Not of your design

i don't think like you
so why should i write like you
my thoughts
my world

impact

(05/02/2003; 09:32pm) - impact

and so here i sit.
again.
with the same view at the same cliff.
and i notice that nothing has changed.
dark clouds still loom on the horizon ever encroaching upon the blue skies whose light can cut a swath through misery
in my absence the bills decided to not only not pay themselves, but to multiply in some hedonistic orgy
st. john's continues to remember that i owe them money::my outstanding balance blocking my ability to register for summer and fall classes. elongating my scholastic adventure a full year?! choices. was given the full tuition amount by the 'rents but part was used on frivolities such as food and transportation.
and i am broke. deeply deeply broke; with no forthcoming paycheck as i spent the pay cycle sick in bed. leaving me in the familiar trap that the rich never understand, and the poor know all too well.
immobility translating into sinking

once upon a time there was a plan.
the plan involved me working, eventually allowing me to pay off st. john's without bothering the parents. and with tuition settled chaos would cease. i would return to "just getting by" instead of "hanging on by a thread"

either the thread was plucked or i was hanging on too dearly because in the end i fell and broke. and that's when the plan became irrelevant:: I was to later place it on a shelf in a dark closet between my wish for world peace and my collection of songs that include the word hope in the title without negation.:: i spent my last dollars on food, medicine and doctors, learning that walking into:: faux:: poverty is hard, even if the trek is for a good reason

here i sit
the phone rings

my grandmother calls to check on my health, alert me upon the availability of rent funds, and the presence of financial breathing room.

and so here i sit.
again.
with the same view at the same cliff.
and i notice that nothing has changed. much.
dark clouds loom on the horizon ever encroaching upon the blue skies whose light can can cut a swath through misery::but the dark clouds are always there. they make the view look mysterious::because t is::
the bills. on the tables. in the mailbox. i look. they fornicate. i walk on, doing what i can
st john's is a corporate whore that i loathe but have fucked to my own disgust. and like any whore it will get paid. in time::out of taste i chose to forgo the metaphor, of incuming semesters and impending graduation::
and i am broke. deeply deeply broke; with no forthcoming paycheck as i spent the pay cycle sick in bed
but there is control. there will be order

a smile wanders by amiably. it streaks my face

and so here i sit.
again.
with the same view at the same cliff.
not laughing. not weeping.