july, 2002

while trying to find the tracklisting for my last mix cd (11, not 12) i came upon this. it's not good, but it exists.

it's hard to be ashamed of someone else.

--

Everytime I walk through a dark room I can hear them. I can smell them. I can feel their eyes rolling across the length of my body. I don't know why I was the lucky one to be able to see these foul things. Why I was the pick of the litter. But I was born with it, and therefore I have to live with it. Everyday from now on, as far as I know. But I always have the hope that I can wakeup feeling free of this burden. Yet everyday for the past year, it has gotten progressively worse.

That first day was most likely the worst. I woke up feeling normal, until I looked out the window and saw it raining. It was that hard kind of rain. the kind that you think is going to dent the hood of your car. I was on my own at that point, so I made that comment outloud, although no one was there to hear it. What a great feeling that was. Living without wondering who or what is hearing what you say, or knowing what you think. I went into the bathroom to shower and shave and get ready for work. I stood over the sink looking at my sorry face and then smiled and laughed. Today was the day that I was going to be interviewed for my promotion. Fuck, I was nervous. I went into the shower, and washed every part of my body with my mind running through things which have absolutely nothing to do with anything. Like making up new lyrics for songs which already existed.

Have you ever slipped in the shower? Have you ever had the hopeless feeling of sailing across the tub and trying to grip for anything to stop you from falling, but the only thing you can touch are the wet, slippery walls, or toppling shower bottles. I hadn't fell in tub in years is the first thing i thought. Ouch was the next. I got up clumsily and as I was doing this i caught a glimpse of the blood running down into the drain. That's what I started to panic. I tried to wash the gaping wound above my eye brow as best I could, but it just kept bleeding. I turned off the shower and looked in the mirror.

Fuck. It was right above my eyebrow. I grabbed the washcloth and applied pressure. Why waste time? I started brushing my teeth. I went over the interview over and over in my head as I stared at myself in the mirror. In the mirror, I could see the closed bathroom door. Here I am, living alone, and I still close the door to my own bathroom. I rinsed, spit, and put the toothbrush back in its home, and then turned nonchalantly to go back to my bedroom.

What I saw as I looked up was about as tall as my father but twice as wide. And it stunk like death. I dropped the washcloth as a sting and a shiver went through my entire body. As the bloodied rag hit the ground, he... it was gone. It had been nothing short of a second, yet I knew I saw it, and I knew I smelled it. And apparently, so was the gash above my eyebrow. But the cloth was still bloody and my head still stung where the wound had once been. Not having done drugs throughout my entire life, I knew that this wasn't some sick flashback. This had happened.

as if the world was more than he could bear.

one of the best. 10/10.

and eyes.

this picture. no words.


more from 2007.

MY HILLARYISMOMJEANS.COM SUBMISSIONS:

...COMMENTED YOUR MYSPACE WITH A BROKEN .JPG
...CAN REALLY RELATE TO ZIGGY.
...CAN'T SYNC HER WIRELESS GUITAR.
...SAYS OKEY DOKE.
...HAS NO LOVE TO GIVE.

this is the woman.

stripper try-out photos.
not dirty. just women wanting to be beautiful.

with/without photography.

this would still be happening.



nature as photographed as nature.

i had something to say about ALL of these.

otis.

a 30 year man.

solid movie; 8/10

a man of great interest.

just ask.

there's nothing wrong with being lonely.

the old spill canvas album reminds me of her so much. and i guess the thing is i haven't seen a mind completely independent since the first time i heard her listening to this album on her own, completely. i remember how sexy i found her being entirely and silently overwhelmed by something i knew nothing about.

that was the kind of thing that completely intoxicated me. i can think of her at a distance, in silence, singing along, eyes closed, to a single line of the entire fifty five minutes.

she was downstairs. and i didn't even know this band.

i have nothing to claim to her. my mind is on a long, long leash. i love another time over. i'm a little mad. i have a trust issue that i ignore.

i want to run but i want to stay.
apply this to her and to me.

i sort of know she has a passion that she's having a hard time evaluating. putting into words or pictures or sounds. i was this way at 20. fucking 20. what in the world was i at 20? in a relationship that wasn't suited to my lifestyle, with certain friends that couldn't keep up, without a solidified dream/goal, and pre-anything, and pre-growth stage.

i don't think i'd seen anything i'd wanted to see that would really touch me. i thought i loved but didn't know what love was.

i was a youth and these things are going to happen. it took another half decade (maybe more) before i realized what it was and what i was. i still don't think i know what i want to be, but i know what i want to see and how i want to see it.

i'm old.
i ain't got time for a reinvention.

wee!

a gunner,

oh, i don't like the looks of this.

the thing is, i don't generally remember my dreams. in fact, for years now i've been saying that i don't dream. occasionally, i'll have to backpedal and say that yes, i know i dream i just don't remember them.

in the middle of january, i started writing down my dreams, no matter how small, in a pad i'm keeping next to my bed. i don't want to say that it's become important to me, but i'd like to definitely stick to it.

coming back to a dream that i had even just TWO days ago has been an almost rewarding experience.

before i go to sleep, i can usually hear voices. useless conversations. i'm not saying they're ghosts or anything. just scenarios, in a way.

maybe you're just not in the habit of it anymore!
three straight children. //
my parents aren't still divorced..
- kim-voice

you're gonna BREAK it
- mikey-voice