These Days Ebb and Flow With Perfect Ease
<< 1:50 a.m. - Monday, Jul. 07, 2003 >>
For the moment I'll exercise my powers in cryptic and vague writing, and maybe if you read it enough times you'll get what I'm trying to say here. Because when its all over and done I don't know if I'm actually going somewhere with this.

There is this boy who I know. His pret�rito has run right into my own present. I think you'll know who you are because you are the one who told me of it yourself. Boy of these flickering guitar strings that won't snap. I find myself with fragments of your past in my hands. There is music caught in these shards that cut my hands. Thank you for sharing. I guess I want to understand this path you have taken. I don't care that I'm bleeding because there is something there that catches my eye. How your silence becomes mine, and we're left sitting separately together watching the stars. You've done all this in just this day.

the symptoms of our getting older
the problems that safety don't mind
most of us never get over

memories mingled with lies
incidents gave a confession
that noones allowed to forget

Am I creating something that was never there? I worry that these friendships I have found will lead nowhere. Be swept away by my school time lethargy. I don't want to overdo anything, but I'm still in extremes and I can't help it. This black and white picture has caught me dead in the face.

i dont want to give the impression
that predestination is set
and distance will increase the danger
with certainties never enjoyed

There is the one who calls me "Goldilocks", and I can't help but feel so included, and so a part of things. And all I can do is smile dreamily whenever she says it. We hang in the basement and down there I can�t think of anywhere I'd rather be. Listening to this music that lights me up like no other and watching you drift between sleep and consciousness. Or would you say a person is fully conscious in sleep? You ask me these sorts of questions I could never attempt to answer "correctly" although I think that is subjective. Let me put on my deep thinker mask before you ask me questions like that. You say I'm the poet, but I find these honey-coated words don't come out in my speech. And that is what matters most.

conditioned to never unlearn
and noone can tell me to listen
and noone can tell me whats right
cuz nobody has my permission
and noone can see in your mind
in your mind in your mind in your mind

I don't feel like taking orders. Parents coming home in short hours has killed my daytime reveries. Just several hours ago we were all sitting around the fire in my back yard and watching those flames. Want to replay it. Over and over. I'm watching their faces in the glow and just letting my imagination take me places. Have hypothetical conversations with people I barley know. Every time I try to get out what I'm feeling I withdraw. Go into murky clich� details. I need to know that you really want to hear. I need to know that you don't think I'm just another self-deprecating teenager.

the magnifications explore
there slowly emerges a pattern
and details you normally ignore
you notice really what matters
it isnt a time or a place
only an ebb and a flowing
a currently weakening space
occuring, connecting, and growing

-(Built to Spill)