Chapter 3. Excess Lexis.
<< 3:02 a.m. - Sunday, Apr. 04, 2004 >>
4/3/04
1:20am
There is something I do inherently in becoming an ear and now, a mouth to people. As if all the background shufflers in my life were paused a moment before they left my periphery. Gained their much needed clarity � and I remember each has it�s own energy and story. I am just another shuffler to you perhaps. I walked in and out and when I came back a year later we forgot each other and started over. I rode your bus; that one that somehow becomes the property a whole, or a million singles; individuals. I left and took my bus.
We leave all these claims and titles to our wake. A speeding boat among millions is what we are. Just to show ourselves that once, we were young, that once we were here, we felt.
I was here.
I loved you here.
It all mattered then,
back when.
I am still so frightened by my ephemeral body.
Max and I are walking up Hawthorne like we do almost once every week, but it�s a little later normal. I popped a piss yellow pill into my mouth right over next to that corner. You know the one? 39th. And the homeless kids are watching us with some interest. I wonder what they think of me. What kind of blonde swaggering youth have I been categorized as? And what kind of pill was that she ate? Where is she going tonight? Where is she going in life? She�s just like all the rest. Just a background shuffler looking for her own monologue. Don�t trouble yourself with me. Don�t trouble her with me.
We are rash friends. Full of indecision. Full of hours of headphone induced silence. Staying up all night with caffeine pills. He was planning to get work done. I was planning to work and play. When you play the scene out, we�re still walking. He says:
�This is who you are, Kelsi. You can�t really help that you have a tendency to do that. It�s who you are. I mean you always have this focus on someone, trying to figure them out. And for a while, that�s all your interested in, and then you move on.�
I say:
�So, we�re calling them my focus and not my �Projects� anymore? That�s better, I guess. But still, it doesn�t have to me. I don�t want to accept my shortcomings just because I can say, �that�s who I am.�
�And you go on, and you go on, and you go on.�
4/3/04
3:00pm
I see too much of myself and sometimes I hate all of it. �My objective self perception is both my loyal servant and prison guard.� Discrepancies I notice and don�t change. Don�t even bother to alter it. There are the words I didn�t mean. The feelings that I expressed so heartily and so widely, when I wasn�t sure I ever felt them. Times I said, �I love you� and only meant it in a deeply platonic way. I know you know I know, that this condition we call my �focus� is probably forever. The idea of balance is so wonderful but escapes me every time.
4/4/04
1:11am
Categorize It.
I don�t know if I could stay here forever. I get bored so easily. I find. I latch on and break. I explore and ask and try to understand. And I�m the kind who jumps at the next sign of life. (Take that everyway it can imply.) Jumper.
This is why I spend every Saturday night with notions and unfilled plans of losing myself in chemically derived epiphanies. Wanting to become less. So I can hate myself with ease. So I don�t have to answer for my decisions. Escapist.
Still there is another. The addict. Who can say we aren�t addicted to the air we breathe though? We�re all addicted and obsessed. The harder I deny the presence of you in my bed, the more vivid my memories are. To depend on something to keep you whole can�t be that bad. I am just too interested in the material that lies beneath epidermal layers of my skin. Haven�t done that in while, but I think about it.
The closer I am to you, the closer I am to me. No wait, not any closer please. I fear unfelt touch. I fucked up twice. No, much more than that; but I�m talking a specific type. Second time makes me queasy and uncomfortable. I walk toward the next gate with an interesting keyhole, because I picked the lock on the last one so long and with nothing to show but regret. That�s not true. I could be a Hollywood fool.
The passive in me is reverting to older sadder words. And I don�t know if I mean them. I just know how to write them.