if time's elimination then we got nothing to lose
fuuuucckkkk
she fucking died. goddamnnnn.
broke my motherfucking heart. if i can't have her, the main character should. and i don't know how he survived. how can he live? i couldn't, what with all that shit going on. i would fucking die.
the camera won't let me go.
stood outside leaning against the railing tonight, fifth floor at the beach. long island, she curves around like an old finger, the throbbing point of the lookout lighthouse over what should be ocean. from the soundside to the mainland, from frost to morehead city, from beaufort to the boardwalk, from the sheraton to the beach in front of us... eight seperate fireworks shows. i set my camera on the level of the railing and shot frame after frame. stretching it out, six seconds a snap, eight. at those times, the fireworks fade into each other. the moonlight off the island all filters in and the darkness of the land glows green. it's something.
walk down to the shore where the sand is perfect after nightfall. the softest, whitest, coolest sand i know. after a while, the mid-seventies patrol suburban pulls out from the access and blinds us with a couple spotlights. flip the siren a couple times, a lit firework goes ahead and fires right in front of them. there's no apologies tonight. soon as they pass, another lights, no reason to save them. i have a frightening shot (3.2 sec) of the suburban with all its lights passing a couple standing people. the movement of the lights and the back-shadow cause the people to look like simple shadows of real life, like creatures escaped from a government compound. we sauntered (like ostriches) up the access steps to the pool where the steel band was still playing. set my camera on the fence and caught a glowing shot of the entire area. the condo a deep rusty red, the plants in front green, the band members glowing bright but fuzzy with movement, the dancing people all suggestive shadows.
i set up in a different spot along the fence halfway around and after shooting a couple frames look back to see a girl looking at me from her porch. i put the camera away, spoke to my dad, and walked back to our porch, didn't look back.
last night i dreamed i was fighting world war II in my backyard. we were holed up along the fence down by the creek. some guy was told to take out his canteen but he didn't have one. i realized i didn't have any idea where mine was if i had it. so many things strapped to me. we ended up running up the field, although i don't remember looking forward as much as side-to-side. i don't remember if i made it or just woke up.
burt munro said that you live more in five minutes going fast on a motorcycle than most people do in their entire lifetimes. where is my fucking motorcycle? the old triumph... the tiger or bonneville. freedom. i want some goddamn freedom. i don't know how this year is going to work. i need to do better... much better. and i can... if i spent fifteen hours studying for every fucking exam. but what if i take that damned job at the hospital? shoot for the paper? play soccer? get drunk on soco every chance i get... i'm afraid this will turn into a work hard-party hard year and that's not really my style. god save me.
i want to be addicted to something. i want to know that fury. better cigarettes than alcohol or heroin or the rock. fucking shit would still kill me, though. sure as day, it would be the end of me. unless the motorcycle takes me first. i think i wouldn't mind, though. maybe exercise... if anything, at least it would help. if only drugs weren't so expensive...
santa just told a lie
she fucking died. goddamnnnn.
broke my motherfucking heart. if i can't have her, the main character should. and i don't know how he survived. how can he live? i couldn't, what with all that shit going on. i would fucking die.
the camera won't let me go.
stood outside leaning against the railing tonight, fifth floor at the beach. long island, she curves around like an old finger, the throbbing point of the lookout lighthouse over what should be ocean. from the soundside to the mainland, from frost to morehead city, from beaufort to the boardwalk, from the sheraton to the beach in front of us... eight seperate fireworks shows. i set my camera on the level of the railing and shot frame after frame. stretching it out, six seconds a snap, eight. at those times, the fireworks fade into each other. the moonlight off the island all filters in and the darkness of the land glows green. it's something.
walk down to the shore where the sand is perfect after nightfall. the softest, whitest, coolest sand i know. after a while, the mid-seventies patrol suburban pulls out from the access and blinds us with a couple spotlights. flip the siren a couple times, a lit firework goes ahead and fires right in front of them. there's no apologies tonight. soon as they pass, another lights, no reason to save them. i have a frightening shot (3.2 sec) of the suburban with all its lights passing a couple standing people. the movement of the lights and the back-shadow cause the people to look like simple shadows of real life, like creatures escaped from a government compound. we sauntered (like ostriches) up the access steps to the pool where the steel band was still playing. set my camera on the fence and caught a glowing shot of the entire area. the condo a deep rusty red, the plants in front green, the band members glowing bright but fuzzy with movement, the dancing people all suggestive shadows.
i set up in a different spot along the fence halfway around and after shooting a couple frames look back to see a girl looking at me from her porch. i put the camera away, spoke to my dad, and walked back to our porch, didn't look back.
last night i dreamed i was fighting world war II in my backyard. we were holed up along the fence down by the creek. some guy was told to take out his canteen but he didn't have one. i realized i didn't have any idea where mine was if i had it. so many things strapped to me. we ended up running up the field, although i don't remember looking forward as much as side-to-side. i don't remember if i made it or just woke up.
burt munro said that you live more in five minutes going fast on a motorcycle than most people do in their entire lifetimes. where is my fucking motorcycle? the old triumph... the tiger or bonneville. freedom. i want some goddamn freedom. i don't know how this year is going to work. i need to do better... much better. and i can... if i spent fifteen hours studying for every fucking exam. but what if i take that damned job at the hospital? shoot for the paper? play soccer? get drunk on soco every chance i get... i'm afraid this will turn into a work hard-party hard year and that's not really my style. god save me.
i want to be addicted to something. i want to know that fury. better cigarettes than alcohol or heroin or the rock. fucking shit would still kill me, though. sure as day, it would be the end of me. unless the motorcycle takes me first. i think i wouldn't mind, though. maybe exercise... if anything, at least it would help. if only drugs weren't so expensive...
santa just told a lie
posted by sunshine at 11:59 PM
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