"lit by moonlight or dawning"
2004-08-29 1:20 a.m.

lately, i don't go to sleep. i have too much to wait for and going to sleep means that i can't think about any of it and it so completely needs to be thought through. thinking, like anything else, can become an awakened addiction. something you never knew you had. much like the 20 dollar bill in last winter's coat or the will of iron you grab hold of when you're almost about to tumble. or the beam of brightness that escapes from behind your eyes as you feel something which i know now you won't ever feel again. futures are not at all difficult to predict at one in the morning. its predicting them in a lucid hour that fucks up that whole prediction process.

i miss a boy calling me baby. sick, isn't it. i want to called be that again and called that easily. without thought, just a well known fact fallen in the background, that of course i'm your baby. what else would i ever want to be?

hey check it out, i'm supposed to take the lsat in a month and i haven't signed up nor cracked a "prepare your soul for a life long sale" lsat prep book. like hell i want to be a lawyer. i just need to be something, though, and people get pushy, and when they're your parents, you just lean in the direction you're pushed, and its for their sake you pretend like their exertion has actually caused your displacement.

i hit 114 which is both a boast and an embarrassment. i'm learning more and more that real live normal individuals probably see me as quite damaged or deranged. though, it doesn't bother me except when i want to make a friend, see a movie, be alive, relate, breathe in and out, keep honest. you just cannot tell people you've been locked up four times, soon to be five. you just cannot do that, sarah. lies are your friend. duh.

whatever. i hate this entry. just fuck me for being inspired to try again. and fuck bukowski because 90 percent of his work is shit, and half of that is just a repeat of the first 45 percent. not that i'm original, but i can only read so many similar sentences about racetracks. cause my dog is dying. properly food fucked that i am, i feed her french fries and mcnuggets in these, her remaining days. i can't write about her. or make any vague but seemingly weighty remarks. it kills, you know? of course you do.

< new older former mail book notes profile design host >