sududQ: but and therefore or also is so since until

4, shesaskeleton

HONESTY TIME, THINGS I SHOULDN'T SAY OUTLOUD, A LIST

____- i tried to write the story. 4 times. different songs, different approaches. i cannot seem to embody myself... which is disturbing me. I cannot seem to be adequately myself in order to write it (it being everything) honestly. I have parts of it though. This is the first paragraph of approach number 4:

The first problem with this story is there's no where to start. I try and make an insightful, perceiving decision about just one point that beget the rest, one juncture or decision that was critical for all the others, and I cannot. There are moments of course, there are, but they are all off-shoots of other things. Can it be that there are not many stories, discrete and simplified, but that there is only one; and that that one is too long to be writtern, with too many characters for us to remember them all, and too many dull moments whose true significance can't ever be passed on to a reader?

____- i find it terrifying that, as i sat in the backseat and looked at familiar names and trees and words and cars on my way home from the airport, all i could think was: it is my only resolve that i should henceforth devote all my efforts to the simplest goal of all, to become so outstanding, so distinctly able at some thing that i should be able to leave this place, and never have to live here again.

____- i hate my life. __once upon a time, i had a beautiful passionate faculty for despair. a gorgeous ability to lay around languished, hopeless. i have lost that sense. And, also, have lost that particular (and currently very needed) quality of being resigned which i spent my first few months in LA working very hard to acquire. And just at that moment when it should have come to most use, i find in its stead: unsatisfied expectation. a sense of... standing on the wrong stage (this is the Taming of the Shrew, I'm looking for Coriolanus). I do not want this feeling, but cannot help feel that, this (and this means simply everything) is simply not what i want, and that, in all honesty, i am not a man who has discovered how to fashion what he wants.
____no doubt this is an adventure. (just not the one i wanted to have

____- another part of the unwritten story:

The 405 runs on in front me. My eyes have blured out of focus. I only notice shapes and the patterns of sunglare moving and the Morse code of red rear-lights. The air is warmer here. The sky yellow, which I can't understand. I move forward an inch, put my head out the window and breathe in. The lane besides me moves a few car lengths. I sit. All these people, going places. A white van stops besides me. I edge a little forward to look in. A Mexican man with a shaved head stares in straight ahead, unmoving. There is no music on, just the sound of an engine coughing him forward. His right hand he lifts from the steering wheel to scratch his nose. I look on, wait to see if he might cry. The car in front me me moves, I follow. I look at the hills surrounding me. My grandfather would take us hiking. He'd take his shirt off at the top. He'd sit on the white rocks and looks away. One time I took my shirt off too, but felt silly, and put it right back on. He laughed. I would see the shapes of dinosaurs hidden under the hills. I imagined one day a brontosaurus would rise from off her haunches and shake the shrubbery from off her skin. Other times I'd just walk, and stare away at nothing.
____A car beeps. I raise my hand, mouth _s o r r y_ in the rear view, drive forward 4 feet to the bumper of the car in front of me, and stop again. The guy behind me seems pleased. dickhead I mumble to myself.
____The caravan sneaks its way out from the valley, heading for the beach, or the cooler air, or all the things we still don't know we haven't left behind.

____- i don't know how to fix it.____ i don't know how to make it better.____ i'm scared.