is jonas' LiveJournal

Subject:	six months in a leaky boat
Time:	12:06 am.
Music:	sigur ros.

every get the feeling like your just about to drown? that it's all you can do just to keep your head above water? and in the those brief moments when you only have to worry about treading water instead of fighting back those gigantic swells, all you're doing is coughing up water and gasping for a breath... it's like that now... sometimes i can surface long enough to catch a glimpse of the stars and the water settles and i can lie on my back... just enough to dream, to hope for a few moments that someone or something is going to come along and pull me out of the frigid bath i can't seem to escape from - but those huge waves always return, often with angry force that pummels you down... leaves you cold, broken and exhausted and you start to wonder just how bad it will feel to stop paddling, sink slowly into the dark purple and black and fill your lungs with salty fluid instead of air

sometimes, i think like this. on those nights when i'm stuck in the office for 9, 10, 11 hours... on those nights when i come home emotionless, moving like a robot, going through the motions... on those days when i sit on the couch and wonder where the hell i'm going, what i'm doing... tap water tastes like the ocean

it's melodramatic, i know it. it's self-pity, it's all been said, it's all old news. but it's just something i can't seem to get rid of. i don't know what class i didn't pay attention in, or what conversation i didn't get from my parents... but there's some kind of wisdom i missed... some kind of survival instincts that i never seemed to develop and i'm trying hard to force it...

...i dunno, i guess i'm just rambling at this point. i feel like i've been saying the same things in different words over and over again for the last for months...

something has to change soon. either by my own actions or accident... it's kind of the way nature works... can't have one system out of balance for too long before it seeks it's equilibrium.

or something...

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Subject:	do you know who you are?
Time:	11:42 pm.
Music:	sigur ros.

i need to start doing stupid things.

all those things i think, "hmm, maybe i should try that" and then later, "naaa, be responsible"

i'm going to try to start doing some of those things.

it's either that, or... i dunno, get a frontal lobotomy.

it's not going to feel like me at first. i'm going to feel like i'm pretending to be someone else.

but i need spontaneity. i need to feel like i'm doing something other than just passing the time between paychecks.

this is what's it's like to be an adult, i guess, right?

i'll be 23 years old soon and i know nothing.

time to start learning the stuff they try to hide from you in school...

...like how to live.

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Subject:	and in a yellow taxi cab, turn to me and smile
Time:	12:18 am.
Music:	joe jackson - night and day.

took this two weeks ago visiting my friend in newport news.

it isn't so much about wanting to be young again - not so much about casting off responsibility, tossing aside the monthly bills, the 9 to 5 job, the grocery shopping, the laundry...

it isn't even really about getting my 8 hours of sleep at night, or eating right or exercising...

it's not about being that guy who balances his checkbook and organizes everything in his calender - has one of those swanky PDA's to remind him of his unfamiliar and strange in-law's birthdays, people he speaks to once a year at most...

it is not about doing your taxes on time...

it is not about being a productive member of society...

it's about waking up in the morning with a warm, cat-like yawn and stretch, and a smile slipping unconsciously across your face

and all because you know that your alive, and you have another day to live... to be alive and celebrate in everything that that means

it's only that simple

it's only happiness

it's everything that's just out of reach - on that shelf just a smidgen higher than i can jump and reach

i need a step-ladder

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Subject:	two steps away
Time:	11:25 pm.

i stood on my balcony tonight, in shorts and a short sleeved t-shirt and just watched the city light-polluted skyline, catching a glimpse of a star here and there - a random plane with its lights pulsing timidly, just barely visible...

and i wanted to be there

somewhere in that black

hanging quietly over the city

arms stretched out wide like every vision of flying in every movie and in every dream, so far away interstates become glowing lines cutting across the landscape

and the spitting, crackling buzz of neon life below is drowned out by the cacophony of all that space above screaming with pulsars, quasars - the unsettling rumbling of black holes - the joyous songs of stars coming to life in nebulae

my hands resting on the rough wood of the balcony railing, my dry, bare feet rasping against the poured concrete floor - and i'm back under the influence of gravity

come inside, get another drink and sit on the couch

some other time, some other place

maybe i'll be out there, swimming around with galaxies

who says you have to wake up?

