just choose one sentence and insert your name

i am listening to codeine and i feel like i'm sifting through the ashes of the life i'm coming to live. they are beautiful ashes from beautiful days lived in sunshine and basking in the moonlight with a bottle of beer and a pack of smokes to light the trail to wherever. i hope the wind blows the way it does when i'm sitting here, ranting about bullshit and jotting notes to god in spanish and hebrew (which i don't know) and thinking about the best walk i ever had. i was probably fifteen and was staying the week at my cousin's. my aunt had agreed, after cattle prodding enough to kill a whale, to allow us to sleep in a tent outside. (i think it may have been this that so glamorized tent life as to make me move into one for a while) around midnight we were pretty sure everyone had fallen victim to the sandman and was snoring their way drunk or better onward to wonkas dream palace in the sky, so we snuck out (which required little doing being that we were in the back yard and there was no fence to keep us in) and waled down the street where we stole a few packs of cigarettes and began walking the streets of Monty (the town we lived in). we must have walked for the whole of the night stopping occasionally to sleep or drink a beer or talk with a friend or two. we even serenaded garretes girlfriend and i waited outside while they had sex but i didn't mind. the wind blew just right and i could feel the thoughts of every sentient being drifting by and i knew that this, walking, was the only was to be. and it was. we got back at seven or eight and passed out sleeping all day. teenagers need their rest.

i think i've been searching for that day a little bit in every walk i've taken since.

think i'll close out the night with a little thought that feels the way it did to be fifteen. glad you stumbled through this entry.

"we only give the sweetest looks, and we only steal from the greatest books, just choose one sentence and insert your name." -geoff farina

2002-09-16 | 4:32 a.m.
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