and already look at it go, three months and three years now into the new millenium [who knew the apocalypse would take it's sweet time]. flipping calendar pages like little lions trampling on paws too big for their faces

i think about writing and i come here with wonderful intentions and i put words down and without thought i'm rearranging and deleting and i can't just let things be anymore. i've been doing this for almost three years and i've watched the shape and the length of these things vary and change but i have said nary a word to myself about anything ever ever. and i know this isn't true but it only fully illustrates my point once again

that i don't know what the hell i'm doing except waiting for something to break loose and grip me in a choke hold.. but how long can i wait for something if i don't know what it is

and don't tell me to take action in the dark

cause it could have been the turtle i passed on the way into the house. one of those minute things that i will forget about by tomorrow but because i went back outside to pick him up and play awhile-- you should have seen the look on my face when i saw he wasn't there.

take my brother to jail and lock him up for twenty days and put him on suicide watch because he is crazy, because he is not, because he took too many xanax and because he did some things he shouldn't have and i will kick a chair and cry for seventeen seconds maybe

but if it just happens to be a little wet creature sitting on my doorstep who wanders away before i have a chance to say hello. well. i'll be sad all night.

sometime ago i lost my skill for period punctuation. lost it lost it where did it go when will it stop no one knows

and that's all it is. monthly chemicals rat a tat tat back and forth synapses firing same thing same time same channel. up and down. back and forth. up and down. back and forth. i'm not listening to music but i can hear sonic youth in my head

[[and you know. for all the days i've had this week, i spent several nights in a blue bed with a softspoken boy where the thought of crying dries up as soon as it begins to trickle down. it just isn't possible. and i think, i have not cried in front of him once. not once in nine months.. except for a few sentimental tears at justin and leah's wedding, but that doesn't count.]]

i donated 25 dollars to wmnf. i got my tax return money. i have a pink bunny named daisy sitting in my lap and i can't spell her other name. i

elise tells me that sean says my writing is nonsensical. elise thinks the same way. i am pretty sure i do as well. but because i wrote it i automatically know what it means so i think i'm biased

and stalling for time

and space

i will cross my fingers for you. and me.

i have been a part of many phone conversations over the past week and listened to even more. and in a time not at all about me i found myself wondering if they'd ever discussed me like that. if it were ever such a dire situation. if it were ever even thought of. or if i was just going to be okay. if it were assumed i was fine.

maybe i just couldn't see it. maybe they couldn't either.

i was going to ask. but i thought better of it. not my time. so i stayed silent and my lips fell in a tight straight line and i didn't say anything. cause who needs attention when you've got self depreciation. no, really, i don't mean that. new words. what i do mean is self mediation. intervening on my own behalf against myself between my six halves finding that tropical flower in the snow

knowing it doesn't make sense, knowing when to let go

[don't let me fool you.. i can't see the lines between what i mean and what rhymes]

i've used all these words already. on late nights after good shows with fluxating moods in the same old town.

[there, i wrote, now i can go back to playing the sims]