mood: propheticmusic: 'silverfuck' by the smashing pumpkins

i'd been here before. sitting huddled in the cold on the dull red brick steps of my front door.

i looked at the fluttering white dandelions speckling my front lawn. it reminded me of the recent front i'd put up again varicella, the chickenpox. shudder to think. to think of my deformed, melted face. reeling in the pains of those blistered sores. swollen beyond recognition. a few days ago, i'd been sheltered in my prison of a room, blocked from the splendor of the most minuscule ray of sunlight, or moonlight for that matter. shrouded in what seemed like eternal twilight with nothing but water and porridge. forced to bear the gigantic blue pills that would herald my recovery.

oh, the porridge, the porridge. likewise, that porridge reminded me of my varicellic face. lumpy, warm, disgusting. i thought, then, of everything that reminded me of that disease. porridge, dandelions, anenome, concrete. shudder to think. shudder, shudder, shudder. i shuddered from the cold as well.

i was listening to siamese dream, a relic of the past for me. as soma wound down, i could only imagine rippled ponds, echoing like the phase shift from the guitars. i felt so old.

i sparked my lighter and the orange glow from the flame caught me unexpected. these days orange and grey were the colors of Los Angeles. everything around me reflected this. the cherried tip of my cigarette. the wisps of smoke rising from it. the brutally cold concrete sidewalk. the mist rolling in from the ocean from the west. 'i gave my life away, and i feel no pain...' and of course the amber streetlights. their light bounced back and forth in the fog, creating an angelic glow. a halo. an aura.

i stared into the face of one and i was blinded momentarily. i'd never noticed how imposing those gold and grey towers were, each of them standing taller and taller the longer i looked at them.

'i'm in love with you' cooed billy corgan, backed with the sweetest dreampop riffs i'd ever heard. this was a song from my past. instantly, i thought of how ironic that repeated line was; this song only reminded me of that soft beauty of a girl named jenna. how she managed to slip away.

i took a drag from a marlboro menthol. i'd bought the pack on impulse the night before. already, half the pack was gone. these cigarettes were archaic. shelved and stale. my mind darted back to the last time i'd bought a pack of these. they were the first i'd ever bought on my own, a few days before a roadtrip to knott's berry farm with andres and kristy, the other one that got away.

the cd had stopped spinning, luna had finished. i pressed 'play' again and cherub rock came on. if ever there was a song to remember, it was this one. just as the corgan/iha fuzzbox heralded the start of the song, so did it usher in my adolescence. this was the song that started the vagues. the one that symbolized our conviction to each other. to music.

nearly everything around me was ancient. my beat shoes, my beat jacket. the cd player i'd received years ago as a gift. these steps were where i learned my start as a pseudo-delinquent, on four wheels and a plank of wood. the bricks still displayed the majestic damage of those summers that seemed so long ago now.

everything reminded me of the past and everything that had past. time hadn't past me by; i was already tethered back in the other direction. oh, how the past had ruled my life! i was an old soul forever trapped, strapped to this teenage body.

my cigarette had burned out, perched on the cast iron handrail. as i lit a new one, the soft arpeggios of mayonnaise started up, plucking gently at my soul. the wind started up again slightly as the distortion overtook the song, burying all else in a rumbling roar, firmly but gently. i sat shrouded in fog and smoke and let it all wash over me.

---Goei---