where it all goes

i was adding to the list of things that are beautiful enough to cry about, soft enough to run my fingers across and feel chills surge from them, and graceful enough to change and move without being noticed, and i relized i hadn't taken so terribly much into account. i knew the things that fell and walked and breathed and sat eyes filled with distemperment, but what aboutthe non-emotionals, the segueyed little lives led without a chance or thought or hope? what about the quiet breeders, that do nothing say nothing live for nothing just are? what about the movers in and out in and out of apartment after apartment not a friend to their name, cordial to those they work with, no family left no one to call at the beginning and end of each day? where have i left them?

i don't want to keep leaving things off.

there were always words spoken drastic and aloud that peirced our skulls let us shine like morning stars let us fall into the eyes of everyone like the moon before sunset.

so here i am, thinking about the unthinkables, pondering the imponderables, and questioning the unquestionables and i think it's more fun that most of the daily activities that fil out souls and wear shoes down. everyday we lose more and more of our hummanity.

i'm thinking about phone conversations listened in on and drunken sprawling messages left on answering machines to people who don't want to talk to me. i'm thinking about not wanting to talk to them.

i'm thinking about not going grey everytime a color fades. i'm thinking about not waiting for hindsight to remember there and then what matters. i'm thinking about understanding life forwards. i'm thinking about the real superman not being a will to power, but a will to notice. i'm thinking about the only thing in existence, the cure for our lonliness being everything, not just us, waiting on some solitary space making it all up. i'm thinking it made me up. i'm thinking i am it. i'm thinking i made me up, it made it up and daily, every second we make each other up. i'm thinking about mkae believ games children play and why we stopped.

i was talking to pogo the other night of when i was young and we played what we called "fantasy" where we invented ourselves into moves and slipped in and out of streets and alleys and hallways conversing with characters that didn't exist, didn't need to. i was telling him about coming back to town once summer and trying to play and not being able to enjoy it. about it not being fun.

i was telling him how we used to make long drawn out movies with our G.I. Joes and how we had the ladies man and the tough guy and the liar and the theif and the genius and the the artist and the general and the partiers.

i was telling him how i usually played the genius and the general and the artist and the thief. my cousin played the tough guy and the liar and the partiers (there we always a bunch of partiers). we alternatly played the ladies man which was always this one guy, gung ho, dressed in his marine dress blues and hat all shiney. that guy ot laid in our games more than john holmes. i miss being able to play the general and the theif and the general and whatver other fall betweens we had.

i miss being able to play fantasy.

i miss being able to enjoy it.

i was thinking it would be fun to try again. but i remember the sinking feeling of finding out that it didn't work.

why must adults behave as adults? why must children behave as children?

i'm thinking about the greener grass. when i was young i wanted to be an adult, now i just want to be a kid.

isn't that just the way it goes?

i'm going to my brother's for thanksgiving. we should have a pretty damn decent time.

i'll be leaving here shortly but i wanted to shout in your ear a bit first.

i wanted to tell you that your ears are my favorite to shout in. thanks for hanging out, listening to my dribble.

2002-11-28 | 12:56 p.m.
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