About Me

My Photo
Name:
Location: Laramie, Wyoming, United States

You write to breathe, for the air is too thin to hold words. You hide in false memories because reality is for to compromising. You dream to see, and speak to hear. There is no independent variable, just writing that feeds itself, always drowning. You stare down at your bleeding hand, sitting on a rock billions of years old, surrounded by trees and snow. The wind howles through evergreens, in your mind you can imagine the chirping of woodland animals had they not gone extinct. You watch the sun dip beneath the skeletons of deciduous trees, and your shadow casts across the lichen. This is neither empty nor full, it is. The hum of the interstate lies just over the next rock, you can hear it echo, reminding you that this place has been touched.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Mon petit terra

Left the Honors House a few minutes ago for the cold. Listened to Ann speak about the honoraries she is joining, and how much she anticipates next year in the Honors House. I wish I could be there. I'm happy for her, but my desolation is linked with her sucess. I remember when she used to come crying to me when a friend would turn their back on her, now I cease to exist as she strolls into the limelight, my home following her.

Still waiting to hear from the ant-hills to see if I will be an RA there. If so many of my problems would be solved. But I'm not holding my breath in the least. So much of what I do now seems useless. The people I helped recieve no benefit, the projects I work on are taken from me. I've been thrown into the Vortex on Foxtrot B. I'm nothing in my insignificance.

Going to work on a screenplay that no one will ever read. Hope the sun shines on you.

posted by Ijime | 8:38 PM

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home