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a brief smile crossing your face
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[14 Nov 2005|03:33pm] |
i dont like this journal anymore.
i'll be at
</a></b></a>![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
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| everyone'll come around ( get in line ) |
[02 Sep 2005|06:30pm] |
falling out of this world of lies.
i am who i am who i am.
well; who am i?
a room with a view.
that's really all i have.
falling into a world of lies.
i see hills. i see flats. i see a telephone pole.
falling out of a world of lies.
all of this, and luck would have it.
i was wondering if,
im wondering if i could have been somebody other than myself.
anyone.
could i have been anyone other than me?
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[23 Jun 2005|02:28am] |
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i honestly hate at least one thing about everyone i know.
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[25 May 2005|01:46pm] |
i realized something on the drive home, while ironically enough sitting a red light on
golden ave.
what i wrote on may 24th was about moving on with your life.
being active in regards to life.
not just being passive,
and sitting and waiting for something to happen (eg. the virgin line)
it's about moving on.
and i wrote this on may 24th.
on may 25th, someone killed themselves.
i didn't know her.
a faceless name.
it's about moving on, but also pausing occasionally to reflect.
think.
mourn.
what you will.
it's pausing, pondering, then passing through.
on may 25th, someone didn't run the red.
and now, the crimson light will never change for her.
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[24 May 2005|11:16pm] |
golden ave.
driving home from a friends.
i stop at a red light.
given time to think.
.
.
!!!~
green floods my retina.
impulse to the foot.
dont breach two thousand revolutions per minute.
capped at forty-five.
cruise control engaged.
more time to think.
it's dark tonight. a low hanging yellow moon glares my mirror.
no cars are out. i see a red light a quarter mile away.
my car shifts to neutral. i drift left, then right.
damn alignment. i thought i payed for them to fix you.
i park in the bike lane. open the door. my truck is wider than the bike lane.
i look back to the friends. darkness. orange side lighting from a school.
that's the past. all of it.
where i grew up. where i learned my multiplication tables. where i've been.
that's the past. just looking, can't go.
i about-face.
still a red light.
when i get there, do i stop?
do i stop and wait?
do i stop and think?
do i stop? and for how long?
i can still smell it on my skin. her and it.
it's intoxicating.
still a red.
damnit.
i step in the car. key in the ignition.
still red.
i turn it, it turns over but doesn't die.
it doesn't die.
fuck.
still red.
it's in drive.
first gear. second gear. third. fourth.
still a red.
fuck.
im charging.
it's not red.
crimson.
will it change?
progress isn't made by those who sit and think.
those who take no action.
im a virgin.
i look left and right.
no lights. more red, with some orange side lighting.
fuck.
i run it.
looking back.
vámonos, amigos.
i ride off into the friscalating dusklight.
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[23 May 2005|09:10pm] |
there's something in politics called the expectations game.
it usually happens before a debate.
its where you build up the opponent to be such a good orater,
if your candidate gives a decent performance,
it's a triumph.
this game was played on my personality not too long ago.
'he's the funniest guy ever.'
'he'll make you feel like a queen.'
'he's the best ****.'
turns out, i had an off night.
i wasn't myself.
i didn't make some people laugh.
i didn't really pamper some people.
i didn't complete some people.
i wasn't myself.
i really regret it.
i wish i could change it.
i know i can't.
i wasn't myself.
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| O.K. |
[22 May 2005|12:30am] |
tonight.
i realized how much i dont need the opposite sex.
it was odd.
i thought i needed someone.
but i dont.
it was odd.
is it wierd for someone to be single for almost 18 years?
i think it is.
it was odd.
i know it's not okay,
but im okay.
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| stream of conciousness. |
[09 May 2005|09:15pm] |
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imagine what the world would be like if everyone was honest with everyone about everything all the time. being honest emotionally is paramount. imagine what the world would be like if people didnt have inhibitions about being honest. honest about how they feel. honest about who they like. HONEST ABOUT WHO THEY LIKE. that would be a big one for us immature little high school kids. a logical reason for being honest is frankly, less material to read. ( a bonus if you dont like reading ) you wouldn't have to try and read someone. there'd be no mixed signals, everyone would know everything that they want to know, if only they're have the courage to ask. these are all just fond wishes of mine - and i'll be the first to admit it. I AM DECIETFUL. i am a lying sack of shit not worth his weight in piss. but if i can try and change, then maybe there's hope for the rest of us. i am a wisher. and maybe if im honest with her, she'll be honest with me. i've never felt normal around you. everytime i feel you near i can think straight, im not matt anymore. im some foolish boy who cant unlock his eyes with yours. i have a shirt laying on my floor that i wont wash, because when i walk in my room - i can smell her on it. every time she walks close, i smell that shirt. on some days she smiles - but most she looks, and i stare back - and she turns and walks to more angular friends who dont feel for her like i do. maybe if im honest with her, she'll be honest with me.
