So I got home from climbing and Carolyn was playing Hallelujah which was literally the perfect song for that moment.

"love is not a victory march,
its a cold and its a broken hallelujah...

but all I've ever learn from love,
was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.
its not a cry that you hear at night,
its not somebody who's seen the light,
its a cold and its a broken hallelujah."

goddamnit

Anyway, then we were talking about the meaning of names, cause she asked me what my middle name was, and what it meant. And I remembered I had written about it on one of my old blog sites, so I went and sought it out. Chana means "gracious" and "merciful" apparently. Anyway, then I was reading my old blogs and I came across a quote I had put in there. It was from Gatsby:
"no amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart." which I guess I was resonating with at the moment I read it. Now that I think about it, it is eerily similar to what my poem from the other day was talking about.

....
so, the theme of today is
self-worth
and how little of it I feel.

fuck I am so tired. I can't even waste the time trying to explain or understand anything. The time I do waste, I just realized... I am trading one pointless night for another, and neither the one I want.

At least I got some reading done. Not all though. Off to do that.
I did my laundry also. And finally washed my sheets again too, which was much-needed.


feel:

"Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face
The kind you'd find on someone that could save
If they don't put me away
It’ll be a miracle

Do you believe you're missing out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else
But with nobody in your bed
The night is hard to get through

And I will die all alone
And when I arrive I won’t know anyone

Well, Jesus Christ, I’m alone again
So what did you do those three days you were dead?
Because this problem's gonna last
More than the weekend

Well, Jesus Christ I’m not scared to die
I’m a little bit scared of what comes after
Do I get the gold chariot
Do I float through the ceiling

Do I divide and fall apart
Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark
This ship went down in sight of land
And at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands?

I know you'll come in the night like a thief
But I’ve had some time alone to hone my lying technique
I know you think that I’m someone you can trust
But I’m scared I’ll get scared and I swear I’ll try to nail you back up
(everyone now)
So do you think that we could work out a sign
So I’ll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try
I know you'll come for the people like me
But we all got wood and nails,
And turn out hate in factories
But, we all got wood and nails
And turn out hate in factories
Yeah, we all got wood and nails
And we sleep inside of this machine"

This song.

----
This is only getting worse, because it is always the same.

"I'll endure countless repeats.
The gift of memory's an awful curse.
With age is just gets much worse.

...and I won't mind."