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Sunday, Apr. 11, 2004 / 3:07 p.m. ~I Want More Photos of Flowers In His Yard, More Writing of How Much We Are Alike~ I actually forgot to update my diary yesterday, which is odd considering I was online all evening. I've been cruising Friendster a lot (I need testimonials, come on, where are my 'friends'?), chatting on the chat programs (not always terribly productive, but it's a decent method of communication if you type fast), reading new journals, and plenty of etcetera. No, we don't spell out etcetera enough. Is that even the correct spelling? And why is it so popularly abbreviated, why don't people actually spell it, it can't be that difficult, can it? Moving right along, I posted this little bit of free form experimental writing in my LiveJournal recently and I thought I'd cross post it here, just to make up for missing yesterday. I know that this is a big religious holiday, yes? Something to do with Jesus? And Bunnies? And eggs? So, it's Pagan, Jewish, Christian, all sorts of religions and observances rolled into one? Should I be eating eggs or something? Celebrating the fecundity, the fertility, the giant bunny, or the what would Jesus do man himself? I plan to watch last week's "Guiding Light"s on tape, as my coworker with whom I share them (er, the tapes) has seen previews and assures me I won't believe what REALLY happened to Maryanne Carruthers [sic]! CanNOT wait. Herewith, the cross posting:::::: You're walking down a street you know, you know everything you'll see along the way, but you've never been there before. Her voice is in your head, words you've heard so many times before, words you forget as soon as they're spoken. Street lights illuminate grass that's wet below, and the sun is still shining in the night. Cicadas sing so loudly you cover your ears and wish cars would pass, anything, any other sound to block this out, all of it, noises, sounds in your head, so loud it hurts, your head pounds with it all. You're in your bed dreaming you're walking down a street you know, you know it like you've traveled it, you've walked down this street, every day of your life, everything you see along the way, and his voice is in your head, words you've heard before, but never wanted to, and inside you're singing to block the sound of it, and birds are singing unpleasant tunes, a mad cacophany of animal noise, mating calls and rituals, and you wish a car would pass, a truck, something loud, no muffler, a sports car, driver shifting gears, shifting mad gears going faster. You know this street, you hear your own footfalls on pavement gravel grass concrete, loud, you want to hear anything but what's here. And then she's dreaming she's you lying in your bed, dreaming you're walking down a street you know so well you know everything you'll see along the way, the street lights illuminating the grass wet below, the sun shining in the night, cicadas singing louder and louder, and she's dreaming she's you in your bed, lying dreaming she's walking down this street, hearing birds singing, and they're squawking, not singing, and there are voices in her your head and she starts to sing to make it stop and she hears a sports car, a loud car, driver shifting mad gears faster no muffler and gravel is beneath her your feet, she slips you fall and your foot jerks in the bed and you wake up in a sweat. Cost of the War in Iraq
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Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
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