Post by olliequeen on Jul 23, 2007 6:27:09 GMT
I keep having the same dream, over and over again. It's one of those dreams where you relive a memory. This is my dream:
When I was twelve I got a brand new bike. It was bright green, my dad taught me how to fix a baseball card (actually, it was a wrestling card, I think) into the spokes so when I rode around it clicked. I was biking around my neighborhood, came out to where the development ends and Church Road begins, and I was on my bike, my feet on the ground to steady me, when I saw it.
I was at a light, you know, like a four way light. And there was this ambulance coming, I could see it coming on my right, sirens on, lights on, the whole deal. And right in front of me was this car, with his left turn signal on. And it kept inching forward, like it was gonna turn.. if it had just gone ahead and turned before the ambulance started really booking, you know, but instead, sonofabitch, I just had this feeling that he'd turn, and you know, he did- he turned, and that ambulance plowed right into him. It was strange. I can see it now, the car really buckled and the noise was an awful thud. Glass went everywhere. The siren started to cut out and come back in, the tone was changing. The ambulance carried the car for a while before coming to a stop a little into the shoulder. And this car was wrapped around the front of the ambulance, the ambulance itself didn't have a bit of damage, I think, just the lights and everything.
I biked home, I didn't really cry, I was having trouble breathing, and I told it all to my parents, and they called 911, but I remember lying in bed at night and thinking, "What if I'm in an ambulance and we hit a car?"
I always wake up really wiped. I used to think I slept bad, but never like this. The first few hours of every day are a real haze, and then after that, I'm functioning pretty well, and then once night comes, I feel zapped again. Inexplicable. I mean, I am sleeping on floors, mostly, and when I get a bed, it's inevitably cold. Pretty cold here right now, I'd say it's forty degrees outside and in here is about the same. I don't dare build a fire. I used up my last pack of matches on the cigarettes anyway. I've filed up my clothes with paper and other things, but it's so cold. The one thing I'm not lacking for is ammo. I've tried lighting cigarettes by shooting them. It's just a waste of good tobacco.
Last night I busted into here, figured it'd be a good place to spend the night. Somebody must've led all the zacks into a locked reading room, I could hear them slamming and bumping up against the door. I keep hearing this song. My mom was a big fan of Bruce Springsteen, and Atlantic City is one of his best songs. It's mournful. It's dreary, it feels like rain. But it's also a little scary. And the chorus is ringing through my head as I walk down these dark stacks.
"Everything dies, baby, that's a fact,
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back,
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty,
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City."
I've been to Atlantic City, at night you can see the lights from the casinos, the big red names on the roofs, it's very glamorous. I'm writing now and I can hear them, that god awful groaning. Fuck, I can't take it. If I don't finish this, you can guess what happened.
Back. There was only three of them there. Two easy headshots, but one of them was sort of hunched over, and then he came up, and christ, he could run. I ducked out of his way but he grabbed a handful of my shirt and pulled me with him onto a table. I closed up eyes and tried to turn away when I shot him. I've spent the last half an hour trying to find something to clean the blood and the brains off my face. Thank God this place sells t-shirts.
Anyway, I've been reading some Plato. I'm gonna try and find a copy of Meno and leave it here for you. If you've got the space, if you've got the time, you should read it. There's a lot there, and freshman year of college I translated the dialogue from the Greek. It was a pain in the ass, but I can still see Greek in places. I can still hear it. Athanatos. Deathless. A-whatever means anti or opposite-whatever. Apolitical. Nonpolitical. Amoral. Nonmoral. We carried it over from Latin, the Romans got it from Greek. Everything comes from Greece, somehow.
For the past few days these guys have been following me, it's scary as hell. They aren't zs, they're just crazy, I think. I doubt they'll check here, but late at night for the past couple nights I've woken up and heard them singing. They sing, they laugh, it's all awful, and some of their voices sound like people who might not be all there. It's weird. I don't want to offend anyone, but nobody's probably going to read this, so what am I so worried about? Okay. Some of these voices sound like retarded people. I don't have anything against them. I'm just saying, you know. I think some of them are retarded.
Pincher Library (are you near me? Please, please.. tell me somebody's got this place under control. Tell me somebody's keeping it together), 2.12, Oliver Marcus Queen. I think it's near Valentine's Day, but I can never tell. I never had a girlfriend on Valentine's Day anyway.
I keep thinking that if there's anything I've learned the past few days, it's this: you need to let the old days go. Your cat's dead, your family's dead, your chem teacher's dead, and guess what, they're trying to eat you, and if that doesn't throw you for a whorl, apparently, nobody saw this one coming, so nobody's on the way to help. Or they're too busy dealing with something else. Or they're trying to eat you, because they're dead too. I feel like I've killed people, so many people, real actual people, but they're not, don't tell yourself that, they're fake people, plastic people, monsters, they ARE monsters. Even if they ARE people.
