On One Hand

February 28, 2004

Alcoholics Anonymous

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 2:18 pm

I got wasted drunk last night, which was definitely a lot of fun. It was the first time in almost a month that I drank so I don’t want a billion comments saying “Oh my GOD Matt you are turning into an alcoholic please do not go too far.”

On the way to the party, my group and I saw this SUV slam into a bunch of parked cars near a stoplight and knock them all onto the curb before stalling a few feet back from the corner. The driver tried to get away, but a front wheel had been completely torn off the vehicle during the accident so the SUV just wobbled and wore down the remaining tires until they disintegrated. A few people started gathering around the smoke and one guy knocked on the window of the still sputtering car. Inside was a woman, probably sixty years old, well dressed, and drunk off her ass. “Your car isn’t working; a wheel is torn off,” he told her, as if that hadn’t been obvious. “What? Oh, I noticed something was wrong but I didn’t know what it was, (or something to that effect)” she said, either confused or playing dumb, slurring a bit. She blamed the wheel coming off on the fact that she had just gotten new tires and they must have been attached wrong, as if unaware of the fact that it had come off when she plowed through an entire row of parked vehicles. The guy started being an ass to her, cussing her out and saying he wasn’t going to let her leave until the cops came. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her; she was completely confused and disoriented, scared, and about to face huge fines for smashing into a row of cars, a night in jail, and a few years without a drivers’ license, and here is this local vigilante cussing her out because he seems to take personally what she did to other people’s cars. One of my friends butted in and started talking to her more politely, and she kept saying she wasn’t drunk, or if she was it was just a little bit, until some girl showed up saying she was a nurse. (Whatever a nurse could do for her is totally beyond me.) By the time the cop car pulled up we were already walking off to the party.

When we got to the party this guy started pouring everyone drinks. When he asked what I wanted, I told him I don’t know the names of any drinks so he could just make me whatever he wants. He put in about a cup of amaretto and like three drops of the sour drink mix that is supposed to dilute it. I thought to myself umm, okay, I guess I’ll only be needing one drink tonight and resolved to take it slow and drink a lot of water with it. It was actually pretty good but it was strong. I got a good buzz going; I had the amaretto and had an extra shot of vodka before I decided to call it quits on drinking and just enjoy the rest of the night. The party was great, and I stayed over at a friend’s apartment afterword because no one was going home in my direction to give me a ride and the busses weren’t running at 3:00 in the morning.

I joined this fraternity, by the way. (I know, I know, I’m not the frat type at all, which is kind of why I like the idea of being in one.) The party was hosted by one of the new guys in the group that joined this semester when I did, and his reasoning for having the party was that he wanted to get drunk one last time before he goes on tuberculosis medication. I guess he works at a hospital and caught tuberculosis from someone there. I got to know some of the frat guys and I decided that even the guys I didn’t like before are alright if they can just get over the fact that they don’t like my sense of humor. Honestly, I get so much shit from people who don’t like my sense of humor, who think that I am so outrageously out there even though they’re in the minority in thinking I’m not funny (or at least in in the minority in voicing it). I don’t really care to tone myself down, though, because at worst for every two misses I get a hit and I think a hit is worth two misses. And it’s not as if I would ever change who I am just because some snobby, stuck-up guy or girl has a big fucking problem with some superficial aspect of my personality. I think people that don’t get me at first can only learn my style over time, and most people laugh at me more when they know me better and actually realize that I’m joking. My best friends are all people who didn’t get me at first and now, of course, they’re my best friends.

OK enough of that. This was a boring “so my life is like this” entry and I apologize to all of you who were hoping for some high-class literary content. I was never high-class, so I don’t see why you would expect that, but in the future I’ll at least bring back the deep philosophical college-freshman-level reflections of life and science and obscure only-the-author-can-get-it poems about humanity.

February 25, 2004

Self-definition of a Certified Reject

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:45 am

Human beings, and I; we have a relationship.
I see them … smile … pay my respect … move on.
They shake their heads at me and wonder went wrong.

They look down on me, of course, and often turn their backs.
I am, they say, a freak; off base, off track.
I don’t hold against them their condescending judgment call;
I say, what they are is what they are, and what they are is not their fault.
And as I am what I am, as I atribute to my birth,
the difference between them and me
is that I am not of this Earth.

