You caught me by surprise.

You caught me by surprise. When I was least expecting it. I couldn't hide my eyes. So next time I'll follow Watterson in his unsurpassed wit. Instead of just stammering out a useless reply.

Next time you ask I'll know what to say. I'll do it the Calvin way.

I do Not BELiEvE iN LovE. THERE is NoNE at FiRst siGHt oR EvER. aLL is imaGiNaRY and LovE iN tHE tEMPoRaL SENSE is aN iLLuSioN. THis QuEstioN, tHEREFoRE, is MEaNiNGLEss aNd iMPossiBLE to aNSwER.

But you know I don't believe it.

Wish There was Something I could say...

Sometimes... I run out of words.
Sometimes... I type forever and delete it all.
Sometimes... I write one line and let it sit.
Sometimes... I find that nothing I write fits.
Sometimes... I just give up.
but
Every Time... I start over again.
Every Time... I finally know what I want to say.
Every Time... I write it all somehow.
Every Time... I finally let it all out.
Every Time... I find a way to make it work.

Sometimes I wish people were more like words. I would be able to mold and fit them to my life, my mood, my needs. But then Every Time I realize that working with words is more difficult than most people.

Sail On, On a Distant Highway...

Darkness surrounds you in the worst of times. As your speed away from the beast of your minds. Alone in this world with no one in sight. Only the stars and your headlights shining bright. Nothing to see to distract your thoughts. Nothing is different other than being distraught. Your mind is racing with the world. All because of one damn girl. And when the end meets the end, you've had all you can take. You end up making that one phone call you never thought you'd make.

It helped. And you kept on keepin' on.

It keeps on rollin'

Written on my hand these comforting words streak across my wrinkles as the ink spreads.
It slowly dries until it is forever embedded into my skin, well at least until water erases the thought! I am not to a permanent level. Yet.
You see I am just wasting away. My time, my mind, my life. Each slow step progresses forward. Each new message only a limited relief. Something to talk about for a day. Or two. Different colours. Different ideas. Creativity at its limited fineness. Because these words only stay put until the soap sold by the big market retailer sends them spiraling down the drain.

*Did you know that the Coriolis Effect (the one which sends water spiraling down drains one way or the other depending if you're north or south of the equator) only works in large scale things? So the toilet or the sink doesn't spin different in Australia... most toilets shoot the water at angles anyway so the water spins the direction Kohler wants it to really.*

I'd rather buy my soap from 5th street I think. In my hometown I always went to the small grocery store that nobody frequented rather than the big name that we all know and love. Even when it cost just a bit more. Hell, maybe it wasn't to support them. Maybe it was just to smile at that same old lady behind the counter everytime and listen to her call me "sonny-boy" as she handed me my foodstuffs. Simply because no one else had ever called me that before...

But we live in a beautiful world. No matter where I buy my peanut butter from, or which way the water spins, or even what words I write on my hands day after endless day. It still makes me smile every time I see the sun. It still makes me happy to see someone. And even though I (personally) hate the sight of a dove. No matter where I look on this godforsaken earth, I can't help but find love.
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I guess it will all work out after all!

Time doesn't wait for me.

We'll break the world into pieces. And die for a hopeless cause.
Running around in circles, wishing we could just push pause.
Picking and choosing our desires, nothing else could be higher.
We'll proclaim our loyalty in unabashed voices.
This sense of freedom is just like our t-shirt choices.
In the end we'll see that it was all just a waste of time.
Clogging our heads, filling our minds.
And yet we'll never get out alive.
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Have you ever thought that maybe we cry simply because we can?
Our stance for the world is simply another mode of self-expression.
The self proclaimed importance of our lives is just there to fill up the empty space.
For without it we'd be lost.
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So we fight and die for an ideal.Something that may not even be real.
In the end we sense all the madness and we'll know that it did not exist.
But it will be to late. Because of our intensity our lives will disintegrate.



So one may ask, why do I even try? If I already know that it's hopeless?
I'm wondering that myself.