28th of Sh'vat | כ״ח בְּשְׁבָט תשס״א
a total stranger one black day
knocked living the hell out of me--
who found forgiveness hard because
my(as it happened)self he was
-but now that fiend and i are such
immortal friends the other's each
ee cummings
[private] Refracted bones drag themselves into the open grave dug two days too early as the convoluted & veiled & bloodshot violet eyes roll underneath the door and sneak under your bed while you lie there awake, panting, and on fire - thinking thinking thinking thinking - waiting waiting - for nothing - dying dying dyring dying - disappearing inch by inch into blooming gold flowers, whose Byzantine logic puzzle, reminiscent of Lewis Carroll, throws you for a loop and cuts you in half. You're suspened in time, arcing -
- over crystal towers, floating on swan wings, hearing the loon's cry - half human, half animal - past the inky trees where perfectly candied hearts and tongues hang, dripping with icicles, waiting to be picked, until you fall into the blue-black nothing and dissolve and ebb away like diamond sands and children's laughs.
What do you make of that?
As for me, I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. The fingers of shallow waters and roar of the stars overhead make me cringe. I'm sick and tired - tired and sick. I don't need this. The virulence of Tate is irritating. Even his saliva as it spatters my spectacles is brimming with spite and acrimony. He doesn't want me here. I told him I didn't want to be here. He pushed my face into a pillow. -- Mame is full of mitzvahs, soft touches, and tolerance. But I can't stand her either. I want to hurt her and let her down. I want to see her tears fall into the ocean and remain afloat. Like exceedingly small salt crystal boats.
I don't know.
I am a solitary person, independent of all others. Independent of their thoughts, glances, guilt, temptations, et cetera etc etc etc. I am Me and I am I and I am Terry Boot and I am unwilling to remain a person. I am alone.[/private]
All life is ill-fated.
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were-I have not seen
As others saw-I could not bring
My passions from a common spring-
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow-I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone-
And all I lov’d-I lov’d alone-
Then-in my childhood-in the dawn
Of a most stormy life-was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still-
From the torrent, or the fountain-
From the red cliff of the mountain-
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold-
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by-
From the thunder, and the storm-
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view-
Edgar Allen Poe
knocked living the hell out of me--
who found forgiveness hard because
my(as it happened)self he was
-but now that fiend and i are such
immortal friends the other's each
ee cummings
[private] Refracted bones drag themselves into the open grave dug two days too early as the convoluted & veiled & bloodshot violet eyes roll underneath the door and sneak under your bed while you lie there awake, panting, and on fire - thinking thinking thinking thinking - waiting waiting - for nothing - dying dying dyring dying - disappearing inch by inch into blooming gold flowers, whose Byzantine logic puzzle, reminiscent of Lewis Carroll, throws you for a loop and cuts you in half. You're suspened in time, arcing -
- over crystal towers, floating on swan wings, hearing the loon's cry - half human, half animal - past the inky trees where perfectly candied hearts and tongues hang, dripping with icicles, waiting to be picked, until you fall into the blue-black nothing and dissolve and ebb away like diamond sands and children's laughs.
What do you make of that?
As for me, I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. The fingers of shallow waters and roar of the stars overhead make me cringe. I'm sick and tired - tired and sick. I don't need this. The virulence of Tate is irritating. Even his saliva as it spatters my spectacles is brimming with spite and acrimony. He doesn't want me here. I told him I didn't want to be here. He pushed my face into a pillow. -- Mame is full of mitzvahs, soft touches, and tolerance. But I can't stand her either. I want to hurt her and let her down. I want to see her tears fall into the ocean and remain afloat. Like exceedingly small salt crystal boats.
I don't know.
I am a solitary person, independent of all others. Independent of their thoughts, glances, guilt, temptations, et cetera etc etc etc. I am Me and I am I and I am Terry Boot and I am unwilling to remain a person. I am alone.[/private]
All life is ill-fated.
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were-I have not seen
As others saw-I could not bring
My passions from a common spring-
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow-I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone-
And all I lov’d-I lov’d alone-
Then-in my childhood-in the dawn
Of a most stormy life-was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still-
From the torrent, or the fountain-
From the red cliff of the mountain-
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold-
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by-
From the thunder, and the storm-
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view-
Edgar Allen Poe