braindead nailbed

moanday monday. complete apathy, or ambivalence. i'm only aloof because i'm bored with all the unrewarded effort, see.

you spend two and a half days erasing and can't quite make it. last an hour into the morning holding pattern, trying to hold on to some holdout, save yourself the heartache. but existence is an ache, so you just have to grit your teeth and deal with it. make the grimace look like a smile for the people who don't look closer.

itunes knew i was writing in here, so it shuffled up some arcade fire just for me to write to. but i have to change that, can't write to the same thing - even inadvertently - all the time. bon iver's got a new album out. so does agent ribbons, but i don't want either of them. i loved for emma, forever ago. and i loved on time travel and romance. and i don't want to tinge that love, vandalize the memories with the association of some new thing that's not as good. i don't need any more musical associations in my life right now anyway. it's getting to the point where i can't listen to anything in my library without skipping it before it makes me resentful. and i refuse to be a resentful person.

tiny little hammers building tiny little walls. some one's got to bridge the gasp and the sighs. and maybe to the untrained eye i'm sitting on my ass all day and biding time until i take you on. i like my orange juice with a little pulp. mmm. even when it's a bit tart and the orange is off. it's just like in the old days. i used to compose my own critical notices in my head...

at least i can leave little bows on all the knots i can't untie. if you can't fix it, at least make it pretty. so it looks good before you come at it with the scissors, with the fire. weird dreams about fire, about things that don't matter. i loved the premise, or the assignment that was mine at the premise. the execution was lacking, but the creativity, the ideas were there. and they were good. and i couldn't remember them when i woke up.

i have 8 key limes in the fridge at home that i don't know what to do with. 8 key limes isn't enough to do anything, if you don't have stuff for them to go with, and i don't want to go hunt down something on epicurious  because i'm not creative to come up with my own recipe. well, i am creative enough, i just... like i said, i'm bored with the effort. not the failure, i can handle failure, despite insistence to the contrary. if i can ace all this shit, i'll eventually have run through the entire gamut and come out on the other end ready for success, right? or is this more cyclical than they let on?

cyclical. geez, the cycles. it's a spiral. or a whole series of relapsing concentric circles. and the neuroses are firing on all six cylinders, but i'm hanging on by a thread to the thought balloon overhead and thread isn't very conductive. and i'm not conducive enough to pull things down, to be accommodating in my own little way. well, that's a lie. i'm always accommodating in my own little way, i'm just never accommodating enough for everyone else. and i get tired of trying to explain the jumps between my associations.

back to running laps. lapse.

it's a shame it's a pity - moondoggies