MAY 1 2000

As I sit here covered in brothel light, surrounded by the smell of various inscents, wearing the boots my sister bought for me a few years back, Listening to some song on repeat, wishing my back would stop hurting, my head would stop pounding, and for my soul to become a happy one. I think. I think about Lizards, and Trees, and just why the sticks are always in threes. Not able to concentrate on any tasks at hand, not able to control my self in really any way that seems right. Not able to stop thinking about the things that no one knows but me. Sock over my eyes, and free to do what I can. With out the burdens of my future, and with out the accomplishments of my past. There was a story I once wrote, it all started with a boy, well a man really, who was by him self, sitting alone, thinking about trees, and Lizards, and what not. He travels the land, and searches in every corner of what he sees. And discovers that he isn't looking for the tree, or the lizard, or anything he thought he would find. They were with him the whole time, he was carrying them with him, in his heart. And once he realized this, the Lizard, and the Tree all came to him, and he didn't have to go anywhere. My film never got made.
"And so there he was, walking the streets like he did all the time, with his new found knowledge, and his new found hope. She came out of the empty house and shook his hand, then took his hand and showed him to the tree. It was at the house where his journey began. You can climb the tree or hang from it, she said. And she gave him some rope. He gave her some wood, and they built a swing."