my love is like a cuban plane

i thought i had something to say tonight.

there was a girl in the coffee shop a couple hours ago. i was sitting in one of the big chairs in the corner, trying to read while being wholly consumed by the music from my laptop. daydreaming mostly. see, she was sitting on a couch in the other corner, doing something or other. just her. i couldn't decide if i'd seen her before, didn't have a good angle, but she was familiar. but i sat there thinking... how do i meet someone like that? how is it i become friends - or closer - to a complete stranger? it's not something i've done before, not without extenuating circumstances. classes, labs together, mutual friends etc. for some reason, i dreamed she'd walk over to me and ask me for my favorite album of all time. i'd ask her if she meant my favorite right now and when she agreed, i'd have to tell her it was the soundtrack i was listening to. in the daydream, she just nods and walks away. i call after her, stop her, walk over and talk to her, not because i'm offended or anything but because that's exactly something i see myself doing. and i would tell her, well, how about a top seven? ten? i hate excluding things.

after a while, she started putting her stuff away and i watched through the hair that fell in front of my face. before she walked out she put on this camouflage jacket that i knew i'd seen before... in film class. somehow we would talk, maybe because of this albums discussion. i'd sit next to her in film and be painfully aware that i switched seats and feel like everybody else notices too. someday she'd ask me what it is about her i liked anyway, having never met her. and i'd tell her: the way you dress. the way you handle yourself. how you're quiet but don't appear shy. how you sit alone on the side aisle in film class (i can't think of any other girls who don't sit with other girls)... basically, how you are so self-contained and seemingly ok with everything that goes on. you don't need people. how you walk back up to north campus alone. it's refreshing. it's how i am. (oh, and you're beautiful too)

and even though that momentary dream is wonderful in itself... i can't help but wonder what the hell she would say about me.

i realized for the hundredth time a couple days ago at the beach that whenever i write, i tend to say the same thing. not because i mean to, i just fall into a comfortable conversation. and whenever i get to writing about that (what really matters) i always think of the same things, the same people, the same person, first. does that mean anything?


and yeah, i know exactly what would make me happy.

put out the fire on us

i wish...

and i wish you knew what i was thinking of...

the tv is five decibels too loud but maybe just because it's a commercial with a guy explaining what's happened on nbc soaps this week. he doesn't know that, when explained, soaps are the dumbest things on god's green earth. it's mostly dark. there are twenty eight sources of light that i can see from here, and the reflections of two more. i scan my buddy list and find only one person i'd love to have send me a message but she doesn't. i don't really know her anyway, just like to. the cheese cubes are getting old and i'm running low on milk. the guy on leno doesn't understand that dancing and lip-synching isn't impressive. i can tell muted.

earlier, i walked out to the top of the dunes with my mother and looked around. the first thing i saw was the tripod - a la war of the worlds - sitting in the ocean. i didn't see anyone aboard. the waves were breaking on it's legs. like a lifeguard stand from our mechanized future. there were pipes laying down the beach as far as i could see, rusted metal, four feet across. i asked my mother why they couldn't make prettier pipes. two big, complicated ships rumbled away.

forty minutes ago, i eased back the curtains and saw lights over the dunes. eerie. i went in my room, put on my shoes, and found my camera. unlocked the sliding door, closed it behind me, and slipped out into the courtyard. the lights were coming from a big, rumbling disaster offshore. spotlights everywhere, scanning the water. moving slowly, west to east. a single blinking light off the stern a hundred yards or so. i took to the shadows by habit and walked all the way to the fence. my camera didn't like the darkness without a flash, and preferred to be frustrating. looking back, i probably should have forced the iso up a good bit and seen what happened. didn't think of it then, though. i stood at the fence for a while before walking down to the well-lit (which bothered me) beach entrance. i made sure, walking out there, to turn off the redeye on my camera so there wouldn't be a red light on the front. after a while, i wandered back along the fence and stood a little while longer. the tripod (which had mysteriously moved out into the surf earlier, while i was watching) was now beached and listing seaward. there were spotlights all over the beach near it. i stood by the fence and saw someone walking towards me from about 40 yards off. i put the camera away and watched the ship some more, paying attention to every step they took. i was sure they'd come confront me about something or another, but the security guard woman walked on past and continued on around the complex. almost odd, considering we were the only two people out there.

i noticed three men on the fifth floor watching me as i walked back.

