Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You're turning into something you are not. I thought I could sit here and list all of the reasons you should be here, and all of the things you are missing. And, I started thinking earlier, just counting the things I was doing, how it felt a lot how I imagined my life being, just telling you where I was and what I was doing. I'd see you when I got home. But the list got too long in my head, and I couldn't remember the first thing, so I took a picture through my windshield and sent it through the void, see, I figured out how to email you my brain. I thought my car's not for talking, it's for listening. I started my portfolio, but you can't see it. I can't tell you why California is better than chasing cows with doggies. I want to fall asleep sooner so I can show you what the morning looks like. I want to explain to you this problem I have with music, that I can't control what I listen to anymore. I listen to the same song over and over until I'm done, and then on to the next. Happily ever after costs gas money and plans and pride and faith. Rituals compose this obsessive compulsive rattling cage. It may start getting weird at this point. God is music people. I swear, these moments will kill me, you find me dead in my chair some pictures of myself on the screen. I look the exact part. Cute stoner chick in her pajamas and matching robe, cigarette burning. I will get demanding. I will get righteous and hypocritical. I will say the cruelest words you've ever heard. Carie, you're an artist. You mean what you say no matter if it's impetuous. I don't know that I've met a lying artist. Ha! I'd live in Kansas with a robot. I tried to run away once. I had $800 in my wallet, and a boy in the car, and I said, "Let's go somewhere warm. Let's leave all of this coldness behind." The boy replied, "Baby, pull over the next chance you get. I'm out of beer." I was half way to the airport. That was Anna Begins. I hid the credit card statement that CD was bought on from my boyfriend, I lied and said it was a present. And I lied about the bracelet too. I hated him, but I was so afraid no one else would ever want me. In 1997, I got a computer, and it was never the same after that. Carie, come out to San Francisco, I want to make you be able to live just to paint. I want to pay for your apartment, pay for your paint, and your canvas, and your food. Come. You could see my cute socks, and you would fall in love with my snore. I would show you baby pictures, and you would know that my parents don't call me Carie when they talk to me. Cosmo knows who I really love, he can tell, and only then will he like you. But, boys are for playing, so he won't give you loves until I'm not around. Carie, come to Boston. I'll pay for your room and board, but you must give up painting because I'll own you. It's not that heavy, really. Thinking about what could happen makes it lighter. You said gravity and I thought materia. I didn't paint a single painting for 5 years, I was that unhappy. I want you to see all of my problems so that you'll understand why I'm here, alone, on a Tuesday night, stoned, listening to High and Dry. Diaryland, I love you. But I want you to go away. You could be the place I put all of these words. All your insides fall to pieces, you just sit there wishing you could still make love 7:21 p.m. - 2003-08-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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