The Untitled Blog

end of days

i got some pretty nice news tonight. well, not news. but encouragement. i got that. i might share soon. the pens beat the rangers tonight! woo! one down…now i’m watching the wire and thinking about bed. because i’m tired.

i think whn i mak posts hr i’m going to lav out th ‘s

apparntly, laving out th ‘s is all th rag on th intrnts. flickr, tumblr, um…othr things with no ‘s.

i’m finishing up my short story for class this wk and thn mayb i’ll hav somthing to say hr instad of “blah blah blah i hav nothing to say.”

hav a good day, intrnts. 

fallen behind

i haven’t updated as much i meant. life, school, work…all of them are sucking the energy out of me. i still feel that void, the vast nothingness of my creativity. it’s like i can’t fucking break through. ANYTHING. nothing.

meh

it would appear that i’m having an internal conflict of epic proportions. suck it, internal conflict.

darkest

My missing you is so large that I cannot begin to find the edges. I don’t know where to start because everything is the darkest part of night – no stars, no moon, just shadows and me and this giant, hulking thing called Missing You. If I take a step forward, I might find myself miles from you, millions and thousands of miles from you, from this point, and it is a step I’m unwilling to take. Stars shine through sometimes, very dim and barely visible, but I see them and cling to them because I know it is you looking for me in your own deep, dark night. I bathe in that faint light because it is the same as bathing in everything distinctly, warmly you. When the stars fade, when I can no longer see them, I sit myself down in the very darkest part of my very darkest hour and cry until my insides are in shreds and nothing more remains.

© 2008

4.7.2008

Untitled

Looking out the window, I see countryside passing me in a blur. Cows and trees and barns become one, a violent clashing of memories and events and colors. The colors burn themselves into my memory and I know that fifty years from now, I will recall this day and how everything was muddled and how nothing was distinct.

I log hours on a train speeding eastward, contradicting the usual need of people to escape westward to California. I leave the ocean behind, the mountains behind, and I cross vast empty expanses of land and it all seems left for dead. Deep in my heart, I hear the land’s lonesome cry for attention. I hear the wailing of the deceased and I shudder. I clench my hands into fists and let my nails cut my palms. I hear screaming when I close my eyes. I want this train to travel faster.

At the end of the line, when I finally step off this train weary and disoriented, he will be there. He will watch me with guarded eyes. His hands will be in his pockets and his shoulders will be hunched. Only I will know what has gone on in the past, what has gone on in the thing I am escaping. California. The place we fell in love, the place we fought. The place we separated.

I head east because he waits there at the edge of another ocean. The train can’t move fast enough. My hours are spent reading words without comprehension. I spend my hours watching the colors mix. I spend my hours recalling his face. The train absolutely cannot move fast enough.

© 2004

1.15.04

less is more

my day was not as bad as yesterday (there is a man with a giant red umbrella!) but i am full of /longing/ for someone to be here. physically here. wednesday morning the roommate returns and finally, finally i will have someone else to talk to. back to writing.

carrot top creeps me out

my eyes won’t stay open. sleep it is, then. later.