fix it

something strange needs to happen, because kevin is getting on my nerves. i hear he's writing about my tastes in music.

i can't support this.

why would i support this?

preservation

i'm lying the room, which is perfectly dark. haven't left the apartment all day. guitar riffs fading to gray on my tattered headphones. light slips in now, revealing the cracks about and around the door. soon everything is silent. the sound of this nothingness is piercing, crying in my ears. the vibrations pulse, a rhythm of the apartment itself. nothing in this room exists that i need; nothing exists that needs me. everything is still. i have made my escape.

hurt

my pulse is racing, the vessels throbbing in my head. pain is a definite, but why? i know there's got to be some caloric link here, that my eating schedule isn't working, that the agony is preventable. i keep taking the stairs, focused. emerging from underground, smoke and smells nearly floor me. the pungent incense leaves me gasping for breath. why did i do this to myself?

like coming back to life

i'm struggling to capture exactly what has happened to me. perhaps the best way to fail to explain it properly would be to say that the grey shifted back to color, but that doesn't seem quite right. i killed a hot pepper plant this summer, completely forgot to water it, and there's nothing now that can save it. imagine though, if pouring water in the dirt could actually bring that plant back to life. i think that's why i can't reconcile what's happened to me. i feel like that life giving water's been poured over me, then slowly worked its way out to my ears, down into my legs, reanimating me. the problem is, i know people don't work like that, and even plants can't always be saved - sometimes they're too far dead.

frigid

there's something in the air that saps the will out of me. the outdoors are supposed to be a vast expanse, promising, inviting. when the frosty breath of nature meets me at the doorstep, i find little reason to exist. even my own exhalations conspire against me, clouding my way, or leaving an unmistakable trail for the brute whose only aim seems to be my destruction. that cold isn't an external force, or it doesn't simply work from the toes and slowly take me over. it rots away at me from the inside.

habit becomes memory

i feel like i haven't seen the outside world in weeks.  there isn't much point.  the stares, constant pushing past me, noises i can't follow.  in a year or two, i promise i'll be better.  no more of this defeatism.

why not just stay in?

i'm trying to tell a story here, so you're going to have to apologize if i don't make a lot of sense. it's been a long day, maybe a bit of a waste. there's only so much time i need to spend inside my apartment. i wish i was made of chlorophyll or something, like maybe i could just soak in that incandescent light and create all the energy i need. that's it! indoor living - it's not a way of life i'm going to recommend to everyone, but it could work.

ok, i did go outside. for about an hour. i thought about taking my bike, but it was the type of day you don't want to spoil with excess exertion. the grocery store was crowded, as you might expect for a saturday. i was looking for pears. i knew they wouldn't have the red kind, but i was seriously disappointed to discover not a single ripe or sweet-smelling pear in the store. i bought three jars of jam and left.