stutter
I have eight million songs going through my head right now, but my mind's tuning in and out like a radio so it doesn't just make white noise. My paintings are all done except one, and today I slept in. It was nice to see sunlight leaking in through the cracks in the blinds, and be inside all day on such a cold one.

muhammad my friend
it's time to tell the world
we both know it was a girl back in bethlehem
and on that fateful day
when she was crucified
she wore shiseido red and we drank tea
by her side

I can finally feel all the tension winding down, and high school is finally drawing to a close. Just exams left now. maybe i'm the afterglow. I'm so eclectic, I can't keep anything straight in my head.

This morning I had a strange dream. It was in movie-style. I was in a room with a police officer and his superior, there had been a murder, well, threee. The officer gave the man three polaroids of the bodies. I was one of them, only I was a forty-something year old man, there was also a same-ageish woman and a black man. I came into my body and was in the police station, then I had the photos. I left the station and met the others who were murdered outside. Somehow we found clues that led us to an abandoned ship yard in the middle of a giant harbour with deep green-blue water. The air felt damp and the sky had turned murky grey, and then we were on an old boat. There were boats from every era and every culture in the harbour. What I saw went all around, sometimes in my body sometimes elsewhere. The boat that we were on had antique cars on it and lots of tires and general junk. My body and the other two were exploring when the boat started to drift out into the harbour. I saw rusty chains clink and splash in the water. I saw the woman lift a piece of cardboard to examine underneath it. The picture became choppy and jutted around a lot. Papers blowing around on the shore, the boat moving further out, the woman in the floral dress, the black man holding onto a railing walking up stairs, illegible license plates, cracked car doors, my body looking into the water, the clouds flying around overhead. Then our boat started to drift past another boat that somehow felt german, black iron and sturdy, somehow dormantly violent. Inside my body, a sudden spark, some sort of foreboding feeling. Across the harbour an old man with white hair, round in a black opera suit half-smirking. The wind blowing the woman's hair and the way her lipstick-pink-red lips part in a worried frown. The man walks down stairs which lead over the boat's edge and down to the water. I notice him, again in my body, a white speck in the distance. The old man. The wind blows his hair. A feeling of menace is building. Malice blows across the water. The scenes become extremely fast and there is a groaning coming from his boat. His eyes on fire with a sort of fury which was incomprehensible. From his vantage point, the boat with the antique cars is suddenly engulfed in a cyclone of fire. Spinning until there is a sort of explosion. Then a grin, and black. The next scene is a dusty road on a hazy yellow day. Full of cars and other junk. A photo of a man lands on the ground, and dust blows over it. A pop can falls.
And I wake up.

desperation
It's quarter after three and I'm still not finished my history. I am. Tired.

And it looks like I'm going to fail the bio test

...... again.

YAY! ^.^