scarecrow crying

I heard it over the television one day.

I t adds to why the bottom low ‘class’ parallels the top high ‘class’ in behavior. They dive to the same extremes, spend insane amounts. Take on the same reckless behaviors, one has everything in surplus, the other splurges the same way because there doesn’t seem to be a way out. Like the ignorant rookie up against the guru and in ways they’re the same by the standard of eased approach.

The obvious is studied just in case something was misconceived. The researcher takes the pulpit, summarizing those common responses we’d have slid easily past. Ashes to ashes. Scrutinizing over the simple. However I think that simplicity can actually be very dynamic. ‘And’ is simple but look it up, the definition takes have a page.

I watched a report on Good Morning America where Dr. Drew (despite his slight controversial reputation for what he offers in the field of televised professionals) had a few cryptic words to share.

"After any kind of a relationship ends the body will produce the same biological reactions as it would to a death."

Whoah. A small duh in my head but whoah.

The hardest graves to visit are the ones of living, the ones who died away from you by petty circumstance.
People know they and the flow of things are the one with the shovels plastered in grit. Human habits take care of it. Your arms ache from digging down. The witnessing of decay is exhausting. The old stakes become stumps, the matters disintegrate into scraps.

Particularly grim I know. But I don’t see the losses as hopeless, though I do try to walk my life on that silver lining.

I got seashells once as a gift from a friend who has long since moved away. One was a starfish with rounded horns on the top, the other was a tightly wound brown shell.

Being verbally awkward I couldn’t quite explain it to you all at first. Not everything lasts, but not everything loses. What happens will happen, but there is something that remains. It came to mean something to me, those shells. More than an old fascination with them. The time span of relations we can’t go back always or fit back inside them into the old shells because of a growing... Grown from the knowing of it all.

I read the time as 12 dollars and 32 cents. i’ve worked too long.

a reversed monday

I found it and I couldn't resist. Not kidding here. LMAO. It's a book about a 'sultry wench' about the burning des...Romance novels usually make me grind my teeth and begin stabbing motions at how false they are just adding to our pop culture fairy tales. but whoooi. I bought it cause it made me laugh so freaking hard. Not bad for 50 cents, keep my bookshelf warm.

It's actually called 'Whitney, My Love'. Anna and I almost exploded after all the gigglings.

lol.

Yep. I'm agonna get my sega up and running. Also I just added a dreamcast (which I made a killing on) to the pile of the old nintendo gadgets I'm collecting. System, hookups, controller, memory card for an insanely low price. What put the cherry on my unnatural natural high on monday was the coincidence of good songs coming one after the next on the radio while I was driving about.

Got me in the most giggly mood, was it really a monday?

Trying to figure out new year plans but I've drawn a second blank. Change of plans. Anna and I will figure it out though, hopefully before new years. Keeping my fingers crossed.

Hmm

Nothing like the smell of fresh capitolism in the morning eh?

New retirement laws. And a pretty little notice had to be given on thursday to the Utah Government to stick with the old plans.

Oh I loved the new SLC restrictions passed on how we are permitted to use and build on our own land, how we can build our own homes that we live in. I can understand the width standards so that we can better love our neighbors for not battling over space. You think you own that land bud? No you own the subtle right to report a trespasser, that and only that.

Did any one else find the beauty in fining high school students $150 a cussing? For cussing? Do you realize the inflation here when the old $10 words like eminence and phantasmagoria are outrageously less expensivethan the most primal of words?

anyone else giggling?

The red isn't the red we painted, it's just rust

Ever wonder why the throat is targeted? Has little to do with the jugular and more to do with the passage. An eye for an eye, cut them with words and theywill return the favor. It's the jagged messages you split them with that makes them thirst. The memory of the wound and the will to share it with the giver...Just a dainty dose of irony here. I'm beginning to realize how cliche irony actually is...At each other's throats... It'sall figurative all this. I have not this kind of combat.

B e t t e r V e r i s i o n o f M e

The nickel dropped
When I was on
My way beyond
The rubicon
What did I do
And of the games
That I can handle
None are ones
Worth the candle
What should I do
I'm a frightened, fickle person;
Fighting, crying, kicking, cursing
What can I do
Oh, after all
the folderol
And hauling over coals
Stops
What will I do

Can't take a good day
Without a bad one
Don't feel just to smile
Until I've had one
Where did I learn
I make a fuss
About a little thing
The rhyme is losing
To the riddling
Where's the turn
I don't want a home, I'd ruin that
Home is where my habits have a habitat
Why give it a turn

Oh, after all
The folderol
And hauling over coals
Stops
What did I learn
I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face

Oh mister
Wait until you see
What I'm
Gonna be
I got a plan; ademand, and it just began
And you're right, you'll agree
Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
Here it comes
A better version
Of me.

-Fiona Apple
(extraordinary machine album)

simplicity on the surface, but the darkest pit in me is pagan poetry

Thoughts and words flow past me like moving water, shapes to my body remaining swift and coolled.

What continues is not mine to cease right here at least,act now and it spirals into a self destruct. I remember what it's like to take it by the shreads and fragment... By the stains which still bleed. There's a wonder in the way things go, the flow of it all despite the way it grinds against me... My tapping fingers plead with my mind. Responding back : give it time, just give it time and how could I know to answer? scrape down towards that sanctumn within, while others tunnel toward their own. Speaking to myself like a stranger.

But you never really know now do you?

I go through life not knowing. The things I do know can be counted on my hands. Everyday tells me to erase the last, and the case history dissolves over night. All that remains is the skelton of this brittle record. Tally marks driven down the walls... We guess well enough but we cannot be the things we believe. Not that the effort is waste. The effort is the fuel, it shapes. People function on theory alone, what has truly been proved over to a human mind is all I have to ask. Even fact must be taken with a faith. It's not the reason that makes the connection, it's the receptivity colliding with the inner skeptic. I'm grateful at times that I'm not convincing, I don't slow my own way with the surity of the ego. This world remains an illusion to the purpose we all must find. In our human skins we skirt around what we are, what is. "habits take habitat." We pretend not to be.

In this human skin there is nothing I can know to the core, the final layer. We are all bandaged to the point of disguise even to ourselves... What can be known?

Sometimes I ask myself if there is something left... I can't force my sight to span the miles. I can't pretend to hear these thin speeches. I cradle this shy variable. I ask myself if I only speak in whispers but I need to listen a little closer for my own response.