Hello blogger. Excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, as I'm typing this with my eyes closed. As I sometimes do. I...don't want it to be stream of consciousness, but it may end up being that later. For now, it's just...resting my eyes. Anyway, I'm not quite sure what I want to say, except that something needs to be said. I have the compulsions inside, as I often do, to write something, but not what particularly. It sucks. There is a lot of nose here. Mom is talking to dad, telling him about the water leak, the bad hot water heater. someone is vacuuming, damn that has two c's doesn't it? I forget, and I can't look to tell for sure. Anyway, and I have some music playing, don't recognize it, though I should. I'm just terrible like that. There is the sound of my keys typing. I love that sound. It makes me feel calm. LIke O'm doing something, even if I'm not doing anything. For example, right now, I'm doing nothing except journaling, but I feel better somehow. [laughs] You can think I'm an idiot, but you're reading, aren't you? Or you're not. Who knows if anyone will read this. I do need to fix the background and setup and whatnot, make all this wrap around the right hand enu. Change the picture. Change the color. [laughs]. Blah blah. There are so many pictures jumping aroudn in my head. a man, standing by a lake, looking out, feeling the wind, chin stlightly up, dark blue sky, evening maybe, there's a storm a couple hours away. the waves are a little choppy, the trees are almost to the water's edge. A girl, dancing, on a log raft, on a wide brown river. she is barefoot, wearing a white tank top, tan shorts, no, pants rolled up avoce her knees. She has a wide smile, as she dances on the water, under the sun. A fish, no a bird, just watching. The sun falling like leaden, exhausted, seeking solace in the hills of the horizon. It falls as though it will never rise again. But it knows it will. It will rise again in the morning, as it always has and always will, until it beats it's last solar pulse, breathes its last cosmic breath, and dies. taking us all with it. There is a white cloud, haning motionless in the sky, a light blue sky, a blue the color of skies, no I can't think of a good way of putting that. the color it's known for. [laughs] Anyway, the cloud is full, changes a little on the dges but stays the same in the center. The wind dances with the cloud, who stands still, and the wind plays a bout himn. I picture Grace walking in heels, a formal dress, a sad look in her eyes. I picture timmy from helios dancing, stomping, while I hold his cute pet rat. the bluegrass beat makes the building sway. I see lara looking on with interest, trying to be emotionally detached, or so her face seems, but she can't, and she bursts into laughter. I picture grace dancing jive, laughing when I can't keep up, smiling and touching my face with her cold hand. I picture Cahrles, sullen, working. I picture Drew, smiling shyly, at midnight rodeo. I see thousands of people go marching across the stage in front of me, like a wheel of fortune, a roulette wheel, and where will I stop, which person will be the winner? It slows, slows, but I don't know where it will stop. I don't want to look, I close my eyes, afraid of the answer. I leap out of my chair and rush to the back of the auidtorium, but they all give chase, saying, Pick me, Pick me! I flail with the door handle, partially opening my eyes. it drives them even more frantic, but I push past them all and run, run to the front doors, out the glass doors, and I'm leaving one of the buildings on the science quad, the red bricks in front of me, around and around, but I rush straight acrsos them, headed toward Hannah and safety. The clear sky thunders and says David, where are you going? The future is not that way. The prize is not that way. The price is not that way. I stop and shudder, huddle into myself. It grows coldI turn and look, and they are all standing there, a great mass of people, and I am afraid of them, crushing me betneath waves of dancing forms, crush me in a press of friendliness, trambple me in a wave of frustration. I put my head downa nd close my eyes and find a shield of peace, force it outward, like the eye of a storm, a force field bubble in the midst of the rocking earth. I sit down and look for myself, but where am I? Somewhere, but I can't find it. The battle is being lost, outside a battle is being waged, everyone fighting everyone else. Stop, I cry, but no one listens. They are all blank eyes, glazed, foaming slightly at the mouths, they are no longer humans but mndless zombies. As they tear each other limb from limb, and the blood soaks into the green grass, slicks the red