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| a babble of beese. |
[07 Feb 2005|10:23pm] |
seventeen years and a hundred and thirty four days
as eloquently as possible im bored with myself
[here]
i started to write what i was bored with.
after twenty nine "my's"
i stopped for the sake of arthritis.
[there]
two hundred and thirty four days (approx.)
until i get away from orange county,
i get away from this self i've crafted.
frankly, im an artisan, crafting my true art.
art art
art art
art
art is not a college.
it is not selective,
it is not subjective.
alexis de tocqueville says,
it is not an aristocracy.
the heart
of art
is seemingly
dead
wants and needs
devil is to lived
as
i is to haven't
i have no time
and at the same time
a watch.
architects, hell i used to want to be one.
and a fireman.
then a pilot.
and a paleoscientist.
now im back at the first.
putting piece to piece together
like some fucked-up paper mache boat
hugging the shore
hoping for land
finding it
with no lovingwelcomingfriendlydecentmediocre
port
home is where you hang your heart
i dont like art.
i like imitation.
i dont like people.
i like who they are.
i dont like music.
i like sounds.
i dont love here.
i loved there.
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[30 Jan 2005|01:22pm] |
one, two, three, and to the four
lies go said and she's out the door.
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| thinking about your friends |
[29 Dec 2004|03:25am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 restless |
] |
| [ |
music |
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radiohead |
] |
in a dim room,
the tv harmonizes with the glare from this monitor.
a tenor sings in the background.
what a range, and he smokes.
and old friend flashes on the screen,
like the old friend in my coat pocket.
comfort food.
im surronded with comfort.
a nice house, in a nice city, with nice neighbors,
a nice family, a nice bank account, and a nice life.
comfort doesn't breed growth. maybe comfort food, but not this.
i'll shave this when i become myself.
maybe i'll write my last will and testament.
maybe it will say, 'when i die, shave me.'
( writers brief )
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[13 Dec 2004|08:34pm] |
lets pretend this phone call never happened.
lets pretend this past weekend never happened.
'lets pretend this past month never happened.'
lets pretend these past six years never happened.
lets pretend our lives never crossed paths.
lets pretend we never happened.
im too sick of lies
and those who speak them
and those who believe them
to write
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| sincerely serious |
[12 Dec 2004|10:23pm] |
im waiting for something new.
eighteen keystrokes later
im still waiting [19]
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| nicotine and caffeine |
[09 Dec 2004|08:49pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 good |
] |
| [ |
music |
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kjazz |
] |
( the trumpet has obviously been drinking )
a week holds ups and downs.
i viewed this week as mostly downs.
but now that's its coming to a close
i've come to see my time in a new hue
people tend to remember only the bad
and not the rest of the spectrum
i've come to dismiss (excuse me for lack of a better word) drama
quite literally and figuratively
and enjoy the little things
a cup of coffee
a cigarette
a conversation
eighty eight one.
i'll take the quiet life.
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| i'll sleep alone |
[07 Dec 2004|05:35pm] |
| [ |
music |
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nick drake\elliot smith |
] |
discardedworthlessthrowmeaway
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[25 Nov 2004|12:55am] |
lucky strikes.
thrown shoes.
chad.
sharted.
tillys.
bonfire conversions.
scarf and sandals.
starbucks.
mini cruellers.
music.
free samples, again and again.
pimped out stationwagon.
i rather like the people i've found, in stark comparison to the people i've left.
when everything is boiled down,
when everhthing is wasted away,
what really matters,
is the ability to enjoy whats given to you.
and these people do.
believe me, they do.
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[19 Nov 2004|05:40pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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new |
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| [ |
music |
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jazz |
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va·cu·i·ty: n. pl. vac·u·i·ties
1. total absence of matter; emptiness.
2. an empty space; a vacuum.
3. total lack of ideas, emptiness of mind.
4. absence of meaningful occupation; idleness.
5. the quality or fact of being devoid of something specified: a vacuity of emotions.
6. something, especially a remark, that is pointless or inane.
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