Continuing the trend
CONTINUING EVIDENCE that this is indeed February, boards.dragonfort.net faced its first case of anonymous spamming tonight--all evidence points towards the drummer from Secrets of Stylish Women, a band I saw play at The House last October (or maybe November). On a slightly different note, opened but minimized, is half a philosophy paper. If I buckle down, I might finish it by 1am, but, writing the night before it is due, it will not be up to the quality I could have crafted if I hadn't been a procrastinating fool.
So I lose myself looking into an infinity, a dark void that has crept near my side since 2001. In my weakness, I stare into it, caught amiss and senseless, and lose usually seconds, sometimes minutes, and, once, hours in its nothingness.
"Say, Inu-yasha--wanna go shopping with me?" says Kagome on Adult Swim.
The characters are meaningless, but, goddamn, now instead of the void, I see a memory--the gift shops I idled in with Jane in Toronto. The memory is a misery, but is a warm creature--a breathing entity in the smell that has come back to me with sight and touch. The only sound I recall all were came from Jane or whatever she toyed with--but all of it is clear in memory right now. Vivid. It is March, 2003 again...
I suppose so long as I don't lose my memory, I will never find myself a pawn in any relationship with any woman--for I will still contend that perhaps fate saw me too soon and imbedded a seed that is yet to sprout in Jane's heart. Likely not, but what the thought does is retain me--thinking it, any woman I might relationship with I will know I still love another, and thusly I will retain every sense of my own will until, if unknown-she accepts my philosophy, fresher feelings overtake cherished memory.
I post this publicly--anyone can read it. Jane might find it. Likelier, a party like Laura or Sheila will find it and might think, "wow, he's still stuck in the past." Likelier still, one of the namelier members of trash hall might find it and think, perhaps, "damned woman still stealing his thoughts even now." Yet I still post this publicly, defiant of all possible retribution, defiant of this moment, in the future as it will, of past eventually following my success and begging a question.
This is what it means to be comfortable with oneself.
This is what it means to love truth.
So I lose myself looking into an infinity, a dark void that has crept near my side since 2001. In my weakness, I stare into it, caught amiss and senseless, and lose usually seconds, sometimes minutes, and, once, hours in its nothingness.
"Say, Inu-yasha--wanna go shopping with me?" says Kagome on Adult Swim.
The characters are meaningless, but, goddamn, now instead of the void, I see a memory--the gift shops I idled in with Jane in Toronto. The memory is a misery, but is a warm creature--a breathing entity in the smell that has come back to me with sight and touch. The only sound I recall all were came from Jane or whatever she toyed with--but all of it is clear in memory right now. Vivid. It is March, 2003 again...
I suppose so long as I don't lose my memory, I will never find myself a pawn in any relationship with any woman--for I will still contend that perhaps fate saw me too soon and imbedded a seed that is yet to sprout in Jane's heart. Likely not, but what the thought does is retain me--thinking it, any woman I might relationship with I will know I still love another, and thusly I will retain every sense of my own will until, if unknown-she accepts my philosophy, fresher feelings overtake cherished memory.
I post this publicly--anyone can read it. Jane might find it. Likelier, a party like Laura or Sheila will find it and might think, "wow, he's still stuck in the past." Likelier still, one of the namelier members of trash hall might find it and think, perhaps, "damned woman still stealing his thoughts even now." Yet I still post this publicly, defiant of all possible retribution, defiant of this moment, in the future as it will, of past eventually following my success and begging a question.
This is what it means to be comfortable with oneself.
This is what it means to love truth.
posted by SJ at 2/02/2005 11:25:00 PM
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