Look out for me.
When I was twelve I got a brand new bike. It was bright green, my dad taught me how to fix a baseball card (actually, it was a wrestling card, I think) into the spokes so when I rode around it clicked. I was biking around my neighborhood, came out to where the development ends and Church Road begins, and I was on my bike, my feet on the ground to steady me, when I saw it.
I was at a light, you know, like a four way light. And there was this ambulance coming, I could see it coming on my right, sirens on, lights on, the whole deal. And right in front of me was this car, with his left turn signal on. And it kept inching forward, like it was gonna turn.. if it had just gone ahead and turned before the ambulance started really booking, you know, but instead, sonofabitch, I just had this feeling that he'd turn, and you know, he did- he turned, and that ambulance plowed right into him. It was strange. I can see it now, the car really buckled and the noise was an awful thud. Glass went everywhere. The siren started to cut out and come back in, the tone was changing. The ambulance carried the car for a while before coming to a stop a little into the shoulder. And this car was wrapped around the front of the ambulance, the ambulance itself didn't have a bit of damage, I think, just the lights and everything.
I biked home, I didn't really cry, I was having trouble breathing, and I told it all to my parents, and they called 911, but I remember lying in bed at night and thinking, "What if I'm in an ambulance and we hit a car?"
I always wake up really wiped. I used to think I slept bad, but never like this. The first few hours of every day are a real haze, and then after that, I'm functioning pretty well, and then once night comes, I feel zapped again. Inexplicable. I mean, I am sleeping on floors, mostly, and when I get a bed, it's inevitably cold. Pretty cold here right now, I'd say it's forty degrees outside and in here is about the same. I don't dare build a fire. I used up my last pack of matches on the cigarettes anyway. I've filed up my clothes with paper and other things, but it's so cold. The one thing I'm not lacking for is ammo. I've tried lighting cigarettes by shooting them. It's just a waste of good tobacco.
Last night I busted into here, figured it'd be a good place to spend the night. Somebody must've led all the zacks into a locked reading room, I could hear them slamming and bumping up against the door. I keep hearing this song. My mom was a big fan of Bruce Springsteen, and Atlantic City is one of his best songs. It's mournful. It's dreary, it feels like rain. But it's also a little scary. And the chorus is ringing through my head as I walk down these dark stacks.
"Everything dies, baby, that's a fact,
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back,
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty,
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City."
I've been to Atlantic City, at night you can see the lights from the casinos, the big red names on the roofs, it's very glamorous. I'm writing now and I can hear them, that god awful groaning. Fuck, I can't take it. If I don't finish this, you can guess what happened.
Back. There was only three of them there. Two easy headshots, but one of them was sort of hunched over, and then he came up, and christ, he could run. I ducked out of his way but he grabbed a handful of my shirt and pulled me with him onto a table. I closed up eyes and tried to turn away when I shot him. I've spent the last half an hour trying to find something to clean the blood and the brains off my face. Thank God this place sells t-shirts.
Anyway, I've been reading some Plato. I'm gonna try and find a copy of Meno and leave it here for you. If you've got the space, if you've got the time, you should read it. There's a lot there, and freshman year of college I translated the dialogue from the Greek. It was a pain in the ass, but I can still see Greek in places. I can still hear it. Athanatos. Deathless. A-whatever means anti or opposite-whatever. Apolitical. Nonpolitical. Amoral. Nonmoral. We carried it over from Latin, the Romans got it from Greek. Everything comes from Greece, somehow.
For the past few days these guys have been following me, it's scary as hell. They aren't zs, they're just crazy, I think. I doubt they'll check here, but late at night for the past couple nights I've woken up and heard them singing. They sing, they laugh, it's all awful, and some of their voices sound like people who might not be all there. It's weird. I don't want to offend anyone, but nobody's probably going to read this, so what am I so worried about? Okay. Some of these voices sound like retarded people. I don't have anything against them. I'm just saying, you know. I think some of them are retarded.
Pincher Library (are you near me? Please, please.. tell me somebody's got this place under control. Tell me somebody's keeping it together), 2.12, Oliver Marcus Queen. I think it's near Valentine's Day, but I can never tell. I never had a girlfriend on Valentine's Day anyway.
I keep thinking that if there's anything I've learned the past few days, it's this: you need to let the old days go. Your cat's dead, your family's dead, your chem teacher's dead, and guess what, they're trying to eat you, and if that doesn't throw you for a whorl, apparently, nobody saw this one coming, so nobody's on the way to help. Or they're too busy dealing with something else. Or they're trying to eat you, because they're dead too. I feel like I've killed people, so many people, real actual people, but they're not, don't tell yourself that, they're fake people, plastic people, monsters, they ARE monsters. Even if they ARE people.
Look out for me.