nothing left to do now but wait...
I feel like I'm always anticipating something...
Usually a silent pause.
I feel like my brain needs to pop, kind of like the same way your ears do when driving down a mountain. Or when your plane is landing.
I'm always waiting for something. I'm waiting for tomorrow so I can wait to be home, so I can wait to go out, so I can wait for the subway at three in the morning while watching the rats on my way to the east side.
at some point I will think that I am collecting too much baggage and start throwing things in my apartment away only to fill it again with electronic gadgets in a never ending circular pattern. You should see my apartment at night... tucked snuggly away in a small filing cabinet amongst eight million new yorkers scott harris lies in bed covered in ten thousand thread cotton twill while the twinkling power buttons and on switches, digital displays, and sleeping G4's pulsate through the vines like stars in the night sky.
Once I fall asleep, I will most likely have my most repetitive reoccurring dream of making a horrible mistake, fear being caught by authorities, and be involved in a struggle with someone only to find that my arms do not work.
I remember my eighth-grade field trip to the Smithsonian. I leaned over the glass railing, looked down, and wondered what the reactions would be of the people I knew if I jumped. ...not because I wanted to kill myself. in fact suicide is nothing I would ever want any part of. ...I guess I just remember thinking, if I was a crazy bastard and did go to such lengths, it would be a good measure of how much anyone cared... not my parents or my friends... I know they would be sad about it... but other people. My teachers, classmates, ...people that I didn't like. What would their reactions be? ...well, sadly, the person committing the pointless act of suicide would never be able to see those reactions anyway so there really isn't any good logic to such an act now is there?
So being in 8th grade and looking past your own demise, how do you make sure you don't end up in some pointless existence? (one of my favorite past times in high school was writing lists of which classmates would be most likely to end up at burger king serving fries...) I have been spending every waking moment since that day trying to do something I feel is worthwhile...
Sometimes I think I get a little confused about what is considered worthwhile... I think one of those times might be right now. Do you ever ask yourself what the hell you are doing? You know, the sun is shining bright and clear in the pacific islands. The shore line is being washed over by pure blue water ...You know, I walk past plastic leaves and paper mache trees on my way to lunch every day. Hell, I even walk past little, plastic hand crafted dioramas of the pacific islands. ...they have little lable decks along side them that tell me things all about it. I have a very respectable job working at a natural history museum in manhattan... there is nothing natural about this island.
on the other hand, I have images of being trapped in a place too small for a man of my ambition. ...sometimes I think ignorance would be bliss. And I'd really like to know what other people are thinking. (but only sometimes) ...either that or "this thread is too long to read and that guy is being dumb" ...in which case you have already pushed one of the ten thousand button combinations on your key pad and it has taken you to another far off tangent in internet land.
I just wrote this for the simple release of getting it out of my system.
If you made it through the hole thing, sorry for the long, angsty babble.
Enjoy the gift shop.
www.meta-phor.com
un updated since 2004
I feel like I'm always anticipating something...
Usually a silent pause.
I feel like my brain needs to pop, kind of like the same way your ears do when driving down a mountain. Or when your plane is landing.
I'm always waiting for something. I'm waiting for tomorrow so I can wait to be home, so I can wait to go out, so I can wait for the subway at three in the morning while watching the rats on my way to the east side.
at some point I will think that I am collecting too much baggage and start throwing things in my apartment away only to fill it again with electronic gadgets in a never ending circular pattern. You should see my apartment at night... tucked snuggly away in a small filing cabinet amongst eight million new yorkers scott harris lies in bed covered in ten thousand thread cotton twill while the twinkling power buttons and on switches, digital displays, and sleeping G4's pulsate through the vines like stars in the night sky.
Once I fall asleep, I will most likely have my most repetitive reoccurring dream of making a horrible mistake, fear being caught by authorities, and be involved in a struggle with someone only to find that my arms do not work.
I remember my eighth-grade field trip to the Smithsonian. I leaned over the glass railing, looked down, and wondered what the reactions would be of the people I knew if I jumped. ...not because I wanted to kill myself. in fact suicide is nothing I would ever want any part of. ...I guess I just remember thinking, if I was a crazy bastard and did go to such lengths, it would be a good measure of how much anyone cared... not my parents or my friends... I know they would be sad about it... but other people. My teachers, classmates, ...people that I didn't like. What would their reactions be? ...well, sadly, the person committing the pointless act of suicide would never be able to see those reactions anyway so there really isn't any good logic to such an act now is there?
So being in 8th grade and looking past your own demise, how do you make sure you don't end up in some pointless existence? (one of my favorite past times in high school was writing lists of which classmates would be most likely to end up at burger king serving fries...) I have been spending every waking moment since that day trying to do something I feel is worthwhile...
Sometimes I think I get a little confused about what is considered worthwhile... I think one of those times might be right now. Do you ever ask yourself what the hell you are doing? You know, the sun is shining bright and clear in the pacific islands. The shore line is being washed over by pure blue water ...You know, I walk past plastic leaves and paper mache trees on my way to lunch every day. Hell, I even walk past little, plastic hand crafted dioramas of the pacific islands. ...they have little lable decks along side them that tell me things all about it. I have a very respectable job working at a natural history museum in manhattan... there is nothing natural about this island.
on the other hand, I have images of being trapped in a place too small for a man of my ambition. ...sometimes I think ignorance would be bliss. And I'd really like to know what other people are thinking. (but only sometimes) ...either that or "this thread is too long to read and that guy is being dumb" ...in which case you have already pushed one of the ten thousand button combinations on your key pad and it has taken you to another far off tangent in internet land.
I just wrote this for the simple release of getting it out of my system.
If you made it through the hole thing, sorry for the long, angsty babble.
Enjoy the gift shop.
www.meta-phor.com
un updated since 2004
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
but yeah... i may be a little bit restless.