(Not long ago, when I was a child, they saw me floating in the sky.
So they pulled me down to the ground, thinking, as people do, how they know what’s best,
And so I live here, for now, but it can’t change what I am, and what I am not.)

I am not of this Earth.

They tell me I do things the wrong way.
I don’t look, I don’t talk, I don’t work, I don’t
the way that they do.
Can’t they see?
I was not made to be like them.
I was not made to find myself at home in their circles.

They say that in the Beginning,
God formed human beings from the clay.
They were made of the Earth,
And now call Earth their home.
But I am not of this Earth.
When all mankind was clay,
I was the wind.
I was a spark.
I was
Or some say God formed life by chance;
Colliding atoms in the sea.
God took the air and formed it
Into a different kind, in me
I was not made to hate,
to disapprove, to condescend;
I was made to LOVE,
was made to think,
was made to … b e n d.
I was not made to walk the Earth, as they do,
With planted feet;
I was made to dance,
Life is a poem,
I keep the beat.

I’ve never seen myself in a mirror.
Oh yes, I’ve seen a mirror, but not myself;
mirrors lie.
I see myself at night between the stars
out in the sky.
But why don’t you curse and fight,
the way the real boys do?

I am not quite a boy like them;
though not a girl like you
You see, the stars, they have no gender,
They don’t live by Earth’s confines.
I find myself at home in them,
And like the stars


(in progress)

February 24, 2004

Ralph Nader

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:05 am

Republicans avoid having to confront the Green Party by claiming that the Greens are simply a step further left on the spectrum than the Democrats are. Democrats avoid facing the Greens by saying essentially the same thing, agreeing that the two parties have the same values but the that Democrats will be more effective because they’re more moderate about their views. This is all very effective at keeping people from looking at what Green Party actually stands for.

Republicans claim to stand against big government, and Democrats claim to be against big business. The Greens are, essentially, against both. Their platform is based on empowering the individual, and bringing a sense of honesty and integrity to government in order to promote everybody’s common good. It’s about favoring direct democracy over distant, slow-to-change, self-interested, bureaucratic government with ties to big business and establishment. If you read the Green Party’s ten key values, a Republican or a Democrat might find value in what the party stands for, and can might see the values that they joined their mainline party for more clearly represented by the Greens. The Green Party is not a step to the left from the Democratic party. Green Party views don’t fit under left or right, but could be aptly described as a qualified libertarianism.

something or other about what the Green Party actually believes in

February 23, 2004

Right Guard

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:43 am

I keep confusing the smell of my deodorant with the smell of body odor. It’s not that the two scents are in any way similar; I think it’s just that I expect the worst when I notice any sort of odor coming from an armpit. I’ll be dancing at the club or walking around at some crowded social gathering, turn my head and suddenly think to myself, oh shit – I think I have B.O.! I might get nervous for a moment, but then I’ll realize that – no, wait – it’s ok; that’s just the smell of aluminum zirconium tetrachlorohydrex gly in an antiperspirant base of propylene glycol.

The realization that I did not, after all, forget to put on deodorant this morning always comes as such a relief. I’m so glad that anti-perspirants and other industrial cosmetic products are available. The aluminum compound might be what causes Alzheimer’s disease, but at least you get to smell good for now while you still have enough sense to care what people think.

February 22, 2004


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:51 am

Lorelei and I are going to a cult meeting tomorrow. Actually, I’m not 100% sure that we’re going; the service is at 10:30 in the morning and there’s a good chance I won’t feel like getting up that early. The name of the place is the “Church of Lights” and I think it’s an Eastern style cult, though there were more than a few references to Christ in the brochure. I guess we’ll find out what it’s about when we get there, if we actually go. I’m not all that enthusiastic about it but Lorelei was really intrigued by the brochure and she’s too shy to go alone.

Lorelei and I spend so much time together, people are starting to see us as a pair. We’re even starting to mimic each other. We are our own society, with our own culture, trends and fads. Usually I’m the one who starts them. For example, a few weeks ago I grabbed an orange from the dining hall, and mentioned to Lorelei that I was going to start getting oranges more often because I need to eat something healthier than all the grease-coated, soggy excuses for steamed vegetables and vegetarian food that the dining halls serve. Lorelei must have decided that it was a good idea too, because suddenly she was eating oranges at every meal and storing extras in her room. Every time I go in her dorm there’s an orange on the bed and another on the desk, and half of the time I see her she’ll have an orange in her pocket. I’m the same way; I have three in my refrigerator right now and a trash can full of peels. Today I asked her if she wanted to go get lunch with me and she said “No, I need to get rid of some of these oranges” and ate them instead.

