staying still to watch things come and go, turn out the lights cause it's easier to invent things, shadows are only new animals that you haven't named yet, solitude is beautiful and so big and so lonely and lit up, but only lit up a little bit, even when someone comes to hold your hand and get nervous with you, it's hard.

walking around my back yard, thinking about the dirt and the big eternities at either end of my life and a girl i have a crush on, the other day alex made me smile and giggle because he made like he was trying to grab hold of the sky or claw it down over the steering wheel. what the hell am i supposed to do about all these ideas? is it right that i should feel rotten as hell if i can't explain it? these little thoughts, memories, these things that could happen anwywhere and do happen everywhere, they aren't special, words only bust them up, they make the hard stuff romantic, they make the sad stuff seem funny as hell or profound. it's the smallest parts of being alive that pull me apart, just when i am alone, ready to be alone and i think it is time to stop thinking about other people, it comes to pass that somebody likes me and they wanna spend nights with me sneaking around and laying low and writing in empty houses.

damn, i bet everyone you could name has sat alone in a room and wisht to think of nothing, wisht to want nothing, wisht to be nothing for hours or years only to get up and leave the house and realise that they were still something, to walk into a door and have people turn and look at him there, existing, standing there in perfect being, not see-thru, not made up and not nothing at all. this happens to me all the time and i am defined by the fact that i let myself be when i find out i still am. that's all it is that makes me who i am, the fact that i haven't stopped being him yet.

i can't wait until i am in a new country, alone, riding buses for a place to sleep, with nothing to lose, laughing at old thoughts of fireworks claustrophobically exploding in my dreams.