Pieces of skin like condiments in the refrigerator door.

http://chad.cleverdirt.com/

Hoping I could learn a bit bout what is true and fake.

I wish I could die in this moment.

I wish that the atmosphere that was encircling me would stop time and shatter around me spilling in to my lungs. I wish I could be frozen forever in this solitude. The air is pricking the hairs on my arm and I feel numb. I can taste the sulphur and dryness that is all around me. My legs are stuck akimbo and shaking. My eyes are hollow and painful and they are begging to the light. I can't stop shaking. I can't stop crying. My throat is wrapped up in scratchy twine that is choking my ability to speak. I am apocalyptic. I am constrained. I want to stop feeling.

My heart is breaking. It is breaking and it has shattered. Pieces of my heart are tearing at my insides and bleeding all over. And I am scared. I am terrified of this moment and begging it to be more swift than the slow motion that it has become. Aching and torn all the way through to the core of my being. I want to vomit the words I read and the smiles that were given. My hair is damaged of the thought that you will no longer run your fingers through it. Every follicle is drained and cold.

I wish I could die. I wish this feeling would go away. This sickness that makes no sense and is controlling my body. Let go of me. Let me vanish in to this thickness. I want to die so that I can stop feeling. My heart can not return and has burnt in to the ashes that have shattered with the wind. I am so empty. I am so empty. I am so empty. so scared. so alone.

Meet my beloved enemies.

I really think that this song is beautiful.
Hope everyone is well.

A mirage of fantasies that were misleading to the sprite of a small fry. He taketh and he giveth so sayeth the Lord unto thee amen. We were along the ride for a journey of enlightenment and the path got twisted and took a turn; For the way of the dead is a traitorous journey that ones soul is never truly prepared for. There are games and obstacles to try your inertia to the hollow of a persons core.

You share and you relate trying to make room for one more, the truth is something that never really leads you in the right direction. You listen to the gut feelings and you ignore your heart; do they coincide or is this just your mind playing tricks on you? One never really knows the truth or reason for the journey, yet you're always forced to take it; Everything is a journey, you never really have a choice.

Expectations are slim and depleting as the hours pass and the rabbit hole seems to grow smaller and darker the further you fall in. Your fingers crack and your eyes dry out at the sign of a new day approaching and you wonder what it was all for? Was this dream a testimony to the fact that even you can fall head first in to the trap of the adventure or a lesson learned to apprehend the next foe in this villainous game.

Villainous game - it all seems so horrific and familiar. These dreams are not nightmares and nor are they the catalyst for blood roses and pools of doubt - they are but a remembrance that life comes at you with a force greater than anything you can possibly imagine. A shattered resemblance of the moments you're allowed that leave you full up and elated if only for a second. a minute. an hour. a day. there is no time to such periodic trysts of enlightenment.

It was a poetic moment that life allowed to happen. A snapshot of what human nature can be about when it is shared and given and nurtured and reveled in. No regret can chase back those light rounds in to veils of darkness. This is what happens when you grow up and take note of every second that slips by, you realize that it's nothing more than the great sonnet of life.

To live life thinking that it is more than a tragic love story is to not live at all.

http://web.mac.com/c_crabtree/

then I would suggest
a. bookmarking this site for future indulging.
b. subscribing to the RSS feed.
c. tell me how much you love me.

that is all. carry on.

For the record. I hate myspace.

I wasn't missing it. Those spaces seemed to take more and more out of my deprivation. I'm knocked out on the edge of the mattress and all I can hear are those hollow spaces between the chaotic resonance of static vibrations in my ears. It's like shock therapy the way the screams come and go with no steady time stamp. The rapture of this makes my eyes fill with blood and my veins bulge and contort in fashions reminiscent of a bloated spider web.

There are plants that take years to grow an inch and even longer for you to fully appreciate their beauty. I can't take you in. I can't breath your air or trust your hands. I don't know you like I know my soul. How your mind wanders when a crowded room of people are all that surrounds you. Your interactions like an insectivorous plant entrapping my mind. my body. my soul. Will you let me breath beneath the surface of your sensitive blades?

Where is this sleep that I was thinking of? Imploded against this pillow and my thoughts are dripping from my pores. I'm wet and agile and it's nothing but that noise keeping me from solidity. I can't seem to get my thoughts in order these days. I just sail along with the standard of becoming. And I don't trust them; I probably never will.

Shanks are trembling in anticipation amidst the dance of courtship. Why can this not work against all odds? I'm in a room full of negative space and the juxtaposition between the frame and my arms is enough to write a sonnet. The dark is working overtime;

I'm giving up the ghost.

