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2000-08-08
I slept late again today. Late is, of course, a highly subjective term. I got up at noon. That has at other times been the norm for me, sometimes even my bedtime. I'm calling it late because I could've gotten up earlier, but I didn't bother.
Marble came over again today and we watched The City of Lost Children. It's a really neat little movie. The scripting and plotting is a little awkward at times... it's set in a very "Dark City" type of place... though it is a normal town, it seems to be caught in a perpetual twilight. This makes it harder to gauge how time passes. It's a very nice movie visually, conceptually. One of the last true "fantasy" movies... they haven't made too many of those recently.
It started raining halfway through the movie, (a truly rare event in southern Texas) and we ran outside to watch the rain for a while. I got a nice recording of water dripping into a puddle in the back yard that I'd like to use for some project.
After that, Marble sat with Kitty (whose health, it seems, is still improving) for a while in Eric's room while he yelled his muddled stories and decontextualized, half-complete anecdotes at her over the top of Ren & Stimpy. We later went back to my room and finished the movie.
I was quite giddy for a while after she left, but watching bits and pieces of shows like American Highschool or whatever it's called and the Real World (they have some excellent guys on that show... all except for that one with the orange bug-eye sun glasses) I was seized by feelings of isolation and regret. (i have known them all already, known them all- I have seen the mornings, evenings, afternoons, I've measured out my life with coffee spoons) Give yourself ten points if you recognize that quote/paraphrase. It's typed from memory so it's probably not accurate to the punctuation and possibly phrasology, but it fits my mood.
You know what would make me a lot happier? Dropping my pride, my vanity, and my insecurities. Hopelessly insecure and seeking praise, too proud to seek it in all but the most oblique ways, nurturing that with vain but hollow self-assurances. I want to immerse myself in the world as much as I want to banish it from my consciousness and wish it dead. (I close my eyes and all the world drops dead/ I lift my lids and all is born again. I think I made you up inside my head.) Meanwhile, I filled my empty days with books, TV, videogames. I've measured out my life in metered verse/ the CRT/ the crushing weight of memory/ the lapse of possibility.
I have my writing, but take a close look at the URL at the top of your screen. It's Diaryland. This page... this body is only one six billionth of the world beyond the narrow self. A drop in the info-glutted binary ocean. Is communication really possible in such a voice-cluttered world?
The growing-up process is simply a narrowing of possibilities and learning to cope with their continually shrinking nature.
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