I can never decide if I should write my daylogs on e2 time (which is about eight hours ahead of the time here) or if I should just use Mountain Standard Time. Today, I'm going with the e2 time; these thoughts really ran through my head February 26, 2002.
If that makes sense.
Disarm you with a smile
And cut you like you want me to
Today I could taste time. Like a variable motion it swept across my mind all day, tearing away at the love I want too badly. We've been reading As I Lay Dying, and discussing existentialism; today I felt alone, like all my connections were floating away, like there was an irrevocable schism between the human race and myself. This was the morning. When I fell asleep last night, it was snowing heavily, so much so that when I looked out my bathroom window-- which has perfect sight to a streetlamp that shows snow falling in the night-- I couldn't make out individual flakes, only an ethereal white sheet. When I woke up, the sun was rising opposite the mountains, but the temperature was hovering around zero (fahrenheit). The roads were icy, but I didn't slide up. I felt the inherent loneliness of the road behind a woman talking on her cell phone and in front of a man drinking his coffee and-- I think-- applying lipstick. Who was he? Who was she? Who was she talking to, causing her to drive terribly and skid every time she started up? We floated on the street, our wheels not touching the asphalt, and I thought we might fly off this white drapery and into the blue sky.
I'll burn my eyes out
Before I get out
You know, I've never written anything with lyrics interspersed, but I just bought the Smashing Pumpkins' greatest hits album, and I today I knew what they meant.
As if I'm standing even further away, last night I talked to my best friend and realized that she couldn't tell me everything, realized that sometimes I don't even know who she is. Today I got to school in the middle of this freezing cold and looked up at the sun, so distant that I can't even feel it. It seems to be moving away, up and above in a scorched out sky.
drinking mercury to the mystery
of all that you should ever leave behind
If my day was blindingly solitary up to that point, I would give my soul for every love note ever received. It sat in my pocket half the day and radiated heat, and then the one that I adore wrote words that I have spoken in my mind over and over. We must leave a personal record, a history, a connection to the future... Why do I date everything I write, why do I think that every document in this world should come with an explanation, some sort of microchip embedded containing all the knowledge we have, so that those who come after us may understand all? His words melt the ice, keep me alive through physics, keep me through the day.
the more you change the less you feel
believe, believe in me, believe
I am not alone, and I know it, but still I feel the time on me, pressing me down. There is too much to say and I am too scared to say it for fear of losing him. So I am not myself I am not myself but a shade, a caricature... I will lose him? As I inevitably must. Uh oh, here comes the angst! Emotions are within me that I barely understand anymore. Do you see the moon? Look at it tonight, long and hard. It shines opposite the mountains that have marked my place every night forever, and tonight it shines fully. I wonder
Hey what a great idea for a node!
does the moon have the same phases at the same time everywhere in the world? For instance, is he wherever he is, looking at that moon, and is he, and is she, and is the person she was talking to? Are we all looking up at that moon, wondering what a sad imitation of life we are living because we haven't walked on its cratered surface? Or are we all content because we do have someone we adore, and because we are adored in turn, and we know it? Don't fall away now, the moon will keep us young, keep our sangre (a word infinitely prettier than blood) flowing, our corazon pumping, save the night around us and preserve our better selves, preserve our love for every other night we ever remember in the course of this journey into the heart of darkness we call death.
Turn to the gates of heaven, to myself be damned
Turn away from light