Untitled

Slowly slipping, sliding into the shelter of insanity.

posted by Pacer 6/27/2002

Moments In Time

I don't really know how to voice my heart. I want to fling it out onto the page and let it speak for itself, but it stays firmly attached to the veins and arteries and all that mess in my chest. Hell, if it could only speak for itself we all might understand what it is I feel. The only word to sum it up right now is confusion. Confusion.

A quote I heard in a movie, a bad movie except for this quote, went like this: "There are as many types of love as their are moments in time." Over the years I have come to understand this more and more. There are so many ways to love someone. So many.

You don't need to be sleeping with them. You don't need to hold their hands, date them, or even want to get in their pants. In fact, oftentimes, if you do want one of those things it is less because you love them and more because, well, you want to serve yourself.

Love is far more difficult, far more dense to carry than the self. But love is what it is about, folks. Love.

Of course, this doesn't mean my damn hormones have not been getting in the way some. Oi vey.

posted by Pacer 6/27/2002

Tuesday, June 25, 2002

The Land of Inbetween

Sometimes you just get stuck there
In the land of Inbetween
Where nothing is quite decided
And nothing is quite as it seems

Today is one of those days
One of those days for me
I feel like I am lost somewhere
It must be the land of Inbetween

So my feelings of confliction
Dance within my chest
And my confusions on the world order
Will not allow my mind to rest

But welcome to the land of Inbetween!
It is quite a magical land
For you see, there is quite a bit of nothingness
But also, quite a bit to be seen

It is a land of paradox
A land of make believe
But if you are not careful
You might get caught Inbetween

posted by Pacer 6/25/2002

Sunday, June 23, 2002

Skirts

There is something to be said
For a little bit of leg
And the pattern of a skirt
With a nice, tight little shirt
Of a woman downtown
As my heart can be found
Yearning, burning, forming thoughts of love
Or sex, at least, so let's worship the beast
With your gogo boots
I swear they are in cahoots
With the skirt up the way
And what might you say?
A roll in the hay?
But there is something to be said
For a little bit of skirt
And a tight, little shirt

posted by Pacer 6/23/2002

Wednesday, June 19, 2002

The Crashing Night

When the beer bottles hit the table, and the ash trays begin to get picked up, the bar begins to clear out for the last few people. They wander, stagger, weave, chat, and dance there way to the door after an evening of ... whatever they wanted. Alcohol. Music. Cigarettes. Love. Hate. All things, shoved into a tiny space in a tiny moment in a tiny town on a tiny planet. Reality begins to set in.

So the troupe of leftovers leave, past the doors, into the cool evening air and some squint, although there is no sun, and some shiver, although it is far from cold, and all begin to slowly let the reality of the city streets sink under their skin and into their bones and let their minds wake up to reality. Their day ahead, their sleep ahead, their plans for the week begin to lay out in front of them on the breaks of the concrete of the sidewalks they walk as they wander to their cars, or to their cabs, or to the pathways that lead to footways that lead to doorways that lead to couches - and some grimace, while others grin, and others simply stare into nothing with that blank stare that often accompanies drama, four shots of tequila, and the hope of a bit of pot down at the next stop. Worries be damned.

So the city begins to crawl, the skin of its streets begins to have staggering movements accompanied by loud, or soft, voices with gestures of humor or frustration as the denizens of the dark begin to crawl to their lairs, or their cars, and the night begins to reclaim the time which was stolen from it by backless shirts and flip flops with partially untucked shirts - front, not the back - and hipster jeans and baggy pants with chains and piercings and weird hair and normal hair and no hair but with maybe a hat here and there.

In this whole mess I shuffle my feet with thoughts on my mind, often times women, but sometimes something less mundane, or more mundane depending on your view, your perception, your point of recollection and conception, and thoughts come falling out of the sky to hit me on the shoulder like gentle, and sometimes not so gentle, raindrops of memory and thoughts as I make my way to my car.

I try and broaden my mind, like stretching my arms out wide to give a big hug, in order to try and wrap its ends around the ends of the night and the moments that passed with stares, and whispers, and comments, and jokes, and I try to comprehend, I try to understand, I try to break down and know, to flow with what has happened - but my mindspan, like my wingspan, is only finite while the night and the time spent is infinite. Divisible into more divisible parts than my mind could conceive to divide, the night and its understanding eludes me like a slippery fish, flipping and flopping around in my hands. But far more permanent, far more elusive.

The car rushes towards me as my thoughts continue on, my hands reach my keys in my pocket and they slide into the door as I take one last look at the night, the breaking darkness, the people wandering and staggering and floundering in life as they make their ways to their respective destinations, and I pause for a moment. Or two. Or three.