Lorelei got a bunch of books from the library about GLBT history and I have been intrigued by some of the stuff I’m finding in there. I didn’t realize how many people were publicly executed in the United States for sodomy during the 18th century. When I picked up another book I was surprised about how pivotal Stonewall was in starting the GLBT rights movement, and noticed how many of the early GLBT activists were lost in the late 1970s and 80s to the mysterious new virus that later came to be known as HIV. The book I was reading is made of periodic interviews of people that experienced firsthand the events that made history in the GLBT rights movement. The book might ask a person to recount his experience with the beginning of the gay culture in San Francisco right after World War II and come back to him a few chapters later to ask about his thoughts when Stonewall happened years later in 1969. You read on and get to know this real character very well, and suddenly after his interview in 1982 you see a footnote that says John Doe Died three months after his interview from complications of AIDS. More than half of the men are no longer a part of the book when it goes through the 90s and into the new century because they’re all dead.

If you want to know about a really interesting person in GLBT history, look up Diego Vinales. I found recounts of what happened to him during the Snake Pit Riot to be really fascinating. I might write about him later, if I’m in the mood to talk more about it, or if anyone is interested.

February 19, 2004

Valedictions for a Lonely Thursday

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 3:29 pm
Tags: ,

The Brown family used to sit around the kitchen table every night to share attention, affection, conversation, and a hot, home cooked meal. Their parents were members of the PTA and took them to their Girl Scout meetings or little-league soccer games, and the family often shared quiet evenings together, playing board games or talking about problems and events in their lives.

Today, Mr. and Mz. Brown are divorced. The kids stay at their mother’s house, and their father is barely a part of their lives any longer. Instead of gathering around the table, the children now eat salty, greasy, factory-stamped TV dinners around the television while watching E.R. or Friends and arguing about what channel to flip to during the commercials. The Brown children rarely talk to each other except to fight, and have minimized contact with their parents. They spend the vast majority of their hours watching television, playing video games, chatting on the internet, or using their excessive allowance money on movie tickets and popcorn at the local AMC. They spend their idle hours with distant, fickle friends, and have failing grades in school. Mz. Brown cries herself to sleep every night over her failed attempts at dating, her broken home, the condescending manner in which her children talk to her, and the household’s financial troubles.

What could possibly have happened to the Browns? What caused their healthy, supportive familiar relationships to decay into distant, dysfunctional connections of material convenience and brutal rivalry?

Obviously, their family was destroyed by the gay couple living next door.

(Those fucking faggots.)

Moral of the story: Republicans are douchebags.

I could hardly think, let alone concentrate. I sat there in biology class, sweat dripping down my forehead, too distracted by my agony to notice the assignment that the teacher had written on the board. Too miserable to pay attention to the dull, never-ending lecture about intra-cellular anatomy. The burning sensation, like a raw wound being stretched wide to receive a stinging spoonful of grainy salt, the itch, like the torturous aftermath of a million bloodthirsty mosquitoes having their fill, was too much to bear. As I grasped the seat of my chair with cold, clammy hands, I prayed that no one would notice my contorted facial expressions. I prayed that no one would see my eyes rolling back in their sockets as I longed for relief from this relentless hell. I dreamed of going back back in time, of returning to the moment just a few days ago when I innocently made a decision that would put me in this abominable predicament. I longed to undo the horrible thing I had done, the deed I had committed in passion, curiosity, and overwhelming stupidity. But my longings were for naught, and the agony was upon me, as I bore witness to the painful fruits of my wicked, sorrowful mistake.

Moral of the story: Trim; don’t shave.

