uncommoncold

so, i've been reading old writing again. probably a stupid idea, but, well, it sort of came my way. i forget how emo-tastic i can be sometimes.

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and once, there was a you and an i and we fit together perfectly, melded and moved like silver spoons under pressure and there was a whole world in front of us, we talked a lot of shit but knew it was for real, and there was i, shy and a little frightened and you with perfect words and sentences and that strong grasp on language, and i with fear in my heart and you without, and i who was afraid to step into that shower and be there with you, you with soap in your hands and steam all around, and i didn't know what to say because i never know the right words even though i know there are no right words and i know that you know that i know that the right words and perfect moments don't exist, that eventually my hope for them will have to cease because they simply won't happen or when they do, i won't recognize them and neither will you, you with the brow ridge and you with the giant hands, you with the heart of shining gold and me without, i of the selfishness i of the melodrama i of the terrible terrible fright, i with the fear that coils and burns and destroys, you with the strength that holds it together and keeps the you and the i intact, you knowing that words could never describe either the passion or the passionless and i with a weakerthans song for every situation, i with the pen in mind and you with the action, i with the greed and self-loathing and spite and you with the understanding and knowledge and talk, always the talking, i with the silence and you with the talking, you please stop the talking for a moment to breathe breathe swallow all of this, i with the misguided misunderstood misanthropy still sixteen in heart but not in body, you dancing with the devil and i standing in the corner, i without words but not without thought, i as a whore a bitch a slut, i without context, you within, you running closer and closer and i moving farther away, crevices, crevices that split and divide and squeal when wrenched further apart, i with the dreams but never the words, you of the blue green gold eyes i with the hazel, i of the memories and flowers and rape, you of the balance and care and the trying trying trying, you of the forests of the sand of the earth, i of the nerves and the indecision and you of the paths and the history and the future, i of the tears and the love and the glitter, you with the smile and the love and the truth, you without fear and me without pride, i without you without me without you without i.

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in other news, my place is clean again. it doesn't even smell like rotting vegetables anymore, i don't think. my twice a week cleaning "regime" has fallen through in the past few weeks. there comes a certain point where i just don't give a shit anymore. besides, i'm rarely home during the day to look at the mess.

"good afternoon. mmm. i'm legendary anchorman ron burgundy. i'm sitting here in my aquajet 9000, enjoying my usual meal of steak, waffles, french fries and of course, scotch. now if you don't think this song is the greatest song ever, i will fight you. that's no lie."

now that the pineapple craving has been fulfilled, it's all about the mandarin oranges. anyone who wants to win my heart can leave a box of them at my front door, okay? just to make it nice and simple.

"i'm talkin' about enjoying a bowl of chicken soup with a reuben, and then makin' dirty reuben love."

oh, my. will ferrell.