CLEMENTINE(stares out window)
My embarrassing admission is I really
like that you're nice.  Right now,
anyway.  I can't tell from one moment to
the next what I'm going to like.  But
right now I'm glad you said, "that's
okay" to me.  That was nice of you.
JOELIt's no problem.  Anyway, I have some
stuff I need to --
CLEMENTINEOh, okay.  Well, sure, I'll just...
(stands, throws bag over
shoulder)
Take care, then.
JOEL(pulling journal from
briefcase)
Probably see you at the book store.
CLEMENTINE(heading toward other end of
car)
Unless I get that hair-color-naming job.
Clementine sits and stares out the window.
INT. TRAIN - LATER
There are a few more people in the car now.  Clementine has
inched a few seats closer to Joel.  She watches him.  His
head is immersed in his journal.


INT. TRAIN - LATER
It's dark out.  The train is pretty crowded.  Joel stares out
the window.  Clementine sits closer still to Joel, eyes him.


EXT. TRAIN STATION - EVENING
The doors open and Joel emerges along with others.  He heads
to the parking lot, arrives at the car.  There's a big dented
scrape along the driver's side.  He gets in.


INT. CAR - MOMENTS LATER
Joel drives.  He passes Clementine walking.  She looks cold.
He considers, slows, rolls down his window.


JOELHi.  I could give you a ride if you need.
CLEMENTINENo, that's okay.  Thanks, though.
JOELYou're sure?  It's cold.
CLEMENTINEI don't want to take you out of your way.
JOELIt's okay.
CLEMENTINEYeah?


He pulls over.  She climbs in.  They drive.


JOELWhere do you live?
CLEMENTINEYou're not a stalker or anything, right?
JOELWell, I probably wouldn't say if I were,
but no.
CLEMENTINEYou can't be too careful.  I've been
stalked.  I've been told I'm highly
stalkable.  I don't need that.
JOELI'm not a stalker.
CLEMENTINE(beat)
You know Wilmont?
JOELYeah.
CLEMENTINEWilmont. Near the high school.
Joel turns.  They drive in silence.
CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)Look, I'm very sorry I came off sort of
nutso.  I'm not really.
JOELIt's okay.  I didn't think you were.


There's a silence.


CLEMENTINESo you like bookstores, huh?
JOELI like to read.
CLEMENTINEMe too.  It is Rain Dogs, by the way.
JOELYeah?  I can't remember that album very
well.  I remember liking it.  But --
CLEMENTINEThe song's 9th and Hennepin.  I spent
most of the train ride trying to
remember.  "Till you're full of rag water
and bitters and blue ruin/And you spill
out/Over the side to anyone who'll
listen."  Remember?
JOELSort of, um...
CLEMENTINERemember?  "And you take on the dreams of
the ones who have slept there/And I'm
lost in the window/I hide on the
stairway/I hang in the curtain/I sleep in
your hat..."
(starts to cry)
Oh, shit.  I'm so stupid.  Sorry.


JOELWhat?


CLEMENTINEI'm just a bit of a wreck.  "I sleep in
your hat" makes me cry.
(pointing to a house)
Me.

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange


James Douglas Morrison, you live on. 

I treaded on a flower, apologised profusely, picked it up and tucked it behind my ears. The delicious smell of winter landed on my nose.


I sit in darkness, watching festive insects clambering insanely towards a terrible crescendo under the new white street light.
I blink, and trace the spiral pattern with my fingers, guilty because I lied. It ate me up, the lie. i could feel pain, and even cried a little bit.
That night, I  craved revulsion but under the muted light of the lamp, i betrayed myself.


Nurturing a steady headache, i ignore your warmth and as the earth slowly dies around me,
 I walk under the whispering leaves, switching off lights in my mind.

Yesterday I wanted to be like you, glorious, dimpled and self-destructive

I bathed in your glow, and it burnt me a little, but you are dead you beautiful creature

You died in your sleep, and those curls betrayed you.

Today, I want candour

And as I smear my eyes with a black pencil, I want to time travel.

Instead, I skip a meal and poke my brain with a sharp pencil

Fail at fiction, and smoke a cigarette.

I detest my throat as its scraped and sore
Cannot smoke endless ciggies no more
If you ask me why
i'll prolly not  reply
-why be a raging bore?

its such a sad limerick. from such a sad person. lend me your sympathetic ears and noises

aargh

I worry I worry I worry and I come back to the same point same story.

Lights bounce off the walls, tussar scarves burn, music throbs inside every brain

We laugh, we gesticulate, and spiral webs form on my feet, as they stare at you

-and wonder why

We drink and clap and stare at the walls, happiness in every pore

In the sweet morning light, we make love, out of breath,

Capture heartbeats, capture eyelids

And sleep.

If you wanna hang out youve got to take her out; cocaine. 
If you wanna get down, down on the ground; cocaine. 
She don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie; cocaine. 


