posted on June 12, 2003 @ 6:26 pm
-"pamphleteer," weakerthans
-"public displays of affection," morcheeba
-"jukebox breakdown," saves the day
-"taste of ink," used
-"friday i'm in love," cure
my bloody template is temporarily dead, but i'm a loyal patron: this one's by the same girl. look at the archives page. she did that one, too (they're both modified, of course).
i'm looking forward to this weekend, going home again. papaw's going to bring me a couple louis l'amour books so i can read them. i want to be able to talk about literature with my papaw. ;) i read jonathan livingston seagull the night before last. he always told me when i was younger that i needed to read that, so i'll get to talk to him about that one. papaw's read just about all of louis l'amour's books and owns them all, some multiple copies; he sees a new cover and thinks it's something he hasn't read, but they just changed the cover on him. ;) i get my reading gene from papaw. he's always reading. we discussed this last time i went home, how we'll read cereal boxes, ingredients, anything and everything. he said he felt silly for doing it, and i confessed i do as well. we laughed at our nerdiness. book worms, watch us wiggle. :grin:
i started writing last night whilst at work about an incident that happened in fifth grade. i wrote a page and then stopped because i hadn't even gotten into the actions, just describing things. me at the time mostly. i've changed a lot. i did cry a lot then, and i felt sad a lot, but it always disappeared so easily. i'd climb my friend's oak trees when she wasn't home to get some highly elevated alone time, i'd get into the tree in our front yard when my parents weren't home and talk to him (his name was willow, and since he was slender mom said i couldn't climb him), and a lot of times i'd lie underneath willow once he shed his leaves and just watch the sky. sometimes i'd make shapes out of clouds, but other times i'd just stare and think.
one time butch, a boy who was a couple years older than me and grandson of a woman who lived down the street, rolled up to me while i was doing so. his younger brother, my age, wasn't with him, so i felt sort of awkward. i really liked butch even though most would consider him ugly. the more i was around him, i saw a peculiar beauty in his strange features, like what people saw in roberta in cruddy. he had character, and he was funny, and every now and then away from the company of others, he was nice to me. that day was one of them. for some reason none of the children were out that day, just the two of us. he asked what i was doing. i said, "staring at the clouds." he threw his bike down and lay next to me, and for a long time we lay there picking out shapes in them and arguing over what they really looked like. we argued a lot because we were both people who thought they were always right. they weren't foul arguments but enjoyable ones, good ones between two people who were talented at the art of proving others wrong.
i can't remember what broke up our rendez-vous. maybe it was sunset; we were out there a while. nonetheless, it was a pleasant experience shared with a boy who wouldn't be caught dead cloud-gazing beneath a tree with a girl.
hmm. i'm not sure what brought that about. in any case, i'm going to go read. i'll probably end up boring you to death with what i'd written last night and the rest of my story later.
"i'm standing on this corner, can't get their attention. facing rush hour faces turned around. i clutch my stack of paper, press one to a chest, then watch it swoop and stutter to the ground. the rhetoric and treason of saying that i'll miss you. of saying, 'hey, well maybe you should stay.' sing, 'oh what force on earth could be weaker than the feeble strength of one?' like me remembering the way it could have been. help me with this barricade. no surrender. no defeat."
��, chelsea
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