d*land

r e : Make It Up As We Go Along.

I think it's the funniest thing in the world to get emails from my mom, the teacher, the writer, the published poet. She's hillarious, because grammar goes out the window when she's on the computer.

So I call her, because she asked me to. She says she's got options for me, new ideas, and I get her on the phone. Move to Kansas, she says. Stay with friends there, she wants. They have a good art program there, she pleads. But I can't go there. It would be like starting over, except limiting my options.

I just need to get my feet back on the ground, I've been hovering too long, shrugging responsibility, worrying.

I'm going to look for an apartment here, until the dust settles down and I can breathe again. My mini support structure, consisting of only Kristin, is enough to survive on, honestly.

Home is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there

That's all I've been doing, this isn't living. This isn't meaningful, I'm not a contributing factor to the community, nor am I any impact on humanity. I don't want to go on being the cog to the machine, the grease to the gears.

This diary is mental masturbation. It's every one of you watching me jack off into a proverbial void. Masturbation is fun, and yes, I get off on having people watch me, people wanting to watch me.

I want something bigger, that's why you want to be a rock star. But not that big. I want you to think, I want you to remember. I want you to feel, and I'm not any good at making you feel with my paint, so I'll spoon feed it to you with words you can understand, but leave it empty on the inside so you can fill in the details of your own life, and be a part of mine. Isn't that the beauty of the world? Taking things and owning them?

That's what I make. Pieces of things I have, so you can remember the time at the beach when you were 7, and everything was new, and exciting. The time you and your brother wrote a letter and put it in an old wine bottle, threw it as hard as you could into that huge, motherfucking ocean, hoping someone in Japan would get it, or the mermaids that all looked like Darryl Hannah would read it, and come out to say "Hello". Or the time you fell asleep at the park, in the grass in the middle of the city, so out of place. The feeling you get when you see something amazing from a car window, or late at night with friends, telling them you love them, meaning it.

Even the times when every single thing is bad. The fights in cars, the crying in public, the hopeless, faithless times. Because there is no good without bad.

These things I'll give you here, because I can't send everyone a piece of canvas wrapped in bubble tape. I can't remember every time, but I want you to remember all of the good times, the times I'm having now. I'm not sad, or depressed, or hurt this time.

This time is different because now I know there's not only one person in the world that understands what it is to make these pieces. There's not only one person who tells you things you get, and not only one person who can reach in, grab your heart, make you think. We all miss people that don't exist. We all wait in anticipation for someone to pick us out of a crowd.

I've got plenty of time
You've got light in your eyes

You're looking for your sister in someone. I'm looking for my brother in someone. No one can ever replace the times when you weren't fighting, and the conspiring, the made up words, and the fact that you could never get away from them. I'm not sure if I can ever love someone that much. If I would ever throw myself down on the line for anyone the way I could for him.

When you spend 18 years of your life hating someone you secretly love, you feel bad. Man. Why couldn't I have seen it before? There's some kind of bond, that goes beyond anything, you think the same way sometimes, and you do the same things sometimes.

Today would be one of those days where we would try out all of the secret tricks on Super Mario Brothers, and you'd get pissed because I never die so it's never your turn.

And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up and say good night

Sometimes, you've just got to find something and run with it.

12.14.02 || 9:12 am

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