| sit back in my hell, camera shots and photographs. drunk and swaying
across the floor. sorry you caught me off my guard, i was waiting for a
means to an end, there comes a time for everyone. he pulls himself
together only to fall apart, whispers in his sleep "i've lost forever.
what have i accomplished here? what do i have left? only a means to an
end." he asks himself "i can't control myself when i feel this way?"
"another drink to soothe my nerves is all i need." my beautiful friend,
you weren't always like this. if you need a friend or a place to call
on call on me |
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| so I new years was pretty miserable but i had this really amazing dream last night. It was sort of I am Legend-ish. Minus the vampires. First it started with like my mom and sister and I in this house and there were tornadoes everywhere. out of every window. Well..they are swarming all around and finally I look out of this huge glass window and see these mushroom clouds in the distance. and then I see fire and missiles coming out of the mushroom clouds and im like "it's not nature! It's human warfare!" then.....emily and i are walking, two refugees, holding hands through a destroyed conway. Foliage has taken over the parking lots and target is in ruin. We're walking through the parking lot of conway commons and it's turned into this massive prairie. The weirdest thing isn't all the events/details that I remember...not even how vividly I remember the grass and stuff...just that the feeling was there. At first there was a feeling of extreme fear because of hte tornadoes and then a just complete feeling of..im not sure. I remember crying in my dream because it was so beautiful in a way. Man had destroyed himself for hte most part and i could see nature reclaiming what it had lost, hear the birds chirping everywhere. It was insanely beautiful but that the same time utterly hopeless.
I liked it. But I'm scared there might be a connection between it and my bff-friendship.
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| I was looking through my forms of fiction journal (due wednesday) and came across this bullshit that I had written a few months ago. I find it still a bit fitting.
He probably could have been an 'A' student but she left him, he started drinking and stopped going to class. It wasn't that it was too hard for him, moreso that he didn't care. He never missed writing class and he'd go so out of his way to see you. He probably just wants to fuck you but you two are getting serious and he's emotionally messy. He's got more luggage holding him back than a newly arriving passenger at the JFK International. And fuck, he wanted to take notes right now and catch up but fuck fuck fuck! Maybe a poem he thought but it's some essayish prosey bullshit. And these fucks don't even know what a goddamned morpheme is. So fuck them, I'm waisting my goddamned time. And if I go to Prague for this writing program, I'm never coming back. I might as well be useless in a better place right? Funny how I'm such a dick and think I'm so fucking good and yet this went from second person to first like nothing professional. And he (like the conscious switch back?) might just be too drunk or he might just be sick of it. He wanders if poets, writers, ever feel like they've written something splendid. Is he going to be the next Hemingway lush minus the talent? Fuck, he might fake a death, disappear and see if his work goes over better posthumously. Now he takes a line of notes and notices the girl next to him, with her sunkissed thighs in her short shorts. He could love her and make love to her like she's never known. But now he's coming out of his drunken haze so it's time to take another swig of Pepsi and rum and hope things work themselves out for once.
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