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07 August 2004 : late night, long lost; maybe a letter
i don't know what i want to say about this.
only that i could not sleep because i had this particular line from a particular song stuck in my head, and then i started to think about you.
anything i know of you is blurred, vague, obscured by my life during the time in which i knew you - lost years, of which i have few memories. a time of constant, blinding headaches and hallucinations, and nightmares from which i sometimes feared i wouldn't awake. a time that i remember as 'how bad it can get.'
do you remember once that i told you i had silver eyes, sometimes? it was a hallucination of sorts.
still yet, you.
i don't know how you fit into those memories, as you are something i recall as shining. strange. and i don't know what it is about recalling you that makes me want to write ridiculously, like a 'birthday; love' card from the darker side of hallmark. you know, the way i wrote when i was fifteen and the whole world was an unlit tunnel, the part of the movie with the clowns and the funhouse mirrors and the crazy laughing.
and i wish i remembered more, but i don't. only that it was so fucking long ago (am i really old enough for it to have been, what, six years?) and i thought i knew everything. obviously, i didn't. at the very least, i remember screwing up pretty bad.
sometimes, i think it would be nice to have you around still. even if only to keep me from over-romanticizing, to remind me about what really happened and why. my memory is slippery, tricky. precarious.
i don't know where this comes from, except that i was lying in bed thinking about nothing at all and then this single line in my head, and then you.
watching night come amber. it's all so temporary.
we should both probably be glad it doesn't happen too often
posted by lindsay at 23:42 :: 0 comments
01 August 2004 : nouveau fiction for the recent 20-something
in response to getting my head spun on wednesday night, i did some thinking.
i prefer to stay illusioned, i've decided.
i'm officially breaking up with 'delusion snores, sleep with reality.'
reality falls asleep as soon as he gets off, see. and then i go home and sit on the edge of my bed wondering what the hell is wrong with me. i let my guard down long enough to be violently reminded of why that guard was set up in the first place. that's what gets me down, most of the time. the shattering of those carefully cut windows.
anyway, sometimes when it gets really bad, i think to myself, 'stop pretending. you're never going to be [insert adjective such as beautiful, desirable, or cool here].'
somehow, (and fortunately) my head stubbornly insists that i am, indeed, all of those things and more.
of course, my stubborn head also insists that "no, really, bon jovi is good," and also that my parents used to drive a green cadillac, a fact which my mother vehemently denies. but i remember sitting bitch, sunburned and windblown with an ice cream cone, on the green leather seat of that green caddy.
so sometimes i decide, HEY. STOP KIDDING YOURSELF. and then i decide, if you didn't make these things up in your head, you wouldn't get disappointed when they turn out to be false everywhere else. but self improvement is a waste of time unless its concentrated solely within, as a means to better self. you know, as opposed to making self look better in order to impress other people. and since i've yet to master useful self improvement (i fight with myself daily over whether or not its possible to change in any way not superficial), i think i'm just gonna sit here with my thighs sticking to the seat.
you know, living on a prayer.
posted by lindsay at 23:44 :: 0 comments
i don't know what i want to say about this.
only that i could not sleep because i had this particular line from a particular song stuck in my head, and then i started to think about you.
anything i know of you is blurred, vague, obscured by my life during the time in which i knew you - lost years, of which i have few memories. a time of constant, blinding headaches and hallucinations, and nightmares from which i sometimes feared i wouldn't awake. a time that i remember as 'how bad it can get.'
do you remember once that i told you i had silver eyes, sometimes? it was a hallucination of sorts.
still yet, you.
i don't know how you fit into those memories, as you are something i recall as shining. strange. and i don't know what it is about recalling you that makes me want to write ridiculously, like a 'birthday; love' card from the darker side of hallmark. you know, the way i wrote when i was fifteen and the whole world was an unlit tunnel, the part of the movie with the clowns and the funhouse mirrors and the crazy laughing.
and i wish i remembered more, but i don't. only that it was so fucking long ago (am i really old enough for it to have been, what, six years?) and i thought i knew everything. obviously, i didn't. at the very least, i remember screwing up pretty bad.
sometimes, i think it would be nice to have you around still. even if only to keep me from over-romanticizing, to remind me about what really happened and why. my memory is slippery, tricky. precarious.
i don't know where this comes from, except that i was lying in bed thinking about nothing at all and then this single line in my head, and then you.
watching night come amber. it's all so temporary.
we should both probably be glad it doesn't happen too often
posted by lindsay at 23:42 :: 0 comments
01 August 2004 : nouveau fiction for the recent 20-something
in response to getting my head spun on wednesday night, i did some thinking.
i prefer to stay illusioned, i've decided.
i'm officially breaking up with 'delusion snores, sleep with reality.'
reality falls asleep as soon as he gets off, see. and then i go home and sit on the edge of my bed wondering what the hell is wrong with me. i let my guard down long enough to be violently reminded of why that guard was set up in the first place. that's what gets me down, most of the time. the shattering of those carefully cut windows.
anyway, sometimes when it gets really bad, i think to myself, 'stop pretending. you're never going to be [insert adjective such as beautiful, desirable, or cool here].'
somehow, (and fortunately) my head stubbornly insists that i am, indeed, all of those things and more.
of course, my stubborn head also insists that "no, really, bon jovi is good," and also that my parents used to drive a green cadillac, a fact which my mother vehemently denies. but i remember sitting bitch, sunburned and windblown with an ice cream cone, on the green leather seat of that green caddy.
so sometimes i decide, HEY. STOP KIDDING YOURSELF. and then i decide, if you didn't make these things up in your head, you wouldn't get disappointed when they turn out to be false everywhere else. but self improvement is a waste of time unless its concentrated solely within, as a means to better self. you know, as opposed to making self look better in order to impress other people. and since i've yet to master useful self improvement (i fight with myself daily over whether or not its possible to change in any way not superficial), i think i'm just gonna sit here with my thighs sticking to the seat.
you know, living on a prayer.
Labels: Charmed I'm sure, on being shamelessly self involved
posted by lindsay at 23:44 :: 0 comments