26.Jan.2002

I am going to bed

--

back on the street

Saturday morning.

And days spent dissecting my past.

Days like these always start me thinking, when the street-lamp reflects on the dusty windows, and my introspection is illuminated by the computer monitor, and this java-script box.

I watched Fearless again tonight and it relinquished memories successfully stifled until now. I can't explain the pull of certain things on me; I can't pin-point the exact moment where I started to completely and utterly flake out.

I remember days when none of this mattered, and there was merely this, and this is all it was, and this couldn't be explained, nor controlled, nor destroyed.

It simply was.

My eyes scanned the previous, hand-written journal entries for all of ten seconds before I dismissed them. Vision caught between the threads of my mutant penmanship, words and words and so much fucking time.

And then connection lost.

Terry used to always tell me, "I'm hiding it well." although I never quite believed him. I know so many transparent people. The most transparent are those who spend hours professing their opaqueness.

I miss when my weekends were meaningless and entertaining, verses meaningless and dramatic. The destruction of this group was ultimately ineluctable; I simply had no idea one of the strongest would be the first to come to pieces.

I spent a good portion of this month waiting for the 2001 nostalgia to die, the introspection to peacefully go down in flames, merely because I didn't want to think about it.

I must be late.

"The ground knows no iniquity and knows no heart
There is only this
So sleep
and dream of this
and dream in the tide of headlights"

I am going to bed.

--

time & machine