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twong_on
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read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Tim
Birthday: 8/25/1984
Interests: Adventures,
Art,
Backpacking,
Biking,
Boatbuilding,
Canoing,
Climbing,
Crew,
Composite materials,
Cycling,
Getting lost,
Good people,
Guitar,
Hot tubs,
Hugging,
Kayaking,
Making out,
Marathons,
Materials science,
Mountians,
Music,
Photography,
Polymers,
Rock,
Rowing,
Running,
Saunas,
Science,
Skiing,
Smiles,
Swimming,
Telemark,
Travelling,
Triathlons
Expertise: Uh....
I'm not really an expert at anything except being me. And I suck at that, too. So...
Occupation: Student
Industry: Education/Research
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  twong on
Member Since:
9/15/2003
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whatttt???
life is so weird. my brain
chemistry is twisted. why
do i see things the way i
do. at once hopelessly
optimistic and horribly
cynical. and still tomorrow
is another day, one day.
and maybe we'll find each
other, the way we first did.
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It's always interesting when you've known someone for a while, and then little things start happening that expose their true colors.
Take for instance, my douche bag roommate.
Take for instance, Jonah.
Ah but let's concentrate on the good! I'm moving into my own apartment and it is going to be amazing.
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You were taking a shower when I finally arrived
after a whole year of missing you.
it was summer, and evening
where the low light catches atmosphere
and makes the air glow yellow regardless of angle or shadow
and insects add a thick feeling to the air through lazy commotion alone.
The kitchen door made that reverb noise
when the spring stretched against the wooden frame
and the screen whipped the air into a million strings of sound.
Your mother hugged me and flour fell
off of her heavy wool shirt, her blue jeans
and her hair. The wild strands that didn't stay pulled back
met the light like the trees and the tall grass and the white walls.
It was golden
a halved lemon with it's bright crown
but inside, a tired face.
I found my way downstairs to listen to some records
and smell the floor as my feet swept across it
(for a second I swore I could smell your hair
just like the swatch I kept when I cut it last March
and just like the one you tore out of your head
and discretely left on my blanket
that night that we spoke, without really speaking).
My eyes closed heavy,
the sounds let my head sway unbalanced
pulsing as the pitch ebbs and flows
with the speed of the turntable
and the rattling hiss of static
dances in my ears as if hushing me to sleep.
The music stopped and I woke back up,
but you still weren't there.
Shuffling more, around the room
I find what you have been working on all summer.
It's a piece of art, spread entirely
organized painstakingly, twisted wires
through holes in plywood, holding on each
piece of the machine.
The pendulums and springs, pounds of
tarnished brass, and dusty glass and hard,
shiny, black plastic. The instruments of science
hard-wired together, in a meandering sequence
that only held meaning to you.
I stopped at a microscope, early in the sequence,
and inside saw two prepared glass slides,
of the thinnest veneer, preserved slices of
heart muscle, brain tissue.
Further down there was the face of a clock
with massive, gothic arms, and on each
hand was a bright white initial. Mine and yours.
Just as my eyes found the end of the path
you creaked down the stairs.
I tried not to look.
Just like a photograph can be too painful
I wanted to postpone confronting the past.
But inevitably I had to face your innocent smile
and bright, wet, eyes.
You sat down right away on the floor
next to me. And your fingers spun the hands of the clock
a couple hours forward.
Asked if I knew what came next, I stared
at the end of the sequence and
felt a swing in my heart that was sudden
and familiar. A feeling of inferiority and stupidity,
it was the same as the times we used to play chess
or speak in spanish, or melt crayons together.
Before I could guess your fingers waved
my eyelids closed, and I paused my breath
and the air felt heavy on my thighs.
The next thing I felt was a kiss
and at first I shook, and then smiled
but a terrible wave of heat and emptiness overcame me
when I opened my eyes to see your thumb on my lips.
I felt utterly betrayed, and turned my head in shame
but you put your hand behind my neck
and turned my head
and kissed me.
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dream:
i come home and hear you singing
in my mother's sewing room
you're laying on the floor
holding a book in the air
and your hair is a halo around your head
you don't lift your eyes
from the corn yellow pages
but talk to me
your chin lifting your head
like a horse nods
and i lay next to you
talking, staring at the
ceiling. but it feels like we are
more than talking
it feels like we are kissing
the words we share are like
locked lips and your warm shoulder
against my arm is the heat
from your mouth
and burns a hole in me
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