stayingdown

my neck hurts

my legs hurt

my hand hurts

my head hurts

my throat hurts

my lungs hurt


bllalasaznppnznzzzz

this lj needs more than one post. this is all cribbed from one of my many other journals, this time last year

***

i've been trying to read more lately, it doesn't work, don't have the attention span for books. my thoughts are always beyond the page and my eyes start to drift around and off the page, i lose my place, it... probably wasn't a terribly interesting book anyway. none of them are. but i'd like to write one, i could read that. it would be compelling and engaging, hilarious and tragic; i'd laugh and i'd cry and i'd know i had to remember that one part -- my favorite part... grab a highlighter and mark off my favorite lines; the page is dripping yellow onto my hands. i'd like to write one. i can't. it wouldn't be good enough, not for me, certainly not for anyone else to see. why waste my time?

***

3am, can't sleep, no idea why, awake since ten in the morning, tired yet awake. couldn't sleep earlier- too much noise- a girl with a fantastic accent listening to a man in the hall talking loudly. he loves sports, he can't believe that some other girl, not accent girl, doesn't like sports [by the way he had sex with some girl but she was mean so he doesn't do it anymore [do what? fuck her?]] accent girl wonders: why have sex with her if she is mean?, he shares the rest of the story and she agrees, with an accent, yes, that makes sense. more about sports; he loves sports. enough. if there's noise it will be my noise. headphones + music, louder, louder, until it's loud enough to drown out the sound, but it's not loud enough, i can still think, turn it up louder until it's utterly overpowering, perhaps this will make me deaf (noise problem: solved).

i can't even hear my fingers on the keyboard and every time i try to think it's knocked back and shot down by another bracing chord or distorted incoherent scream. no expectation of sleeping with this, headphones + music, i wait it out, wait until the last drunk girl goes back to her dorm and the last drunk guy stumbles back into his room. maybe it happened. maybe it's silent, out there= not here.....

***


i almost called you

almost

the phone was off the hook, i almost pressed the first number, until [stop!] i remembered why i wanted to call you~~my finger pulled back but the hand kept the phone running away the cord uncoiled and the cord stretched and the cord snapped and when it cracked i came back to dial your number.. but.. there was nobody on the other end and every word said ran through the frayed broken cord, burst into the air at the end of the wire, going nowhere. + when i was done telling every secret, revealing every lie, telling stories to nobody, i twisted ruptured wires back together, the phone resting on the hook, i want it to ring, please ring: i would pick it up and hear you on the other end and tell you everything, tell you exactly what i said to the air on a dead line, i would tell you absolutely nothing

these stories make no sense



and as soon as i finished writing
it rang
i stared for a second
picked it up: heard a dial tone
waiting for my call




i threw the phone against the fucking wall.

***

this town is dying. maybe it's dead and the people here just haven't noticed.

guess i have a livejournal now