-been swinging to Cream/ Clapton whole day

Sometimes being with you just kills me and i hurt i hurt like a miserable little bitch and i bruise i bruise like i want to like i scream inside scream as loudly as i can and i know you will still go and i know its just a big fat drama inside your twisted little head wish i could touch you that deep and sprinkle a little salt over it


**
you came and you left and it hardly makes a difference and so i tell myself i hate how you are and i want to believe that your profundity is a lie your face is a lie

When the lights will be glimmering all over the city and the carousel will be filled to the brim I might be up in the air sick of wanting you, tired of bright drunken evenings, tired of fighting, tired of sore feet and a mind which has stopped ticking to colours and beats.

 i can run around and fall and scrape my knees, but doesn't count, as i am scared of the fresh, red wound being a mere lie. And maybe i'll need you to accept it, and you won't. A phantom shifting ache frightens me to tears and i am gladly a misanthrope. i want rum and coke, and Radiohead on loop, and a soul sister on my knee.

do you really need a few fucks to feel transcendental? Isn't it okay to indulge in paranoia? Can you really not create if you are in love with one person/ is the ideal one person one universe concept merely stupid and utopian? What happens when your little world gets all fucked up?

As i looked out of my room-window today, the sky outside squealed a bright glaring blue. In this heat, i gloomily looked up at the ceiling and slumbered like a diseased cat. When i woke up it was drizzling, and the sun looked on like an idiot. The fan blades refused to move and i brought down my childhood, carrying it safely in my arms, as the silver insects darted here and there, in and around my sleeves. The sky resumed a balance, a mellow sad balance and i swished back my limp hair and read. 

"Yeah, the ellipsis, it's dumb. It's dumb. It's an awful idea. I'm not gonna do it, okay? Cause like you said, this is it. This is life. And I'm in love with you... I think that's the only thing I've ever really been sure of in my entire life. And I'm really messed up right now, and I got a whole lot of stuff I have to work out, but I don't want to waste any more of my life without you in it. And I think I can do this. I mean, I want to. I have to, right? "

Drunk self is foolish. Reminds me that i haven't been filthy drunk since a certain eventful evening when i crushed, danced, flirted, screamed, ran away and cried in rapid succession. I twirled with the self, and swayed with the beats and i had fun. 
For now, i long to sit near your shoulder, slowly smoking a spliff as we admire the ancient building opposite ours, and watch the pigeons taking flight.

you pissed me off, my darling. Because you are behaving like a de-skinned chicken left to wander on the streets, but on the contrary, you should be really happy and excited that life is being charming to you, doors are being opened for you, and the sky is a bright bright blue.Count your blessings, and count your fingertips.

When I get to the bottom 
I go back to the top of the slide 
Then I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
'Till I get to the bottom
Where I see you again
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Well do you or don't you want me to make you?
I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you
Tell me, tell me. tell me
Come on tell me the answer
Well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer
Look out!
Helter Skelter
Helter Skelter
Helter Skelter
Well do you or don't you want me to love you?
I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Baby tell me the answer 
Well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer
Look out! 
Helter Skelter
Helter Skelter
Helter Skelter
When I get to the bottom 
I go back to the top of the slide 
Then I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
'Till I get to the bottom 
When I see you again
Yeah, yeah, yeah

this time.. this strange misty time between the advent of night and the departure of day never fails to enchant me.. like a whisper it descends on my hair.. like a dream it settles around me.. gently pulsating in its amber smoky beauty..and i can only reflect endlessly, nurturing a similar dream within, craning my aching head to look out  , and watch the colours on the water body, as the first fireflies start clustering around and time suspends itself around the trees...

I wonder if i ever really grew up, ever really stopped weaving fantasies around my head. Sadly these dreams are chipped now, from over exposure to the bad world, and it's like a too-old cup from the hills with the quaint image of a handful of clouds.

Dure kothaye dure dure..
Mon beraye go ghure, ghure.
Je banshite bataash kaande shei baanshitir shure shure.
Je poth shokol desh paraye udaash hoe jaye haraye
Je poth beye kaangal poraan jete chaye kon ochin pure...

I can't stop feeling like this because this is not what i want. What i want is to hear your voice. and I am trying too hard to be cheerful, trying too hard to ignore what I need, as a good friend calls and embalms my injury, i hurt a little more.

i created you impetuously regardless of time and place, i built you slowly guarding, wondering.
and as you bury your face in my hair, now, i am overwhelmed, as always. 

Why do i have to tell you everything, in super LOUD letters? Maybe you dint realise but you chopped up my heart very finely yesterday. I don't know how to behave. I am controlled. My skin's tightening with the effort. And I have a ball near my throat, real and illusory, and it aches dully, it aches shrilly till i sleep, till i drown inside the covers, sniffing dolefully at the familiar sleep-smells, trying to retrieve, trying too hard, i believe.

yes i have something to do, apart from listening to tones inside wires, adding another dog-ear to another yellowing, sweet-smelling page, apart from tearing up, scrambling fervently inside my head, ideating, eating, smoking, i can scribble, i can turn to polka dots my bubbling fury

So suddenly one day I decided to stay at home and nurture a weak gland.
Not a fictitious gland, not an illusion
So, say helllo post-it. say hello to dementia, say hello to a large large place
say hello to Drama.