Should I Choose To | 2001-12-20 @ 7:37 p.m.

There was a window, and I was told that should I possess this window I could always see you. This seemed simple enough, and so for three week's wages I bought this window, and placed it in the wall of my room, so as to seem as real, as un-strange, as possible. You were walking through warmer places, and the sun would come through this window and spill out across the floor, and this made me nervous; it made apparent how disconnected you were from me. I bought blinds, and placed them over the window during the day, content to peer out from behind them until after the sun had set. Later, deep into the night, I had taken to drinking heavily, and I would wave to you, scream, attempt to catch your eye. these efforts failed, of course, and i felt myself haunted by this distance, blinds or no. Yet I could not prevent myself from watching you walk through your days, and though I could not hear your voice, I could sometimes make words from the movement of your mouth, and from the reactions of others around you. I saw you make barter with the coffee-store people, saw you crossing streets, saw you sleep. As a child, I often felt a presence just out of eyesight watching me; I grew less afraid and gradually accepted that presence as benign, quite possibly indifferent, and no stranger than the gaze of any stranger I should pass on the street. That gaze had gone, now, but I had no trouble bringing it back up in memory just as real as in truth. There was the tactile feeling of this gaze across my skin, defining and distorting the boundaries of my body. At times, I saw you turn, and stare out as though you almost saw something, but the turn was so slight and the stare so brief I could not tell if you could feel my gaze or if there was something other. Perhaps I am one of many, an unspoken collective of viewers, and this is a thought that troubled me, enough that I went back to attempt to sell the window to the windowseller. Perhaps better, he asked me, you would like a new window, one with sound, with heat-sensors, with barium x-ray, with recording/playback capabilities? Perhaps multiple windows? Perhaps viewing into the past, say, or the future? But I could accept none of his offers, for I could no longer stomach my staring at you through this or any other window, for silent and deep as I may love you, I am torn by this space, this space which confuses me as to what your body means. Instead, with my three week's wages, I bought a mirror, which I placed over the window-hole. And as each week went on, I would buy another mirror, ridding myself of the trappings of my life that had cluttered my room, until there was no space not mirrored, not covered, at which point I shut the door, and here I will wait until I see what it is that I am looking for.

Back In The Saddle | 2001-12-20 @ 7:26 p.m.

Booya, bitches. Did you miss me?

That's right. I'm back like a motherfuckin' vertebrae.

To all of you that I may have offended or hurt in the past (mainly, those that I know in person and read this looking for something to mock me with), I have only this to say; huff my dong, motherbitches.

So kids, as much as I hate to borrow a phrase from Staind, it's been a while. I'd love to sit here and dazzle you with various stories from the my exploits over the past few months, but I only have enough time to present you this quick summary since I'm about to head out to "Lord of the Rings":

Worked in Arizona over the summer, got dumped by the same girl twice, found a job on campus, finished the first semester in my junior year here at UW, and have become a chronic masturbator.

That, and I've taken to fathering illegitmate children.

The new format for this journal will be that of a weblog, as I often find that I'd rather jot down a quick blurb here and there as opposed to an entire story. Why? Because I'm lazy. As evidenced by what's going down right now.

Speaking of going down, I need to find a date for New Year's. Any takers?

get up | get down