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so while i haven't written anything in a while acctually pertaining to me, i don't feel like doing so. this is primarily for when i feel depressed and need an outlet that the ones who care would call "productive." by this they mean not killing myself or causing self harm : / so i haven't felt like doing either of those things seriously lately, or at least not at a time when i didn't have others immediately around to help. so here's something new discussed with you vardo. a co-writen [sp?] story with a friend of mine-velocipro, or velo/66 as seen here. the song lyrics would be me. i don't know if it'll show my colors when i put it in here, but if it does, i'm the orange and he the blue. comments? this will be in small installments until i catch up to where we are, and after that, at whatever speed we write it. hope it's good <<
edit:did not show colors. i'm coding the names him blue and me purple.

Velo: "It's weird living alone, having everything bundled away with no one to share them with. All my ideas, yet no-one to execute them with.” I thought to myself, staring out my 2-story window. "Who would I share them with? Not just any ol' person, I know that. Someone who can ... understand me. But I can’t even understand me. At least not today…How can I expect to find them anyway? "
I’ll wear your skin as a suit.: "What's the point of this all, anyway? Sitting at a window, looking at a bleak grey sky, which only reminds me all the more of the fact that everything in this world is dull, from the walls of this room to the way I feel. They said going away would be fun, that I would enjoy the experiences. All I've seen so far is loneliness and countless monotone walls accompanied by numerous monotone voices." With this, I turned around, to survey yet again the empty, depersonalized gloom of your standard student room. I hadn't yet even unpacked, discouraged by the long trip here and the lack of anything stunning upon arrival. "Perhaps something of interest tomorrow," I muttered to myself, flinging myself onto the stiff, over exchanged mattress. As an afterthought I wondered, "Who has lain here before? Anyone else like me? Hoping for another chance, only to be disappointed?'
Velo: I awoke next morning to the sound of my cell-phones alarm. It's not the best, but it gets me up. However for the 4 days, I’ve had little use for it. I haven't slept as much as I used to. Dreaming just doesn't seem worth it anymore. It's only been distracting anyway. I plopped out of bed, and headed for the bathroom. It was even duller than the bedroom. As I washed my face, I had already decided that I would be buying breakfast this morning. No sense in fixing it, when I wont even be here long enough to enjoy it.
I’ll wear your skin as a suit: After a brief submission to icy water to clear my mind and torture my body into alertness, I stumble out in a white towel, stiff and somewhat sticky, probably a result of soap residue and dampness-the effects of utter sterility on a world. Everything spotless and distantly unsatisfying. I rummage through my drawers; pulling on the first thing I grab in order to appease my screaming body's plea for warmth. As I walk out the door, I see in the mirror out of my peripheral vision that I’m wearing the drabbest thing I own, a charcoal pantsuit. This day, despite my hopes, was not looking up.
66: None of the local shops looked pleasing. A Starbucks caught my eye. It was built into a run-down hotel, which I now wished I’d stayed in, instead of taking the "cheap" student only room. Despite my better judgment, I decided there. Even though I had a major distaste for coffee, the caffeine could make up for my lost sleep. And, I needed to find a ride to the campus and didn’t want to waste time worrying about where to stop to eat.
I’ll wear your skin as a suit: I entered the cafe, which despite its shady location, was still rather full due to its corporate status. After a moment in line I come to the front. I don't really know what to get, so I ask for a latte, like the man in front of me. When it is placed in front of me on the counter, I leave without a thought to cream or sugar, expecting not to like it either way, and wander down the street. I don't know how likely it is to find a cab, but I expect by the number and proximity of buildings that a bus, more affordable anyway, should have a stop nearby. Hopefully I haven't missed one that will get me to the campus on time, but I suppose that's up to luck. I hope the luck is someone else's who needs the same bus, because if it's mine I'll be walking for a stop in the wrong direction. I sip the drink, and while not finding it bitter as usual, I find it painfully bland. I suppose that's to be expected, everything has been lately. Ahead of me I think I can see a bus stop, and unfortunately, a bus. Without thinking I begin to dash for the stop. The doors of the bus are opening as I arrive there, and I hope the driver doesn't have a temper or too foul a sense of humor. I inquire, breathlessly, "Does this bus go near the campus sometime in the next half hour?"
'Next stop. You might find out ahead of time next time though,' the large woman sitting in front of the wheel says with a smirk.
"Thank you Ma'am,' I say and hurry onto the bus. Of course, my luck can only hold so long. I forgot about my coffee, which I expertly splash across my stomach and thighs. ‘Well s**t,' I mumble, paying the fare and stumbling into the nearest empty seat, wondering how I'm going to get this off.
Velo: I have once again found my head buried in a window. It’s as blurry as my boarding room's, but this one is a little more enjoyable. At least its image isn't a still one. The pictures projected from this windows view are of buildings and people on the move. Somehow, even the sky looks more colored out here. A nice change from the view of clotheslines and garbage cans back at the room. And this one has a new element to it. Noise. The noises of children at play, and the wind rushing past; birds singing and music playing. And even the chatter on the bus folk adds to the mood. But I know it won't last. I will arrive at my destination, and it will all disappear.
Just like what happened when I arrived here.
Saying sorry: The bus lurches to a stop sooner than I thought it would. I realize with dismay that I still haven’t wiped the spilled latte off my clothing. 'What an excellent first impression I'm going to make," I mutter, shuffling off the bus between a number of shabby middle aged men, presumably professors, and young people of various ages and styles assumed to be students. The amount of shoving and bumping from both ahead and behind gives me the illusion, or perhaps, reality, that I am invisible in this world of greys. In some small way this idea encourages me, if I am not here, I'm not expected to do anything, I am unimportant, and thus, I can do as I please. Sadly, I know this is not true, and the utter disregard for my presence sinks me quickly back into my knowledge that there is nobody who has compassion and understanding for me. I'm just the new guy with a lap full of coffee. Tripping down the steps and into the fresh air, I have a momental rise in faith that the air, which is no longer stuffy, and the sunlight, which is no longer distorted, will somehow make this day all right. But a sharp breeze blowing a cloud across the sun, dampens what little hope I have, and I look up, hoping that the cloud will move and give me some sort of confidence before I must walk through those doors.