it's 12:28 a.m., on 2001-07-20 - oz and his shoes.
~
Disclaimer: I have lost a great many of my capital letters. apologies. I'm fucking tired.
I have a latin quiz tomorrow; I'm going to go in the shower tonight, as opposed to tomorrow morning. since this morning, Elizabeth got to the house and I was, ah, not ready. as in, I was still sleeping.
I talk to sheila more and more, but for some reason... it makes me inspired towards buffy less and less. I want to *think* about it but I can't seem to *write* it. do you get that? when you talk to people about something, it becomes to real to literize.
'literize' is Al's word. thank you al.
I'm scattered.
I'm talking to Al. It's a normal talk -- as much as boybands are. I mean, shit. Al is a bad influence. but she's the one that can do it, no one else. I mean, I dunno. I dunno. Whatever.
I'm not in the mood to finish my sentences tonight.
Sheila says (just watch, I'll write the Books of Sheila -- my cult leader, here -- I might as well take fucking notes, I'm such a dork) that she hasn't been able to write in months. I haven't been able to have the inspiration because my mind hasn't been in that place, I haven't been in that place. I can do small things. I can connect through words.
hey, that reminds me. I took a quiz the other day (yeah, I know that's not news) and one of the questions was 'what do you value most' and the answers went something like, 'getting an A+', 'accomplishing a hard task', 'connecting with someone,' um.. 'gardening', whatever. I don't remember. I said 'connecting with someone'.
but I just realized. I don't connect through words. or, yeah, I do, but through literature. not through, speech. which has to be kind of fucked up, yeah?
lance is the tin-man. jc is dorothy. chris is the nagging little dog; joey the lion. justin needs a brain, for sure.
anyway, these are the things that al and I are talking about. Or, it's going like it tends to go with Al and I. She started out saying she was jittery and then I ended up saying twice as much as she did. I fucking hate doing that. I hate that about myself, that is.
every time I do a quiz, I try and decide whether I'm an introvert or an extrovert -- dude, I have to be an extrovert. my voice, it has to go *out* there.
because I have no heart. my heart is gone; I have an emptiness. so my voice has to go out of me. it rattles around inside, otherwise.
yeah, I dunno.
there's an ikea commercial on the radio. I've heard about three fucking songs in half-an-hour on this channel. fuckers.
I don't want to go in the shower. I want to go to bed. therefore, I will. and I will get up at seven as opposed to trying for six.
six is 'sex' in latin.
habeo amore sed haec non possum dicere. cognosciveram multa; nihil est quid te debeo dare.
--whatever. I still suck and that is still totally off.
~*~
I just wrote this at Sheila:
Oz could say it to Willow. 'you're the truest person I know.' he could look away,and she could feel that sting.
'I am?'
Oz would look at his shoes. there's a lot you can tell from a person's shoes. His are dirty. Scuffed. his toes turn in on themselves. 'coward,' he thinks, and nods. "Yeah, um. I should go."
Willow would try and look him in the eyes. "do you have to?"
'I just told you the biggest secret I've got,' he could say, and he could say, 'yeah, um, you're a bitch and you're the person I'm not saying these things to,' and a little bit of 'fuck you'.
but his soes have the tongues sticking out. the laces are knotted. They used to be grey, skate-shoes of course.
his shoes are sticking their tongues out.
Oz grins. Just answers, "yeah, um, I can't stay. Got, stuff."
"Okay. Um." Softer. "Thank you, Oz."
Thank you. as if he meant to do her good.
It's a good thing shoes can't talk. his would probably be shrieking all sorts of secrets that she doesn't want to hear, and most of him doesn't want to say.
The pavement is sticky -- gum. Oz shrugs. "yeah."
She doesn't seem to notice him or his feet not saying, 'you're welcome'.
~*~
So, yeah.
I will sleep. and I don't know the future tense yet so I can't use it. So I'll just say sleep.
boni dormite.
*
Okay, I lied. non vera dixi. One more thing I wanted to say. I mean, there were lots of things I wanted to say, among them being a lot of bitching about my hair, raving about Rossi coming to visit me, melancholy that's for no fucking reason... I don't know. I wanted to try and get in touch with feelings I'm barely remembering. I wanted to explore my separation of love and sex.
I wanted to mention, I don't say 'I love you' (te amo) unless I fucking mean it. I'll casually use any other verb but 'love'. It's like 'I promise' (promitto). I don't say it unless I mean it.
that's like the brad pitt/tyler durden 'that's three times you promise' thing, where you have a little epithet, a little ritual for formalizing something. those 'te amo' and 'promitto' are like that.
um, that's not what I wanted to talk about -- it's just what I thought of just now.
Um.
what was I-- oh yes. I have an emptiness. habeo vacua. I dunno. maybe it'd be vacuum. you can't really say 'have an emptiness'. or if you can, I don't know how.
I'm sure catellus said "I have an emptiness."
I am disconnected. I say 'I am' with 'disconnected'. because it implies a lack, an unworthiness. A chest of tin. it isn't a thing; it's a lack of something. emotion is measured by its lack, right now.
my english grammar is going latin, I think; I'm dropping random words that are unnecessary. like 'the'.
I don't know why I'm being obsessive about language. maybe because I'm not using it very often; my words are missing. mea verta abest. um, yeah.
nelly furtado just came on the radio. I hate her fucking voice. I think it's a sign; I should sleep.
debeo dormire.
~
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