Shutters. Blinds. Flickers.
<< 12:06 a.m. - Friday, Dec. 23, 2005 >>
I thought once when I was born I could see everything. I stared over the length of that blank room and I thought I knew it. I thought my eyes told me truth. I see now that there are always black frames. Pieces I missed, parts of myself I forget. Like some forever stoned existence where the fluorescent present flickers so strangely over my surroundings.

I thought my eyes had finally opened two years ago. Maybe they did, however briefly, but epiphanies, I am beginning to understand are not forever. They are not solid pieces that impart themselves to me for future use. They decay and fall off and I have to relearn them all over again. Have to decipher the black frames again and again. Fuck, it�s irritating. I�d love to be calm and chaotic, but I always cling to stability and when it rips itself away I end up spinning.

Last year my eyes must have been closed. How could they not? Spending hours in my new room staring at the ceiling. Playing nerd games. Watching roomies smoke pot. Taking mushrooms. And salvia. And DXM. Standing outside on the deck while the boys lit their cigarettes and talked as if they knew all about the world. They didn�t, and they still don�t, and today they are still doing the same damn thing. So I guess that makes it entirely possible for me to be doing my same thing. But I swear I�m not.

Too much nothing has happened for me to ever wish I could return to that dead year. The repetition. Opening the blinds in the early morning and coming home to close them against the dark. Ahh, what a metaphor. There are moments of supreme clarity, but they can only come about when my life is a horrible blur. Some insect�s remains spread all over the windshield.

So yeah, this is like me to write something that as everything and nothing to do with my current situation. Which might not even be called a �situation� at all. I know what I�m talking about.