6:50 p.m. - August 29, 2002
Come, swim with me
Of all the things I wish most to be different, I want to change the way I interact with people. I want to let down the guard, slay the aloofness, be comfortable being myself. I want to give you a chance.
The world is divided into two lopsided parts: Those with me, and those against. Initial response given to all stems from the assumption that you're against me and while this assumption is not grounded in delusional paranoia as I'm not concerned with knives and straight jackets, it is grounded by my own dislike for myself; in light of me, how can anyone come to like the outside me, much less the me I keep from people?
Permutations of idiocy on Saturnalian themes. Icy, liquid, solid matter all in one, forming ring after ring, one thing up close, something entirely different from afar.
The sliding glass doors in my room and the hallway are open, along with the front door and most of the windows and the breeze rustles desk papers and my room is full of the scent of things near and far and it is the far that I enjoy most, wondering its origin as I get goosebumps.
Crater Lake blue. Slate blue. Quiet blue.
