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june 25, dillinger escape plan
august 02, thee silver mountain reveries

i imagine scarves and skullcaps and gloves. i remember dreaming about things and i remember not feeling like less of a person for dreaming them. i miss the person i used to be and it's amazing how i've spiraled into someone who's consumed so much, and yet, barely lived. i used to talk endless about busses and airplanes and trains.

escape vehicles, redemption at 80mph.

i close my eyes and try to pull so much of that person back from pierced darkness, and dream about where i'll be three months from now and the person i'll be holding hands with. the one who'll come and sit next to me just to be next to me. the one who'll walk into a room and jolt my heart. the person i'd save all my smiles for. the person i want to share my winters with just to see her smile surrounded by a sunlit glow bouncing off windswept snow.

i miss (you).

i know i never write in here. never have anything to say. it's that way in real life too. all i hear is music like there's a score in my head to a movie i'm living out; a movie that sucks ass. and so i come home and dream stupid little dreams of movies i want to write where music evokes feeling and the words grab you and the intensity of the way it was shot. if you can make talking exciting, you're a good writer i figure.

the plan is this: move to columbus and save money for a year, then move to orlando and attend an audio production course at full sail for twelve months. that's as far as i've gotten. so i've got a year of partying and all around debauchery before the real work begins. i'll figure out what i'm doing after the course. i truly doubt it involves staying in orlando beyond that point. for the moment anyway.

listen:

i almost slapped a jehovah's witness today because she was keeping me from meeting up with my weed dealer. the moon is as low as it was two nights ago, like it's sitting on top of the house. i made two songs tonight and didn't even notice it. a two-hour desmond flashback is not a bad way to end the night either.

+ No Jack this week. Yay.
+ Eko is building something.
+ Crazy ass Hurley and Crazy ass Libby.
+ Bruce Davison.
+ Sawyer. Always plus.
+ Hurley beating Sawyer's ass.
- Not enough Henry Gale.
- Not enough Locke.
- Not enough EKO.
- Psycho Sayid.
- Still no sign of the Ceberus. Shitballs, Damon Lindelof.
Whose crutches are those? Hmmmmm.

This week we find out the reason Hurley hasn't lost any weight is because his imaginary friend Dave won't let him. (Um) Hurley went crazy after accidentally killing some people so now he punishes himself by hording food. This is so like high school. Libby comes to the rescue saving Hurley from a freefall, kissing him and crying, and it's actually pretty sweet. Sweeter that he's holding her hand as they walk away and it doesn't feel TOO forced, but forced nonetheless. Sweeter still that we finally find out where Hurley knows Libby from. And she's a bit more unstable than Hurley, but then again Hurley had complete conversations with thin air. These two are made for each other. With a better arc for Hurley this could shape up to be something. Not too bad, but Hurley's flashbacks still lack compared to the rest.

Next week: "They'll never give Walt back." Rose and Bernard have secrets. Locke questions his faith in the island...again. Jack crosses Zeke's line five episodes later with Henry in tow and finds out what "something else" turns into.

So um, Lost was pretty exciting last night. There's a map of all the hatches. It's no coincidence those blast doors dropped on the same day they delivered the food. (So they are alive and they ARE in a real place) Locke has the saddest fucking backstories ever. I have so much empathy for everything his stupid ass is going through. It just keeps getting worse and worse. I dunno know if I really wanna know how he ended up in that wheelchair.

But I wanna know what the blacklight writing on that blastdoor says.

And I wanna know what poor poor "Henry Gale" is up to.