This thing is like finding a dusty old box in the attic filled with memories that seem to have faded and been long forgotten with the passage of time. I'm sure I could find a lot of good old stuff in here, probably lots of my own eccentricities and a time line of personality change.
I started this thing in June of 2004. It's filled with over five years of my life. Back then I never would have guessed I'd be sitting at a dining room table in Lawrenceville, Georgia, pondering my next move as I question a very unsuccessful personal period of time. I had hopes for myself, desires and goals I never obtained, seeming to stem from my own poor judgment. I've been a wasted talent, a black hole of potentiality, double-crossing myself at every turn. I can only think to ask myself if there is another entirely different person living inside me who sometimes, in moments of which I am unaware, makes decisions for me that he knows will lead to unspeakable misery.
The response is "No, of course not, that would be ludicrous!" I hesitate to agree, based on the idea that if there was nobody else living in me, the response should have been utter silence. Therefore I have completed step one in the process of discovering a second personality, and one with a diabolical plan of self-destruction, is residing in my being. Step two of the process is what to do about removing the second personality. Psychological medicine seems to be the only known cure, though, and this may be the other personality recoiling from the thought of being silenced, I also hesitate to go down that road.
Remember what I said about eccentricities and personality change? Seems I've gone completely off the deep end.
I can promise you no mind-altering drug use has occurred in these last five years, though many movies have been watched on the subject and I may have become somehow under their influence. I don't know why I felt the need to qualify myself as I'm not sure for whom I am writing. Nobody is going to read it anyway. It's possible something will happen in the next day or two, and this will become the last remaining testament to my life. I couldn't possibly hope for that. The people who discover this would almost assuredly consider me mentally unstable. And perhaps I in fact am. There seems to be no existing evidence to the contrary.
As I cannot present a case for my defense, I will simply state that at this moment, 3:11 AM, on November 4, 2009, I, J. Gabriel Riefer, III, am actually a penguin. Take that, mental illness!
These days I seem to be incapable of expressing myself in anything other than random picnic table graffiti. Even then I never say anything too valuable.
I don't know where it is exactly I am heading or what I may be waiting for. I feel like I have said a lot I don't actually mean, and to rectify that might change people's perceptions of who I am. But what do I care? I have to be who I am, whoever that is, and not who everybody thinks I am.
All I want is a little peace and some quiet right now. This room is too small for this noise level.
Every day, you miss the opportunity to make someone laugh, make them smile, make them feel happy, even if it's for one moment in their busy, hectic, depressing life. And it isn't because you don't try. Because every day, people you will never meet are dying. And there is nothing you can do about it.
I was blindsided by that today. It makes me sad.
Maybe I'm in love with you. Maybe it will never mean anything or make a difference. Maybe I'm tired of holding it in all the time. Maybe if I told you, even though I know how you will react, I would feel slightly better. Probably not. That's a lot of maybes.
I should go sleep.
http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11">
Who left you so…?
Striking a match for the keyhole Dark as the evening laid When he left you all alone
Turning to fade through the sawgrass Tall as the only love That you'll ever really know
Who left you so…?
Grace is a gift for the fallen, dear You're an angry blade and you're brave But you're all alone Who left you so?
Turning a shade of an angel born In a bramble ditch when the doors Of heaven closed
Are we forever going to be failures? Would our lives have been better off if we had never met? Or did we just get too close? I don't know.
I do know that what time we had was good, it was the moments when I was alone that destroyed me. Maybe it could have worked if we had been around each other. Maybe it would have ended well, both of us going our separate ways, remaining friends with whatever we had left. Or maybe it would have ended the same way, one of us moving on while the other aches for what they lost.
Why do we have to let go? Why can't this work? Do you think things will change so easily? Even after all these years, not a lot has really changed. Though most of us is the same, we have grown. But I try and try and try, it's too hard to put down. You are too hard to put down. As much growing as I have done, I haven't grown out of you.
