A brave new world.
the sun may kill me but the torture is a welcome change.
the beer may kill me but the drunk is useful escape.
this life may get the best of me but then again, if it doesn't, what's the use anyway?
"Cynthia is just realizing now that my problems are merely extensions of hers. she doesn't want to need anyone but that is because she does need someone."
and a beautiful girl gets on the bus.
she looks like a nervous actress, long, blond hair so full of thickness it waves as it moves. Dark, serious eyebrows over her alert, round eyes. long, slender nose which finishes at the right amount of pointiness and roundness, and braces hidden carefully under those 16 year old full lips.
i've seen her on the bus before.
I would kiss her
All the windows open; we are blowing around like a convertible. the girl is shredding the edge of some cut-off jean shorts she had in her bag. she picks the threads off and lets go of each one and it flies in the air. she actually makes an effort to place each one on the ground, but each time it leaves her fingers and takes off...
She's really at it now, big ones - some are even heavy enough to reach the ground. She thinks the bus is a garbage pail or a movie theatre! I'm about to cry for her now cause I see me.
I see me before I knew what I know. And then I see me now before I know what I am going to know and it scares me.
And now all I see is a mess.
A mess of blue threads that if I would have seen only them, would have pictured where they came from.
I couldn't scroll through your diary fast enough.
Today was a crappy day.
When she finished crying, her co-worker consoled her and at the end
of the day, suggested getting very drunk. She, in turn, surfed the web
for some cute pictures with which to thank him.
instead, she found a diary.
A diary that reminded her of her own. so much so, that it inspired her to write.and she had been writing alot of late, and the words she read reinforced her belief in herself. Even in hypertext, the words comforted her. Even in cyberspace, she felt she had found a friend. her third, actually - since Mike and lorradan - or was that four? she printed out everything her printer driver would allow, and read it on the autoroute. actually, she took a wrong exit because of it. All evening she was consumed by it.
Finally! she got a chance, even in her desperate state, to pen a word and send it off into cyberspace - perhaps only to Toronto, but cyberspace none the less, to this person whose theories of truth functionality reminded her so very much of her own ideas about growing up, whose written word sounded so very familiar...
from "cute pictures" ... to ...
"Time is nature's way of preventing everything from happening at once"