title less. / i worry too much.
I finally got to have a good long session with the ol' soul twin (via phone, but we do what we can...). Having realized recently how small my circle of confidantes seems to have grown, how frustrating and, dare I say, frightening it feels to not be able to speak candidly as frequently as I imagine I should...I dunno. A relief.
I still feel kind of lost. Hitching myself to distant stars does not quite lend itself to a strong sense of place. Instead, I drift.
// (two days later) //
I've gotten in the bad habit of letting the entries stew for a couple days before posting them as is which ultimately makes me want to take back some of the shit I say. But, not really. I kind of swear allegiance to honor the exact bullshit I write (a.k.a. feel) at the time I wrote it. It's realer that way. So real. haha.
Why do I have to be so goddamned moody all the time? I'm a fuckin' grown up. I wear shoulder pads sometimes (I know, cue collective disappointed sighs of disgust) and I know how to make espresso on the stovetop and I can write up a professional email when some fucker owes me pesos for work I did. But still, can't I be a kid? I'm not asking for full reliance on someone older and wiser.
It's like this (pardon my step away from the usual lyrical articulation)...yesterday, LM and I had ridden our bikes down to Prospect Park, and after having laid out our sheet and set out our bounty of farmer's market snacks, only then did we notice the teenaged couple and the insanely awkward (to us) PDA going on in the shade of the tree nearby, partially hidden by drooping branches. I mean, after getting over being hilariously scandalized, I get hung up inside my head (of course, I would) about how much I miss that sort of reckless abandon you own as a kid (and maybe if you're a freak. ha!). Be it straddling your lovaaahhh in the park, trying to eat their guts with forceful tongue and meld your bodies as one even though denim lays in the way, or you know, tagging in the dark, driving around scream singing with the windows open wide and focusing every moment on being loud and living. Maybe it's this way, and I sort of fucked up at some point. I get moments of it periodically. This giddiness of being alive. But, I just wanna get loose, son. And not give a fuck. I want to be free, maaan.
I still feel kind of lost. Hitching myself to distant stars does not quite lend itself to a strong sense of place. Instead, I drift.
// (two days later) //
I've gotten in the bad habit of letting the entries stew for a couple days before posting them as is which ultimately makes me want to take back some of the shit I say. But, not really. I kind of swear allegiance to honor the exact bullshit I write (a.k.a. feel) at the time I wrote it. It's realer that way. So real. haha.
Why do I have to be so goddamned moody all the time? I'm a fuckin' grown up. I wear shoulder pads sometimes (I know, cue collective disappointed sighs of disgust) and I know how to make espresso on the stovetop and I can write up a professional email when some fucker owes me pesos for work I did. But still, can't I be a kid? I'm not asking for full reliance on someone older and wiser.
It's like this (pardon my step away from the usual lyrical articulation)...yesterday, LM and I had ridden our bikes down to Prospect Park, and after having laid out our sheet and set out our bounty of farmer's market snacks, only then did we notice the teenaged couple and the insanely awkward (to us) PDA going on in the shade of the tree nearby, partially hidden by drooping branches. I mean, after getting over being hilariously scandalized, I get hung up inside my head (of course, I would) about how much I miss that sort of reckless abandon you own as a kid (and maybe if you're a freak. ha!). Be it straddling your lovaaahhh in the park, trying to eat their guts with forceful tongue and meld your bodies as one even though denim lays in the way, or you know, tagging in the dark, driving around scream singing with the windows open wide and focusing every moment on being loud and living. Maybe it's this way, and I sort of fucked up at some point. I get moments of it periodically. This giddiness of being alive. But, I just wanna get loose, son. And not give a fuck. I want to be free, maaan.
posted by typographic darling at 2:25 PM
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