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A bunch of fucked up dreams, and travels, last night, and yesterday. i wrote this fucked up thing of an lj, with which i'm torturing myself... Deals with my day, and family, and being on the road, in a bus, and having just read the "Murder Mysteries" comic adaptation.... Mrowrr... *quizical and debating wolfy looks here* Yeah, why the hell not... If i feel like i'm being all weird, or doing an over-abundance of disclosure, i'll stop myself... Maybe... Heh. "If at any point you should feel uncomfortable, Stop."
7.13.02 9.20 p.m.:Riding on a bus, out of Philadelphia. Realising, as i write, why i would love that city, so much. Phila Delphi. I had a wonderful day, today, and i got to realise that it doesn't matter how you meet someone; if they're True, and you like them, then that is that. If they are your friend, then they are.
Listening to a playlist of Tori Amos and Radiohead, barely able to write straight, thanks to this road. Let me tell you a little something about yourself, today: Like how you find it amazing how an open road and a Familiar Story can make you feel inspired. You want to share it, you want to talk with someone who understands. A Friend. Like how a part of you wishes your trip, today, could have lasted forever, while another part knows that the day would have had to end, sometyme, even if you lived there. And you want the world to know how great the day was, but you don't know who to thank. So you write, you share, and you pontificate, until everyone understands. You say "Thank You," over and over and over again (Each time for a different aspect), and revel in the surrealism you've experienced.
It was real. It was a day, not very much unlike any other day, except in the particulars. People met and talked, though in a different forum. Though it was not really that different, it was certainly appreciated. So you read a story, and remember a Silver-Spired Home.
You wait, in your seat, until it is time for you to leave. And you're not impatient, and you're not anxious; the trip could last forever, in certain respects, and you'd be fine. People in seats, like yours, come and go, at various stops, while you sit, and wait. You know that you'll have to leave, eventually, and you're fully prepared for that occurence. But right now, all you know is your seat, and the music, and the road beneath you. And it's enough.
I could sit forever
Recalling the events of a day.
And, should Memory ever fail,
I would still be able
To take joy
And smile. 9.34 p.m.
There. It's fucked up, and gushing, and, i'm sure, slightly obsessive. Who cares. I got to have a Connnectivity Day, yesterday, and i felt really up, when i wrote that... Hrm.. Anywho. i also wrote some poetry, on the bus, after the journal thing. i'll post it in a bit. i'm going to go wander around, online. I'll see you all later.
Day Dream
7.13.02 9.20 p.m.:Riding on a bus, out of Philadelphia. Realising, as i write, why i would love that city, so much. Phila Delphi. I had a wonderful day, today, and i got to realise that it doesn't matter how you meet someone; if they're True, and you like them, then that is that. If they are your friend, then they are.
Listening to a playlist of Tori Amos and Radiohead, barely able to write straight, thanks to this road. Let me tell you a little something about yourself, today: Like how you find it amazing how an open road and a Familiar Story can make you feel inspired. You want to share it, you want to talk with someone who understands. A Friend. Like how a part of you wishes your trip, today, could have lasted forever, while another part knows that the day would have had to end, sometyme, even if you lived there. And you want the world to know how great the day was, but you don't know who to thank. So you write, you share, and you pontificate, until everyone understands. You say "Thank You," over and over and over again (Each time for a different aspect), and revel in the surrealism you've experienced.
It was real. It was a day, not very much unlike any other day, except in the particulars. People met and talked, though in a different forum. Though it was not really that different, it was certainly appreciated. So you read a story, and remember a Silver-Spired Home.
You wait, in your seat, until it is time for you to leave. And you're not impatient, and you're not anxious; the trip could last forever, in certain respects, and you'd be fine. People in seats, like yours, come and go, at various stops, while you sit, and wait. You know that you'll have to leave, eventually, and you're fully prepared for that occurence. But right now, all you know is your seat, and the music, and the road beneath you. And it's enough.
I could sit forever
Recalling the events of a day.
And, should Memory ever fail,
I would still be able
To take joy
And smile. 9.34 p.m.
There. It's fucked up, and gushing, and, i'm sure, slightly obsessive. Who cares. I got to have a Connnectivity Day, yesterday, and i felt really up, when i wrote that... Hrm.. Anywho. i also wrote some poetry, on the bus, after the journal thing. i'll post it in a bit. i'm going to go wander around, online. I'll see you all later.
Day Dream
