just because

searching for some perfect world we know we'll never find...

1999

sat with my mom and looked through our respective wedding albums today

i'm not sure i remembered twenty-three when it was happening, but it's all so **** clear now

bourbon dreams

via dale cooper on the book of faces: I must admit I feel...out of sorts. Weeks have gone by. No. Years. (there is a nagging fear it could be decades) Time moves at a peculiar pace. I sense it (time) contains holes, like runs in stockings. The wind whistles through.
Description of my current state: Pieces of myself have been blown apart and spread like dandelion seeds, drifting off in various realities. I know who I am, but not what I am...

or, in other words:
I can catch the moon in my hands
Don't you know who I am...

post script. it's all about freezing time in a skillful way...

theme song

episode 45 of "drummers are a pain in my ass"...

that coupon has expired

wedding colours and fancy snacks and my god what a terror we must have been...

perhaps i was just looking at the wrong end

green

make sure you write him a note so he knows it was you
breeding / laying the ground for future disaster / possibility

i introduced myself as "irrelevant" tonight and she was charmed
ironic

"we miss you", the younger one had said...
"we know you are the man behind the curtain"
random

baby witch
breeding / laying the ground for...
shocking to realize that now i am she

walking around in circles
walking around in circles
sleep

cherry moon

monumental nines...

- worried about his disappearing / silence
- won a tiny / big battle
- listened to her make peace with the inevitability of ending
- heard horrible / awful stories about the violence of puppies and offered my hand
- made a friend by revealing a glimpse of her future self
- rode the subway with a magician who let me in on some of the secrets of mindreading
- looked back and said hello
- gave a gift / reward in the form of a warning / smile
(copied her style - she knew i would understand!)
- conceded defeat, which always calls forth that which i have resigned myself to not want

sighs float across miles and land in his beer
the timeline becomes more clear

launch the sparkles into space and watch her fly
this must be heaven