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Trying to get you to fall for me
That Dublin Sky
Created on 2004-10-22 16:36:25 (#4913936), last updated 2006-04-30
30 comments received, 126 comments posted
Basic Account [Gift]
15 Journal Entries, 0 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 5 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | Daryn |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 03-03 |
| Location: | United States |
| Website: | Kumo no Su |
BioObservation Journal entry #1
Quiet; it's far too early, even for birds
But the solitude is nice
On a bus now, headed to the transit center
Nobody speaks; too tired, too xenophobic
But I'm equally tobrain blame, right?
(Freudian slip?)
Cold, but not frigid; a sharp autumn nip
People, everywhere; I count 16 on this side of the tracks... but nobody is talking, nobody makes eye contact
Silence, but for cars
My neck itches under my turtleneck
Rush-rush, quiet nice
Hey! A bird! And a few more
But no sound, silent wings, far above
Detached from us, humans, metal wings
Not as silent as it claims
Minutes pass, forgetting to write, record
Am I feeling the wind, or am I dozing?
Half-asleep in the quiet, no motion, no need for motion
Darren Hayes, always and forever:
"Desire is the drug of the bourgeoisie"
"I have sense in my eyes; I get drunk through my ears"
"I remember laughing on that river's edge, trying to get you to jump with me, trying to get you to fall for me... if I hadn't dragged you in with me you would have let me dive without you"
Cold, colder, coldest; not "cold" so much as "nippy"
The breeze feels sharp, chilling my face but I'm not cold
The light at the end of the tunnel
Not crowded today, a place to sit
Woman talks to kid, reminiscent of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Someone on their cell phone, hushed whispers
Headphones are so tiny, but block out the world so well
It's our technological illusion of reality
The ride is long, and at the next stop, a few more people arrive
It's early, but few people yawn; some doze, most read-- books, magazines, textbooks, articles, newspaper
It's sprinkling, off and on, and the rain would sound nice
It would-- if I could hear it over the hum of MAX
The next stop, a few people leave, a few people come
The distance between stops is growing
The noise is growing
Closer to the city, even the height of people are growing
More businessmen, less students, just as crowded,
more so
A woman in a flower-print blouse, white skirt, reading a book by Ursula DeQuin
Many women read-- mid-30s to early 50s, I'd say
The woman came on, same woman, every day, with a chic bob of her white-and-silvered hair, glasses, a book,
a different book every day, a different outfit every day,
but always the same expression and the same silence,
and I watch her every day; I swear I'm not a stalker
It's too stuffy, and I'm not cold anymore
I can't breathe in here, and I instinctively move for my inhaler, almost dropping this notebook in the process
Resettle myhself, and two puffs
A few minutes later, it's not so stuffy
I'm still not cold
Quiet; it's far too early, even for birds
But the solitude is nice
On a bus now, headed to the transit center
Nobody speaks; too tired, too xenophobic
But I'm equally to
(Freudian slip?)
Cold, but not frigid; a sharp autumn nip
People, everywhere; I count 16 on this side of the tracks... but nobody is talking, nobody makes eye contact
Silence, but for cars
My neck itches under my turtleneck
Rush-rush, quiet nice
Hey! A bird! And a few more
But no sound, silent wings, far above
Detached from us, humans, metal wings
Not as silent as it claims
Minutes pass, forgetting to write, record
Am I feeling the wind, or am I dozing?
Half-asleep in the quiet, no motion, no need for motion
Darren Hayes, always and forever:
"Desire is the drug of the bourgeoisie"
"I have sense in my eyes; I get drunk through my ears"
"I remember laughing on that river's edge, trying to get you to jump with me, trying to get you to fall for me... if I hadn't dragged you in with me you would have let me dive without you"
Cold, colder, coldest; not "cold" so much as "nippy"
The breeze feels sharp, chilling my face but I'm not cold
The light at the end of the tunnel
Not crowded today, a place to sit
Woman talks to kid, reminiscent of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Someone on their cell phone, hushed whispers
Headphones are so tiny, but block out the world so well
It's our technological illusion of reality
The ride is long, and at the next stop, a few more people arrive
It's early, but few people yawn; some doze, most read-- books, magazines, textbooks, articles, newspaper
It's sprinkling, off and on, and the rain would sound nice
It would-- if I could hear it over the hum of MAX
The next stop, a few people leave, a few people come
The distance between stops is growing
The noise is growing
Closer to the city, even the height of people are growing
More businessmen, less students, just as crowded,
more so
A woman in a flower-print blouse, white skirt, reading a book by Ursula DeQuin
Many women read-- mid-30s to early 50s, I'd say
The woman came on, same woman, every day, with a chic bob of her white-and-silvered hair, glasses, a book,
a different book every day, a different outfit every day,
but always the same expression and the same silence,
and I watch her every day; I swear I'm not a stalker
It's too stuffy, and I'm not cold anymore
I can't breathe in here, and I instinctively move for my inhaler, almost dropping this notebook in the process
Resettle myhself, and two puffs
A few minutes later, it's not so stuffy
I'm still not cold
ConnectInterests (19):
anime, art, books, culture, england, japan, japanese, manga, music, nanowrimo, philosophy, psychology, reading, shota, shoujo-ai, shounen-ai, writing, yaoi, yuri
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