the jeep is running better. a couple days ago, after deconstructing and reassembling the steering wheel a couple times, we got down to the carburetor. the choke was stuck open for some reason (it's supposed to be mostly closed, aside for an 1/8" or so, when cold... opens when the engine heats up). this was why it was so damn difficult to start... one reason anyway. fiddling with it didn't help at all. we got it started with help from the truck and adjusted the idle screw on the back till she idled about 700 rpm. this is up from 400 or so it was at, no wonder it would keep dying in the middle of turns when she was cold. from there, screwed in the two front screws all the way (it died again, a good sign - our carb is probably dirty but not that dirty) and then out 1 1/2 turns to see where we stood. it ran rough and a little slower than 700 so we screwed them out another turn and it seemed happier. it was nice to have her running smoother and healthier so we took her out for a run around the neighborhood to which she responded wonderfully, which was encouraging. shouldn't have had to had the screws out that far, though, so we're looking into a new carb. also checked the fuses for that damn closed circuit but didn't find anything. just have to keep the battery disconnected when not in use... we did pull all the radio wires so maybe that's it... who knows?

i just hope if i have to take summer school at state, that it will be in good enough condition to drive out there every day. i think i'll spend a good amount of time at starbucks, although maybe only on lab days. still... three hours? too much time to waste.

i need to kill these daydreams of apartments. save them for next year anyway. there's one good one, though, but it involves a senior girl i'll probably never meet, bad circumstances for her, being in the right place at the right time, having an apartment, and some strange and unlikely things happening. still, it ends up happily for everyone. i haven't yet learned that daydreams can turn into reality but only if i do something about it. i prefer to pretend i don't know that.

i keep thinking i should live while i'm young. makes me think of joining a gym near state and boxing after class. buying that goddamned motorcycle and being dangerous (even though i'm convinced i wouldn't be). i don't know quite how that will work, seeing as i have no money (at all) but i guess that's what jobs were made for. i usually think of an old speed triple or ducati monster but i saw this '95 daytona on ebay a couple days ago that's just stolen my heart. black, of course. the two headlights remind me of a robot. not too much plastic, but a more comfortable amount. there's always the gsx-r, r6, and cbr... but those feel almost... cliche. who the fuck knows? i have no money.



anyway, i love you but i'm learning not to. it's ok, i guess nothing will change.

wilson

on the bathroom wall was written "i love ann coulter." i scratched out the first two words and added a couple. now it reads "ann coulter is going to hell." it's that kind of night.

just... frustrated. i don't get mad, i just frustrate. and hey, i didn't... hold on a sec. i just de-friended a kid i went to high school with because she writes too damn fucking many facebook notes/changes her status and i'm fucking sick of it popping up on the bottom of my screen. it's that kind of night. anyway, and hey, i didn't quite make it a month without posting. it's easier at home anyway. i'm sitting in the coffee shop listening to phish. at least i have that.

ever heard trey anastasio play 'johnny b goode"? you should.

i've been watching espn classic late at night. last night victor 'boom boom' mancini lost by one point on all three scorecards after lasting 15 rounds bleeding from both eyes. i really think i need to find a boxing gym in raleigh this summer and take some lessons. not that i have the money or the effort required to drive out there... i just want to somehow love it because then i know it would all be worth it. and i wish i had money to blow on stupid dangerous shit. because then... after i was done boxing, i'd shower off and ride back home on my black '94 speed triple or '95 daytona, both on ebay right now. only $3500... so cheap and yet so much more than i have.

and there's this thing about the harmonica. yeah, would be fun to play. and the thing about the guitar, which i am merely competent at, not exactly special. maybe i should take a class here next semester, on top of all the other shit i've got lined up. i've never taken a class before, it would probably do me some good.

and you know what? goddamn right i'm jealous. but i will get over it, always do. i'll back you up... bullshit. i want to. i want to want to. i just don't believe it most of the time. i want to believe i'm better than that, that i've learned something, that i'm not so low. but i am. you forget about the times i bought coffee. meh, forget about it. it's stupid anyway.

i'm the goddamn dog chasing the squirrel.

(and i know it too)

in the hall, walking to the pit tonight, she walked past. (with her boyfriend) it was one of those strange moments where i was on the phone walking behind two friends, and she was a good thirty feet away and in a single scan of the hallway, not making eye contact, not even focusing my eyes, i knew exactly who it was. i pretended to ignore her, didn't glance to see if she'd glance back. i doubt she'd acknowledge my presence by now anyway. i finished my message and looked down at the time, fumbled the phone back in my pocked, and pretended to look like i was happy with the hallway and my new jacket and the people i was about to eat dinner with. i can't help but analyze the feelings i get. used to get nervous, but not any more. this time i felt it in my stomach, deep down. not sick, not much of anything. just a little sadness, way down there. just sadness, that's all.

want to hear the worst part? i could smell her all the way to the doorway.