2001-07-10 || 5:22 p.m.

|| i want to come up to visit but am so wishy washy about the dates. ||

i need to catch an airplane because i want to smell new carpet smell- not because the carpet is new, but because it is different. bearing stains from tenants past like scars and scabs and birthmarks you cover absentmindedly with your hand- i want it to create an indelible memory tucked neatly in a file. i want to see the boxed-in view from new windows, if there are any outlets to the roof. i want to lie on grass that has been neglected and on sidewalk with weeds coming up through the cracks. i want to go to bars and not recognize myself in the reflection because there is a funny oregon tinge to things: the glasses, the way people hold their cue sticks, the way my hair is a bit flatter from soft water. i want spontaneous hugs and improvised dinners and thick air that is not easily forgotten. i want a scrape on the ankle from the green bike, maybe an oil streak on the pant cuff, even a bit of a sore spot to rub on the flight home.

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