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Name: Jimmy.
Country: Ireland
Interests: Coldplay. Jet. Bob Dylan. Simon and Garfunkel. Lynyrd Skynyrd. The Stones. The Faces. White Stripes. The Beatles. Goo Goo Dolls. The Who.
Message: message me
Member Since:
4/9/2003
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| Tickets from Versailles, niche in cargo holding vent, no one to wave to in Heathrow. I’m drinking coffee from a paper cup and logged onto a green arm chair in a café that offers drinks at 2 Euro (impressive) and Internet connection. I almost forgot how nothing is really personal in an airport, in an airport you are part of the crowd, just waiting silently in the boarding lounge, no identity, but, as someone pointed out, with somewhere to go to, somewhere unconnected with anyone or anything, something impeding the spell of grocery shopping.
Next fight to Nantes.
Marketing ploy, the woman sitting next to you, standing back as the strangly rogue fashion label slips from her mouth. She's saying, you can go anywhere. And I can, since I'm young, but I don't tell her that.
(Nice to know there are still poets out on Xanga) | | |
| seems like i've been travelling for a while, but i have to finish my uni degree some time, maybe i'll transfer myself into dublin. there is wonderful women in dublin, women and music and you can swear all you want and sing in the streets. it's not like europe, one can be gay (happy gay) without being dignified in wealth.
i hate to say it but one does not love ones country the way one loves the country they visit. it is not consuming, but it is a liking for that country. ireland is so very tame. in all the drinks and the woods and the beautiful women, it is a tame country with a tame voice. the only things that are not tame is the coast, that, that and the fucking protestants. | | |
| - - i swear that i don't have a gun.
spent the summer listening to led zeppelin, and drinking bad wine. about the gir;l, i wonder, having re read the latest post. i've drawn no attachments lately, fact i'm going back to the states for a few months; maybe, maybe even australia (apparantly they ride kangaroos to school, in the absence of horses, being much more popular.)
but of course, these things always last to see the year through.
i love packing. i love crappy little planes; but to america, one can only book over-sized passanger jumbo jets. i'd feing from feeling like Twist, perhaps rather hitch a cargo ship and pick the fleas from the rats. | | |
| i met this girl. and for once, (or twice, it wasn’t at a party, or at a friends place). /i met her at the bus station outside of lindin. She was reading chuck palahniuk. 'Diary'.
she wasn’t the sort of person you read poetry to, or muse about society and paradoxes. this is all done in your mind, when you’re looking at her.
she has these vicious black eyes, and what is so very intimidating about her, is the impression she leaves after she’s been staring at you.
(what the hell is up with skinny chicks and led zepplin?)
anway, i found out she knew a friend of mine (and that she hates vanilla ice cream); else she’d have been a passing stranger. it’s all about your people.
i don’t know why i’m saying this. i’ve loved before, but it’s never really made me lye awake in bed, or stare dully into the street, my head in my hands like i've never contemplated my actions before.
i don’t even i know if i like her.
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