it's 10:59 pm, on April 01, 2002 - listlessness.

~

A short, sharp warning -- this is as depressive as everything I've been saying has been, life ticking away, etc etc. The gray hasn't really lifted much lately. Anyway. Move along.

Yeah, so.

There's this gal, Kitty, who, it feels like she hopped on the back of my bumper and just sat there, all casual, and now it feels like she belongs there.

I'm a big, big, big believer in signs and portents. Well, not a believer. I'm not much of a believer. But I'm a superstitious person, which means, things might be true. Therefore, one must be careful anyway, whether you believe or not. So anyway, I'm skimming through diaryland, and I find out that Kitty, over there, is reading "On the road."

Pause for suitably nostalgic music.

Then she quoted a little bit of it, and brought up this whole other thing that made me go 'pop'. --also, it referenced Al, and also, she's enjoying it. So. Pause for suitably ironic music.

See, I never dug Kerouac like everyone else. I always looked at him and thought he was a liar. An unintentional liar, but a liar nonetheless. He's selling the dream of the open road -- and it's a sale, like anything else -- only nowadays, that dream's just not there. It's not romantic. It's cold and dirty. So says my sense of liking hot showers, anyway. So the short version of the story is, I don't believe in prophets. They're full of shit.

But Kitty's enjoying Kerouac, and that's the important thing.

I'm on my sister's computer, still, because mine is still broken. Still. It's karma. Kismet. Whatever you call it. Something is telling me to give up on both the road and the information superhighway, I think. As such, I'm going to hide in my room a lot and listen to CDs.

I helped Will move again today. His boyfriend is much less pretentious than he is. I like his boyfriend. Life continues to go forward-- I saw monkeys. I want to be a monkey. Etc. etc.

This is another filler entry, mostly to name drop some people and talk about monkeys. Back to the grind, the looking down the sight of life as tunnelvision and seeing those fifty years or more where I could be alive, and working, and getting and giving nothing, and working, and living. A long, long, tunnel. Back to seeing everything in terms of money, either having it or not. --well, actually, back to my room and a lot of CDs.

~

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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015

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