And so i'm sitting here and i'm thinking-- "indecisive", saying it aloud
slowly; syllable by syllable. in-de-ci-sive... And i begin to wonder, what
kind of connotation is tied to the end of a word like that? Because, i guess
it's true. Yeah, i know.. it's true.
i'm seventeen. And in nine months i'll be eighteen.. and then i'll have it
all figured out, right? i'll have me all figured, right?.. and so, i'll have
You all figured out, right?...
I've been told before- I'm animated. I get excited about ice cream... live
music in cafes... rain.. free samples.. not spilling anything on myself, [or
anyone else]... talking to strangers on the bus... playing my
guitar... skirts i can twirl in... the smell of old books...
Do you dance?.. Tell the truth. When nobody is home; do you pick out your
favorite disco compacto and blare it while
swayingrunningjumpingtwirlingspinning around the house? Should i believe
you?
I heard a saying not so long ago- in a monologue: "All cats are gray in
the dark." perhaps you've heard it too..?
I wrote a story once. The characters were generic. That's what my teacher
wrote in his critique. It was too short the class said. Too many unanswered
questions; not enough dialogue. But they liked the last line.. a few of them
told me. The last line was good...
I wrote a play once. It made no sense. nothing really happened in it. The
characters came and went, and came and went, but never said anything.. "The
play begins where you end it" the teacher said, "you need a point of
departure."
I once bought a cd just because i liked the front cover so much. It
displayed a bedroom, containing only the few basic components needed to
label it so. The walls were unadorned and colorless. The bed was narrow with a
tall headpost. It's mattress had been fitted with a tight bed sheet,
exhibiting no wrinkles; as if no one had ever rested upon it. In the corner
stood a dresser that would have completely blended into the wall if not for
the mirror leaning against it. The reflection shown a plain door; lacking a
handle or knob... The only un-gray detail was a bright orange box sitting on
the bed. It's color was so bright that it almost appeared to be glowing. I
imagined it hot; so hot that at any given moment it might burn a whole
through the mattress. But the room was still gray.. cold; uninterested; and
empty. I could empathize.
i still have that cd.. i'm not sure where it is though. If i look hard
enough i'm sure i'll find it. It probably fell behind my desk under a pile
of unfinished stories, attempted plays, and countless poems...
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