well, i don't think that i ever loved you more than when you turned away, when you slammed the door, when you stole the car, drove towards mexico, and you wrote bad checks, just to fill your arm, i was young enough, i still believed in war. well, let the poets cry themselves to sleep. and all their tearful words would turn back into steam..
(conor ( Read more... )

somewhere along the lines i became and now i am a catalyst to this catastrophic illness and i [don't know where to go from here.]

oh no, no, no, no, no, no..

yes.

well, fuck.

it's gotten to the point where i don't even know how to say that i don't know what to say.

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this morning (1.0-1.5a) i went outside in the [windy, fucking freezing northern-california-winter -- hey, i live in la, shut up] cold to take pictures of all of the night things. figured out that: bw looks better than color (doesn't it always?) and flash is generally necessary for photography at 1am. and, the moon is too far away to photograph. ( Read more... )

when you tried to kiss me,
i only bit your tongue.
when you tried to get me together,
i only came undone.
when you tried to tell me
the one for me was you
i was in your mattress
back in 1982.
(cake.)

( twist. )

( why? )