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2001-02-28 || 10:27 || thoughts are moths in a funny way. they smell like old books and electricity. || i've been thinking of a lot of things that i can't write in this diary because they are barbed. or a little too stripped down. secrets that should only be whispered three inches from one's ear. and the problem is i am losing those thoughts. i feel them flutter around, knock against the inside of my head and leave that moth dust, you know? as evidence. but the things is that if they lose too much moth dust (which inevitably they do, from bumping bumping flinging themselves around, or from my touching them with oily cumbersome fingertips, ill equipped for such delicate things) they die out. i think of reaching for the little yellow book i keep in my bag to capture them there, but i tell you, this always happens when it is inappropriate to write in your little yellow book. when you're driving. when you're naked. when you're eating dinner with fellows you don't know all that well. when crossing that crosswalk that i swear inspires me magically, a bermuda parallelogram. it is very frustrating, this loss. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |