"One should be careful when fighting monsters that in the process, one does not become a monster... When you look into the abyss the abyss also looks into you"-Friedrich Nietzsche
Wednesday, December 15, 1999
i wrote a lot today. well, not what is typically a lot, but a lot for me. I think that I'm getting into a creative phase again, thank god. I've been in a slump for years. Pretty much only doing a painting or story once every few months, sometimes less than that. Ever since I got photoshop a couple months back, I've been churning stuff out pretty regularly.
But today was different. The last few days have been different.
Yesterday, I started on a nice illustration. I'll leave the concept a surprise for now. Today, I wrote three poems. This is a milestone because I've never been one to write poems; always stories. That said, I'll leave you with my new work. Tell me if you think I still have some rust to brush off, or if I'm rockin', LOL :)
Jamie.
the scent of big red gum
the final episode of the wonder years
my introduction to White Zombie
The Cure
and "Bob".
a book with actual pictures of hermaphrodites!
toaster strudels
never
with
enough
frosting.
tales of ex-boyfriends
the way she wore her eyeliner
a sweet, yet subtle
southern accent.
eyes like that of an infant
I wonder
what she remembers
when she thinks
of
me.
this is about a girl I was friends with in high school. our friendship didn't last long, and I don't quite know why; we drifted, I guess. But I always thought she was really cool, right from the first time I met her when she moved to Scituate at the beginning of our junior year. I guess you can tell that I have a strange, but distant affection for her. She was a great person and I always enjoyed hanging out with her. I admit, I had a little crush on her, too, but I didn't totally understand at the time about what being bisexual was. I was still a virgin, so while sex was heavy on my mind, it was too vague an idea to me to really lust for anyone.
Scituate Harbor, circa 1996.
nights spent sitting on curbs
covered with wax
the sound of skateboard wheels against pavement
the occasional scratch of a deck against a curb.
fugazi playing on someone's car radio.
the door ajar, the volume at ten.
a bottle of dew in one hand
a marlboro in the other
talk of who will inherit a chunk of Brendan's lungs when he dies-so we can scrape them, smoke the resin, and get high in his memory.
heading to the snack bar at Purity
(that's where the conversation about who's in Brendan's will was...)
watching the cashiers count out - and glad I'm not among them.
looking out the huge glass window
random skaters across the small parking lot
doing tricks in front of the bank.
into the old land rover
on a quest for weed, man...
"You got any buds, guy?"
incense burning as we huddle together in back
holding on as the shockless jeep bangs over bumps in the road.
back to the harbor
boats stirring quietly
the whirring of wheels on pavement.
laughter.
nofx.
skateboards.
cigarettes.
i miss those days.
for a good friend.
there is something to be said for fate.
some don't believe in it.
some believe too strongly.
i know fate somehow brought you to me,
and i'm glad.
i'm happy.
there is something to be said for jealousy.
some have it.
no, everyone has it.
it's just that some have it more than others.
i'm sorry.
there is something to be said for love.
some will never know it.
some will know too much.
i have that curse.
sometimes i really wish i didn't.
there is something to be said about understanding.
some can understand.
some won't.
you understand me so well.
i don't understand you yet.
but i will.
fate. jealousy. love. understanding.
there is something to be said about all these things,
but it would be better to not say anything at all.
