02.July.2001

I am going insane

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tangled juices of the possibilities.

3 entries in a 12-hour period? Mechanical me is catching up to the fleshy me. Dawn is going to come like I haven't recently, like the swell of these odd strings against a morose beat in delicious repetition. I'm frantically typing, staring out the window at the darkness, not yet a violet break, and I laugh at this like I laugh at Anne Rice novels. As if dawn is going to affect me; as if the sun is going to murder me. A friend also informed me she bought me a rosary from Rome *blessed by the Pope*, and hoped that I, her goth crony, wouldn't explode when I slipped it on.

My God, the climbing, fully accomodating sharped-chords of this chorus goes entirely through me, and somehow I'm able to envision the rest of my life. I asked a former lover if they ever woke up thinking they had no idea what to do with their lives.

He said, "Every day."

But somehow, I can see it, and this lyric is going through my head, "That's the way it was meant to be."

I just wrote this on a piece of notebook paper and felt I had to copy it here:

"If I didn't have Malachi here with me, I would most certainly go insane. Speaking of going insane, I am writing this in bed, blind, in the dim light of a lamp on the opposite end of the room, which reminds me 'opulence' is spelled with one 'p'. In my head, I was singing Michael Hutchence lyrics trying my damndest not to sound breathy, and this thought entered me:
I cling to people like static sometimes -- loud and disorienting and like noise -- and I could have sworn, while falling asleep, this voice said to me: 'But what is noise to some is music to others.'"

I am finally going to bed.

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time & machine