flight: Feb. 01, 2002 (11:00 pm)

my eyes are heavy with tears and i don't really know if i can write. and really write. and mean what i write. or perhaps now i will wrte without passing through a sieve of words i like and words i don't.

everything is going to shit and i'm leading it.

i miss paul. i don't know if i miss paul in his curret incarnation, or even something that he ever was. maybe i just miss an idea of paul. of excitement to talk to someone.

and i think i regressed back into my meet-conquer-destroy patterns. i don't like mike. he's abrasive. and backstage nathan put his hand on my thigh and waist. and i'm sorry. i lead him on, and wasn't pleased. was just blindly grappling i the dark. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.

but if i really were sorry would i have ever done it. did i really not understand?

ideas. ideas. ideas. that's all i have.

show me your riffs, when i wear that shirt i suddenly get attention from punk rock boys. they talk and are nice. and i have power. power. power.

sigh, i can see myself desire power...but really i think i desire more. that just power won't please. that it's just an instinct and there's something more.

i wonder how much my face lit up when i saw nick? something unordinary.

< - > - all - p - n - d