kanji

29 November, 2005
we live as we dream, alone

in keeping with the holiday of gluttonous excess, i've determined that there's still way too much irony in my diet.

i've had this one Japanese epic gathering dust beside the television for weeks... knowing full well that it will be visually stunning, and engaging, and thought-provoking on the one hand... but abstract, ironic, and tragic (and three hours, at that), on the other.

too much like life. i can't concentrate that long, lately, either.

ever since the inevitable split, contrary to the wretched excesses that were expected of me, running to my friends to indulge the blood of the rabid party animal that must obviously seethe through my veins, i have become, instead, almost a veritable recluse. i still find it necessary to remove myself from the confines of those four walls to work, to broadcast, to buy necessities, and do some rescue work for other folks, but fun things? i think i've forgotten what they are. if it just means getting fucked up through chemicals and alcohol, that light has gone out. thanks to the morbid fascination that A Million Little Pieces has afforded (and having to commit more than one friend and relation to rehab), it's just not worth the derangement.

and since said split, it's doubly ironic that i have less cash than before, while i do less... though, arguably, i have had to restock the spice cabinet, re-buy paint and supplies to refinish my granddad's handbuilt chairs (circa 1930) to replace the kitchen table that has exited, and requests for money continues from my estranged soon-to-be ex, yet unemployed... though she will go back to work when her daughter "wants her to".

hmmm... that makes the last twelve years "ironic", too.

maybe this isn't, by definition: people on D-Land hate the use of diaries for retelling dreams. so fuck them, i'm going to, anyway. because my dreams don't want me to sleep soundly, either.

...like the one on Friday night:

jumping into a car, in the dead of night... backing into a highway, and rocketing away at speed. preoccupied with something in the console, i looked back up to find the headlights had extinguished. i twisted the key in the ignition to cajole the electrics to correct, but only heard the grind of the starter... still rolling forward, unabated. not knowing what was ahead, or even where the road turned, i dove for the floorboards, where i realistically felt the bump and grind of wheels freed from asphalt... and woke up.

...and last night:

unknown hispanic neighbors had just built a greenhouse for me to grow peppers in as a surprise. amidst the celebration after their presenting it to me, unseen hands ripped the clear plastic from above our heads... they scattered, i stood alone, waiting to see what caused the damage... and started from my sleep, a half -hour after i'd dozed. it felt like i'd been sleeping for hours.

shit. there's no peace in sleep, either.

and that's ironic.

.


hit me with your rhythm stick




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