Could I be? Could it be? What did I see? What did they see? Would it come to me? Would it be?

And the pitter-patter of thoughts begins to quicken so I duck into the safety of my car and the cover of music which keeps my mind dry. Home for bed, and another day, so it seems. Sweet dreams.

posted by Pacer 6/19/2002

Monday, June 17, 2002

The Nothing

I just don't want to
Touch a thing
Talk
Smile
Move
Go
Frown

I just don't want to move from this place
I just don't want to talk to those people
I just don't want to smile once more
I just don't want to go somewhere, anywhere
I just don't want to frown
I just don't want

If I could shut the world out
I would with a slam of the door
If I could just figure out
What it is that I want, why I won't smile anymore
If I could just figure out
Why my head, my heart, my hands, my everything suddenly feels so dull
Then I might smile
Then I might laugh
Or at least then I might cry
I might actually be sad

Anything is better than this nothingness I feel
I can't shake it off, I can't ... simply ... feel
Anything
Nothing
I can't even scream

Maybe it is all one horrible, horrible dream?

posted by Pacer 6/17/2002

Saturday, June 15, 2002

Shake The World

Shake the world,
With all your might
Show yourself
Throughout the night
And the darkness of the days
And the wonders of flight
But Shake the world
With all your might

posted by Pacer 6/15/2002

Friday, June 14, 2002

And Her Eyes Are What Holds Me, Her Eyes Are What Draws Me In

When you look at a girl's eyes (or a boys, if you prefer that sex), do you see the color? I don't look at the eyes - I look at what is behind the eyes. I could stare into a woman's eyes all day long, get lost forever in them, but not tell you there color. I love eyes.

Unfortunately, this gets me into trouble with women. They want proof I am not simply looking at their chest, or ass, or some other aspect of their body. They want proof I'm not simply viewing them as a piece of meat. They want the color of their eyes, not the mood or the smiles or frowns or laughs - they want concrete, not my abstract.

My fault.

posted by Pacer 6/14/2002

Wednesday, June 12, 2002

Song for Tiffany

Eyes.

Eyes are what I see when I see you.
They feel.
And move.
And Inspire.
Eyes are what caught me, that first time.
I saw them and they followed me home.
At night.
In my dreams.
They haunted me.

But it was more than eyes.
It was more than smiles.
I can not tell you how many fine eyes, how many lovely smiles, have
    kept me up at night or caused me to walk into a tree,
    but you see
You see,
It was more.

I felt snared. And drawn. And ...
Connected?
A dangerous word, and I'm not sure.
It was like something clicked, another piece of the puzzle seemed to fit.

I still don't know what all this means
My feelings are often confused for fancies, and so forth and so on.
But I do know that it is a bit more real, life, when I am around you.
I am more real.
And, I guess, I hope you feel the same way too.

posted by Pacer 6/12/2002

Love Song

I really don't know how to explain it
I really don't know how to form the words
How do you really kill the abstract
How do you dissect the form
Of thoughts, and feelings, and moments
Which shift in time
Like sand under your feet

To define something is to lose something
To understand something is to kill it
They say hindsight is 20-20
I say it is the only path to comprehension

The moment you let go
Is the moment you understand
I'd rather hang on, however
I'd rather wait and see where I land

So this song, as you can see
Has failed quite miserably

So, in ending, I'll throw out every cliche in the book
I love you quite dearly, I love the way you look

But its too late. The stars begin to shine.
I'll see you again tomorrow, if only in my mind.

posted by Pacer 6/12/2002

Tuesday, June 11, 2002

Happy Go Lucky

"People always see the cheerful me." She said. "They never expect me to be in a bitchy mood, or angry, or anything else. Only happy. I just don't want to deal with those people."

And this comment got me thinking, as she sat on the steps outside her apartment smoke with me sitting there watching the stars in the late, late evening. I can't remember how many times my mother used to say to me: "You're so pleasant to be around, when you're in a good mood."

I'm sorry, those people aren't the folks I care to deal with, either. I don't want to put up with those folks who only care to be around me when I'm in a "good" mood, when I'm happy, but I'd rather hang around those folks who simply want to hang around with me.

I am not always fun. I am not always happy. I am not always a good person. I'd rather find someone who loved me for me, not some concept of me or a partiality of me - the happy, the fun, the whatever - but the whole me.