February 17, 2004

We Are Stardust

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:43 am
Tags: ,

Our bodies are made of material that once made up stars. The whole world, the trees, the soil, the air, every living animal, and every human being is made of the core material from stars that shined long ago. Giant blue stars that burned their fuel quickly were able to create the heavy elements that living things need to exist in a short time when the universe was still young. The stars expired quickly, having grown too large, too bright and too energetic to sustain themselves, and exploded into colorful supernovae stretching billions of miles across. Matter from those bright explosions found its way into the cloud of hydrogen that would eventually become our sun, and a small portion of that matter gathered under the force of gravity to form the Earth and everything on it. Every king, peasant, prophet, criminal, saint, sinner, teacher, and philosopher, you and me included, are made of the same glowing specks of stardust, grown cold for a long time but now warm again with the pulse of life and motion.

Billions of years from now, the Sun will complete its own cycle of life and snuff itself out. The Sun has been growing steadily larger and brighter since its conception and will continue to do so as heat and pressure from inside its core forces it to expand. One day the Sun’s fiery corona will overtake Mercury, then Venus, claiming once and for all the tiny balls of rock and metal it held in orbit for so long. The Earth will be next to go, losing its atmosphere to the overpowering solar winds before the whole planet will be vaporized by the incredible heat, its ashes scattered into the distant cosmos. The gassy body of Jupiter will boil away, and only the moons of distant Uranus and Neptune will be of decent temperature to support life. After a brief period of time in this expanded state, the Sun, like its stellar predecessors, will puff its upper layers out into space as a supernova to form the planets and the bodies of future life forms orbiting future, distant stars. Then the Sun’s heavy core, now made primarily of carbon atoms, will collapse under its own gravity to form the hardest material known to exist, on Earth a precious rarity, on the future Sun the proportional bulk of its astronomical mass. This giant diamond, now smaller than the Earth but much heavier, will shine meekly for a billion years or so as what scientists call a white dwarf, before going, at last, completely dark.

The mass of each human body is just a microscopic fraction of the mass of the Earth’s biosphere, and the mass of all living things on Earth is just one ten billionth of the mass of the Earth as a whole (5.98 X 10^24kg). The Earth, in turn, has one three-millionth the mass that the Sun has. The Sun is one of over one hundred billion stars that make up the Milky Way galaxy, and it is still beyond the comprehension of science how many galaxies there are in the universe. Among all these galaxies there are an estimated over ten trillion stars per human being on Earth. Most of these stars are every bit as massive as the Sun, and many are much larger. Each star shines light into space much in the way that our own Sun does, and each would look much like the Sun does if viewed from a comparative distance. Around many of these billions upon billions of stars there are gassy planets like Jupiter or even rocky planets like the Earth, but it is still beyond human knowledge whether any of these planets sustain life. In a universe that is constantly showing itself to be mindbogglingly gigantic, the only thing that is known for certain to be truly rare is human life. Human beings only exist on one tiny speck of dirt, the Earth, among the immensity of all that exists. Yet those in power have no trouble sacrificing that human life in the debate over who should have control over a fucking blob of black hydrocarbons under the sands of a desert in the Middle East that represents about a billionth of a billionth of a trillion-billion-billionth of the energy in the universe, and even still just a minuscule fraction of the yet untapped, clean, abundant energy that streams in from the sun every day for human civilizations and all life to take advantage of. Beneath the obvious and irrefutable vastness of the cosmos, human beings still complain and debate about one man sticking his dick up some other guys ass instead of a vagina, and cite that occurrence as the destruction of their tempered society. They complain that such an act goes against the laws of nature, a nature that is too vast and too far beyond them for any one of them or all of them together to ever comprehend. Human beings defile all that is sacred and spill each others’ blood in vain attempts to convince one another which little book contains the purpose of the existence of the trillions of galaxies and trillions of miles of empty space, trillions of black holes and nebulae and trillions upon trillions of stars. They argue about whether or not they should have to go out of their way to protect the delicate balance of life on the only planet among the billions of planets that are out there that we could ever reach to sustain our existence. They bitch about how many green-inked rectangular pieces of stamped cellulose a rich person should contribute to the quest for a just and equal society, and spend these worshiped pieces of paper first on weapons and vice control, using only the minuscule proportions that are left over on aid to those in need or on research to cure the diseases, pollutants, and injustices that threaten the only truly precious commodity, life.

