gray

my exact train of thought is hanging just out of the reach of my hand. i want so much so desperately. the weight of the world has managed to find it's way back to my weary shoulders, the strain wearing heavy on my exhausted muscles. i want to disappear. i want to time travel. i want it all back. a simple flip of a switch and there is an emergency exit, a way out. this could be the all time low. that night i was on that bridge, the shaking in the worn seats of my car, it all was just above this point. i feel the life draining from my limbs, running to repaint a faded red door. i feel such a physical taxation on my body, it's unlike anything i've ever experienced. my thoughts are wearing thin as well. more than likely not from an intense strain, i have just been watching my mind grow restless. a challenge. a strain. nothing is out of my reach anymore. it's like i have played the entire game to reach this point, but i am constantly caught in the remembrance of previous steps taken. i honestly believed here i would find my answers. retrace the steps and attempt to relive the moments the have now long passed by. i can see the entire world in gray. the purest of all things tainted by their own dingy undersides. the relationships between morality and economy, justice and defense, redefined within my mind so that nothing appears to be moral or just. the profit, both monetary and otherwise, worth every inch of the self yielded to appease one's desires. there is no love in my life. people love me, and i in turn love them, but everything seems so fragile, a delicate vase on the edge of the mantel as the house shakes to the ground. i need the scene to shift. the pivital jump sequence to the conclusion, just for a bit of comfort and piece of mind. the sun needs to rise, washing me in its warmth.

listening to -
wonderwall - oasis
under the bridge - the red hot chili peppers
shirts and gloves - dashboard confessional
a lack of color - death cab for cutie
moses (live) - coldplay
oh, you are the roots who sleep beneath my feet and hold the world in place - bright eyes

june 25/march 25

the rain was gently tapping on the cracking windshield. an array of stereo wires twisted together to place a simple tune just out of reach of the patter from the raindrops. the window was cracked, allowing that smell to infatuate the senses, an early spring truth serum. the temperture was neither warm or cold, just a refreshing taste of what is to come as the seasons progress. i thought of that day. the rain was gently tapping on the windowpane in an empty apartment. over the raindrops i struggled to first hear your knock and then your tear filled words. the air was damp. we laid on the floor barely touching, hardly breathing. that same familiar melody that returned this morning found its way through a different set of wires, placing a tune just out of reach of your heartfelt sobs. i recall a feeling of desperation, not for myself, but for the person i wish i would have become to her. the last fleeting seconds, a run through the airport, striving for a gate preparing to close. i knew in that moment that i had missed the flight. months before i had already been to late. now it was her, a cheshire cat, fading away and then reappearing in a different doorway, upon a different bed of leaves, or just across that short plank-wood bridge, asking for my counsel. i had made myself out a saint, the compassionate exlover, welcoming with open arms a once well known friend. it was in that moment that it ended for me. where for her the many months of my agony had become a perpetual annoyance, her having let me go long before i saw the sunset fade. in that moment i knew i had never struck the emotion within her heart that he had. yes, i had made her happy, but, i never left that longing in her bones, i never sparked that kind of emotion. i had to let it go. then, this morning that moment returned through the gap of time to me, filling me with a sense of incredible emptiness. the rain still falls, and my heart continues to ache across the years for her. it always continues to ache for her, she was my beautiful goodnight, but not my last dream. will the plague ever fade? will the nights continue to pass as an empty old man on an empty interstate? these days the counting forward is surpassed by the mirror of the past. there are the dark days.



listening to -
the funeral - band of horses (everything all the time)
play crack the sky - brand new (deja entendu)
the boy who blocked his own shot - brand new (deja entendu)
a rush of blood to the head - coldplay (a rush of blood to the head)
my sundown - jimmy eat world (bleed america)

pages.

there are so many broken concepts, mapped out in erroneous charts and dialects, that it seems at the slightest exposure the world fall to ashes and rubble. my life is the cartographers hand, carefully mapping the outlines of what will be generally accepted as the world. as each page turns on the calendar of this season the wall edges ever closer. someday soon an apathetic hand will reach out and remove the last sheet, leaving nothing but a bare, whitewashed wall. this is when it will end. it will all be over. the game will be up, the home team still trailing by three as the score keeper tries to wipe the board clean with agile fingers. will it be quick enough? or will the moment be allowed to linger, penetrating from the lens of the eye and ingraining a lasting image on our minds? i want to wake up in the morning and escape this retched fruitless plain and take the gutter to the coastline, seeing where i wash out. are the welcoming tropical waters of the pacific, renewing and satisfying where i will find the cure i have been so emptily scanning the horizon for? maybe i will filter through to the eastern atlantic, condemned to bury my bones alongside a barren, grey shore. the pages are falling, and soon it will all be evident.