So no more wasting my time with folks who really don't give a damn. No more sitting there, in the corner, and being quiet in order to avoid causing a scene. I'd rather deal with the folks who are there because I am me, and I am there because they are them. The whole package - all perks and flaws combined.

posted by Pacer 6/11/2002

Sunday, June 09, 2002

The Topic At Hand

My new found Blogging comrade, the irascible Jean Louise Finch, described why girls always go for the assholes, the jerks, the sketchy guys on her site. (See, I told you there was plenty of good stuff on your site.) While I already knew all this information, having two sisters and far too many female friends for my own good, this leads into the Topic At Hand. Women - and being a nice guy.

You see, there are two lovely ladies for whom I have high regards - one your might have read about earlier, the one I finally asked out on a date. The other is a bit more complicated - we're friends now, but there is definitely some flirting going on. But then again, we both flirt more than a little, and not less than a lot. So the confusion lies in the following scenario: Girl A is away, out to Italy for a Semester; while Girl B is free, but this one will cost a definitive fee. On my heart, that is.

Both are dangerous, but the second more so. You see, I like them both, an unenviable position, and it leaves them holding the cards and myself out of luck. But c'est la vie, non? Ou, c'est l'amour, je pense. Regardless, I'm confused out of my bloody mind and, with my glacier like speed, I'm stuck in neutral once more.

I should really learn to stop thinking about women. On the plus side, at least I'm not dating someone I don't really like that much. Been doing that too much ...

posted by Pacer 6/09/2002

I See You Baby, Shakin' That Ass ...

Every man's delight is a bit of skirt
With a tight little shirt
Or maybe a long flowing dress
They all make our minds a mess
But I'm here to tell you more,
You women of lore
The ladies we see downtown
The untouchables who we make frown
You're the subject of our chatter
At the bar over there
And when we're pointing your way
Don't think it doesn't matter
You're the new infection in our brain
But I'm here to tell you more
I doubt these are situations which implore
The feelings of the heart, but rather the loins
And sometimes we'd rather follow those
Than the other organ in our chest
So watch out for our eyes
Make sure they don't wander down
To the curves of your waist
And the ones right below your face
But that's all I have to say
So peace out, I'm off to find something to do today.

posted by Pacer 6/09/2002

Saturday, June 08, 2002

The Ability To Come Up With A Title Is Insignificant Next to the Power of the Force

So the newest reader to be added to the small group of fans of this site, Jean Louise Finch, mentioned that I was surprised that I was linked to. Jean Louise, who I know very little about but seems to be very interesting, yet with no contact info, also mentions that I should "Just return the favor sometime, dude." Well! I did! :-) Anyhow, there is plenty of great stuff on that site, and I have enjoye reading it very much. I am, however, an undiscipline, poor excuse for a Blogger myself because I simply link very rarely. I think it's the attention span.

So in an attempt to be a better Blogger, and in an attempt to point out some of the other cool sites out there, like the one by Jean Louise Finch, I found this post on the aforementioned site which, to a great degree, sums up my last few months. Unfortunately. And this is also the reason why I haven't dated. Dating being that "Seeing someone more than once, while sober."

Oh, and Jean, I apparently act like I'm 23.

posted by Pacer 6/08/2002

Thursday, June 06, 2002

Something About the Inadequacies of Youth

There's something about the inadequacies of youth
And how they frolic on the stage
The failures of their life's experience
Are for everyone's joy and rage

But there is definitely something about the inadequacies of youth
That set's them apart from the rest
For they're still learning about the measures of this earth
And with an abundance of energy they have been blessed

That something about the inadequacies of youth
Is not something I can quite put my finger on
For I wish to put my arms around them all
And swear their struggle is almost done

But something about the inadequacies of youth
Is something I remember quite sharp
The failures that they achieve at love and life
Will be my own memories of my life throughout

posted by Pacer 6/06/2002

The Underwear Exam

I see a little slip of it there
It is purple and sleek, not that you care
But my mind cares, as I try and focus on the test at hand
My mind cares, and my mind can barely stand
Stand to force itself away from the site of your purple underwear
It's a delicate bit of cloth, under your stylish jeans
And you such a lovely person, and body, and I can't help but see
But for your honor, and no small amount of mine, I will only take a glimpse
Under there
Or a stare
It' so sheer
But I have to focus on the task at hand, this test I have to take, this exam
But, I should tell you, in a telepathic way
I think those purple undies really rock
I'd love to see you in them with nothing else except, maybe, your socks
But oh! What is this, you have telepathy too?
Shit, this is too good to be true
And too good to be good
And distracting
Purple
Cloth
Sorry, my dear sweet Clara, I do not mean to be so
I imagine I am simply but a pig
A male chauvinist, and so
I ridicule my thoughts in my brain for their dirt
And I wring them out, and try to think of something ... pert
Pertinent I mean! Oh heavens me, I can't seem to see
Nothing but the distractions, my fetishes may be
I don't mean to be lewd, I simply find them fascinating
You're a beautiful girl after all, but I imagine I deserve a chastening
But the clock winds down, and so does the exam
And away you'll go, to some foreign land
But damn
Your underwear is nice
I envy the man, or woman?, you choose to entice
As for me, I'll simply respect your beauty
From this distance
Since
Me, I am no man.
I am no one.
Farewell.

posted by Pacer 6/06/2002

Celibacy - The Way To Go!

