2001-07-27 - 4:01 a.m. - the neil armstrong museum was right out the window and it reminded me that maybe we never actually did go tot he moon but what does it really matter because we already know our country is full of liers and hypocrites.
is this the way that sound breaks?like glass falls in puddles,
and shattering at the way your hand
shakes, naked and nervous.
*********
tonight we met half way and talked over a bonfire of coffee and cigarettes. i was thinking, i never laugh the way i do when im with you. i couldn't help but think about history, not the kind that is fit for textbooks, but the kind that slides gently through our veins after we create it ourselves. Do you remember all the nights we'd all dance on fallen power lines beneath the sound of hearts breaking? there was a night when we all sat in the doughnut shop, and all of us had just gone through some stupid typical fucking high school break up with girls who were, of course, the be all end all girls for our lives, as if there weren't any other fish in the sea. and maybe you hadn't gone through a break up but you were focused on the absence of someone you wanted to spend time and make out with and then break up with eventually because we were all young. and well just sat in the doughnut shop in near silence, occasionally uttering phrases about how lonely we were and how our broken hearts would never mend. we were the kings of melodrama, the stereotypical sensitive young men who watch as every ass hole alpha male gropes violently at the breasts of every sweetest girl we've ever known. those who don't know us well enough swear that every last one of us is gay and every once in a while i begin to believe them. after all, repetition of an idea can often times bring that idea to fruition. but then i'll see her, no one in particular, just her, who drops the bottom from my stomach and makes my feet sweat. isn't it beautiful how quickly one can fall in love for just a moment, in the span of a few moments when she walks in the door, buys a cup of coffee and then leaves. and you know you should have said something but never have the courage and really, alot of moments in life are like that, you know? everything is so close to falling into place and it would if i could only say something but somehow i never do and it never does.
and then when we left you turned right on to the 75 south ramp and i went left on to the 75 north ramp and there we were moving, once again away from each other.
and you. i thought you were angry at me. or maybe that you hated me but your concern for my health made me blush and, for a moment, wish that we could dance to the songs of jazz orchestras removed from history, perched precariously on the roofs of houses on which we all climbed on as youths to retrieve lost tennis balls from gutters filled with dead leaves and rotting rain water. and i think you should really come to the saturday looks good to me show in detroit next month and it will be beautiful and after the show you can sleep on my sofa while i type my final exam out before turning it in.
well anyway, have fun at krazyfest with yer scene brigade t-shirts. rock hard for me.
and why does everything always end here. when i am empty of things to say. tonight i wrote some good poems at big boy and maybe after i mold them into something i am proud of and want to share i will post them up here because i think they are beautiful and they are about how sometimes the people speaking the loudest and most often don't have anything, really, to say, and also another one is about how people can lose the intensity that makes them vital and how hard it is to get that back and another one still is about the way we communicate and the way people fall in love and how confusing and ridiculous it all is when you think about it.
i printed up all yer diary pages and im reading them like a book. it is th emost important piece of writing i have read all summer.
and while we were at waffle house the survior song was playing on the jukebox and it was so true because, you know, its totally true...we are totally survivors of the most empty period of time ever. all of us. we are all artists digging inspiration out of shoelaces and dirty dishes and street lights and firewroks and the sound of sound collapsing so that we can fill the emptiness with something. and we're still alive and we are survivors and then someone played jaded by aerosmith and that was so fucking true also. then later i came out of the restroom to hear she thinks my tractors sexy and i sat down and looked out the window at the neil armstrong museum waiting for you to say something but all you could do was write "she thinks my tractos sexy" on a napkin and stare at it blankly trying to figure out what the fuck was going on and really there was nothing to figure out because its pretty obvious that people in wapakoneta get women by pimping out there tractors. just another charade of masculinity and calous coated hands that work the soil and shape the earth.
it's not the way you move your body, its the way the earth shakes your feet. i could never dance to songs that don't redefine the molecules that make us.
xoxo
listen to: the mountain goats. wolf eyes. soophie nun squad. lovesick. saturday looks good to me.
�
�
