my ramona

i need to write these every day again

otherwise i forget where ive been which is almost as disconcerting as entering the future blind and barefoot

today was spent dizzy with resentment and in doctors offices trying to peel off the paint from the walls in the seconds before they tore apart my eyes, x-rayed my body, wrote notes and pretend-smiled at me from behind pretend-plants that grow on pretend end tables. artificiality is strangely commonplace and terrifying, when considered. 

someday we will succeed in creating the whole solar system, every fucking ring of saturn and a whole new earth, life-size and lifeless, out of pavement and plastic. this will be (un)considered huge progress for mankind

dont misinterpret this as morose angsty banter

i'm really quite happy

today we lay tangled in ivy because they barred the roof we used to lie on to watch the stars. (all our places are behind fences now) and i told you how i felt empty after we fucked. how i felt faceless and i dreamed of you looking at me in my dreams, not blinking, reciting a litany of dictionary definitions. you told me i am your best friend and fucking me seems wrong, fucking seems like something you do with temporary people. 

and i wanted to say maybe if we dont think of it as fucking, four letter words pressed between sheets and heavy breathing, it might not feel like that. but i was too busy tying the bluebells and staring into david bowies eyes

sometimes i dont even know what to say

and then there was old friends and guitar strings and smoke and closed windows and bottom drawers full of everything worth keeping but not worth putting in the empty picture frames

i miss the people i used to know (beckiy, tom, mike, tavish, christine, claire, everyone basically)

i live behind the walls of your skin

if that makes sense

and i want to be there

but sometimes i just want to see if the sky is blue but the windows are always closed and blacked out

("I want a pickup and you can drive and i can lie in the back with my arms out like wings and straw in my hair and everyone else will be with us." "but can't it just be us?" and i want to keep you forever and run farther than ive ever ran, instantaneously)

i need a job because lets face us i need monetary compensation and a means to exist. i need to be another fucking taxable little shit in the eyes of the government

and i always see this guy who does everything i do, goes everywhere i go and i think he knows what i need to do with my life. i don't know why he just gives that impression. next time i see him i will be sure to ask. he haunts bus loops and art galleries and indie films and his i-pod is laoded with bloc party and wolf parade b-sides. 

i cant sleep i cant sleep i cant sleep

i have watermelon pop rocks however

which is an improvement over not having watermelon pop rocks

i guess

and there was alice in wonderland festival and flowers in our hair and elevators and me crying and halos made of blackflies and head tilt/broken jaw laughter

adn oceans on my feet and featherfilled basements and best friends and telephone calls and look outs and i love yous and writing on the wall

i cant do all of this