earlier this evening, I scribbled in my notebook.
My friend is crouched on the mock Spanish tile in front of his house, and I'm sitting on a torn out car bench, watching him paint and mutilate a Barbie I had laying around my house. Someone just changed the super up beat electronic song to something sounding like nails on a chalkboard in rythm, but in a good way. The Barbie is a gift for me, I'll add her to my collection of oddities.
Lately I've been having those days that never end, and get worn as the clock hand drags its way backwards. It's like sitting through a long movie in a dark theater, eventually you start to move around in your seat, shifting and squirming, never quite gettin comfortable, annoying everyone around you. You find excuses to get up, to wonder off, smoke a cigarette stand on the corner watch cars drive past. At least during the movie you have somethin to pay vague attention to though...
He's got her head wrapped in a towel, it popped off in his hand, hey sweetie, lemme borrow that for a second...
I send long winded emails to friends over analyzing the evolution of a musical genre, picking apart the languid fluidity of a motion of someone's hands, he said she said they said as they shot us dirty looks from across a room. I talk about how intimate characters become perfect strangers, whose eyes are those staring back, and yesterday I realized I had never noticed how piercingingly blue - shockingly so - someone else's eyes were. Mine enter a room before the rest of me does, black basketballs bobbing in front of my brain.
There's a dead bonsai in the corner and in the opposite sits a rusted tin blues man, keeps blowing his pretend horn, slamming us to the beat of teh mock marching band...quiet in the gravel, and the cinder blocks sit and stare.
My friend is crouched on the mock Spanish tile in front of his house, and I'm sitting on a torn out car bench, watching him paint and mutilate a Barbie I had laying around my house. Someone just changed the super up beat electronic song to something sounding like nails on a chalkboard in rythm, but in a good way. The Barbie is a gift for me, I'll add her to my collection of oddities.
Lately I've been having those days that never end, and get worn as the clock hand drags its way backwards. It's like sitting through a long movie in a dark theater, eventually you start to move around in your seat, shifting and squirming, never quite gettin comfortable, annoying everyone around you. You find excuses to get up, to wonder off, smoke a cigarette stand on the corner watch cars drive past. At least during the movie you have somethin to pay vague attention to though...
He's got her head wrapped in a towel, it popped off in his hand, hey sweetie, lemme borrow that for a second...
I send long winded emails to friends over analyzing the evolution of a musical genre, picking apart the languid fluidity of a motion of someone's hands, he said she said they said as they shot us dirty looks from across a room. I talk about how intimate characters become perfect strangers, whose eyes are those staring back, and yesterday I realized I had never noticed how piercingingly blue - shockingly so - someone else's eyes were. Mine enter a room before the rest of me does, black basketballs bobbing in front of my brain.
There's a dead bonsai in the corner and in the opposite sits a rusted tin blues man, keeps blowing his pretend horn, slamming us to the beat of teh mock marching band...quiet in the gravel, and the cinder blocks sit and stare.
VIEW 25 of 33 COMMENTS
Tell me that's not the cutest fucking animal on the planet.