lay down your arms

.., goldfieldfoxes


after three days, i turn my head and say ok, it's gone now. i'm fine. He looks and asks our other companion what was wrong with him? and she says come-down weekend and he nods knowingly, oh yes. (oh yes).


*___*___*

___- no. i don't like forced creativity.
___- nor i. that's why i haven't been writing. nothing to be said.
___- yah.
___- yah. ___which is weird, i've been soo sad. usually when i'm sad i feel like writing.
___- so?
___- maybe it's a quiet sadness. one not needing words.
___- sounds like an even sadder sadness.
___- or a more modest one.
___- maybe.
___- how's this one?
___- it's good. take it to the counter I'll meet you there i need one more thing.
___- k.


*___*___*

i splash some water on my face in the shower. Q, calm down calm down calm down. Q clam down. Q calm down calm down calm down. i can't close my eyes because i haven't had 8 eight hours sleep in two days if i close my eyes i won't reopen them. i just try and keep soap suds and shampoo out their way. everything does not depend on this. this is not the end of your life. it's just another thing leading to another thing that maybe maybe one day a long time from now might mean something that may turn out not to be the thing that does it at all. it's just a thing. that's all. just a thing. dried off i pick a tie, eventually. i'm at that place again, where the future terrifies me, and every percent and odd glance and penfull of ink means something.


*___*___*

i'm tired of writing about people in love. or not in love but tempted to be. or not even tempted but kicking the idea around down the street like an empty plastic soda bottle. and spring-time breakups and people's first kisses in the rain. i've got nothing left on running away from homes and hometowns. no point telling stories about giving our teachers and bosses a hug and the finger and packing satchels and secretly shipping away on a carriage to some place without an airport. nothing left to say on those topics. nothing left to say on late night internet porn and 2-minute noodles and how tired eyes get after days and days of taking it all in. oh tshirts with printed designed. of bookshelves growing slowly in the bedrooms and living rooms and office shelves, what's the point of that? tired of the Smiths and Kandinsky and Haifa and Los Angeles and women's breasts and boxer shorts and the smell of beer bottles the next day when someone cleans it all up. nothing left.


*___*___*

___- i thought you were sad. something was off.
___- yah.
___- and?
___- and it was a roller coast. __and it's still a mess. __and we'll deal with it.
___- yup, well spoken.


*___*___*

even moving is difficult. it takes me four energy drinks to manage driving myself home, showering, dressing, and driving back. when asked about anything i give a confused face and look away, hoping to be ignored. ___it's painful to move too much.


*___*___*

11:38am Sun Feb 28.
it's taken me since thursday afternoon. four days of lashing out and spontaneously falling asleep and stumbling around rooms and not standing straight. and tomorrow, we go back to it. put its leash on and let it take me for a walk. (i listen to music about dancing and it takes on an add meaning. a greater significance).


*___*___*

i didn't really see ashtree. this bothers me.


*___*___*

i don't have a nocturne in me tonight. i'm just emotional. kinda. and hungry. tired. not quite recovered and preparing to welcome the pill-breath zombie again tomorrow.

so this is the life we live. terrified of the future, inferiority complex alienating everyone i know further and further away from me, insecure, and always stumbling to fall into the lap of love - be it ours, someone's suggestions, or watching our friends from afar.

or something like that.
i need to sleep for one last time.