Hey

Hey. Wats up. Nothing much, just contemplating every word I hear. Yeah. That's cool. I hear you are constantly confused. That's right. It sucks. Be right back. I'm back, lets talk. About what? Anything. Who are you mad at? You. As usual. Not true! So true. At who? Either one of you; the world. You make no sense. That's okay. Okay? It's great. You realize this is a dream anyway? I get it! Me too! Congrats. Ditto. 8:37pm.

FICTION.

Blob

So what if you had this clay blob. And you realized that this little clay blob, much the substance of jello, was lopsided, and leaning too much to the right. But you didn't quite realize that it was the RIGHT that it was leaning towards, so you continue to prod it to the right, thinking that it's going to become better. Then, what if, one night, walking down a deserted subway platform, you think -what if what you need, is to lean more to the left? Since you thought going right was going to make things even, let's try something new. Try not making an effort to succeed, and maybe, there was not that much wrong to begin with. So pressing a little back to the left, brings you closer to the beginning of this insane journey, which, ironically, seems to be just the right place. And no longer askew - whatsoever.

Freaking

I have so many regrets I dont know what to do with myself anymore. I don't know why I did those things... they seemed like a good idea at the moment! And of course, now, i walk down the hall with all the trillions of mistakes, staring me down. Even if they're not in the eyes of others, they're on the walls. They ridicule every step I take. What if it was wrong? What can they see? And now that we're nearing midnight, I am haunted. I want to scream to them all, that it was not a good idea! S***, I don't even know quite what I'm saying anymore. Just - don't judge. And every word I say is documented to use against me, everything I say, how do I know where it goes from there? People kidnap my words, and take them elsewhere. My ind runs with thoughts, pleas, so fast, that I almost say them. But then I'd just be that much more crazy.

You

You make me cry.

When I just think about your existance

When I hear your words and

know that you're alive.

You confuse me.

You make me angry

And I will hate you,

until I realize,

I have no reason to.

Cuz

You make me happy.

I'll float

You'll see

I'll hide if I can

But you know I can't.

You make the air cold.

I'm loosing it right now

Don't want another winter

Without....

Oh

Oh. Of course there are no new comments. I haven't posted in ages. I guess my list of things to automatically post in the future ran out. I'll have to make a new one when i have some free time. Which is never until I get into high school. Or perfect my typing enough to not put an 'e' or 't' at the end of every word without need. It happens when I'm too tired. And resist the need to shorten my words into text dialect, and type properly with good grammar. Because on my blog is the only place where I do it. Now, all of my blogger companions, for the most part, are also under high school stress, so they understand, I hope. I've been having poetic epiphanies, which you may see soon. Or if not, I have a couple of teasers from stories I've written that might eventually end up here. Now, I hav algebra and House to watch.

A

The A train is friendly to my soul. It exists with me to balance life, like a metronome to the musician. It makes life easy, hell, it makes life run. From the Heights of sun and hiding, to the Downtown of people, if I am sad, or alone, beginning or ending, the A train is there for me. It is friendly to my soul.

On a dark February night, there is nothing left but the A. The people are gone, the luck has been wasted, and the love is lost, but there is still the A. On a dirty platform, freezing or swealtering, and the hobo in the corner won't stop singing, there is only one tunnel of hope to see. And out comes the A. Two little lights from the black abyss, followed by a blue circle. And glowing in that circle, is the letter that is my love. Once I see it, I know I will be okay. The A train has come to save me. The A train is friendly to my soul.

Gyro

I live for the man on 57th and 8th. I live for his ripped up 'gyro' hat. I live for his chicken and spices and pita bread. I live for waiting at the corner for the light, and inhaling as much as I can of the beautiful smell. I live for sunsets on Tuesdays and Fridays when there is just enought light to point him out and smell the food before he leaves. With his partner, they close the metal stand, unlock the wheels, and run around, throwing all their weight to one side, and then launching into the evening traffic, like undocking a ship. I live for the glint of his gyro stand in the dying sunlight. And for the fact that he'll be back tomorrow.