lately

i like to imagine little children made out of marzipan in a marzipan world. it'd be like claymation but they'd all look like fruits in different colors with eyes. remember when skunky mcfunky told me he hoped I found what I was looking for? I kept his letter and chopped it up and glued it into a notebook, that's somewhere in a closet at my parents. it was poetic. I was 18 and now I'm still the same drifter... or maybe i just lost myself for awhile. a long while. delete delete delete. i don't want to be this free spirit everyone seems to say i am. i want roots. i want what they have.

magical nights in OB getting illegal beers, making out, picking up hitch hikers. or going to estate sales with marina where the ceilings were falling in - it smelled, but there were a million treasures, and thousands upon thousands of owl collectibles. hidden everywhere. setting up a backdrop in the forest and developing my own film. going along with everyone else just for the experience. silent night car rides with the windows down because everyone else is smoking cigarettes. i want to cry. i want to be young forever, and now all my friends have gone to big cities and found nice boys, and i hate the huge cities, and all the people and the egos. i don't care what you do, and i don't care that i don't have a career, just that everyone does and measures and calculates and measures and calculates. i want to be the exception so bad. but i'm not, i'm the same, and i'll wait forever.