2005-04-19 - 7:26 a.m.
hm. Is this thing still working?

2003-09-07 - 1:43 p.m.
Lately I've been thinking of why I tell my blog things that I don't tell people directly. And no, I don't use them to flame people. Not in ages, anyway.

If a person asks me how I'm feeling, I usually say "fine" or "Okay" without really thinking about it. But to my blog, I'll say "Today, I wondered how I was going to die." Some shit like that.

It's not that I can't tell friends that sort of thing. Looking back, it does seem that I'm selling them short in a way. As if I have more confidence in an online storage facility than the living interaction of people. I guess there's some truth to that. I never mean it to be mean.

When I was young, I used to suspect some crazy stuff about people. I was never entirely sure that other people were real. Or that their feelings were real. (I was pretty isolated before kindergarten). I'd get into scuffles and arguing matches with other kids, trying to goad some weakness out of them. In a way, I kind of thought of them as robots, and I was the last living child on earth. Well. Not in a way. I did used to think that. Even though I was embarrassed to think it and knew it was silly, I half expected everyone to one day combust or unzip their skins and then I'd go "ha! I knew you didn't feel sad when I broke your lego robot!"

And as that stupid little kid, I often wondered if my eyes were not working right. Or if everyone's eyes were faulty but mine. If the world looked different. What's red to them, for example. And how do they tell me how they see red, if its not our minds that were different, but our eyes? I'd spend long moments opening and closing my eyes to see if the sequence would break and my arm (or whatever was in my eyeline) would vanish. Don't ask me how that made sense to me. I was just a kid. As I did this, I'd concentrate on the feeling of thereness of my arm. If I was blind and could only feel my arm, would it matter if I smacked my sister? If I couldn't feel my arm and couldn't see it, and it somehow smacked my sister, would it matter? (her being a robot, after all).

Heh. I guess I owe my sis many apologies for these past 'experiments'. Sorry!

Long story short. It scares me to think that I'm still that kid who questions if anyone or there feelings are really *there*. If it seems like I'm ever doing this to you, smack me. Because I really *do* know better. I just need reminding now and then.

2003-09-03 - 10:52 p.m.
I have an LJ.

2003-09-01 - 2:46 p.m.
Okay. I'm in my stupid-ass poem phase again. I wonder why I do this, aside from the ego-rush of being pretentious? It's fun, in a way. I'll start a poem, and look up, realizing that 15 minutes whooshed by, feeling like 15 seconds.

Huh. Everytime I talk about my poems, I feel the urge to refer to them as "poems", complete with quotation marks. I feel dirty if I don't.

This is a "poem" I wrote spur of the moment for the mhmb. And I haven't gotten the specific urge to do a poem since. Oh, I've been pondering this thing for days, but haven't written another. Not for the ego reasons you might think. Totally different mememe reasons. When I write a poem spur of the moment, it usually means something's been on my mind without me knowing it was.

Based on the contents below, I guess I miss someone. I can count the number of people I miss right now, on one hand, and I don't even miss them that much.... or *do* I?
It bothers me when I miss people. It means I have a need, and I don't like needing.

*sigh* The troubles of a histrionic.

Cafe:

I think of you in quiet times
wishing idly
vaguely for something past.
or a miscellaneous,
inner-staged version of.
When time was less a condition
and more a striding passerby
listening with clipped ears
watchng with furtive eyes
into a place of my imagining.

Meanwhile
we talk
and touch
and savor
a swiftly
dissipating present-tense
laughing at the past-tense
musing over tomarrow's
'to be determined.'

Says, the wind: our caution is thrown
To where? Who knows?
To back rooms I've yet to construct?
To glaring frowns I've yet to meet?
or to the street
where that passerby
is maybe
definitely watching?

Before the buzzer rings
I blink
and think
back
to how I saw you then
How you see me now
And marvel at how
that passerby
despite appearances
is still here with me today.

And though I might never have guessed
you of all my wistful dream friends
might be maybe
walking past me
onto that hazy,
beautiful,
fictional
street

Off topic: Did Alexis Denisof get an eyelift?