quiet: May. 01, 2002 (5:42 pm)

i feel you there in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out--but you can't prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts?

bus people are so strange. we never speak, yet when you are not present everything feels different. i've made up characters, i'm sorry for living in stereotypes. it was odd to be alone. no sort haired skinny punk boy, who likes the us marines. no girl who is only going to the hfstival to see dashbard confessional who talks about soy products with that boy who looks like he's seven but clearly isn't. no aurora, though she's not so friendly anymore anyway.

they aren't all crazy old jesus freaks who try to give me job advice.

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