A Journal of Sorts
"look inside and you will see the words are cutting deep inside my brain thunder burning, quickly burning knife of words is driving me insane, insane yeah" ~ Budgie ~ . o O ( or is that keeping me sane? ) O o . oh the futile efforts of modern man (or woman) to communicate through words can only be compared to the ant building huge mounds and complex mazes in the ground only to have the hard rains come and wash them away... . o O ( start again ) O o . ok, so it can be compared to most any challenging enigmatic thing I suppose... supposing, in itself, is one example... can certainty be quantified?... anyway, there is really no time for all this sharing I dream of doing at this time, so all this advertising (or is it flag waving) I'm doing here on the net (anybody noticing?) for a friend or lover or roommate or place to live (or telephone booth full of healthy party animals, for that matter) might be in vain (but then, it might be wonderful if it works... especially for someone who actually finds the little nuances that tell all the secrets amidst the seemingly obscure and often repetitive rambles and links... anybody get this one?)... . o O ( which one? ) O o . I need a lover who won't drive me crazy too... I suppose it would be a good time to revise the wantlist and all the other kind of biographically oriented introductory pages I linked in the previous paragraph, huh?... already done?... you'll just have to check to know for sure (if you've even been there before to have some frame of reference for comparison, after all) J . o O (why would anybody even want to put a budgie down, anyway? ) O o . and so it goes... so little time for myself without others asking for attention and energy... all work and no play is definitely taking me on the dull side of boyhood again... and of course I'll throw a pity party now and then as I look around for screaming fans to inspire me and find empty mailboxes and silence... so woe is me the rhymes I write are worthless and nobody cares and I suck and my fantasies turn nobody on and my getting real is not meaningful to anyone and my colors are all bland and my letters are sleeping pills and my journals are egocentric dribble and everything is just blah blah blah (feel free to stop me anytime)... long term, I'm really pretty burnt J sometimes I wish I had a mother so I could say... "mommy, just hold me" I've never believed anyone could make everything alright but I'd like to, I'd really like to if I let you in to touch childinside if I let all my vulnerabilities show would you take advantage or help protect me or just leave me alone in shades of blue I want to share so much (only everything) it I let myself go I want to sing and I could get lost in my mind on my own but I'm not in this world to be alone I want to share so much (only everything) I want to be understood and appreciated but most of all I want to be wanted as much as I want (only everything) unconditional and infinite and all I want to share so much, to fly until we fall I obviously have been neglecting my heartbeats of late, but I barely have time to keep up with these journals... without someone interested in sharing intimacy, digging past the surface takes more time and more physical writing space than I have... as it is, all of these catch up writings and other writings for the past few months have been in rather busy and distracting spaces with people talking to me and asking for things as I am writing... been a long time since I've been in a space I could call mine (even though possession is just a momentary illusion anyway, it's a nice comfortable illusion that allows intense focus on creativity and explorations of the infinite heights and depths)... too much time alone without digging, wallowing begins... |
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