| Oh Joy! | ||
| 2000-09-08 || sugar and spice and everything nice | ||
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I fucked up somewhere along the line. I was going to go back, way back. But I did that once this year, and don't want to again. Fucked up skills on the microphone. Words coming out twisted like licorice. This big head full of ideas and words to pass around and share. It's none of anyones business. Nobody should know a fucking thing. Hence the occasional fabrication. Hence the backspace key being used more than the space bar. So I'm going away in a little while, but I have a couple of hours to kill before that. So I want to say what I need to say, and get the fuck out of Dodge for a couple of days. Nobody seems to understand me. Ha. What a fucking joke of a thing to say. What a cliche' oh poor me and my loneliness. Poor me and my...whatever. I guess that's why I started doing this in the first place. I meet and greet and walk down the street and smile and frown and get turned upside down. All over girls and drugs and drinks and rock music and sunlight and snow. I have no steady emotions now. Frome time to time I get lifted. From time to time I get smashed down. For the most part though, I'm up. High up. Happier than anyone I know. For the most part that is. It's the few nights here and there I turn into a Cure record listener. I turn into the werewolf. Tonight at 8:03 pm EST I will be lifted. I get to be with a couple of friends, hanging out where we're all three happiest usually...I can't think of enough words to even describe things. Messing up friendships, making things weird between people. Making things awkward. Work lately has been hell. My mind can't concentrate. I have my mind on a girl. I can't put things in perspective. I can't put something down in front of me. I ain't gonna blame girls though. That's cheap. I blame me. I blame my getting sucked into everything and everyone. I blame the devil. I'm not blaming a girl though. She hasn't done anything wrong. She exists I guess. I'm intrigued by her, and that's it. If I think about it I feel nice inside. I feel like calling her on the phone and listening to that cute voice mail message. I feel like hearing that laugh. I feel like writing a million words about her. I have though. I've written a million words about her. Even before I really met her I wrote words about her. So now that I know her I write more words about her. This is all I really have. This is all I always have. Not just this place. But words. I have plenty of them too. The same ones I write here, or anywhere else would come out of my mouth no problem. I just never get the five seconds to. I think about them here and then just write them down. I tell others the same things. I tell everyone in the world. Bragger. I tell myself I won't completely cover myself with these words. I can't help feelings and emotions though. I just can't wear a halloween mask. I can't think of other options right now. The telephone doesn't really ring much. I'd love to have 8 messages on the phone when I'm in New York and I come out of the show tonight from someone. I'd love to talk to her before I go to sleep at night. I have cheesy things to share with her. I have ancient history that I want to talk about and words full of sugar and spice and everything nice. I have words and all of that, fuck yeah. Nobody has it like I do for her. As far as I know. I can't get into it all here though. It's not like it's swallowed completely. Maybe it is, and I just don't know it. Maybe it's all too clear. Maybe everything in here from the last few weeks makes sense to somebody. Maybe it scares. Maybe it helps things out. Either way, they're just words that I want to put across. I did it again. I do it every time. I wrap up in this and that is all. Go with the flow. I sure go with the flow. I go the way I'm supposed to go. I make sure I dot the i's and cross the t's. I'ts the end of the summer and I'm in a different place then I was at the beginning of the summer...I just have no idea how to drive.
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