Usually when I want to write an entry here, I usually have something to
say. This time I have almost nothing to say. But it's been a while,
and I want to think about my life for a moment.
For the past few days,
I've been intoxicated for about 75% of the time. Right now I'm sober. I
talked about writing, and family stuff with my roommates. I ended up
feeling really depressed, or rather anxious, or was in a strange state
of paranoia. Whatever it was, I guess, is a result of my
self-consciousness. I'm too sensitive, and what's worse is that the roommates I live with understand sensitivity. I need people to tell me to grow up, not to empathize me. That's a lie.
The holidays are coming soon, and I'm broke, so I won't be able to purchase gifts for my friends and family-- even though we don't celebrate Christmas. I enjoy the emotions that surround the atmosphere because people are generally friendly during the holidays, perhaps it's that warm melancholic nostalgia. I like eggnog with rum too, and the pastries that accompany it. And mulled wine.
It still doesn't feel like November. I grew up with trees and leaves on the ground. I want to go back home. I'm going to drink some coffee to keep me awake.
Pier at Coney Island at the end of last year, I believe
Coney Island during a foggy winter day, I got my shoes dirty that day.
Maybe I can write better if I brainstorm under the table. (didn't work)
My writing teacher always yell at me for it but...
I am only here for a moment like a lonely sign on the road Nothing fancy, just a man in rugged garment An absurd fantasy, just to be broad in a narrow existence It's nothing to be sad about We have a lot in common Like nature, and the air we breathe It's just because I am only here for a moment
We stay up and experience the past once again, as we adjust the arms of our watches; Our eyes sinking into deep sleep, sipping our apple cider rum and wine. Goodbye, October. And we wave to the parting ghosts. This unwelcoming entrance to reality wrecking our already dead souls. See you soon, 2:00 A.M., we will meet you again in an hour.
That hour which passes us everyday, that seem like eternity.
The Moon stares blankly into space, then back to Earth-- as nightfall itches the flesh of everyday soul which begins to transmigrate near the cloud. It is the same inflamed cloud that blankets us from oblivion. Things that vaguely resemble glass shards fall from the burning darkness of the sky reflecting the premature surface of Earth. Caving deeper into our trembling hearts.
Look, it's the Big Dipper, she says to me, The universe is hungry again and the poor clouds are here to protect us. Where else in the world can you see clouds dipping on top of lights?
New York City is the same as ever. Sad and lonely feelings soaking in alcohol, with the sour essence of hope. The stars shine faintly, and one can easily identify Orion's Belt. High-rises, commercial airplanes, they are the stars here in New York, some stranger said to me once before (probably a tourist). People who cannot see the stars above the New York City's skyline are not looking hard enough, or that they simply do not care about what lies beyond this world. In the apartment, we can hear children next door watching Charlie Brown's Christmas. Across the street, there's the cheesy, and sleazy twenty-five cents peep show booths, and the inane neon tube lighting-- New York City is the same as ever.
Have you ever wonder how other people celebrate this holiday?
Always.
We dance, and dance, in hope that we forget everything.
True
