2005-02-25

where are you going/where have you been?

Where are you going? Did the white-picket fence trail along in a blurred, laser-like line while you ran and glanced over it from the side of your eye?

I hear the voice inside my head constantly asking me that in the soft buzz and heat of afternoons, which remind of stale winter--Florida Februaries are stale winters. You can try and grasp onto the cold and cheerfulness for a bit longer, but it's near-impossible.

I breathe hard before Calculus tests, tapping on my TI-84 calculator and running my fingers through my hair, deciding at that moment whether the line's a parabola or if I should have washed my hair yesterday.

And English class frustrates me with the kings and emperors dragging their homemade velvet capes. And Ethan's voice pipes up and people are quiet because it's as if he's got all the answers...but that's not true, and Hamlet isn't the best play ever.

"Hamlet and His Problems" I think was Eliot's critique, or something of the sort. My rear-end slides on those metallic-like seats and I feel the fabric of my lowcut jeans while I tap my pen on the desk exasperated at the fact that I'm surrounded by actors with really, really bad hair.

So where are you going on these stale afternoons? Into the orange-hued clouds? Into the heap of broken images of the past? Will the white-picket fence drag or slide along--serpent-like--with you?

aeka at 3:23 p.m.