Progressive Abandonment

“I don't believe in fate or destiny. I believe in various degrees of hatred, paranoia, and abandonment. However much of what gets heaped upon you doesn't matter - it's only a matter of how much you can take and what it does to you.”

-Rollins

---

Because Escape...

... is never the safest place, i am going to stay away from this for the rest of this month.

Speed of Sound

Yesterdays how quick they change all lost and long gone now.
Want to remember anything moving at the speed of sound.
With the speed of sound.

And yet im still holding tight
To this dream of distant light
And yet somehow ill survive
But this night has been a long one
Waiting on a sun
Just don’t come

Can I forgive what I cannot forget
and live a lie?
I could give him one more try

Why deny this drive inside just looking for some peace
Everytime I get me some it gets the best of me
Not much left to see

And yet im still holding tight
To this dream of distant light
And that somehow ill somehow survive
But this night has been a long one
Waiting on a word
That never comes

The whisper in the dark
Is that you or just my thoughts?
Im wide awake and reaching out

Its gone so quiet now
Could it be I’m farther out
Moving faster than the speed of sound

Silence

is better than the sound that our voices make.
---

i'm not overanalysing.

---

you keep saying that is what i am doing, and it is not what i am doing.

---

i'm sorry for saying anything.


---


this whole blog makes it seem that i am pissed. i'm not.

i just shouldn't have opened my mouth.

---

history repeats, so many fucking coincidences were defined by fucked up circumstance.

and i'm fucking done with this bullshit.

with my bullshit.

with trying to understand when i can't.

it's a trap. a soundproofed room where i can't hear myself fucking think no matter how quiet it gets.

or scream so someone hears in all the roaring voices.

---

i'm not overanalyzing, if you only knew what that would mean.

you don't. hell, i don't.

i do love you rockie.

really do.

i don't want you to be alone. i don't mean to make you feel bitter.

but, believe me, my loneliness is different than what you know.

---

so, once again, through the silence...

...i'm sorry.

Understanding Through Memory

we are sitting, talking about the days events in monotone voices. speaking of the mundane happenings that run through the minute details of our lives.

i constantly look over his shoulder to the booth behind him, to the girl staring at me. she looks familiar but i cannot put i name to the place or time where our paths may have previously crossed, and eventually took us to the current place.

the noise is palpable; felt, heavy, and somewhat oppressive.

i hear him say, "you know, i never understood peoples fascination with girls who look like plastic."

i laugh, thinking for a moment before i say, "what about amy?" i am looking at andrew, but still trying to place the girl in the black tank-top just feet away from the current space-time of my life.

"what about her?" he says, looking at me.

"she was pretty fake, sir," i say. "and now? have you seen her and jessica's myspace pages? jess especially. looks like a fucking barbie doll."

"that's probably why she changed her profile name." he laughs, but i don't know what he means. he knows this by looking at me, "american barbie."

i am looking over his shoulder again, looking at the black hair, black eye-liner, and star tattoo on her right breast.  still, i cannot place the name. cannot name the face. "really?" i say.

from outside i hear, "fuck off, man." and hear the unmistakeable dropping of a can of beer on cement followed by laughs by the others who have been through the fake anger intoned by the faceless voice.

andrew is looking at me staring over his shoulder. smiles, jokingly says, "you look like megan just walked in the door." and he turns to look over his shoulder, at the girl with the slightly browned skin.  "oh." he says, and i know that he knows who this person is.

"don't," he says.

i look at my phone, 1:23 AM. "who is she?"

"remember awhile back, at my house we had the party? it's the day you met christie." he is looking in my eyes, i am looking over his shoulder at the girl who's name is a blank in my mind.

---

don't feel like finishing this as these thoughts are killing my mind.

Pandora's Box

is full of curiosities that should not be allowed to exist.

Memory (Pry, To)

You stare out my car windows.

You hate how they are always open. How your hair blows into your face. How the wind rushing into my car makes this heart beat sound sometimes.

But it's not that now. It something else. You are thinking of something. Some time I may or not remember. May not recall even if you asked.

You stare out the car windows and there is this silence I don't quite understand. This quiet that is too loud. It's shattering.

I'm taken back. I hear the voices in my head arguing over some such event or another. Some such mistake I have been told I have made. Some falter.

I hear you say, "really is that all you can say?"

I feel you leave my room, slam the bathroom door. I hear your tears.

You're already gone in this vision of past tense. You're already gone and it's days later in my memory. I'm sitting in my room looking through this note book, this scrapbook. Looking through pictures of memories, words past by ink and paper. Memory is a funny thing in that it isn't always in your head.

I remember reading one, "i love you" it says on the bottom.

I remember another, it says to me, "i can't trust you anymore"

I remember another one, see the memory, "too far."

I remember hitting the wall next to my closet. I remember the hole it made. The Kroq sticker still covers my anger. Rage.

You're staring out the open window, your hair is in your eyes, on your lips, you say, "I love you".

I remember that feeling.

Family Guy: Three Kings

yep, of the last "1,000 years".