the self i speak of. | |||||||||||||||||||
| a collection of thoughts, images, and the miscellaneous | |||||||||||||||||||
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it's time to start thinking about yourself pretty little girl time to walk away, time for you it's time to give up the dependence now or never? time to take off in a clean car, new cigarettes time to wear your favorite shirt in the middle of winter, flip flops in the snow time to put down the windows, let your short hair blow long time to sing. slam it into park and dance. it's time to start thinking about yourself. _______________ Reality has passed. It is only the vision that is truth. Everything else is memory. - Photographing the confusion in a room with too many couches and not enough faces. The confusion, but also the understanding, in finding out which ramblings are reality And which aren't. - I've chewed my fingernails for the last time. _______________ I can feel the music pulsing around me Blinking around closed eyes I can feel you dancing against me As the whole room sways Or perhaps it is the alcohol. I watch everyone Watching the lights And can only focus on your eyes, your lips. Somehow everything seems reasonable. You give me your number and I use it to blot my lipstick. I can't get you out of my mind. | ||||||||||||||||||
| ". . . but i let myself be dissuaded by the sensible people." | |||||||||||||||||||
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it seems as though time has stopped once more in the inevitable way that it does, quite often as i think of you, and ignore my million dollar education analyzing stories and counting on my fingers the minutes as they pass too slowly by. i can see that smile creeping around the side of your face telling secrets and watching you blush and then it's my turn. time passing slowly? and somehow years have passed. | ||||||||||||||||||
| From the archives... | |||||||||||||||||||
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What can you do when you just want to play your guitar, go places, and be happy? When you hate the road your life's on right now, but don't want to drive off of that cliff because the optimistic side of you says it'll get better. It doesn't say when, though, so you keep going, sad, save for those few moments in the shower when the water washes it all away and you think everything will be new and different when the water's all gone. Then the last of the water disappears and you try to smile, but you realize that it wasn't water, it was blood and you're dying and you see all of the things you never got to see or do and you wonder why. It's society, you tell yourself, but you know that's not all. It was you, too, because you so often went along with it, questioning everything, though mostly just to yourself. And you think of how different it could have been, your life, if you'd have done all of the things you wanted to; worn your bathing suit to school with your combat boots. But now you think it's too late, so you lie down on the bathroom floor and go to sleep. You don't expect yourself to wake up, but you do, and you wonder why you're not dead and then you think that maybe you are, but then the phone rings and you know they don't have phones in heaven or hell or wherever you thought you were. __________ (All photographs on this page are protected by copyright and may not be reproduced without permission-c.Carrie Elizabeth) __________ Questions? Comments? Ramblings? [email protected] | ||||||||||||||||||
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