ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- watch me drown wintertime can really hang you up the most. every day i wake up a little bit earlier than feels natural or right, and i spend just a little bit more time at work or working on things than i feel really ok or realisticly comfortable about. i walk to the bus stop, and remember how much fun i thought i was having when i used to take the five from ypsilanti everyday, and maybe it really was fun, but wasn't everything kind of sad and heavy back then? i sit on the same seats on the same route as i did years ago and i feel something missing in between time and realization. something a little off. it's the type of cold and greyness all the time, too, that seems harmless, but snow that falls down and is stepped on for months and months, always melting and re-freezing... it becomes a sick, dirty ice that just hangs out like any industrial complex or highway; ugly and pointless, once grand or maybe beautiful, now waiting for the time to fade away. one of the eventual results of never being able to fully freeze or completely melt. and it seems like lately i've been so hungry that i'm not hungry anymore, and i end up eating just a bit less than i really need to in order to function properly, and sometimes there's songs in my head that i think i like a lot, but when i go to sing them my voice wants to stop, maybe not as sure that they're really my songs or words i believe in. it feels like everything in many ways falls just millimeters short of the truth, but it's impossible to tell if it's old truth or new truth. the old truth doesn't work anymore, so i would have to kind of start over and figure out where the new truth is going. if everything is falling short of the new truth, then i'm in trouble. but what if the old truth never went away, or remained valid and true, or more likely, what if there's no real meter for the strange inconsistancies and scary readjustments that i'm facing, and either sets of truth are completely disinterested in my mental breakdown, my masterpieces, my heartbeats or who they belong to? one of the supreme drawbacks of living in a world that can never really be sure if it wants to completely freeze or melt. but still, and much lighter than air, one million things make me happy, and i float over all the scary uncertainties of broken teeth, dizzy eyes, lost friends, angry looks, my own emotional irresponsibility and a future as likely to crumble as it ever has been. i hover over these things with songs in my heart that i stole from our collected lives, salt in my hair that riccochetted off of your window to wake you up, lights in my eyes that shine over the bed you left in my new room and the photobooth pictures i hung on the wall above sleep. the pictures of you i have taken with my eyes, and can feel being etched in some beautiful, untouchable permanence. a new guitar. cans of coca cola. sending letters again (with stamps!!!) holding hands. holding on. remembering. letting go. small books of new 4x6 photographs. messages saying "don't stop writing", "don't stop". dancing and designing. all the words i've seen for years that somehow feel like they're brand new. every single obstacle, acting also as a gear. happy hope for another year. classic. ******* listen to: my bloody valentine, beach boys "sunflower" (kind of retarded, but including the breathtaking 'this whole world'), rolling stones, claudine longet, jackie deshannon, wolf eyes with spykes, sodastream, cat power, smog, smog, smog, smog, joan of arc, esp family, carter family, mix tapes that got made, the ones that were made but never given away, the ones you were going to make (neil young?) and still should (you could). 2:38pm - 1.19.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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