there is simply not enough time in the day or the week or the life to write all that I feel, to share all I experience, to create all I imagine (no less find others who can and want to and will share the experiences and heart and mind I find within me and them as much as I wish to and can and will share)...

and these May-flies that have moved into this living space because of the pile of dirty pots and pans and dishes my roommies leave in the sink are quite distracting, to the point of being annoying enough for me to spray outdoor fogger bug spray in the apartment... and the spray is not working yet, which is even more distracting and annoying...

besides, don't they know what month this is?...

what can motivate people to clean their living space, I wonder... and then I look at my personal space here in this shared living space and find I've grown sloppier and more cluttered than I've ever been... weeks go by without doing laundry... so paper and CDs and stuff piles up all around me... it is startling to wake up to see the laziness and messiness around me when it is of my own making...

how easily our consumerism creates clutter... how easily I slide back into the human waste we can all become... and then I look in the mirror in my mind and laugh pathetically at what I see... how self-neglected I am... how ritualistic habits borne of laziness and procrastination and apathy have become... this self-pathetic self-destructive lifestyle is condemnation of all the incomplete and incorrect decisions I've made over the years, a lifetime of failures punished by daily living...

ugly is a fat, lazy, wasteful, mess...

and some will understand this perspective well, though perhaps not knowing precisely what I mean, whether I am relating to myself or others, whether I am within my own mind or projecting into others or creating a character out of those I observe... or pure fiction, perhaps, out of thin air or stories I once read... you must be here to know the score, and even then, you might not actually understand the game... or know who is winning, or losing, or playing, if there really are such things...

there is simply not enough time to explore all the nuances, the layers, the passages through the maze in my head, a mind that I loosely call mine...

but I wish someone would find the time, make the time to explore even more than I do, to inspire me to explore more (can we afford such luxury?... once, I could, but that was during a few years when no one shared the depths in physical spaces... and oh what fine shape I was in then, dancing wildly until well past dawn, running miles a day, eating vegetarian, living a wonderfully relaxed life of leisure... and before then, when someone did, it was too easy to escape to the surface by being way too busy working and going to school and share being happy there... yet happiness can be incomplete, and it was, and yet still enough to live with... sometimes... for a while... if you know what I mean)...

compromise is a fickle creature that can bite the hand that feeds it as easily as it can seem to satisfy... when I forget this, I am more apt to be bitten...

and how deep will you pretend to go before you claim to fall in love, how much will you accept not knowing while still giving your blind faith?... your answer only matters if you want to be here or if you want to live...

personally, I've been used enough in this lifetime so choosing to be used again would be a rather unlikely experience, especially since I am no longer easily seduced by human flesh, no matter how nubile or firm (feel free to test me... or inspire the literary lusts I used to love to indulge... fantasies are still fun)... though emotionally I am as open and vulnerable as ever, I find that leaving the body sharing out of it allows me some modicum of self and survival psychologically... wouldsth thou make good sense of that, feel free to explain it to me...

I smile at words, knowing they are out there, and right here, and not seeing my eyes... do your eyes smile or cry or both or do other things, squint, cringe, look away, stare wondering... when reading me?... I am most attracted to words than do all of the above to my eyes (Stephen King, Robert Heinlein, Douglas Adams, Richard Bach, James Redfield, Charles Dickens, Neil Gaimen, George Carlin, and others I often leave out like Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, and me and you)...

wishing you were here...

but there is simply not enough time to share enough to forge the bonds that bridge the time and space between us, that inspire the courage to pick up the phone and get on the road (or plane) and knock on the door, to find the embrace or rejection, the understanding or the burst bubble... too often the latter is probable, so why risk it...

but then, why else live?

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)