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Subject:	one last chance to complain
Time:	10:53 am.

i hate complaining about work (even though i do it so often), but today...

none of my bosses are in the office today

it's 78 degrees outside

i have a friend visiting from out of town

i have no work to do today

i send an email to the big (evil) boss who is in the UK asking to take half a day off today

i wait an hour

and a get a response, "No, i would rather you not take half the day off".

no explaination

no reasons

just,

"No."

---

fuck

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Subject:	champagne from paper cups
Time:	11:17 pm.

i feel like sitting on the roof of a building

in late summer

somewhere in the midwest

watching bruised black and purple anvil clouds

shivering slightly in the down-draft

that crisp smell of rain and static

and the tension

the little hairs spiking on the back of your neck

and drinking cheap beer or champagne from dixie cups

wondering how long before you'll have to make the mad dash for cover

when the rain drops the size of quarters start to splatter against the sun-baked tarmac

giggling with anxiety and a little fear as that first and sudden crescendo of thunder buckles your knees

and that clear moment when you realize how small you are

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Subject:	cars in motion
Time:	11:33 pm.

there is energy crackling at my fingertips like the static that builds up when you shuffle your feet across thick carpet. i can taste it when i swallow - that weird iron tang like blood in your mouth. little tendrils of life are stretching out from the edges of my soul that is flickering like white noise on a television, trying to find a place to root and grow. i am so close to being there; i am one touch away from breathing cleaner air.

and it's not going to take a lot - a little drop, a chemical catalyst to warm the reaction.

i've never been more ready.

all i have to do is keep afloat long enough to see the signal flare when it shines.

show me now

it is time

i am clean and pure in this swirling mess

the stars are singing, don't you hear?

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Subject:	threaded needle pocket change
Time:	12:11 am.
Music:	my computer fan.

their eyes were tired
and i guess they tried
to catch my picture
when i stood long enough
for a chance flash
and that weird smell
of polaroid film

it was just that empty

something about airports
on off days
at off times
all the effort spent
for motion
and no one moving

why build a coffin
if you aren't dead
or dying?

it's not so much
that i thought about this
like i could make it
make sense

it's just
you know

one of those nights

but i can feel small
in big places
and i can slouch
in uncomfortable chairs
with skeleton white
phosphorous
driping all over
no one in particular

and i could be as hollow
as the jet lagged
straggling eyes
that made their way
through the concourse

and instead

instead i sit here
and leave my head open
and my fingers busy
on these plastic keys

and i don't know why

and i don't know why.

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Subject:	nothing to say as before, beautiful boy
Time:	10:13 pm.
Music:	sense field - tonight and forever.

you know that feeling when you first wake up from a night of little sleep? that grogginess that sticks to you like a piece of cooked spaghetti ... your hands feel like clumsy paws, you can't quite grip anything right ... your eyes are partially epoxy'ed shut and you keep trying to open them, but rubbing them only blurs your already fogged vision ... how you're not quite sure what it is you're doing ("was i going to the bathroom?", "is it time for breakfast, lunch... dinner?", "where am i?") and no matter how hard you try to focus those thoughts you can't seem to make sense of anything ... you know this feeling? you know how helpless and vulnerable and stupid you feel when that alarm clock goes off and you crawl and stretch your way out of your sheet and comforter cocoon, put those feet down onto the floor and try to stand up? when you catch a blurry glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the way to the shower and you're not sure if that was even you? and then, if you make it into the shower, how the only thing you can think about is crawling back into your bed, which is probably still warm?

you know this? you know the blundering, the numbness, the confusion, the gracelessness of waking up?

this is about how i feel all the time.

i just need someone to rub that ache out from between my shoulders, breathing lightly onto the back of my neck and whisper, lips just close enough to skin to tickle, "good morning."

on a day like that, all the stumbling, the false starts - the complete absence of a sense of direction won't seem like something being so concerned over.

all is full of love.

i believe it. it's all i need, anyhow.

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Subject:	all around
Time:	12:07 am.
Music:	death cab for cutie - stability ep.

i come here with every intention of writing something interesting, maybe to entertain the few people that read this, maybe to entertain myself. i've been intermittently keeping a "journal" on-line since late 1997, early 1998. it's not really a habit, but i keep coming back to it every so often - and never for very long. in fact, this may be the longest stretch i've ever kept up a regular journal.

lately, i've started asking myself the wrong question: why I am doing this? every time in the past that i answer that question, i stop writing. it's best not to think about it while you're doing it and just do it. otherwise, it's simply mental masturbation, or a half-assed attempt to get attention, or simply just a waste of time that could be spent better.

i've got songs to finish, screenplays to write, short stories to start... and i've been doing none of it. i'm not blaming this journal, that's just stupid. but the fact is, that it's here and i let myself use; it is diverting valuable energy and time away from things that are more important to me than the garbage i litter all over this thing.

so, in other words, this is probably the last thing i'll be writing here for a while.

side note: i'm not slamming on-line journals as a whole... some people got the hang of using them as a decent medium for communication/art/etc... i just never considered myself to be one of those people.

i just have to stop pretending.

