out the door and into the night. the dark is a very good friend. and as sudden as that, the thoughts disappear. the stream of consciousness. there are moments when i crave to go walkabout. to put one step in front of another and see where it takes me. where i take me.
or get into the front seat and drive. but it all means that i have to take control. or be in control. always.
and i get tired of always wanting to lead. to initiate. having to lead.
here i am, wondering if there is a story waiting to appear from the shadows. immortality on my mind. to be youthful forever. is that the same as being forever young?
ever notice that vampires on tv, in print seem to be forever seventeen. seventeen is a horrible age.
to be forever gauche and unsure. how terrible a fate.

i am almost tempted to take the subway and ride it through all the stops. and then back again.
almost.

dear diary, i woke up. i ate. i waited for a story to come out from the shadows. there was only silence.

setting down words in the electronic medium is a bit like indulging your sweet tooth with a low-fat, low-cal dessert item. not quite the real thing. the smell of paper. the scratch of the pen's nib against a firm yet supple surface. i miss it. but it seems that i do not miss it enough to commit myself to writing in a paper journal again.
wake up by the arcade fire almost breaks my heart.
but my heart does break easy.
heart of glass, heart of stone. a heart made for the bittersweet ache. that is what falling in love is like. knowing that you are losing control and simply not caring. i want the music to stream down the walls like a waterfall.
i want to stand up and move, the rhythm flowing through my blood like a virus...
will you burn? will i burn? i want to. i must. i would much rather burn out, a brilliant stab of light in the neverending dark.
why fade? no, cannot fade. must not.
yes, i want my heart to break for how else will i know i am alive.

there's a song playing out there which i am digging. "broken strings" by james morrison. i hear it come over the radio and the words push their way through into my brain...even though i like to think that i am above listening to sad, heartbreak songs. heartbreak, heartbleed, heartfeel.
music. good music. it seems so hard to find. not that i am doing any true searching.
at this stage, at this point in time, im still waiting...free falling without a parachute. got rid of the safety net...and here i am, wanting to be saved.
or woken up.
let the good times roll.

the moon is bold and beautiful. a pearl, shiny and serene. i sit here with a headache that never really seems to make an exit. you know that whole speech about holding on and letting go. you say those words to give yourself peace. or some semblance of peace. anything that will help time move forward. the moon still hangs ripe in the darkling sky. and i sit here and wonder why do i dither. what am i waiting for?

my mind's a lab rat. darkness has fallen. and i wonder if i can really pull off refacing an ugly stone fireplace. no, i do not think so. but i have a plan. and as long as i have a plan, i will do well.

learning to let go. its an ongoing process. just when i think i have got it figured out, worked out the kinks, i realize that i truly am still at ground zero. still learning. always learning. i guess i need to keep that in mind. be fluid. of course all this has to be balanced with learning how to hold on. it is confusing. when do i twist my grip tight onto my dreams and wait out the rough bits? how do i know? will i ever know...
or is this the journey that makes living bittersweet. sharp. keen.
nothing is forever. but forever could be...i am just playing with words here. trying them out in my mouth like hard candy.

im finding it hard to walk down a path that i once knew well. the footsteps have been swept away by time and only memory serves as my guide. my faulty memory. was i ever really that strong? that arrogant of my own destiny? but walk it i must. i need to. i have to. i want to. and want must suffice. want must pull me back from the edge, this edge of nothing/nowhere/noplace.

ive been walking in a dream. the never ending kind. the absence of sound. the leeching of colour. i borrowed final fantasy, advent children from the library. ive watched it before. i know how the story ends. but i feel that if i see it again, i may learn something new. i'm all about learning new things.
inconsequential things.
do you ever wonder about immortality? the fountain of youth. the world seems obsessed with it. i thought i was above such emotions but i lie. within the subconsciousness hides the desire to be forever young. forever intensely alive. burn up or fade away?
which is it to be?

lets pretend. lets play.
are you sure we dont live forever?

summer is knocking on my window. hesitant and shy yet persistent. thank goodness for that.
i like ikea. a tiny little galaxy. and within it exists little planetary systems. and within those systems reside representations of dreams. yearnings. so polished. so pretty. so wholesome.

ever notice how children are eternal optimists? its a gift. a skill. a shield.
the words lined up and suddenly scattered, an explosion so bright that i am blinded and what i thought i once knew, i know no longer. where are the answers? the questions remain, even when i have wiped them away with a pass of my hand. what do you question? love, life, mortality.
wish. i wish. to wish.

even though i know i must live each day as if it were my last, i still meander.wander. give me credit. someone has to stop and do absolutely nothing. at least so that others flame may shine brighter against mine.

you can spend a lifetime trying to recover from happiness. moments need to be given more credit. any given moment. something so fleeting and yet it can taint the life you live,how you live it, seek it, see it. its cold. im always cold. i really should carry a notebook on me. so that i dont forget when randomness occurs to me. washes over me.

read any good books lately? no. waiting on the next anitablake installment. *sigh* whoopdeedo. summer is already on the horizon. so many plans. so many lists. i should write here more often. if only to exercise the little grey cells. grey. gray. they have expired from lack of use...

the girl's a gun. if you could be a weapon of choice, what would you be? so much to choose from. violence is inherent in our natures. my nature. your nature. the throb of the beating heart. is there a music more beautiful than that? the smoothness of muscle. the heaviness of bone. the solidity of life itself.
sometimes the words can not do justice to the pictures that flicker within the mind. if only i could paint it out. paint it from ceiling to floor, so that it could be seen what it means to live, to be alive. to be.

it snowed. let me be vulgar. it pissed snow. i would shake my fist but i am not surprised. its okay. i barely felt the cold. my mind was in some eternal sunshine spot. no, not really. but i am trying to put a positive spin on it.
the internet is slow. slow. slow. tuesday is a lovely name for a person. if i was that bit more imaginative i would like to conjure up a figament and name it tuesday.

i marvel at the light. i adore the night. i love the way the sky paints itself the colour of a day old bruise. where rationality ends and dreams begin. i love the way the night air tastes, heavy and full of promise. i love the way the light kisses my face. my bones lengthen and i can walk cities in a step.or two. my hands will cup the stars from the skies, branding them to flushed skin. i will place them back and let them fade in the dawn rush. the moon will fall and speech will rise, loud and livid.
i love the day. i adore the night.

the words press against the skin. and it hurts. in a good way. like a need that craves to be slaked. when you kiss your love and you taste the heartbeat. sometimes you want to break into a thousand pieces so that you will run free. to grow. to be.

the sharp lemon light outside makes me think it is warmer than it really is. the seed of thought and creativity is still nestled deep inside.awaken, little bud i whisper. writing is a sport. i sit here and wrestle with myself, kneading the muscle of silent speech. speak, sing. whichever. whatever.
nothing comes. it is okay. i am patient. i will wait.