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Tuesday, January 29, 2008
oh! •
how they romanticize literature! and a block of pulp becomes a dream-holder, like a picture frame in the nighttime. i can hardly breath - green and scarred sits on my shelf, flat on it's side beside philosophy and technical volumes. what did it mean-? it passed away.
it had started raining! yes i am listening, keep on going sir, yes 1,2-di-rain streaking across the palette of the view framed by the lab door and more. can't hear the rain though, can't hear anything- Are you listening? snap out of it, the rain's stopped streaking, now it's streami -
the day is so musically devastating. after the tone she speaks; the ring of her soft voice and careless words. my hopes are dashed and dashed again. but seriously. stupid day.
what a waste of time and energy this must be-! i have no idea if any of these in the world play in this nonsensical charade with me. it used to be like we were actors, changing from one character to the other, dissonant or complimentary at just the right moments. hm. how irreplaceabley quaint and false.
oh! these insults and suan-ses are the only time in the past year that we've spent together. is that all you wanted? why wouldn't you communicate that instead of acting like a four-year-old? like-
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10:09 pm
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