a little bit of a resurrection
my life journal: cutmedown








dolor de corazon


i'm sitting in an empty classroom with an hour & seven minutes to burn like paper to ash. i can smell the smoke & it's burning my eyes, my nose. i took a wrong turn this morning. i felt so sick, getting off the wrong exit. 'i know this is wrong.' my stomach in knots. i'm at the bd corporation. there are gates in front of me & two guards. two guards in almost all black, head to toe, i can barely see their eyes. bright orange vests, the only color i take in, bright against the dull, morning air. bright orange, like a neon pumpkin. the guard on the right flags me on with his arm, to go thru the gate. i open my right door. he pokes in his head. 'i took a wrong turn.' the cold air coats the oxygen in my car, like warm honey spilling over a cake. cold sticks to my lungs. i can see his breath before his face, he points to the great wall beside us. 'make a left behind that wall' he speaks with a thick middle-eastern accent. 'thank you' & i meant it. he closes my door & i drive on. so i make the left behind this great, stone wall, covered thick in ivy & frost. & i know i'm getting onto the wrong side of the highway, but there's no where else to go in any direction. i drive on.

i guess that's what i get for trying to take a short cut.

college is like this kaleidoscope of colors & emotions. it's like a clash of culture & people & opinion. i want to touch people. i want to reach out to a sad looking face & hold it in my warm hands & say, 'everything will be okay.' i want to stop the people i pass. i want to offer them something. i want to tell the beautiful ones how beautiful they are & i want to tell the ugly ones how beautiful they are. i want to know where they have been & where they are going. i want to find someone who is looking for answers, the way that i am looking for answers.

we are walking, we are floating, among seas of people, faces. pink & pale & brown & beige. these beautiful faces all around us;; but somehow we remain alone. it hurts my heart.


written on 2004-01-21 at 9:51 p.m.

she / lost