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to conquer time and space
my body ( Read more... ) -
how do you say...
I was on an airplane in the way back so it was extraloud. The vibrations were giving me a headache, like they always do and I was pushing my head against the window (21A) and crying when the man next to me (21B) asked me if everything was okay. Instead of say yes, like a liar, I said "I'm terribly scared of planes and books should be prohibited ( Read more... ) -
no time to analyse
January 14, 2007 ( Read more... ) -
i'll never know if i go to sleep.
some of the bulbs never opened quite fully but i'm too impatient to wait so i turn my head away and wait for summer which comes slowly but still after spring which is next in line after seasonal depression disorder. the grey doesnt make me any sadder than i would be otherwise in fact i can finally rejoice that the whole world is feeling as ( Read more... ) -
silence is knowledge
on cloudy days like this, night comes quicker than quick and at dusk i am getting my first cup of coffee for the day amid stranger friends, who are going on and on about heading home for christmas (i'm leaving too), but i haven't met them yet. and i won't today because there's only so many hours in a day, and in this day, one of the shortest of the ( Read more... ) -
uhm
For some reason, which is probably not a right reason, each time I am with another person in a small, close, silent place, I make a soft sound like I am eating something delicious. It’s quiet but unwelcome, like the sound art connoisseurs make when they see an endangered painting in its natural habitat - which isn’t a museum like most art ( Read more... ) -
i'm just being practical
I'm not brilliant like you, so I can't write a book like you that will move as many people or mountains. I wish I could, and a lot of times I think that maybe if I read your words one more time something will click and it won't be mimicry but some beautiful and original imitation that is fit to print and fit to call my own. It's hopeless though and ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
how many more of these shady disillusioned days will come my way? -
a delicate contemplation of brokenness
also:
what if we wrote our names in different colored sharpies on peoples caskets, not just casts.
our second cousin is dead and we write H.A.G.S. on her coffin. -
whatever makes it hurt:
i no longer deserve to look for inspiration. i sacrifice my body to anyone who wants it, hopefully i can be some sort of decaying muse to some mediocre artist in some squatter's palace somewhere far from everywhere. he can prop me up in the corner and throw me some dry oatmeal once a day and i won't care because anything better would be raw ( Read more... )