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Subject:	rollerqueen
Time:	10:09 pm.
Music:	jimmy eat world - splash, turn and twist.

i'm 19 years old.

i'm sitting in my green geo metro.

the rain coating the windsheild is reflecting the light from the houses on the street where i'm parked. little beads of yellow and red and blues drain down to the hood and roll off to the street.

"rollerqueen" is playing loudly on my shitty stereo.

i'm a sophmore in college.

i work in a record store.

i put the car into drive and pull away from her house.

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Subject:	more fun at work today
Time:	5:00 pm.

ME: so, i have to wait to be given an approved project before i can work on it?
BOSS: right.
ME: well, all of the projects i've been give to work on right now are unapproved.
BOSS: (surprised) oh, well don't work on any of them.
ME: (pause)
ME: what am I supposed to do then?
BOSS: (looking at me like i'm an idiot) well, work on [unapproved project in collection of projects just mentioned].
ME: (slightly longer pause)
ME: (said very carefully) i thought i wasn't supposed to be working on projects that aren't approved?
BOSS: (gets flustered and angry)
BOSS: don't you have work to do be doing?

i can't make this shit up, people.

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Subject:	wishing well
Time:	10:08 pm.
Music:	bob mould - workbook.

twenty-two years old is not old enough to warrent the kind of feelings i've been having tonight. no way should i feel like the best parts of my life are over and done with. no way should i feel like i'll never truly have fun again. but, i can't help but feel like it's all true. how am i not going to end up working some semi-tolerable job for the next fourty or so years just to retire an old and arthritic man with the taste for life driven far from my bones? why i am doomed to end up like my father? why should anyone have to face this kind of life? this kind of life is no life. it's white-collar middle-class survival trip. it's got a house and a white picket fence and wife and 2.5 kids with two cars, a mortgage payment, 401k's, shrinking social security and place in "society".

this is not what i want.

but it's exactly where i'm heading and i can't seem to stop.

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Subject:	this place has broken my american heart
Time:	11:57 pm.
Music:	piebald - we're the only friends we have.

it's rhythmic, setting the pace of my pulse and i just can't stop tapping my foot in time - but it never changes. two measures, repeat forever. no crescendos, no decrescendos - fortissimo at all times. loud enough to drown out everything interesting.

it's motion, but it's bent at all the right angles to keep me moving in circles.

it's breathing, but it's only out of habit.

it's got to change. i'm trying - hard, now - with a kind of desperation you can only get when you cross that mental poverty line. i'm intellectually bankrupt, i'm motivationally starving.

maybe i'm just complaining and it's really not half as bad as it seems.

maybe i should just shut the fuck up and do something about it.

maybe that's exactly what i'm doing, but jesus it's hard to get back up off the floor when you've been lying there for years.

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Subject:	no one needs to know
Time:	4:57 pm.
Music:	various mp3's here at work.

watching "the brain that wouldn't die" with some cool co-workers and slinging back thick, black porter isn't the worst way to spend an evening - that is until you've slung your fifth pint down the hatch and come to that slow, fuzzy (and later, painful) realization: oh, this beer is 9% alcohol? yeesh... lots of water for me today. there's nothing quite like the feeling of staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, eyes sunken and bloodshot, face drooping like a bassett hound, posture hunched over and crumpled into some biological origami that only severe sleep deprevation can create. you should've stayed home and watched the laker's game "shut up," i say to the mirror.

tonight i shall atone for last evening's depravity. i need vegtables. i need exercise. i need eight fucking hours of sleep. my body commands it and so it shall be. gotta get my arse into shape if i'm ever gonna get my basket ball game on [translation: need to get into shape in order to pretend like i can play basketball, which i can't].

i don't know what you're thinking we should do
i don't know if the words you say are true
but let me tell you this for sure
the things we're doing just aren't pure
and no one needs to know
but me and you
-ozma

god, i can't wait till summer.

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