I hate waking up to strangers in my house.
This will stop. This will not happen again.

Dont make me feel like a stranger in my own home.
Or I will tear you apart. piece. by piece.

I need something to be said. A reason to remember those turning points and those living lessons of virtue and abnegation. I need more to this journey than what has been handed to me - what I have taken. I evade this existence with the pessimistic thoughts of tomorrow and that weakens me to the things I am yet to learn. And I perceiver.

I get numb to the mundanity of it all. I get excited for the outcome in the end. I have these dreams, these promises and I work hard for them - to reach them. I move forward. I step back. It's how you do - the dance you take to make the girl fall in love with you.

I find that I get bored. I want to move in my own groove but the consequence might be to loose the girl. The guy. There truly is no guy, one might wonder if there ever will be - some day, I keep positive. I keep sipping on my tea at night and singing myself to sleep with the music in my head. I listen to a lot of mellow music - I find that I enjoy to be relaxed more so than to be stressed out. I see myself changing in that way, maybe it's a part of getting older. I'm not sure.

I enjoy the rain on the window. I enjoy the perfect day. I enjoy the birds singing in the morning. I enjoy the crickets that chirp at night. I enjoy traffic jams and walking aimlessly around the grocery store. Maybe I just enjoy getting lost in life, it fills more time that would otherwise be void.

People change their motions between the relationship of a pair to that of a singular person. Time goes tick. tick. ticking by and you find yourself forgetting the ways of the pair and only knowing the habits of one. You learn a different way to drink your coffee in the mornings and you learn a different way to make dinner. You learn a different type of motivation and there in you learn how to be alone. It doesn't suck, it's just a different state of mind - being, but even though this ice cream is nice you'd still rather have italian ice. The fancy stuff is just always harder to come by.

I've been a singular customer for quite some time now, so don't take my word for any of the previous paragraph. I just have an active imagination - that's what it would seemingly be like.

One would assume. Less than. Three.

What the fuck?! You can buy television shows and movies on iTunes now!

My mother called me this morning.

"I just don't want you to be depressed today."

She does this every year at this time. She's always the first voice I hear on this particular morning. I'll answer the phone and she'll be singing in her happy 'wake up kid' voice. It's nice. It makes me smile, first thing. Next year we'll get to have brunch together, because this day will not fall on a weekend. That will be something to look forward to, god I love her.

"Oh I'm not, I'm just going to have a lazy day today."

I never have the heart to tell her that I hate these days. This particular day - tell her that I'd rather it not be a day of solitude. How I'd much rather be attending some get together that my friends had organized or some dinner in which someone cooks for me and we all sit around and laugh and drink. I don't need anything special - well maybe a cake. I'd like a cake.

"You'd be so proud of me, I painted my bedroom all crazy colors."

She's so funny. Funny and proud - I love her for that. She's getting me a coffee maker, she told me. She gets so excited about surprises that she can't keep them inside. She told me that the next time I come down we can paint the ceiling together (even though she knows that would be nearly impossible because of my asthma and allergies to all of her animals). We can always dream of the future though - and paint it whatever color we choose.

"I think I'll get a hair cut and just enjoy the day."

That's what I told her three years ago. I was walking around New York the morning she called - that was the best one, by far. I think it was because it's the only time that close ones had a valid excuse, I was so far away. I didn't expect anything that day, but I still wasn't alone. I had the entire world at my feet then, everything felt so possible and alive. What a perfect place to enter adult hood - yeah?

"Well happy birthday. And I love you."

I love you too mom - More than you will probably ever know.

(12:11pm Addendum: My neighbor just left me cookies outside my door with a note that said, "HA! Happy Birthday". Now that's just the shit, she just made my day. Weird, the kindness of strangers.)

I suppose that I should have posted this after I had decided to do it. Then again, with that inconsistent posting thing, I just never got around to it - we'll continue the why's of these two statements a little bit later.

I am so broke at the moment, but I really wanted apple pork chops and to make a lemon pound cake. I scrounged some change and went to the grocery, planning it down to the penny - of which I had two to spare after it was said and done. I went home and started all the prep work (two hours worth, soaking the pork in a brine and all). I was half way through the lemon pound cake when I read, "and pour the batter in to a ten inch tube pan...." What the fuck is a tube pan? I do not have one. So I have to scrounge even more change and go run around the city in search of a 'tube pan'. One Walmart and a Target later, I have my tube and begin my journey home. Might I add that the dinner that followed was the best one of my life. Mmm. I didn't even want to smoke after it was over - I just sat out on my balcony with a glass of ice water and watched the sun go down. That was nice.