Friends, strangers, ladies and gentlemen;

It has recently come to my knowledge that celibacy is the way to go in life. Yes, those of you out there who are in relationships at this moment, you are doing it all wrong! Celibacy is the answer to all your unhappiness!

Think on this for a moment: how many times have you been sad, tired, broke, angry, furious, used, or crying because of someone you did not have a celibate relationship with? A lot, right? In fact, I'd venture to say most of the times you were in a position like the ones listed above it was directly, or indirectly, related to a non-celibate relationship or the wish there-of!

Ladies and gentlemen, strangers and friends, let's face it: non-celibate relationships just add trouble to one's life. In fact, it is a proven fact that being in a non-celibate relationship raises blood pressure, adds stress to one's life, and can even cause greying hairs or hair loss!

So there you have it, the true answer to life's happiness is a lifetime of celibacy!!! You heard it here first, folks!

Of course, in reality, nothing is quite so simple. Celibacy has an incredible amount of drawbacks. I am sure that, for the sake of all that read this, I need not list the first few on said list of drawbacks. But it is more than so, celibacy is a hard thing to do, period. It is not a natural state, but rather a state one forces upon one's self.

But the greatest question a reader might be asking right now is "Where the hell did this post come from, weirdo?" The simple fact of the matter is that, as of this last few weeks, my mind has been reeling with the concepts, thoughts, and actions involved in, well, the seeking or having of a non-celibate lifestyle. To be more brief: I have women on the mind. Bad.

And, at times of extreme frustration, I wonder whether or not it is worth it - relationships with the opposite sex, that is. Everything always gets so muddled and confused in such situations, whether the relationships are romantic or not.

Then I see a beautiful girl, or I hang out with a woman that just simply rocks, and then I realize why I go through this madness. Still, sometimes I wish it was easier.

posted by Pacer 6/06/2002

Wednesday, June 05, 2002

The Damn Shake of It All ...

I have come to the very pointed decision that I, in no way, interest girls. At the same time I, in no way, disinterest girls. This puts one in a most peculiar and frustrating position: while I do not turn girls off, and quite a few like me, it is only in a friendly way. I mean, sure, there might have been instances where girls have come to regard me more than in a friendly way in the past, but this is usually because of some trauma in their life which forces them to re-examine their relationship with me.

I am afraid I can say with a fair amount of clarity that there have been few, if any, women who look at me and go "Wow." Or anything along those lines. So, therefore, I am doomed to the status of "He's such a nice guy" for the rest of my life and a lifetime full of female friends.

The simple fact is that I am boring, uninteresting, dull, plain, gray, and far too passive. The few times someone has actually liked me required only a few months, if not a few days, for them to realize just how unexciting I am.

Fuck relationships. Fuck women. Fuck the fucking paradigm which dictates the behavioral interactions of men and women in regards to one another.

If I could unlearn all my instincts and simply learn to let go, life would be far more simple. For now, all I can do is cheaply imitate this state by simply trying not to care. About anything. Anything.

posted by Pacer 6/05/2002

Monday, June 03, 2002

Once Again, Friends

I can feel the flow slip out of my hands and into friendship land
And, as I look at your eyes at night, I can see them burn less bright
But I don't know what to do?
And I don't know what to say.
How does one keep it from happening this way?
I think I'm in a rut
So maybe I should become a slut
Sleep around with all the women I can entice
But that doesn't seem to be the answer
The way to beat my cancer
Cancer of the heart, the growth of timidity that holds me back
I teeter over the edge of the cliff
Looking down into the unknown land below
And all I'd need was a bit of a shove
And I fall, but I wouldn't fly like a dove
Into the unknown land below

posted by Pacer 6/03/2002

Imagination

When I was young,
I could see more clearly
And when I was young,
The world was more fine
And the stars would come out
And the stars would shine
But, when I was young,
The weight of reality had not set in
And now I feel those thoughts are a sin

posted by Pacer 6/03/2002