listening to -

this place is a prison (the postal service)
deep inside of you (third eye blind)
method acting (bright eyes)
the quite things that no one ever knows (brand new)
the boy who blocked his own shot (brand new)
play crack the sky (brand new)

i never made a scene, i didn't have to, i ididn't have to

i could really care less. honestly. about anything besides myself. that is a hard thing to make appear before one's own eyes on an artificial screen. through the last year or so i have fluctuated between a sense of utter contempt paired with desperation or a euphoric sense of happiness. through the last week or so i have realized that the times i grow discontent are the times i choose to view life as a single solitary journey, where everything in one's life grows according to a system of martyrdom and struggle. this american epidemic consists solely of the perpetuated myth that unless we end up slightly better off than our parents, we have accomplished nothing. hawthorne said brilliantly "families are always rising or falling in america," which may be the truth, but i would like to take a seperate stance. i think families are always evolving in america. growing from different aspect, more like a hindi system alloted over a genetic structure of generations. each generation the children are stimulated to rebel against their vision of god, which is mainly embodied by the very people that brought them into the world. throughout the course of time family lines expand to different areas of knowledge, eventually reaching a point of enlightenment. i think i have reached that point. listen intently, because i have figured life out, at least for me. forget all of the moral principles we grew up with. life shouldn't be planned out years in advance, there is obvious preperation required throughout obviously, however the more open the slate is, the more room there is for mental stimulation and therefor evolution. the most miserable times in life for me personally are when i feel cornered, tied down, i like the freedom of an animal released from captivity. i need the openness. i don't need you.




listening to -
the union - taking back sunday (where you want to be)
new american classic - taking back sunday (where you want to be)
i am fred astaire - taking back sunday (where you want to be)
one-eighty by summer - taking back sunday (where you want to be)
no. 5 with a bullet - taking back sunday (where you want to be)
war all the time - thursday (war all the time)

now i have chosen the direction, will you fallow?

"with nobody in your bed the night's hard to get through"

this weekend has been encapsulated in a sandy snowglobe. everytime the dust has settled, along comes some snot nosed infant to shake and destroy the simple measure of peace that had descended upon these bones. all week i waited in silent anticipation, just longing to be close to her, to you. the tie was laid out, but was never picked up and carefully knotted. i spent several days drifting out of conciousness, walking the dead streets of this dying midwestern city. i've decided by the next time the seasons have shifted and the heavy winter winds fall, a hammer from god's own hand, i will be resting my bones on a western coast. there are twenty five more weeks, an hourglass fashioned in the shape of this dry northern state. what it holds, diamonds or dirt, has yet to be seen, a flintlock to the glass, but no promises. the two fates are intertwining, and i'm waiting for the words to escape her lips, what words exactly i have as not yet surmised. right now she holds my days in a locket around her neck, suspended by the faintest of silver chains, waiting for the muse of the wind to come and capture it, turning my soul out to the winds. right now i'm at the crossroads, eyes weary of scanning the horizon, the soles of my shoes anxious to collect more dust and memories. now i have chosen the direction, will you fallow?


listening to -
jesus christ - brand new (the devil and god are raging inside of me)
rat within the grain - damien rice (9 crimes)
the badlands - gatsby's american dream (in the land of lost monsters)
those who left - murder by death (like the exorcist, but more breakdancing)
i'll stand by you - the pretenders (the one and only love)
empty - ray lamontange (till the sun turns black)

straightened out

it appears as if head over heels is the style of the season.

absentmindedly stumbling through a course of thought

the focus shifts from the ever present rain absentmindedly creeping it's way down the cracked window pane to a synthetic vision encapsulated in the flickering colors. i am slowly sinking off into the green back of a well worn, threadbare sofa. the past few days have been a vague consolidation of events, penetrated only by a radio signal over static, the vision of her face. the moments have been drifting by unfilled for months now, are slowly being overwritten with a simple image. a moment stuck inside the memory, replaying slowly at it's own speed and counting the seconds longer as it rewinds. she seems to have been walking through the broken ceramic destruction to bring a greener season. progress on these seasons seems slow, a dash of a southern wind quickly yielding to a bleaker northern draft, chilling everything inside the bones until a dull numbing can intercept it, taking over. maybe this day will be diffrent, real sunday afternoons on a sun-soaked porch, entertwined in a hammock, watching sun flowers seed in the yard. maybe it's just a dream, or maybe it's where the day meets the mind, the day i've been waiting for. these have been random ramblings and i apologize, i am absentmindedly stumbling through a course of thought that will not be straightened out. two years ago i would have called it love, but now i see it as the spring dawning and a beautiful face.

listening to -

luca - brand new (the devil and god are raging inside of me)
the rhyme scheme - cursive (the storms of early summer)
empty - ray lamontange (till the sun turns black)
oslo in the summertime - of montreal (the sunlandic times)
jamie - weezer (weezer remastereds)
the drinks we drank last night - azure ray (hold on love)