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Thursday, August 23rd, 2001
6:36 pm - part 1.
things don't always end in a clean draw. stuffed in a clean drawer. i used to be the moment in the film where you closed your eyes, when the father thrust into the daughter. once i fitted. and i'd like to see myself the way you did. when you watched me through your eyelids and your heart beat faster. i can't have that.

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Sunday, August 19th, 2001
6:45 pm - stick with this.
The Calendar Hung Itself

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head? And does he sing to you incessantly from the place between your bed and wall? Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes? Looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you. Does he know that place below your neck that is your favorite to be touched and does he cry through broken sentences like I love you far too much? Does he lay awake listening to your
breath? Worried that you smoke too many cigarettes. Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor? For every speck of tile there are a thousand more that you wont ever see but most hold inside yourself eternally. I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death. In every city, memories would whisper, "Here is where you rest". I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees and I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine" I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her. She had eyes bright enough to burn me. They reminded me of yours. In a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field and there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed. And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands. And it stretched for centuries to a diary entrys end where I wrote "You make me happy when the skies are gray You make me happy the skies are gray and gray and gray". Well the clocks heart it hangs inside its open
chest with its hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itself but I will not weep for those dying days. For all the ones who have left there are a few that stayed. And they found me here and pulled me from the grass where I was laid.

by conor oberst.

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10:30 am
i think you're asleep now. oh the things i would give to be there with you...smile while you take slow breaths...stretched out....all curled up in that soft smallsized bed of yours. maybe i'd trip off after a little while to make breakfast. though i'm not sure you like it in the morning, i could even make that favorite porridge that you fancy so greatly. i'd wake you up with a kiss. yes i know i'm a hopeless romantic, but i don't mind. we could go out on your balcony, or anywhere you wanted and we'd talk for hours while cuddling feeling each other's breaths on our bodies. and i would try my best to make you see, feel, just how enormously, endlessly, much i like you. then we could go back in, or further away to any place that fits inside our minds, or don't. if you wanted to. later on we'd fall asleep in each other's arms..

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Friday, August 17th, 2001
6:10 pm
"the surrounding cement could barely contain the earth
the air was distorted the
noise nearly visible her
lips parted slightly"

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Wednesday, August 15th, 2001
7:04 pm - i once painted portraits.
Portrait Painter

weekend been here
taking care of everything
although it isn't much

tell the inventor of crayons
many wallpapers they've improved
and tell the funeralparlor

I still feel ripped off
sick of making deals
I'm slipping on dead leaves

it's like he had two homes
and in this cabin
he kept what mattered most

always open
but if anyone came too close
they'd pass through like a ghost

never saw him
sit still only in his boat
I was not welcomed there

so still, real still
as he was practicing
to finally give in

the cabinet's emptied,
abandoned it will rot
I lock up and leave

the wooden rowboat
half-sunken in the reeds
the wiping out proceeds

tell that portrait painter
his eyes weren't that color, no
still I recognize the glow

drawing
shows a boy whose rocket leaves
disappearing over trees


by Peter Nuottaniemi

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Monday, August 13th, 2001
11:07 pm - dusk.
i breathe. do you know why? i wonder. don't we all?

this longing. the curtains talk to me, they're made for moving. completeness, have you sensed it? or even content? restlessness. boundariless. it's like when someone slams the door on your fingers. for a second the pain is the only thing that's real and you have to let it out. you scream and you couldn't care less how it sounds. milk it. this longing. what makes me keep breathing. there's no end there's no end. only if you stop moving.


