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. . . . . entries for 11.6.04 . . . . . I haven't blogged for a while. Finals are my excuse, but they aren't the reason. I haven't really got a reason. The mosquitoes are starting to crop up. Part of me doesn't want to smash them between my palms, and the other half *really* wants to see that drop of my blood that they stole splattered on my wall. Little bastards. . . I'm anemic enough as is. So yeah. I'm avoiding a big issue. Dreams are weird. Dreams mean very little, usually. To me, anyway. My dreams are mostly gibberish. Scary gibberish, sometimes. Some people have meaningful dreams. I don't think anyone has truthful dreams. Dreams are hopes and contorted reflections of hopes, and hopes are lies. Pleasant lies, sometimes, but lies. What put that lie in your head, anyway? What bloody Freudian explanation is there for this? How can I debunk it, make it seem stupid and frivolous? Why do I want to so much? And what the hell do you mean by "passionate!?" One hundred fifty miles to lose one another in. A beautiful voice he's afraid to raise too high, in case someone in the next room hears. A whisper across the distance that doesn't carry, so I can't hear it when he says "I'll be thinking of you. . . I miss you. . . I love you." You had no right to that dream. Not with me in it. Forget it. You can live it, you have that option, that pleasure, that luxury, so for the love of God, forget it. Then live it. . . I may envy you, but live it and let me burn with jealousy. Why the hell, man. Why did you tell me about that dream. . .
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{ting} .:past:. April 2002 .:skin:. turtles! turtles! by araglas |