bricks, stains the grey cement, I cry. Lara crawls toward me You don't need to be afraid, Drew sits rocking himslef saying, "It's not like this matters, it's just a dream. Charles holds a torn arm blood from his mouth tThis is your dream, DAvid. What monsters do you think we are? I don't know, I reply. It's too much for me. I don't even know you. I used to, but I don't anymore. The last plane dropped its bomb, and the world I knew disappeared. I am building it on the ashes of the ones I love, on the love I once had for them. Everyone left is just ashes and shadows, but with my eyes closed, they are almost real. Where did my dream go? Where di the path before me go? Grace is just a memory of flowers on this dusty breeze, but she represents what I want, what I long for, who I need to be, where I need to go. I feel as though once I reach where she is, I can kiss her, and we can go on where we need to go, together or apart? I don't know, but I have to reach that place first. Or I'll be trapped here, dragged down in the the mud. Why aren't you swimming, then? Move your arms, David, says Charles. My shoulders hurt, I reply. I feel a great weight on them. I just want to lie in the grass, looking up at the bleeding skyes, the rain in this world is not clenasing, but it still feels nice and chill on my skin. So do something abotu it, says Grace, now in front of me. I reach for herand she steps back, out of reach. You have to come to me, she says. I can't, I reply. It's too hard. You once told me to live, when I said it was too hard. Why are you allowed to say it now, DAvid? Come on, stand up and be a man, be a person, be someone I can love. Right now you're just a fallen angel, a worm in the dirt. Where is the man who told me that life is worth living, dreams are worth chasing, hope is possible and real and not a lie. wher edid he go? I cry, I don't know. that was a long time ago, I still believe in hope, I still believe in dreams. Yes, says Grace, you were always good at believin gin things you could not see, things for which you had no proof. Do you know what I see? I see someone in the process of failing. I see someone who doesn't want to stand back up. I don't know how much longer I can waith for you, David. Because right now I can't believe in you. That's it, I say, that's why it's so hard. Is love possible if it always has to have an object worth loving, or is it possible to make something worth loving by loving it? Dreamser are fools, and fools are dreamers. But my purpose is not and never has been to be someone that you can see , but to be someone worth being. I sometimes think they are the same thing, but I don't know. I lose the direction sometimes, I lose the purpose except to know myslef. I don't know anymore if I want a vision of me to strive for. I want a path upon which each step feels right, like walking in the dark. You don't know if it's right until you've taken it, and you turn and go ardoun if you hit something. Or perhas I just want a dream that doesn't require me to be so...solid. Ineed a dream I can't grab. I need a me that can go and do anthing. I was right, and I'm still right, in saying that to give up freedom is a beautiful thing, when you know you want to, when you know it's worth it. Being forced to give up freedom is a crime. I'm lost, I've lost the meaning of this sentence. Dres stands up, so get going again. Stop looking for yourself and just startr going, start moving. You sit there in your bubble and claim you see the world, claim that you're actually living life. All I see is a pitiful fool who wants to talk about life that he hasn't lived, who wants to live a life he hasn't built, who wants to build a life without building materials or a foundation or a plan. What is your plan? You can't just float, david. Even the clouds have a purpose and a direction. I cry again. Why are you so cruel? Because I have to be. Don't you understand, you're going to sink into the mire if you don't get moving. Why do you think everyone tells you to go to San Diego? Because you need to go there, or if not, go som ewhere, do something. You're a stagnant pool, you don't even look like a pool anymore, so vergrown with weeds, so buried under mud and garbage. DAvid, you aren't worth anything anymore. You need to be. Because you're not meant for the grime like the rest of us. You're meant for the fire, over and over again, continuously burnt clean, melted and reformed, flowing into a new shape. But never a rusted shape, never a grimy useless shape. Now get out of my sight. That was Drew, but it wasn't, it was me, wasn't it? I look up, it's night now, the stars are out. The sun is in pain. The night waits for my move. I stand up and open my eyes.