||[Jul. 18th, 2005|07:04 pm]
The heat is a thousand pounds I don't need to carry. It presses me down, my face inches from the pavement, my hands dragging around. I look like a monkey that maybe got into a terrible accident when it flew into the sun. Melting. Maybe. |
I ate too many raspberries as I picked them. My hands are still stained. My stomach is still turning.
I am at some sort of stalemate with myself. Life moved all its pieces to match mine, none really trying to break the other. Everything has come down to one thing and what it takes to maintain it. That is pretty easy. But do I want that forever? No. As it stands, life is done with me. Its done moving its pieces. And I'm about ready to violently throw the whole goddamned chess board against the wall.
I need to throw something against the wall.
Give me that.
I want to make movies. I want to build furniture. I want to... to... I think I've narrowed it down.