where the hell is my cellphone?

2003-01-11, 3:49 p.m.

thats what it is to be a big fish, to be a face with presupposed nuances made by first time observers. i suppose it would be strange, having the spirit follow ahead of you in time, so that the best you could do is catch up in space. it would be driving across the country, and it would be running through groves of rotted trees, with people always waiting at the end; smiling faces.

i think it's safe to assume (and obviously, it is foolish to assume anything in the first place) that this ends as a vision, who will never come to fruition. just that statement alone, that could liberate a human, and that could let them seek the stars at night, and stop when the wind rushes through all your clothes and leaves you with a whisper and so many goosebumps.

alone, you remember the shadow a vase of flowers makes, and you can only dream of what shadow an audience of people makes. there, the distnce, it is ethereal, so vast and infintisemly small, safety and vulnerability play checkers on your heart. kind of like expecting the steam on a river to listen intenyl to what you want to say, all that you desire in life; how beautiful the morning is. all of them, all the eyes of people, here to see me, it would infuriate me to the point that i would give them anything they asked for; say any words just to keep them serene.

nothing comes out scripted, no words have a history if i touch them, just memories attached to each slip of ink or key stroke, so they fall short of any past because i try to negate their histories.