openroadsong: March 2003 Archives

hope i have more to say than i think. the emptiness of this text box is demanding i fill it, and whether or not i can comply, i am compelled, impelled, and the next word that occurs is impaled, sometimes i really miss my own point (or nail it, and not know it until well after the fact but not this time. really.) (wait: nail, impale, ... no. nice try though.) the words they fuck with me. occasionally the other way 'round but not this time. no.

the process is frustration in a form pure as the scream screamed screaming down the freeway at something approaching terminal velocity, however these things are memories mostly, i'm slower by far here now at my age although i never touched the brakes, not once.

do i miss fast? is this a loss? am i beyond being that raw? risking it all and more and it was just me, my one bare toe on the pedal feathering the throttle until it was wide fucking open and so was i, flying mindless of consequences, honest i was open to them, i deserved them, whether i was fully aware of it at the time or oblivious. (both. i was both.) this was me seriously bent upon my own destruction, i just failed at it, is all. to this day i never quarrel over getting what's coming to me, i know oh so much better.

i miss the purity of that willingness, that utterly fucked up careless place i survived beyond only by some random accident of fortune. and i miss raw. i miss that reckless existence, fast as the gear ratio would allow at the top end, i miss nothing mattering in the end, this i miss most of all.

no, i don't. yes, no, wait, maybe, yes. yes. no. yes.

fuck if i know.

and on my way down i was startled to find a young man standing outside the glass reading something intently, two thirty am. and i had to wonder, while i waited for him to go, for i had forgotten the oddness of the hour and now (later i mean) it occurs to me my mother's voice had a hand in this, there are weird people out at that time of night, it whispers; i remember my smartass backsass response, yes i'm one of them.

and i was all nerves across the parking lot i mean i fled, breathless, suddenly a stranger to the night's weirdos, having crossed over to the sensible, weird-fearing portion of the populace.

a small loss, probably for the best.

and home is of course brooding over my absence. however here things need doing and finding and arranging into logic. here the spaces are thick with energy, not at all unlike the humming compressor of the displaced refrigeration unit amidst the clutter, which is anything but random. here illumination falls in deliberate ways without revealing any reason. here a tiring and difficult day hangs heavy in the air not at all unlike the smoke wafting from my ashtray, dammit. i could expend all my healing energy flinging it into the shadows and know it is not my place to do so, and then do it, defiant, on my slow unsteady way down, out, and on home.

it was becoming seven-ish and things were in the air, winged things which always seemed to have forgotten the way.

i followed, i always seem to follow.

there are more categories than posts. various themes have been considered but no one theme would suffice; there are two, maybe three of them in use at this point, though i am not convinced the 'lyrics from metal songs about cars' categories will ever prove useful; just not my cup of innuendo anymore. the thesaurus theme's here to stay, since this very URL happened during one of my extensive synonym binges. (the feckless dot com is a blog too, but has fallen into disuse) (which makes me want it very badly) (in fact my e-loins are tingling just thinking about it) (i wonder if e-loins.com is available?) (it is.)

i could sit here all night attempting to arrange the contents of my brain into lexical and inflectional derivations, forming them into the phonological realization of the morphological categories they represent, thereby discovering which lexical stems have undergone derivation and why sweedish cats are un-suffixed, and never manage to prove one single thing exists, not even a word. [source]

and i would still have categories left over.

tonight I feel ambitious and so does my foot as it sinks on the pedal, i press it to the floor, adding a little extra-grammatical referent right here at the end.