Log in

No account? Create an account
bookey's Journal
[Most Recent Entries] [Calendar View] [Friends]

Below are the 11 most recent journal entries recorded in bookey's LiveJournal:

Saturday, July 21st, 2007
10:10 pm
Light as a subject

Light As a Subject


Candle through wine glass

Very First Print


Current Mood: bored
Monday, May 28th, 2007
11:30 pm
Fish donnot have bones.
I heard your voice last night. Clear as day. I know your dead now.

You don’t bother to whisper, you don’t say things like everything is going to be alright. You chuckle, you laugh. You say hey in your deep raspy voice.

How long were you gone? Absent from your life, but still breathing. How long have you really been dead.

I hear people walking on the trail, rocks crunching beneath large brut like feet. This sound I associate with you, but only when its late at night. I think to myself, maybe that’s him. Maybe he’s still alive.

You’ve been gone almost six months. Six months and a day ago I could call you on the phone. You could come over to my house and I could have told you that I loved you, I’ll never let anything happen to you. You would have laughed.

I remember things like the texture of your skin. The smell of cigarettes and that axe shit. Most of all I remember your voice. I can close my eyes and still hear it.

It’s hard for me to see your face. Hard to put all these little memories together and make a complete memory person in side my head. I look at the picture I have of you and for a moment I see you. Then I realize what it really is. Just a photograph.

There is no end to mourning. Just a moment in which you come to except the fact that this person will never be real again. No matter where you go on earth you will not find him. He doesn’t live in some hut in Nepal. He’s not lurking around some dark street in Russia waiting for you to find him. He is gone and somehow you except that. Somehow, this makes it ok.
Wednesday, May 23rd, 2007
11:26 am
Picture of Me Taking a Picture Of Myself Taking a Picture

Picture of Me Taking a Picture Of Myself Taking a Picture

O.k. I'm bored. What can I do?
Friday, May 18th, 2007
10:02 am
The Peoples
Feeding Time

He was very cute!! And so was his buddy!

Not sure about this

Typical of Downtown.

The Homeless

The Homeless

He claimed he knew JFK

Current Mood: awake
Thursday, May 10th, 2007
12:13 pm
To the Muses
More pissed off then artistic.

To the muses
Wednesday, May 9th, 2007
8:13 pm
Hospital pals
I got recognized today at The Recycled Book Store by a chick I met in the nut house. She was no doubt some sort of strange lesbian. Dressed in a black suite with a halter top and vans, she started winking at me from the sci-fi section. She came over to me and I tried not to make eye contact. At first I thought it was some strange guy but when i looked at her i saw the halter top with tits pouring out and realized it was a chick. She asked my opinion on the Death Star and I told her that it sucked when it blew up (i had a thing for Darth Vader). She then walked away and I wasn't to bothered by the situation. She then came back up to me, reeking terribly of shitty cigarettes which, if your a smoker or have ever been one, is easy to spot. Anyways the smell was making me sick and she asked me if i knew her from somewhere. I told her no. Then she goes "Did you ever go to Fremont BHC?". I about shit my pants because yes i have been there many a time its a psycho ward and I'm not ashamed to share this. I told her yes and then she goes "Your Nicole right?". I told her yeah I'm Nicole. She then goes "Can I have your number?". I told her no. She then asked me again if she could have it and added that she wanted to take me out on a "nice date". I told her that i don't give out my number and i don't date girls sorry. She left me alone after that. Psychos are like elephants, the never forget or something.

Current Mood: amused
Tuesday, May 8th, 2007
4:59 pm
Felt Mouse!
Rhemus S. Mouse

My first pattern that worked!!!

Current Mood: happy
Tuesday, March 13th, 2007
5:35 am
comprehending and coming to terms with the concept of an end.
There are somethings we will never get over.  Somethings are just to harsh to ever let go of. Letting go means his pain wasn't real, letting go means their is no one left to empathize with him.  I don't want my best friend to be dead all by himself.  I want to go too. It's not fucking fair and I'm just not going to take it anymore.  If I keep living i will have to carry this for life.  If I keep living I'll be empty forever.  These things are worse then death and, I really like how cold this steal is.  I feel fully capable and in control.  This was his gun and I've completely lost my mind.   I've accepted this insanity and I do believe it excepts me.  For weeks I've rummage through his things but I keep coming back to this one thing.  I rapped it in his old shirt and brought it up to my room.   It even smells like him and sometimes I can hear him laugh.  With this gun I'm not alone, I have options.  This gun is solid ground, no longer a stranger.  Leading up to one moment stuck in time.  I could never even imagine to begin to let go of this. Please forgive me.

Current Mood: done
Monday, March 5th, 2007
9:04 am
web monkey 2.0 (pills)
I want my pills.  Its not a very hard thing to ask for.  I would just like to take the proper medication for the ailments in which it is prescribed for.  Its gotten to the point were I have to tell that doctors exactly what it is I take, and how much.  I have to check to make sure the pharmacist puts the right pills into the bottles.  Make sure that the prescription actually is faxed by the doctor over to the pharmacy in somewhat of a timely fashion.  I hate going their, its the county and its rather dirty.  I hate touching the door handles. o hate sitting in the chairs and waiting.  I hate breathing in the same air as some of the people waiting with me.  I come here because my pills are expensive and I take a lot of them.  I'm crazy or something so I go to the mental health office.  This place is wrong and should not exist on any sort of fashion.  I think the same for the miserable ass holes that drool their ways into the door flapping their jaws about getting their medication that doesn't do a goddamn thing anyway.  Most of the people their should not be.  Its sad but true.  They are far gone and don't know any better anyway.  Personally I think we should take these people off the streets so they don't pollute the gene pool.  That might be kind of Hitler-ish of me though.  We should at least make it against the law to be able to walk down the street drooling on yourself, jabbering about something hatefully.  It would eliminate a lot of germs and probably make things smell better.  I have no sympathy for these people, they don't have fur nor do they have tails. Mainly I just want to be left alone.  I don't  have any cigarettes and I wont give you a ride.  I have no lose change for you.  I just want my pills so fuck off.          

Current Mood: pissed
4:06 am
my dearest web monkey
 I find myself contemplating such things as death and suicide more often then not lately.  Its rather an obsession, a cadence whispered by an infantry of bossy gnomes.  I don’t believe in suicide, I don’t think it’s the right answer. But, I can comprehend it.  I understand it for certain reasons and in certain aspects.  In some ways its almost noble, most of the time it’s the act of a lost, scared, drug injected little boy who so completely lost his way a long time ago.  Suicide takes strength, a psychiatrist told me this once and I believe it.  It takes strength and  peace to come to terms with your own death, to realize that this is your only option, to build yourself up to that exact last moment.  And then strength, strength to press down. Strength to pull back.  . Strength beyond the normal range of any healthy human.  Strength from pain.  All this and 3 grams of meth a day.  And guns.  Such easy access to guns!  His gun was old and well made.  It could have done the job from many yards away.  But as self destructive humans we place these barrels in close range of our temples and pull the trigger.  Our arms don’t stretch far.  We are intimate with our guns, we die with them in our hands. 

Its hard, almost amazing to think that some one so dear to me, some once so alive to me is now a pile of gray ashes.  Almost spongy yet ruff in texture.  Little flecks of silver catching and reflecting light, remnants of past fillings.  I wonder if the dentist ever realized that this is where his work ends up.  Inserting  fillings into the head of a human destined  to blow his brains in the end anyway .  This lack of value breaks my heart, both for him and the dentist. 

It's to late now and he's gone.  But, I wont have to watch time forever.
Thursday, November 16th, 2006
6:36 am
About LiveJournal.com