For the longest time

Quitting smoking is a difficult task.

Just thought you oughta know that.

Missing young Roni

I loved to listen to Supertramp's "Bloody well Right", and "The Logical Song". I used to sit in my room and make lists. I used to write to people who would never know or write me back. I used to dream of fantastic places. I used to steal my mother's alcohol, I used to share with those I loved. I used to have innocence hanging on a string. From my mouth, down under my chin, hanging on everybody's every word.
I used to be such a positist, pessimist, youthesist. I used to dream with people. And I still dream of people, of falling airplanes, of catastrophe. But i did it better then. Because at that time, I was new. I was pallid. I was a short-comer.

And now, that's just ugly. Now, so silly. Now, pathetic.

But change happened for both the better and the worst. I'll look back at me now. Just a kid, twenty-something.....tiddily-winks. My life in half, and I'll be so wrapped up in everything that this will seem like just another opportunity to retrogress upon youth.

I won't write anymore, I'll just read. I'll just be a paralyzed, sex for the need....

I'll just observe and pretend to be overheard, cuz ain't no one wants to hear you now!!!!

Cumpleanos

I heard knocking. When I hear knocking as I sleep, it is but a reflex to say "come in". I didn't say anything. I tried to ignore the sound. But it grew faster and more persistent. And that's when my brain registered that this was not the sound of flesh to door. This was something else. "Come IN!" I yelled again. And as I approached consciousness, I felt the strain on my neck. My fucking shoulders were tired. I am not sleeping in my...."Mamm, you are going to have to step outta the car." I haven't slept in yr bed in months.

"His name is Shadow because he is a black dog." Simple symbolism is not impossible for a child of four. Nor is 7am an early hour for one who falls to sleep at 8pm. In fact, Rosemary found it appalling. For a child to sleep more than 8 hours is a sign. Mental retardation, perhaps? The indications are quite clear. Neither of them accepts breakfast. "Oatmeal is gross." "Raisons look like dead flies." The difference between old and young are now revealed. What in heaven is a Cocoa Crispy? Maple syrup and brown sugar is ignored. As are they. Two siblings. Of what crimes are they capable?
Dog abuse. "His name is Shadow because he is a black dog," he repeats. Two hours later. To his sister. "He is not black, he is dark brown." They don't teach these differences in color until 2nd grade. But she's still in 1st, so retardation will probably be ruled out. But that would only happen if Rosemary had heard her correct her brother. Thus, retardation still clings to this woman's chest.
"I did it again, you know."
"Did what?"
"You know...."
"Oh."
"So what should I do?"
"I guess flip it."
"I did, but what about the rest?"
"I guess, hide them."
"I did."
"Oh."
That's all the conversation needed between two people who understand things so well. Even after only two years of speech between the two, those few words are the only necessity. That is the way among children. Swift speech. Retardation is grossly misunderstood. Even through the prognosis stage. Genious should have been the stronger bet, but that wouldn't be determined until years later. Many, many years later.
And many, many mistakes later, as well.

la boca does not belong there

You have no idea of what you ask. You know nothing of where this came. Trust? That's ridiculous. These voices stem from young children. They are frightened of adults. They see your respectable ways, and they resemble adulthood far too much. Perhaps if you use younger speech, or maybe if you speak in cartoon voice. Maybe if you draw pictures and tell bedtime stories, i might listen.
Just maybe.
And should you disguise your intentions as youth, I'd be more inclined. Trust is a two way street, you know. Some games are okay. But not all games. I grew used to, and once trusted games until I learned the adult versions. So now, I grow weary of such things. I still yearn for those olden times, those big T-shirted times. I'd like to see you quote things I know, people I like, books I've read.

I know many things now. I swear I do. But if you could just simplify yr words a bit and stop trying to sound so smart, I'd probably understand you better. I don't like the games of which I know not the rules. Nobody does. It's not a kid thing, it's a people thing. I've grown and learned, but that's not to say that I'm happy about it.

Remind me of Moon

Interesting enough, that I needed Subrosa last night. I felt so awful, and for no reason at all. Curious enough to say the the last post I wrote was almost exactly a month ago, last time I was emotional and insecure. Need I even mention one additional sidenote that yesterday began my angry flow. Can I be any more predictable? Can I have any more resemblance to such a boring friend in the sky. I've heard alot of beautiful praises sent to the moon, but how about the annoying negatives?
How about the fact that it is something that you cannot escape? Should you fight with the moon, or break up with the moon, well how can you recover with its refusing presence? How selfish to stay!
How about the fact that you see the same faces again and again? It grows, and with it, you do too....happy and full, crazy and big and bright, bringing everyone out to play, only to sink down and deflate and darken humanity's spark, ruining the party with absence a mere moon moments later? How is it anyone can bear to undergo the cycles again and again, ceaselessly repeating? The sheer monotomy makes me bury my head in the ground.

And that is how I feel. I feel annoying and meddlesome. While only trying to help, keeping time and keeping stability, all anyone really desires is the disruption of these things. All I want is a disruption from these things.

I constantly think I have figured out a new way to change things. Only to be fooled again into another cycle. I feel like I'm purposely picking the same "new ideas" to follow because I inherently fear the change a true new idea might make. And how lame is that? Wimpy, predicable and pathetic. Why can I never make up my mind? And when I try, it is only knowing "No, i know i do NOT want this."....it is never feeling "Yes, i know THIS is what I want." What do I do? Why am I so influenced by meaningless Details? Oh my goodness, i wanna shout!

Motherly Confused, Utterly Cold

I am so cold. This cold has driven me downstairs underneath my living room heater.
And I don't know what this is all about. Not the cold, but the thing I do.
The cold was just how it is right now.
Even with the heat on,
I close these doors like a Christmas present,
or like the glasses I used to trap spiders under
when I first arrived.
Why do I do this?
Why did i do that?

Maybe I'm different in hot and in cold. Maybe I'm like that green cup I had from Burger King that turns yellow by hot chocolate, green with raspberry tea.
Even last year, I was too old for that shit.

But still, with no explanations.
I used to think, just a mere 3 months ago, that those spiders were visitors. Didn't think I'd run out of cups. Didn't know they lived here.

But they run rampant, so I don't even bother with the chase.
Bitten, so what?

Gonna switch to stand-by. Made a big list.
Mary, mother of god, pray for our sinners. Now. At the hour of our death, Amen.

nai

I am 27 years old. Shouldn't I have reached the age where I no longer feel like I did when I was 14. First days at Notre Dame HS, timid and scared. Shy around everyone. Trying so hard. And what about 18 and Cloyne Court? I even had Rebecca there with me, yet same thing. I remember pausing behind my doorknob before leaving, breathing in for some air, air that fed the nervous lungs, and stomach and eye that led me outside among the other ones. I feel like that when i do everything still.
I wonder if this is constantly feeding on me, and has kept a steady pace along the years. Is this why it cannot be outgrown? In solitude it keeps still, but i think solitude is only for those people who haven't those stories that you just need to tell.

Yr not cookin!

Why am I such a drama queen? I read my last few posts and shook my head. I can be so dramatic when my feelings are hurt. I probably have become more of a baby since I was actually a baby. That disagreement was solved, which I am happy about because that would have been so difficult to forever lose my favorite friend.



This makes me happy. Made me miss home.
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/gijoe-porkchopsandwiches.html

Ps. A nasty ass black beetle almost flew into my mouth. Uh, i cant wait until winter comes and freezes these mothafuckas....

Hello Again

I woke up too early and I want to go to sleep. This is one thing I really hate to do on a weekend.