Follow the Lighted Promenade

I'm writing a bit under the spell of Faulkner, so if nothing makes sense...I'm at the high school, it's early, I'm drinking a Pepsi, I've got "No Shelter" by Rage Against the Machine in my head, and I'm afraid that I haven't much to say. I feel good, though. Sarah and I have been a lot closer, and we're talking about going to Canada over our spring break. We went to Borders on Saturday and looked at pictures of Montreal, and the huge domed Notre Dame Cathedral there, and some of the old city centre houses, and I got that familiar ringing in the ears that always comes with traveling. I am such a traveler, it's in me more than anything, and Sarah shows some of the same symptoms. Wonderful. And last night we looked at pictures of Saskatchewan and the Smokies and Cumberland Gap and I got that ache to just do it all again. As I lay down to sleep, I remembered things like smelling the mountain laurel in North Carolina and watching the sun

I'm supposed to be typing a Lincoln review, and have never been more patently listless and unmotivated. For those of you not in the know, Rhonda and I went, on the absolute spur of the moment, to the Gulf of Mexico last Wednesday. We left at 2:09 in the morning. We had 8 dollars between us. We both had work and school the next day. We had no change of clothes. We had no toothbrushes or deoderant. All we had was an explosion of energy, a feeling of stagnation in our lives, and wanderlust so badly that it actually hurt me physically. I made some horrid decisions that have been well documented, but I have been dealing with those to the best of my ability. I don't want to deal with those now. I just want to deal with the fact that I came alive, I came so FUCKING alive that everything that seemed important, all of it, all the academic and monetary shit, was dumped right on its dirty unimportant head, and I lived life in self-actualization mode, in a dirty 5 dollar t-shirt,

Far from flying high in clear blue skies/ I'm spiralling down to the hole in the ground where I hide. Roger Waters . I feel that I've lost the rhythm of the heartbeat. Last night I drew a hot bath and lit a candle and sat in silence, listening to the howl of the ceaseless northwest wind, and I felt good, but very far from my usual exuberance. I guess I just realized that there is still a darkness, and I'm not sure how to blunder through it. My senses are heightened and I am very receptive to any mood that comes my way. I feel needy at times, but almost in the same sentence I'll be wishing I was in Bora Bora or could spend ten days in Louisiana. I've said it all before, but the feeling remains. I can't shake off the cold that comes to me in short warm bursts. There is a heartbeat, the earth has a heartbeat. She talks to us, but we don't listen. People laughed (good-naturedly) at my orgasmic response to hearing the spring peepers last March, but I

3 posts in one day! I am ___________. (Fill in adjective.)

Again...only 19 minutes away now. My back hurts, I've been sitting in this position for too long. I want to play my guitar, very very hard and punish all listeners with my nasal histrionics...ah ha ha ha! An open mike night looms, eh... Who is reading this...I'm geting ten hits a day. I should update more, to avoid losing my fan base. :) AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Remember when Marge was trying to get Homer out of bed and he crawled back in sleepily and said "Aw, just give me 10 more hours ? Hee hee. Bye.

I'm feeling only stuttered inspiration right now. I'm at the middle school again. The kids are much better today, 'cause I've laid down the law, but I still can't get into the rhythym of writing, the rise and fall of the words. At least it's sunny. At least it's Friday. Only two more hours. I've been writing and writing lately, in furious bursts of almost psychotic inspiration, but I haven't really had one since Tuesday's manic eruption. I am about two-thirds of the way done with my current story and feel that it is the best I've ever written. I've knocked off about three pages since then, but there is no spiritual cohesion yet. So I'll just wait for the muse to saunter back. Not much has been up in my world lately. I keep burning my creative candle to the bottom and am left to sift through the remains of the days on autopilot, but I'd have it no other way. Only by reaching exhaustion can one truly experience accomplis

I'm afraid I haven't much to say. The ice on the lakes is thickening again. The clouds are big tonight, hanging out over the mills. (I took a walk.) I've been struggling to dispel the thought that my life is building towards something and focus more on the present. I don't want to spend all of my time building. I want to love where I am now, this is what it's built to. I've vague notions of greatness after graduation, but why not feel that greatness now? After graduation, I know that I'll miss college and the readily available friendships that surround me, and the constant social interchanges, and I'll look back and wonder why I was ever in a hurry for it to end. Things are good right now. Amazing even. We spend all of our youth preparing to go out and conquer the world, and all of our old age pining for our youth. If we're lucky, we lead a comfortable existence and learn to rediscover the wonder every day and we keep our passion, li