lost/startrek.

greg, i think you would enjoy this as much as i did.

you know you

should quit when your cigarette frowns at you.

Mary Anne

What happened to her, Rat said, was what happened to all of them. You come over clean and you get dirty and then afterward it's never the same. A question of degree. Some make it intact, some don't make it at all. For Mary Anne Bell, it seemed, Vietnam had the effect of a powerful drug: that mix of unnamed terror and unnamed pleasure that comes as the needle slips in and you know you're risking something. The endorphins start to flow, and then adrenaline, and you hold your breath and creep quietly through the moonlit nightscapes; you become intimate with danger; you're in touch with the far side of yourself, as though it's another hemisphere, and you want to string it out and go wherever the trip takes you and be host to all the possibilities inside yourself. Not bad, she'd said. Vietnam made her glow in the dark. She wanted more, she wanted to penetrate deeper into the mystery of herself, and after a time the wanting became needing, which turned then to craving.

your making me sick.

i wanted to write you a letter,

i've been dreaming in black and white. i've been dreaming that my phone keeps ringing. its an important call, but i keep missing it. i constantly look at my phone but there's always missed calls.

i wanted to write you a letter, 

but i can't because it would sound like i am leaving. i want to tell you i feel lost, i don't know where i want to be. my only joy is the drive from point a to point b. my emotions are askew. i feel like i am drifting, not away. i have no control over the current. but i am disconnected. i can feel it when i talk. i can feel it when i watch. but then again, i also feel betrayed. i can taste the lies vomiting out of my mouth, like i haven't brushed my teeth in days - that fuzzy coating of plaque forever glued to my pearly whites. i'm not apart of it anymore, inside that hurts me but i know it hurts others more. this world is bigger than us. i am tiny, i am small. i want to tell you i'm confused. you know the trust game? where you fall straight back into the others arms? i can't play it because i always take the last step to save myself. but i don't think you could catch me, your knees would buckle under my weight. we'd crash to the floor. is that trust? i can smell your skin, its not sweet. i'm sweating, the backs of my knees are dripping. i switch into third. sorry, my car can only go so fast. i switch to fourth. FUCK OFF. i speed up. my speedometer hits ninety, but we know thats really only less than seventy. they cut in front. god, fuck you. i switch lanes. relax. its a highway. relax. it doesn't matter. relax. dug is tired. i'm sitting in the parking lot, i want to tell you that i don't care. i want to tell you i don't know what love is. i want to tell you i am empty. my insides are gone. you took them out, tied them together, and threw them over the telephone wire. you bitch. i needed those. i run for the telephone post. i am skin and bone. my bones grind. i climb the post. i have nothing to lose. bitch. if i fall i am just bones. fucking bitch. i want to tell you it doesn't matter. it does.

i wanted to write more,