2002-12-11 - 10:08 p.m. - -
"Holding hands in parking lots and all of your friends are there." --by fred thomas.and i can feel it coming back again. can't i. i can. prove it. fuck you. i prove nothing to no one. its back. you can see it just beneath my skin. i can taste it. it is just beneath my tongue. i can say so much with short sentences. sometimes i like to write long ones to. do you hear me? sing. fucking sing. everyone. your voice is your last line of defense. it is dissent and desire. it is that which is sent, and that which is drenched, dropped, dripping in desire. if you could only bottle your voice and sell it. so many can. why can't we? we put it on the page. on the fucking page! i live in words. i live in the act of interaction. always living in the moment. always trying to pull myself from the fragmented ribbons of thought that consume each of us everyday. there is no escaping life that happens after modernisim. it is everywhere and it eats us. i say we eat it back. devour everything. the more you take in the more of a chance you can find what it all means. but if you don't. if you can't latch on to that meaning. well then, my dear, you are fucked.
i decided today that i miss elementary school. i miss not caring.
xoxo
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