i'm so sorry i'm so sorry to let you down and fail again break all my promises and not being there to take your falls catch your bullets aswell closing time i'm so sorry i'm so sorry that i couldn't be what you saw in me slipping stumbling falling tumbling disapoint and put to shame i pull white plastic bags over my head you won't have to go through the dread of seeing me again i fill no purpose you don't have to feed me weaker than what you despise the most i bring you hurt and darkened eyes i am toxic stay away close the door i'll rot in time i wanted you to bother i needed you to help me if i can't save myself i don't deserve salvation i'm so sorry i'm so sorry to always be around with my huge ego and wrechted mind hurting and upseting yours i'm so sorry i'm so sorry for all the space i took all the energy i drew from you stole from you for all the times i made you cry and all the days i kept you caged i smell bad and i'll drag you down what you paint sweet is just an act a new betrayal leaving me all sold out you didn't want to bring me but you kept my best parts tied like a noose around your neck the hanging man the crying game and i hung i cried i'm so sorry i'm so sorry for not speaking up for laying all my hurt on you i'm so sorry i'm so sorry for being the weight that drowned you and the iron keeping you chained i knew it made you hate me i heard your screams at night i never stepped between you all the most important times i'm a coward i'm a monster i'm the pillow over your face i'm so sorry i'm so sorry that i never smiled at pictures and i know i should have been something else than what you made me i'm so sorry i'm so sorry that i was never strong enough not all that dazzling more abusive a big fat parasite infectious my place under your boot becomes me i'm so sorry i'm so sorry for every lost touch down on fortune and every smile turned to phrown all the dreams i broke i'm so sorry i'm so sorry for every time i made you cry and my pain made you vomit i think once i was a girl and i wanted to be loved regardless and i'm so sorry that you couldn't do it but i know now that the blame is mine please forgive me when i fail over.

walking..walking...walking...walking. through and past and over gone.

breathing. breathing is hard. this longing.

any place..looks good to me..just run....with me...

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Tuesday, August 7th, 2001
9:24 pm - soundtrack.
fuck you (an ode to no one)

i'm never coming back
i'm never giving in
i'll never be the shine in your spit
i disconnect the acti disconnect the dots
i disconnect the me in me
and you're mistaken, it's you that's faking
living and breathing and dying too
this message is for anyone who dares to hear a fool
you can't bring me back, you can't bring me back
cause i gave it all back to you
thru sacred alleys, the living wrecks
wreak their havoc upon this world
the disenchanted, the romantics,
the body and face and soul of you is gone down that deep black hole
destroy the mind-destroy the body-but you cannot destroy the heart
and you, you make me so i need to disconnect
and you make it so real
i don't need your love to disconnect
to runaround kids in get-go cars
with vaseline afterbirths and neon coughs
galaxies full of nobodies
giving us the farewell runarounds
i took a virgin mary axe to his sweet baby jane,
lost my innocence to a no good girl, scratch my face with anvil hands,
and coil my tongue around a bumblebee mouth
and i give it all back to you
no way, i don't need it, i don't need your love to disconnect
and you make it, so real, i don't need your love to disconnect
no way to disconnect
and you make it so real
i don't need your love to disconnect
no way to disconnect


by mr corgan himself.

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12:03 am - ....
"kajsa if your heart was a fruit, i'd want to suck it dry"

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Monday, August 6th, 2001
7:02 pm - call it a survey if you wish.
I see - clouds chase tails
i find - lonliness
i want - red boots and a passport
i have - a burntout basement
i wish - i knew how to be happy
i hate - your hands on me
i miss - throwing cherries towards the horizon from your balcony
i fear - myself
i feel - the roughness of the brickwalls i'm climbing to leave this dead end
i hear - .."and the trees shook their heads..slow as the weather..or maybe slower"..
i smell - trapped air
i crave - a happy ending
I like - tablecloth monsters with her in the dead of nights
i search - everythingeverythingeverything
i wonder - if he'd also find infinity behind his eyelids
i regret - regretting
i love - the smell of rottening leaves and musky soil in autumn
i long - when i'm still breathing
i am - forever lost
i care - when she's stuck in the sofa with white eyes
i always - keep walking
i am not - at peace with anything
i believe - that dancing is breathing
i have faith - in the way my back bends
i cring - too often
i sing - 'cause i'm happy to be alive
i cry - when i'm not laughing
i learn - on impulse
i write - with my eyes closed
I hold - my own hand

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Saturday, August 4th, 2001
11:56 pm - please don't pick the roses. they're happier elsewhere.
"We will know, won't we,
Stars will explode in the sky.
But they don't, do they?
Stars have their moments, and then they die"...

i slit my finger while picking roses yesterday. you'd think you'd live aslong as there is love but that's not it. i'll live until i don't want to anymore. morning and feeling enlighted maybe, or just slightly high on mushroom soup and icecream, before a breakfast that is better known as an early lunch. if you close your eyes you're infinite. all i need to know, and the radio displays a girly saying "i got a bone to pick with capitalism, and a few to break"

leaving the house tonight. oh..

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Tuesday, July 31st, 2001
6:23 pm
aim is evil as can be.

