2002-07-14 | 1:00 p.m.
we are stardust, we are golden.

Sometimes when I lie alone in bed, I try to imagine the lives behind the shadows on my ceiling. Are they as innocuous as they seem? I find it hard to believe that these are people too. That they breathe and eat and sleep and love and hate and cry and laugh. There is more to them than...silent blackness. Just like blinking red lights and newspaper headlines. All of those are real people. Too fucking bizarre.

I sound so stupid.

I'm currently listening to Joni Mitchell and wishing I was someone real.

deja vu? | jamais vu?