Considering the rarity of the miracle of life and all the wonders that exist, we seem to spend an awful lot of time focusing on stupid things. Some of us don’t seem realize that they don’t put the money in the ground with you when you die. One day, each and every one of us will stop breathing, stop smiling, stop dreaming, stop fighting, stop singing, stop laughing, stop working, and everything we ever knew will be forgotten. When we die they will take our bodies, which most of us have come to identify as what we are, and put it in an oven to be burned to ash. The liquids will puss and boil away, while the flesh, organs, nerves, and brain tissue will desintigrate and burn into the Carbon Dioxide in the air. The charred bones will be crushed into ash, to then be swept up and stored in some dark urn or tiny box, or thrown off a lonely cliff. Money won’t do you any good when you’re ashes. Some say that, though your body comes to such a disturbing fate, your consciousness or the essence of your being lives on, whisked away into some paradise or hell or rebirth or any combination of the three. Though people will argue over exactly what will happen in the afterlife, they pretty much all agree that you don’t take the money with you there either. Your clever ventures in capitol or profitable investments will no longer determine your worth. The legacy you leave behind is going to be determined by what you did for other people, how you inspired them, moved them, changed them, or made the world a better place. It is going to be based on the ripples you sent across a tiny blue planet in a finite time and a finite place amidst the infinite expanse of all there is and all there was and all that there will ever be.

The choice we all make here is whether our legacy will be a call for love, celebration, unity, community, appreciation, inspiration, spirituality, and harmony, or if it will be about materialism, competition and deciveness. Do we want to get angry about who is sticking his what where and what he’s smoking and snorting or do we want to get angry instead about who is dying in the world because of our stupid misplaced priorities? Do we want to spend our time pointing out the evils of corrupt politicians or bakward societies or do we want to be the change we want to see, to wake up and realize that we have more common interests than competitive interests, and we are more alike than different. If civilization disturbes you too much, leave it; take some time to taste the rain, plant a tree, laugh with a friend, smile at a stranger, fall in love, make love, throw a stick with a dog, get dirty, or go out side on a sunny day and listen to the birds. Those are things that all of us can try to do more often, and those are things that all of us, the rich, the poor, the corrupt, the wholesome, the strong, the weak, the young and the old can enjoy. But when we come back to the group and decide how we should all relate to each other, lets try to recognize that there is no real enemy. Because, really, we are all made of the same stuff. You and I and everyone else is composed of the same basic elements that spewed out of ancient stars to form all that we know and understand, and though we demonize each other, we really aren’t that different at all. It’s where we all came from, and it’s where we will someday return. Right now we are in disguise, we are behind a an illusion of separateness that tears us apart, that makes us feel lonely, feel anger, feel hate, feel fear, and lash out at each other in despair. It’s an illusion of egocentrism that makes us compete when we should be working together, and it hides the fact that in this universe, all that is precious is life. It keeps us from seeing that what we really are, all of us, is stardust.

February 15, 2004

APricot face OMG LooOzer, !!!

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 4:23 pm

I have to admit, I’ve been a bit bored lately.

I think I have a piece of apricot stuck up my nose. Getting food in my nose is an unpleasant experience, and it happens to me every now and then when I sneeze or laugh as I swallow. The food goes way to the back part of my nose, which is probably more aptly described as the upper part of my throat. Whatever you call that part of your face, getting something there will burn incessantly and it will usually incite more sneezing. I’ve found that if I tip my head back the right way or if I can just relax and be patient, whatever it is sitting up there will go away. Exactly where it goes to, I have no idea. There’s probably some cavity or pocket tucked away somewhere in my head that it all finds its way to. By now I should have quite an interesting collection.

So now that you’ve all been sufficiently grossed out, I can tell you about what I’ve been doing lately.

I started drawing again. After finding an old, blank notebook to sketch on, I couldn’t resist the temptation to fill it. As many of you may have discovered for yourselves, drawing is addictive. Once you do a few sketches you tend to find yourself filling the pages of your notebooks at an alarming rate, drawing in class rather than taking notes, and doodling on scraps of paper, old receipts, textbooks, time trackers, and graded assignments. I wouldn’t describe anything I draw as particularly good, but I actually find the very poorly done drawings, manufactured in reckless haste and unchanneled emotion, to be the most amusing.