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Sunday, July 29th, 2001
12:28 pm - failure was on me 'cause your ideals bore me
my cat slipped and fell into the toilet. the swimmer won his race with 27 seconds and the speaker announced a new world record. my brother wants to go swimming but he's afraid of water. there's 7 litres of blueberries in our fridge. she wants a sixpack and a pair of boots. boobs. have you seen the inside of your eyelids? fastfood on sundays. our phonebill is huge. some people find it arousing to be tied up and dominated. my mother bakes 60 rolls a week. vladivostok is a town in russia. the girl in the house across the street pulls the legs off spiders. plane ticket. i want a plane ticket.

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Saturday, July 28th, 2001
7:12 pm
that was so unfair. i cut away your blue blouse to save the world a girl. you know how unfair that was. those were my carnal misgivings you took advantage of. an axle in the solvents basin. and i could never take advantage of her inability to hurt me like he took advantage of your inability to hurt him. a blue blouse strung along and on a clothesline. shellac venison dolls. readied hours of hair trigger, i let her go for you. secrets are fine, i like them but you led it there. i would've told the world, held your hand. fed my mouth with a wooden spoon. would have listened to you cry at night, waited patiently for stories about your brother, kissed your eyelids in the morning when you sought to raise your head. and your willow frame is forever embedded along the inside of my head, pasted to the backs of my eyelids. nectarines. emeralds. wisps of her hair in a box, whiffs of your thicker memory. scattered crows. placenta roses. raspberries. your beating wings, my beading brow. they littered the knoll, i would have held your hand. pushed into your cuts, cut away your blue blouse and strung it on the clothesline. if i knew, danube bells might have rung at the ends of my open hands. instead, fires were set to the willow frames. the weeping trees. a fired breeze. walnuts fell like wooden chords to your breasts as i boarded a cablecar. you watched the candle moon, scrawled an indigo parchment. mercury slid the paper. a storm, gray clouds and getting grayer. i stared at the willow embers, tried to read the letters in a pamphlet. your wish was an underwater stem. i wrote it on a knoll. a tulip queued and border-long. walnut box, walnut hair clipped. i let her go for you. i sew her blouse, let it go. i saw your blouse, let you go. you know how unfair that fucking was. fixed a white sail to the old ship. a solvent axle. decade pipes. a jeweler's parlor of pregnant girls where ham spoiled. where no one arrived. where you let him abuse you at night while i held myself hard just to imagine somebody holding me hard. you came along, i let her go. rode the cable to the summit. your lips: cablecar thick in the lack of light. thicker than the memories in my back pocket. pools of candled indigo. pushers cuts. raspberries, a paper red love letter. i stretched across your hair on the cablecar floor, recorded the beats in a ledger. wrapped your legs around my waste. applied my fingers at your waist. lunar milk. your hair in aspic. red eros drapery. starlight reeds. i called the thought a wren, the star a silt and sparrows held. your hands released a sparrow held, you held a sparrow called a wren. a wormwood garden. a wish a stem. shellacked blossoms on the mantle. the lilacs moved through your lips. the pregnant girls were sleeping in the hall, lilacs across their tongues. there were placenta roses at your skin. cloud bruises draped upon the weathervane. red arch, plum eros drapery, red and plum drapery, red and plum tablecloths. the plums like hearts in a porcelain bowl, a plastic dish, a grain, a hand. feeding from the hibiscus and venison, my fingers carved smooth walnut figurines, smooth walnut drapery, the seeds and stars, and garden hemlocks. i left the razor (lift the razor) pushed my hands to hard to your cuts. gold flakes on your eyes corona, a plum to your tongue. you know how unfair that was. you know how fucking unfair that was.

ever always.
neils.

by neils brooks who's drifting away and out of reach.

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6:00 pm
i was naive yet undaunted. my eyes were so blue they made the roses on your cheeks match mine and your world was spinning the way mine has always been. i needed wanted urged and sought everything. you'd think three pounds of happiness would fit inside infinity don't you? it's a neverending draw to chase horizons. a tail to grab. your own vision. every night i closed my eyes to sleep. tell me the point in capturing happiness when captivity breeds unhappiness.

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Tuesday, July 24th, 2001
6:13 pm
i remember when i was 5 and fell asleep in the woods.

"do you always let your babies die?"

