…and i am only biding time
only reciting memorized lines
Another weekend come and gone. Sunday, June 5th. 2005. Good god. When I open my Palm Desktop, I can see every day between now and the day I leave for Bangkok in my quick-calendar view. It’s going SO quickly.
On balance, it was a quiet weekend. I read. I listened to music. I played my guitar. I got a bunch of new music from Erik (I’m up to 166gb…). I slept. I spent some time on my slackline. I barbequed (sp?!). Twice.
and i’m not fit to touch,
the hem of your garmet.
no, no, i’m
not fit to touch
But really, having a nice quiet weekend was good. Lord knows nextweekend is going to be more than crazy enough to make up for this weekend (backpacking into Veadeawoo Friday night, Taste of Fort Collins/Gin Blossoms Saturday afternoon & evening, Anything-But-Clothes-Goes party at Goetter’s Saturday night…).
And so life in Cheyenne goes.
Ha ha– conflicted? Yeah. Confused? Always. Uncertain but hopeful. Daring but cautious. On the surface, life is so plain and simple right now. Under the surface? I’m pulling a hundred different directions with nowhere to go but no reason to stay. It’s full and rich and complicated and stupid… and somehow it feels like it’s the sort of drama that emerges in a relationship once in the initual fury of love has faded… things slow down. Passions fade. And to replace it, bullshit drama. There’s really nothing to it, but since everything else is coming up lacking, it suffices for substance. Does it work? Yeah, I guess. Is there something better? God, I hope so. But in the mean time? I just keep playing the games with myself. Keep myself distracted. Every day one day closer to July 31– terror sadness loss excitement adventure alone free foreign.
i have no love but only goals
how very empty is my soul
it is a soul that feels no thrill
it is a soul that could easily kill
yellow green black white mountains sillhouette sunset plains green prarie. rain mud sticks stones bricks and bricks and layers of bricks and shovel dirt shovel dirt shovel dirt. i’m too priviledged, white upper-class for this. and what about her? fuck, i don’t know. july 31. but what does that mean? climbing shoes beer music duldrums questions numb tired apprehensive. shovel dirt shovel dirt climb a wall. drive music drive music phonecall. pillow.
it doesn’t make any sense to me, either. no, of course it does. it’s me. it’s here and now. it’s what and how and who and everything but why. it’s not angst, it’s not happiness, it’s not loss, it’s just the words being pulled from the air in front of me.
and i’m not fit to touch
the hem of your garmet,
no, no i’m…
not fit to touch
the hem of your garmet…