I don't have to be with you, but to know you, to be your friend, that's enough for me. Believe me, please. I love you. As my friend, from one heart to another, I love you. Whenever, if ever, you need me, I am here. I promise.
Here in Cologne, I know I said it wrong I walked you to the train and back across alone To my hotel room and ordered me some food And now I'm wondering why the floor has suddenly become a moving target
Four, three, two, one, I'm letting you go I will let go, if you will let go Four, three, two…
Says here an astronaut put on a pair of diapers Drove eighteen hours to kill her boyfriend And in my hotel room, I'm wondering if you read that story too And if we both might be having the same imaginary conversation
Four, three, two, one, I'm letting you go. I will let go, if you will let go. Four, three, two…
Weightless as I close my eyes. The ceiling opens in disguise.
Such a painful trip, to find out this is it And when I go to sleep, you'll be waking up
Four, three, two, one, I'm letting you go I will let go, if you will let go
Bass, bass, bass, bass, one, two, three, four. Snare, high-hat, keep the bass going. Repeat. Add a little electro-guitar whine. One, two, one, two, bring in the lyrics.
And that is how Bloc Party makes a song that nearly moves me to tears.
It isn't fair for you to pull me back in when I decide I want out. I can't resist you, and you know it. To say I don't care about you is a lie. I just want to stay the hell away. It hurts, and I'm not as strong as I thought. Maybe with time...I hate that cliche. But what's the old cliche about cliches? They are what they are because a majority of the time they happen to be true.
I'm trying to play both sides of this. I want to be your friend, but I long for so much more. I want that part of me to rot and die, or at least be replaced. But you are irreplaceable. Again I say it's unfair. I'm trying to not bring you into this again. It didn't go so well the last time.
Why are you you? Why can't you be someone else? Someone I haven't twisted and broken into hating me. Someone who could still want me, with all my quirks and bad habits and beta male tendencies.
Could I have possibly made this part of my life a bigger screw job? Sometimes, I think not.
Ah, time, that fickle funny ticking in the back of my mind, heals all wounds. And doesn't give any estimates on length or cost.
This is not a competition You will see when I am gone Can't you see that I am trying? Love fifteen; fifteen all
I made a vow to carry you home If you fall sick, if you pass out I made a vow to rescue you If you're in trouble, if you flake out
If you need to ask I ache because you ache
What was it you could not tell me? Why are there cuts on your arm? What is it you run away from? Why have all the clocks stopped?
I decorated a mask for the masquerade Saturday night. I'm wearing it as I type this. It's kind of in the way, so I'm not sure if I'm hitting the right keys. The smell of Sharpie is flooding my nostrils. That can't be a good thing.
I've decided I'm not in love with you after all. (I am, really, and it still hurts me to think about it.) The truth is you don't love me now. I can't say I blame you. Who would want to love a guy wearing a pink mask.
Do I not mention before the mask is pink? Oh, well, the mask is pink. With blue diamonds and black lining around the eyes. A blue dot over the nose. I think it will look smashing with my pink polo and Chucks. I will be hott. Two Ts. I feel like being emphatic.
Maybe if you were going to be there Saturday night you would change your mind, maybe I could make you love me. It wouldn't be difficult for me to change my mind again. (As I said before, I am, still.) But I know you won't be. And I know you don't want to be.
It's alright. I decided a long time ago I would love you forever, whether that means being your friend or that guy you used to know. I am whoever you want me to be. I know I haven't been in the past, but I say that to you now a changed man pleading a solemn vow.
Or maybe the Sharpie is finally taking its toll.
Whatever. I'm hott.
I have built a treehouse I have built a treehouse Nobody can see us Because it's a you-and-me house
I've been climbing rocks and stones, been collecting broken bones I've been swimming across the lakes just to find this perfect place I got lost into the woods, I've been covered up in mud I've been going through a lot just to find this perfect spot
I have built a treehouse I have built a treehouse Nobody can see us Because it's a you-and-me house