I still need a roommate - there is a lot of traveling that I'm itching to do, but can't until my bills aren't so overwhelming.

You know. I sometimes wish that I could be obsessive over something. OCD about something, like keeping with this journal for instance. Or perhaps a favorite television show that I never miss an episode of, the x-files does not count considering that when I watched all of those it was a binge (very unlike me). When it comes down to it, I realize that I'm pretty fickle - in most things that concern my life. I'm probably the most unstable in relationships - this including and mostly pertaining to friendships. I come and go and feel like I'm constantly floating around, I feel ungrounded and confused a lot of the times. Motivation is just as unpredictable as anything else. I'll start projects and get really hyped at doing something and then it just fizzles out - I lose inspiration as well as interest. I've been sitting here trying to think of something that has remained a constant in my life. The longest running so far is my habit of smoking and drinking coffee, but those are addictions and I truly don't think that counts as a valid constant.

Trying to think of the cause leads me down just one road; My theory of life is that it should constantly be evolving and changing and the only true reason to settle about is when you find a euphoric state of happiness, but in reality I don't think such a realm exist. I think that happiness comes from different things, of which I do attain from time to time. The question is, why do I keep passing them by? What do I keep looking for?

This all sits around my thoughts on getting older and having goals. Having a plan for where you want to be and what you want to do. I thought that by trying to experience as much as possible would direct me closer to this answer, but the more time that leaks out of this flesh tells me that I still have no clue. I'm still just floating about being inconsistent. The flip side to this, why do I feel so static?

I think about both of these extremes of finding myself fickle and static and imagine that this reality should seemingly not exist, it doesn't make sense. Hence, I'm just left dazed and confused. What does this all mean?

I can't be consistent with the little things and my interactions are completely changing yet I feel like I'm moving no where. How can a person standing in one spot be constantly changing - unless of course it's not the person that is fickle but the environment around him that is. Maybe that's it. Hmm.

The equilibrium in my middle ear became unbalanced a week ago (I'm taking pills to correct this). Both of my bank accounts went in to the negative two weeks ago (I have recently fixed this). My car broke down last night (of which I had towed in to the service department today). I won the beautiful balcony contest of my apartment complex which entitles me to one hundred dollars off of my rent next month. Bad. Bad. Bad. Good. I hope this is the start of a better month.

[As a brief side note, this new Sigur Ros song is simply beautiful, par usual. Download it immediately.]

ooeie94jgumskghgomjdhgug239r9283yn.klisvy7hluaj/khlk$%&^%*&@^876875UY#TGJasdddeoertu;yh;,a. !

Mission 1: What is it about me that keeps scaring them away?

I'm tearing like a paper doll. Each rip seems to make the paper that much more malleable and seedy. The sound is sometimes soothing and at other times it is like a chain-saw ripping through the top of my head. And this dripping from some where above seems to splash on my nose and drizzle down the sides of my cheeks. I'm learning to relax and I'm learning how to let go. I'm learning how to retell the scary stories that were told to me as a child. I can use that to make them trust me; The other campfire kids.

Take me out of this play and put me back on my scripted sitcom to sit and watch reruns over and over and over and over again. I keep flipping through these channels no matter how tired I get, but they're all playing the same shows and I keep meaning to not understand the outcome. I keep meaning to remember how to play demure and act so innocent, but I'm not. I know I'm not. I keep getting older no matter how much I try to deny it. The earth keeps spinning around and gravity keeps pulling down. My dreams are the only place that I can let go and fly away. Fly over everything that I can still not touch. Flying right up out of the atmosphere. Away from these lands and these peoples and these fights and wars and emotional insanity.

I keep flying until there is nothing. And the nothing at the beginning of the end is where I go to sleep. It's where I go to not know and not want to understand. It's where I go to let go and not cave in. I go there and I take with me the sounds in my head - only the music, the voices are lost to the reality between this world and the next.

I want the prophets to stop teasing me and I want them to lead me to the truth. I want these secrets between human hearts to vanish and the laws of protection to be torn down. I want everyone else to see the truth in this beauty and to watch and actually know why we cry. I want them to feel it, that confusion. I want them to taste it and to learn of willing intrusion and there in find the smallest, hurtful, conclusion. I feel it. I feel it and I don't want to feel it. How does the world pick up time and again without ever blinking an eye, after the winds and after the rains? I'm finding a new way to talk to God. I think that the world doesn't have a heart and it just functions and moves without knowing and without feeling - these things just move and shift according to the rise and fall of the seasons and when one destruction comes, it bowes down, let's go - dies. It perceivers by creating new flesh and starting completely new, unknowing. It grows.