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Thursday, July 19th, 2001
12:06 am - all dedicated to you.
was snuggling with my friends just before i came here, all four laying closely together avoiding the tom green show ending up watching highlights from tour de france, eating salt candy fish, and playing a game called "gammelgddan", with a cover that says "from 6 years of age". we read the rules twice. after some hours with warmth and laughter i fell into soft and easy sleep. dreaming about me shopping warm velour clothes in a secondhand shop for when family was going up further north. they had bowling shoes and i mareveled. then they started tickling each other, me, and my red/blue shoe crush got disturbed. woke up slightly irritated but then i remembered you. lightning. smiling is a poor word without doubt. fell back to easy sleep with dreams of you in my head, leaving them screaming and jabbing me with various unpointy objects. bruises i tell you, haha. i'm so romantic you might laugh at it but it would be alright. i've been wondering how it's possible to treat a person the way you treat me. so kind, gentle, warm. just as close to flawless as i can take. when i walked home avoiding drunk kids (most likely they were older than me) i laughed and danced along the streets, thinking about you, looking at you in your sleep inside my mind, and closing my eyes to remember more clearly. you make me happy. so happy. and i'm not sure if i always give you what you deserve or if i get the right things through or posses the best words. still this is how you make me feel, alive and happy to be so. i hope i give atleast a small part of that back. going to bed now. sweetest dreams.

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Tuesday, July 17th, 2001
11:35 pm - infatuation.
chris is singing me to sleep and though i'm melted fallen apart struck by lightning and my own mind i am clear as can be. i'd take his voice over oxygen any day. love his mind love his tounge love the way his eyes sparkles and the way he turns around along with me a while after i am gone. everyone else are distant seconds. are you aware?

i'm certain that i will survive myself and before you know it i'll be gone. that is where i fear to hurt you. does your eyes distinguish the clouds above which are created by my everlasting unease? i will want to leave and it dawns on me every night that when i leave i'll leave alone. so is this me using you? fear. is it us living along each other? smile. is it need being mutually satisifed? pain. and it needs to be said how much i like you though i have no control over that like and that i least of all want to hurt you. panic.

falling back into reveries and deep sleep. i am the black sheep. and his voice is under my skin. blood. i will choose it over you if i have to.

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7:04 pm
panic.

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Monday, July 16th, 2001
6:27 pm
misters and ladies i know i ought to bow for you, keep my head down, and feel bad in times like this. please forgive me when i intentionally disobey. see it's raining, explain in detail what you expect of me and i will do a better job avoiding doing it. anarchy is the thing of the day, and i am your average follower.

*smirk*

lots of voices coming on. tragical childhood white lillies spine manners ambition soothing aloe vera lazy bum lazy bum a century of fakers.

*closes eyes*

"dance me yellow and blue thank you"

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Sunday, July 15th, 2001
9:42 pm - lava kiss. schizophrenia.
us and us only.

listening to music i aimed to forget and i'm dancing to rhythms you would hear if you wanted to ah take your eyes off me refocus spin spin spin spin your outside tastes of sugar but i lick, oh i lick your sugarcoat off. get off get lost views are not one interrigate each other narrow my eyesight eyes outrule another, selves not compatible comprehensions blurrrrrrr...you're the downlight i'm the corkscrew.
some say some solace and girly you're so very sober. my presshusssss. ease me tease me attempt to please me. i drill holes in you i am the corkscrew. something felt and the moments that are lost in meaning for everyone but myself. what i had or will have. all the seconds that i couldn't hold but are buried in the way i smile and what i know but can not change. i watch myself fall weightless. never been strong enough to choose my way. it was mid september when they met and a cloudy day when they parted her voice hides behind the air. it's been so long since we wrote as if to rock ourselves to sleep to scream to blow our own ears to spare ourselves your noise so excuse us while we pretend to dress smartly and behave at all family dinners ignore us as we display a sincere smile hiding our yellow teeth and when we bang our head into the wall to kill each other off or atleast hurt the other enough for her to shut her fucking mouth a while your eyes don't have to see and i'll keep my wounds away from your fingers don't fret no panic no bodyfluids. we're walking a wire, a tightrope where skies start. they end below our feet this is where we came from and yellowpinkish dawn. stars hang from chains rusty and they fall aiming at your soft skulls. hurt me hurt me hurt me all you want. travel through wires. swift and weightless into your minds. unattached...polaroids in your hand. you can't hold on so copy. you have 36 2D realities to go with the background of your choice, feel free to scroll.

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