thoughts on today, 4-06-2009

scribbled in class:

i've been tangled before
in short black hair
and wouldn't mind being there again

creatures
fuzzy beasts
with beating hearts
inhabiting a great forest
(which probably symbolizes my youth)
some are dangerous!
some are not.
most are imaginary
but a few are real

and black fingernail polish
not solid, but chipped
and i think of an old guitar
(which can be the most beautiful
thing in the world)

the personalities of basements
that i have been in:

#1. I used to pretend that I was underneath Alcatraz, in some forgotten room with a decaying ceiling. I stayed down there until one or two in the morning, painting these tiny model airplanes. It must have been cold, because I went down there in the winter, too. But I don't remember that. I just remember running up the stairs, through the door, into the backyard (it was an old farm house) and onto the back porch. If I was fast enough, the ghosts of tortured prisoners couldn't catch me. I never liked to go to bed early. There was too much to explore in the basement.

Do you ever miss someone so much that you would give anything to have them knock on your door? Anything.