I think the evil inherit is what gave us memories and emotional attachment. It's a double edged sword, you know? You can love every minute of it and carry it with you for the rest of your life, but so can every one else. What one might call love, might be remembered as a slow rip to another. The blood will drip with many different meanings, but it all goes away and dries up in the end; The stains just seem to last a while longer - especially when dripping on something as chaste as cotton, white.

I think that I hear these bells in the air. I think I know what they mean. You are on my every breath and your smile is on my every. finger. tip. and I sleep. and I sleep. and I sleep. and I sleep. and I sleep. sleep to dream, you know?

And lastly, after all of these melodramatic posts. To a certain someone out there who has meant more to me in the last few months than they could ever know, thank you. What you did tonight was completely unexpected and something that you just couldn't possibly know how much I appreciate. I know that I often complain and bitch about circumstances that seem unbelievably trite at times, but you still listen - and you always bring me level to what is often right in front of my face.

I need you to know, that I can never lose you. Thank you.

I remember how she used to smile.

I remember. It was when I still smoked up every day before class. The days when I had class. When I worked at the Nature store selling rocks and incense to modern day spiritualist. I didn't know many people then. I didn't really make it a point to know anyone, I didn't feel the need. I had myself and that was all that mattered.

She, not the one who smiled, took me in with her long black hair and earth child ways. I always admired her and looked up to her. She inspired me with the way she took life by the balls and didn't give a fuck about what came her way - she looked after me like her child. She was this amazing earth mother to me that appeared to be sober and in touch with just about everything.

I was wrong. I ended up fucking her over. I don't regret it.

But the way she smiled. I met her through a dear friend at this spot we always used to go to in high school. My friend had this thing for her so I had to give the inspection. So I chatted with her a bit and completely fell head over heals annoyed with her. Bitch. Too loud and opinionated with really horrible skin. I went back to the apt.

Only to find her, not the one who smiled, being miss submissive to 'the man' so she could 'feed' us.

On 'the man'; For the most part he scared the shit out of me. He was one of those tall skinhead types with a lot of tattoos. You know the like, shaved heads with combat boots. The guys that you know are going to pull a knife and tear out your lungs at any given moment. But he had sad eyes - He had sad eyes; His apartment, come to find out by various trips to deliver the ‘xxxxxxxx xxxx’, was filled with toy action figures from the comics. He had actually read Kabuki - and a Nintendo. This intrigued me. So of course I developed this strange infatuation with his character, inner child per say. Everyone can't be entirely evil and 'business'.

Back to her, not the one who smiled. I was completely fascinated by what I was watching. The more I watched their body temperatures rise the hotter I got. The more they got in to it the more I imagined myself as her. The more I wanted to be where she was. Not for the simple pleasure of getting fucked mind you, but for the satisfaction of sharing something so sacred and intimate with someone who appeared to be so big and bad. To be quite honest, I think it's a fantasy we all have at some point in our lives.

I can tell you this. I did get that chance. Only to be frightened for my life wishing that I didn't have to feel his sweat on my body. Wishing that I didn't have to smell his drunken breath in my face. Wishing that none of this had ever happened. Knowing that the pay off was going to be big - I closed my eyes.

Times have changed. So many things have changed. People wonder why I don't touch drugs anymore. People wonder why I don't drink anymore. We all go through things. It's a part of growing.

I remember how she used to smile.

She had asked for my AIM name. She IMd me that night. She asked, 'what's up'. I told her, 'nothin'. She wanted to know if I would ride around with her. Of course I accepted the offer, anything to get away. We rode all around the city. She took me to this spot that I had never been to before - amazing how locals tend to know all of the back roads and shortcuts. We sat there. On this hill that looked out over the lake and this beautiful bridge. The city had never looked so big before. And alive. We talked all night. She showed me her book of poetry and I read every page taking special interest in the little doodles on the side. It showed me this amazing side of her that I hadn't seen before. I remember looking up and seeing her smiling. I swear to god it made her damn night that I had taken the time to look at that thing. That thing. Her metaphor of a toy action figure and Nintendo. I didn't do it because I liked her. I did it because people intrigue me.

To this day she's still smiling. And still annoying the fuck out of me. But for some reason, wherever the hell she is, I still find her completely fascinating.

And I still have fantasies about his dick.

And I still don't regret fucking her over.

And I still find the time to sleep.