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Fri, Feb. 25th, 2011, 02:05 am

Emma Gold,

you are my friends page.

Wed, Mar. 31st, 2010, 03:26 am
"Do you realize you have the most beautiful face?"

As I stood there on my back deck, staring out over the darkened yards, my cigarette burned and smoke slowly drifted up to my nose. It entered without asking, as if it knew its only purpose.
"This is my happiness, burning down to its filter." I said to no one. A cold breeze drifted over over me. I stood unphased. "I'll make it through. I always do. They didn't keep me last time." I couldn't help it. I thought of her. A girl I worked with, who had captured a dream of mine in her depth and demeanor. Even though she never once was interested in me the way I was interested in her, and it was painful to watch her eyes fixate on someone else. I can't help but feel as though I've lost a light in an otherwise darkened path.
To some degree, she is a symbol of what I'll be leaving behind. I can burrow, and I can dream. But only in my dreams do I feel as though I can touch, even if just barely, the fundamental aspect of existence that makes me feel that I am alive. As I sit here now, ready to break from my unconsciousness, I take a moment to dream of the past few months... not even my entire unemployment. Truthfully, much of it was wasted on lethargy... but in the past few months, the pieces have come together to form a few fundamental truths. That love comes from within. That you can either worry or enjoy. That although I will spend my entire life cooped up in my own head, there will always be moments where we accidentally touch one another, and for that brief time, I'll be able to see into the depths of someone's soul, connecting us, illuminating my own. I suppose all light fades eventually, but I remember what I've seen even in the darkness. It reminds me that there's something to this existance that I don't quite understand, and it's beautiful.

In her server book, she places all of her receipts and papers on the right side, on the left, an otherwise blank page that has written on it:
"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart.
**I am. I am. I am.**
-Sylvia Plath"

Tue, Mar. 30th, 2010, 12:45 am

what the fuck do I do now?

Wed, Mar. 24th, 2010, 03:38 pm

procrastination better speak at my funeral.

Mon, Mar. 15th, 2010, 12:54 pm

fail!

Mon, Mar. 1st, 2010, 09:03 am

Life is there for the taking.

Thu, Feb. 4th, 2010, 12:54 pm

Hey LJ,
what's up?

Fri, Jul. 10th, 2009, 03:19 am

so...
I wake jay up.
to go upstairs
he says, I think they were drinking whiskey.
"What?"
"In between the drinking."
his eyes are mostly open, but they are focused to the left. He's curled up in the fetal position. Not much squirming. This would usually pass as focused, thought out movement.
"Common man," I say monotonously.
"Why?"
"You gotta sleep in my brother's room."
Squirming, finally. "are you gunna tell everyone?"
"About what?"
"About the situation here."
"Yeah man, you gotta go upstairs," I said.
"Everyone first."
"You gotta go first."
Jay had been closing and opening his eyes. He opens them finally. He sat up and adjusted himself. His eyes were on the ground. He stood up, a little too tall. The arch of his back threw his momentum behind him. It took some effort to correct his balance. He looked around.
"Shit."
I began walking out, he picked up his cup of iced tea and drank it. He stood tall, overextending himself again. We walked upstairs.
"As long as I get to lay down somewhere," I heard.

Mon, Jun. 1st, 2009, 02:35 pm

dear life,

why are you so great?

wyatt

Fri, May. 29th, 2009, 02:14 am

life has a way of circling back on one sometimes.

A dream.
A window, covered in dark decaying vines. A darkness in the room behind it. Mold on the walls. A rotting floor. A stale air. Nothing moves, not even the mouse, only inches from the cheeze. The room sits depressed, forgotten by everything, forgetting of everything. A single light pierces through the vines. It's enough to light the room, if only dimly. The sun is recognized, the depression uplifted... and everything in the room remembers.

I think art is proof that we will never cease to try and bridge the gaps left by our rudimentary languages. We will express everything inside ourselves.

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