December 2009
443 posts
i‘ll endure the night for the promise of...
“your love is like a building pushing up towards the sky. i just want to climb...”
– nmh.
2009 new years resolutions (which did we complete?): a) go on a trip. b) leave home for a month. c) leave behavioral concepts. d) find a way to tell that boy i think he’s fly. e) find a hobby. f) make music. g) make art. h) make friends. i) try harder. j) burn bridges. k) explore everything. l) own life. m) make a tangible You Are Remarkable. n) write more. o) travel everywhere. p)...
& she said you’re beautiful but your brain doesn’t work quite right & you’ve led an amazing life so far so these words, these words, don’t let them scare you. ok, ok. am i ok? i know you’ve heard them before, they sound damning. like being told you’re pregnant. it’s something that you will always have to live with. ok, ok. i’m ok. but if we...
i ate glass for breakfast with my tea. it cut & cut all the way down. without a voice what are we? so much more, much more. when forced to communicate without a voice we are able to learn so much. i ate glass for breakfast & i still speak. jagged & loud. poor communication skills. tonight the moon is heavy & it is making the earth glow glow glow. tonight the moon is heavy & on...
fs.
ask a question. say why are you here?
sometimes things happen so quickly & perfectly that you forget they are happening & believe that you are instead watching some real time projection of something extraordinary. & even though i broke that table one or two times & spilt everyone’s drinks on the floor, even though my dress broke & the air was bitter cold, everything worked & everyone worked &...
the current term “bipolar disorder” is of fairly recent origin and refers to the cycling between high and low episodes (poles). A relationship between mania & melancholia had long been observed, although the basis of the current conceptualisation can be traced back to french psychiatrists in the 1850s. the term “manic-depressive illness” or psychosis was coined by...
lets tattoo all these stories all over ourselves in white ink so when it’s dark & cold & the northern lights are dancing for us we’ll be able to read to each other from our bones, lull ourselves to sleep. -b.
wonderful. →
we’re a disaster, yes it’s true. i’ll curl up inside your spine & we’ll pretend we’re good. what is good? who decides what good is? everything is relative. everything moves so fast all the time & blurs our vision but if we were to stand still in the dark we’d be able to see our hearts pump pump pumping in our chests. the air we breathe in would inflate...
everything is at war with everything inside of me. the muscles are eating the bones. everything is tearing tearing tearing. fever dreams, make me scream. i wish i could keep you safe from miles & miles away. this body says take this, use this, make yourself well. take this, use this, make yourself well. everything is at war.
you’re busy; i’m interrupting.
fs: ask.
What is home? The place in which we grew up? Where the heart is, where we make it? When will I know? Will I ever? Or is life just one big search for one big familiar feeling? i think home is just a feeling. the feeling of absolute comfort. therefor home can be a person, a location, most anything just someplace where you just feel complete. in our lives we will find many homes. what are your...
i think i’m dead, or getting there. you’re not you’re not he thinks you’re pretty. the smell of a nice clean body. we’ll sleep all day & never talk. what a waste. we’re hiding deep within secret rooms, secret walls, searching for the key to our existence.
today i set myself on fire &, numb to existence, didn’t notice it until the blisters formed. detachment. the sun came, the sun went, the sun couldn’t make up it’s own mind & neither could anyone, could anyone, could anyone? & on that long drive everything blurred until that animal dashed across the road stopping the car from swerving this way or that way these images...
all day, every day. we have beautiful thoughts but not a word to say.
in folklore, the coyote often appears as a trickster, a creative force (called a demiurge), & a hero.
you are remarkable. →
your accented words drip like honey off your tongue & my words come out slow & contrived. heavy accented words sent me to hours in a small room with a speech therapist. the majority of my memories are made up. fever dreams. that time i screamed so you held me tight & walked me from my room to yours with balloons in your hand. that time the doctor came to our house because i just...
i don’t play nice when forced to. all this running around town. smile big. bare your fangs. ask. tell.
i love you (mostly.)
i need a saw to cut up bone, i need a place to call own. to shake & shake & shake all day & make miracles out of death. we’ll recreate everything, a new place for everything. breathing life into things long gone. we’ll resurrect the dead.
skeleton trees, skeleton trees cracking & breaking under the weight of snow & sleet & everyone’s sadness.