I am going to end this entry now. As I look over what I’ve written today, I find that I am using some ridiculously obscure diction and a tone just heterogeneous enough to be annoying but not heterogeneous enough to be artistic. It’s all very awkward, and not even cute. Not to mention that I don’t have anything worthwhile to say. Maybe it’s my mood, or maybe it’s the influence of the dull shit I’ve been reading out of my textbooks lately. I could probably really use some pot about now.

February 13, 2004

Day in the Life

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 11:21 pm

A Day in the Life

OMG Matt you are so SKETCHY!

A Day in the Life

February 11, 2004

Both Hands

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 6:41 pm

The cold is miserable, but everything looks so good with snow on it.

On days like this there are only two colors. There is the white-gray shading of the snow, and the red-brown of everything else peeking through. Loose clumps of tangled snowflakes swirl in random patterns, resembling a pillow fight that has gone too far. The delicate feathers pile precariously in drifts eight inches thick that melt and scatter away into the wind with so little as a warm breath or slightest disturbance. The sleepy monotony of the two-toned landscape fails to sedate the ecstatic snowflakes swirling through the crisp, chilly air. Energetic puffs of steam rise uninhibited from buildings and billow above the noisy power plant in the middle of campus. The city, marking the impact of humanity on the once pristine foothills, is re-claimed by the delicate, powerful forces of nature, smoothed over by a sheet of white. The perfection of the scenery escapes the notice of college students making their ways to class, who trudge silently, covered heads bowed to the ground, in lazy lines over the salted sidewalks.

I am walking…
out in the rain
and I am listening to the low moan
of the dial tone again
and I am getting
nowhere with you
and I can’t let it go
and I can’t get through.

With only an ill-covering coat and a thin layer of clothing underneath to protect me from the frigid air, it’s hard to appreciate the poetry of the landscape. I try to stand up straight and breathe deeply the clean, crisp air descending over the mountians, only to have a blast of icy wind shoot up under my shirt and carrying a cloud of snowflakes that melt and chill on contact with my bare skin. I find myself pressing my shirt against my body with both hands to keep drafts out. Careful not to let myself start singing out loud, I step in pace to the Ani Difranco song I’ve had stuck in my head all morning;

I am watching your chest
rise and fall
like the tides of my life,
and the rest of it all
and your bones have been my bed frame
and your flesh has been my pillow
I am waiting for sleep
to offer up the deep
with both hands

oh, with both hands.

Everywhere I look is some artistic arrangement that makes me wish I had a camera. Footprints on the slushy concrete arrange themselves in complex patterns between grains of industrial salt and stray un-melted flakes on the ground. Evergreen boughs bend under the weight of the snow to form dark, sheltered caverns arching over the path. Snowflake-freckled hippy girls smile as icy particles dance over their eyelashes and sneak into loose clothing. On days like this, the simplicity of everything lets the finite human mind see how people fit into the landscape just as the mountians or snow drifts do. The complexity and perfection in which everything runs smoothly on course stands naked for the observer to finally realize. A man-made snowball zips through the air and bounces over the clean, white ground, leaving a trail flowing aesthetically and harmoniously toward the ice-covered bicycle next to the sidewalk. One boy shouts something and another girl giggles, beautifully in tune with the puff of steam rising from a nearby exhaust pipe and a pile of snow swirling off of a branch of a winter-bare crabapple tree. Footsteps of strangers pat across the ground in rhythm to the song in my head, or maybe it’s the song in my head strumming perfectly in rhythm to the footsteps. The gentile guitar notes mold and bend to the world I walk through, and I, in turn, bend to the world, that dances and drums as everything keeps its pace.

In each other’s shadows we grew less and less tall
and eventually our theories couldn’t explain it all
and I’m recording our history now on the bedroom wall
and when we leave the landlord will come,
and paint over it all.

And I am walking, out in the rain
and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again
and I am getting
nowhere with you
and I can’t let it go
and I can’t get though…

Maybe it’s the versatility of Ani Difranco’s song, or maybe it’s some irrational half tripped-out working of a mind that looks too hard for meaning, but it seems so unbelievably real right now how in-tune all things are with each other. I wonder if it would ever be possible to break the pace. If there is a way, I don’t intend to find it.

So now use both hands,
please use both hands
oh, no don’t close your eyes.
I am writing
graffiti on your body
I am drawing the story of

how hard we tried

how hard we tried

how hard we tried.

Next Page »

Blog at WordPress.com.