...

But I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me


She isn't real
I can't make her real
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[04 Feb 2005|10:45pm]
Late at night in summer heat. Expensive car, empty street
There's a wire in my jacket. This is my trade
It only takes a moment, don't be afraid
I can hotwire an ignition like some kind of star
I'm just a poor boy in a rich man's car
So I whisper to the engine, flick on the lights
And we drive into the night

Oh the smell of the leather always excited my imagination
And I picture myself in this different situation
I'm a company director, two kids and a wife
I get the feeling that there's more to this one's life
There's some kind of complication, he tells her he's alone
Spends the night with his lover, there's a trace of her cologne
And the words of his mistress, as she whispers them so near
Start ringing in my ear

Please take me dancing tonight I've been all on my own
You promised one day we could its, what you said on the phone
I'm just a prisoner of love always hid form the light
Take me dancing, please take me dancing tonight

I imagine his wife, she don't look nothing like a fool
She picks the kids up form some private school
She remembers what he told her, he was late and worked alone
But there's more than a suspicion in this lingering cologne
And the kid's just won't be quiet and she runs a traffic light
And she drives into the night

Please take me dancing tonight I've been all on my own
You promised one day we could it's what you said on the phone
I'm just a prisoner of love always hid from the light
Take me dancing, please take me dancing tonight

So here am I in a stolen car at a traffic light
They go form red to green and so I just drive into the night

Please take me dancing tonight I've been all on my own
You promised one day we could it's what you said on the phone
I'm just a prisoner of love always hid from the light
Take me dancing, please take me dancing tonight
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[29 Jan 2005|12:38am]
When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown,
The dream is gone.
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Okay, in retrospect this is admittedly gay. [29 Jan 2005|12:00am]
[ mood | calm ]

I don’t have the talent to make beautiful the trials and triviality of a life spent bumbled through, eyes half closed and lacking in grandeur in the first place. I don’t even know if I have it in me to express them to my own satisfaction. A requiem of a tempest. Blessings like raindrops over a deep gray sky. A sad precession of days interceded by moments of serine calm and happiness, like the silence between the spaces of a sentence

A glass half empty.

There is richness to the stories that surround me, like some fertile soil given to me to make grow something wonderful. I’ve the gift of being able to find the wonder such mundane and an imagination to take the wonder the only I see and exaggerate it. Make wild jumps in logic that make sense enough to draw ridiculous conclusions and in that plain satire to find truth. The problem lies in my heart. So much in me says “why try?” My apathy kills my motivations. I hate this but in the same breath (or rather under it) there is a large part of me that does not want to care anymore. Something in me would give my every gift away if it meant not being hurt anymore.

Tears well in my eyes when the thought comes that I have to struggle through it all and though the vow on my heart says “Do not go gentle” I’m still so afraid.

My heart is a boat on the sea

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No, it never propagates if I set a gap or prevention [12 Jan 2005|12:21am]
[ mood | cold ]

I've become such an asshole. So unbeliveably jaded. I use to have a heart for matters that required it, but now if it's not a matter of principal or pre established conviction, i dont seem to have the sympathy to spare. And i can be such a hard person to know.

Espicialy recently.

i just dont want to care anymore then i do for anything else. All the carring i have right now is getting shifted around. If i manage to care about one thing then so many other things i couldnt give a shit about. Whats worse is that the amount of sharing is shrinking. There is bairly enough to go around.

I'm mean to my undeserving girlfirend sometimes. it makes me feel bad and i dont know how i got there but something in me is very cold and it allows me to keep going. Some times it touches what i most care about and gives it's chill off.

Something in me had to die so i could still be standing and fuctional with all thats happened and with it's passing it has made me a less whole, alot colder person.

i dont want sympathy.
i give so little.

i just wish i was different.
a little more idealistic.

just some thoughts

-C

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