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Lights On Upstairs At Five AM
2002-12-30 - 8:22 p.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

 

Sometimes, sometimes...I just wanna skip around a bit.

the ool ool of cool blue

lagoon.

Anyway.

True art transcends culture.  Something is identifiable with everyone, or rather, recognized.

Good movies or plays need more than one note to be successful.  Comic relief in dramas and tragedies and horrors are good example, and it is often missed in this fast food insta culture.

I don't know why, but FUCK I had to write that down.

Oh, and sometimes I want to wrap everyone in the world into my lovin' arms and hold them tight against the fear, the pain, and the lonliness.  I could spend ages watching the people in the streets.  Or wherever, really.  (not that I am a peeper)

Drove the 'rents to the airport today, or rather, they drove and I rode, which was almost a fatal mistake.  Father almost derfed it twice in some bad driving mistakes.

They had to be at the airport, which was a good 45 mins away, at five a.m., meaning they wanted to leave at four a.m.  I just stayed up.

As we passed through the silent town, I looked at the houses as we drove.  Always looking for those telltale lights that were still on, still lit.

Many times as I have walked the earth, in various places, usually in altered states of mind, and always always look for the lights on upstairs.

Not in any mean, criminal bent.  No, that won't do.  Too dirty and invasive.  Like messing up a beautiful garden, some things are better to view than be involved with.  Did I say some women?  Some guys, too.  But guys aren't my bag.

Anyway, I always tried to put a picture together with what was going on in the rooms with the lits still lit.  Because its never something normal, unless someone simply left it on.

Someone crying.  Someone dying.  Fake friends on a three day booze and coke binge lashing up the evil white powder with nostrils like hoovermatic vacuums.  Unreal love that found itself at 200 am friendless and looking across the bar.

I would know.  I would want to know.

Lives passing by.  So many lives.  So many stories.

If you haven't, I recommend staying up late, taking as much drugs as physically possible, and wandering about wherever you are sometime between four and six am.

The added bonus, especially if you've been particularly heinous, will be that of being seen in your saturday night clothes, looking either particularly fried, or strangely alert, as people get up to jog or job, the ends of your fingers reeking of nicotene, pot and whatver else you could scrape up on short notice, and noticing that their 24 hour period had a nice period to it.  A nice segment.  Whereas yours just mish-mashed all together and time just doesn't seem right.  Last night is still tonight, and today kicked in the door like a massive bastard demanding to be fucking recognized.

And you never, EVER find out what goes on in those places with the lights still on.  Only on your end.  Only on your end do you know.

So, maybe, on second thought, don't do all that.  I've been there, I've got the answer for you, and it is this:  there is no answer, and there never will.

And leave me to my musings.

 


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