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Dreams taunting
Jul. 9th, 2007 10:20 amDreams that taunt with lines from the past, and people and places, and faces you never expected to see, alongside names that, for whatever reason, won't fucking leave your head, and you feel like you've done something wrong, at the same time as you feel like it's only natural, that there is that Hook, that hangs you there, and there is nothing more natural, in the world, than whatever the fuck is running through your head, now, whatever "lost thing" you want to find.
Imagined lost rooms, and meanings that never fully flowered, because where is the full meaning of something only iterated in the mind and motif of one, but never interpreted by the/an other? It's strange to wonder how much your life would have changed, to wonder what threads you prematurely cut and what evolutions you unraveled, because you were young and stupid. What lessons will i never learn in what ways, because I ran too far and too fast? What have I gained, instead, from going that far, that fast?
I am, at present, unwilling to subject myself to extrapolations on my past, having no Angel Clarence to guide me through it, I would only taint the picture according to my perceived expectations, conscius or un-. And that is, perhaps, inevitable. But, like Johnny Truant, like Rob Gordon, like little Alex, like Snowman, like Lisa I wonder what became of those i left behind, and whose buttons I tried so hard to push, whose makings and maleabilities I tried to mold and mark indelibly with my face my presence my works, my name, my time, my kisses, my hugs, my handshakes, my science experiments, my confused thoughts, my clear delusions, my certain beliefs about what lived under the sewers (these people don't have links to memories; you cannot click on them and know my context), my tears and promises, made at six years of age, and my rejections of their friendship at 10 and 11, because of arrogance, and everyone else was saying that girls were icky, and I would have preferred not to be excluded. This is constant thought. This is every day, and a panoply of images, memories and life moments that I cannot seem to ever fucking let go, and so the armour, the protection that I use to keep people out has razors and spikes on the inside, because that's where all of you are.
Good morning.
Imagined lost rooms, and meanings that never fully flowered, because where is the full meaning of something only iterated in the mind and motif of one, but never interpreted by the/an other? It's strange to wonder how much your life would have changed, to wonder what threads you prematurely cut and what evolutions you unraveled, because you were young and stupid. What lessons will i never learn in what ways, because I ran too far and too fast? What have I gained, instead, from going that far, that fast?
I am, at present, unwilling to subject myself to extrapolations on my past, having no Angel Clarence to guide me through it, I would only taint the picture according to my perceived expectations, conscius or un-. And that is, perhaps, inevitable. But, like Johnny Truant, like Rob Gordon, like little Alex, like Snowman, like Lisa I wonder what became of those i left behind, and whose buttons I tried so hard to push, whose makings and maleabilities I tried to mold and mark indelibly with my face my presence my works, my name, my time, my kisses, my hugs, my handshakes, my science experiments, my confused thoughts, my clear delusions, my certain beliefs about what lived under the sewers (these people don't have links to memories; you cannot click on them and know my context), my tears and promises, made at six years of age, and my rejections of their friendship at 10 and 11, because of arrogance, and everyone else was saying that girls were icky, and I would have preferred not to be excluded. This is constant thought. This is every day, and a panoply of images, memories and life moments that I cannot seem to ever fucking let go, and so the armour, the protection that I use to keep people out has razors and spikes on the inside, because that's where all of you are.
Good morning.
