December 2011
42 posts
“K IS YOU IS WHO YOU’VE CHANGED NOT WHAT YOU ARE, YOU’LL ALWAYS BE THE DEVIL TOO.”
winter moon. →
music (for ella)
“used to be of the rotten ones & i liked you for that.”
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tonight i was drove the dark back roads of north central massachusetts. it was very dark because towns don’t believe in street lights, animals see just fine in the dark. i was traveling home from the wake of an old business man, killed in a head on collision. my body is aching from the flu & the whole world has been floating in a brilliant way. i watched as the road stretched further...
oh every inch hurts, even my words!
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all of the ramblings of your mind are golden to...
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my dream girl don’t exist… there are records playing & my chest aches from sickness; from love. i’m cycling & everything feels tenfolds what it should. november, december we break our nails digging into the frozen soil to bury ourselves away from the world & away from feeling anything. my nails are trimmed short to keep from burrowing away, not today. you smell like...
“& with my little fingers, i could make it all crumble. i could make it all...”
i’ve counted the notches on your spine & i’ve studied the way it curves with each one of your movements. your body is a map; our bodies are maps. with each destination there comes a story. some are dreadful (the left elbow), some are sexual (the right side of the clavicle), some were written in feelings, without words.
don’t let yourself get sad. don’t let yourself be carried away. into dreams of ghosts & the future’s present tense.
ask; tell. →
a day in bed means a sleepless night.
“& we fell into it like a daydream, or a fever.”
happy birthday to you. the ghost who haunted each room of my child hood. our home would shake with your laughter & doors with slam with your sadness as you watched things fall apart & come back together once again. you are flashes of light & the movement of air. you were the creator of everything i hold dear.
during the morning, when the moon still hid the sun, i felt magic in my bones. the alcohol was wearing off so i know, yes, it was the magic. the heat, the energy, the awareness of light. it was bodies in motion & comfort in silence. i think about forever, my temperature is too high.
“your name burns hot when i write it, feels heavy when i say it.”
rivulet asked: which sounds make your blood boil?
i can feel my bones shaking with aches & my emotional wall crumbling under a cold. oh no. oh nose.
close your eyes & steady the room, the road, the words, your mind. concentrate but not hard enough to let your heart cross your mind, keep yourself in line. your eyes tell stories which break my heart & make my heart beat harder, faster, stronger; which make me want you more & more. come here; come home. when you are here it is home.
we were married in a bathtub filled with flowers & holy water. oh dear lord forgive our sins. onto one another we are born again! let’s have a baby, let’s make it evil.
“i am your daughter dissolving in heat; i am your son setting in sleep.”
where are you hiding? in which walls, in which hollowed bones, in which empty words? i’d like to count the notches of your spine & feel each lash of your eye against my thighs.
how quickly time passes. how slowly nothing moves. i have no words to write lately. every thought is more disjointed than the last & who wants to read the descent into madness or, the assent into awareness. awareness/madness. are they one in the same? does one cause the other? who knows, who knows. i’ve got a big heart when it beats but lately it’s been silent.
i would like to do a podcast answering a question asked to me, through this & through yar, quite frequently. i don’t know why people tend to think i’m wise at matters of the heart (i have no human emotions) but they do, & so they ask: how do i heal a broken heart? you’re all brilliant, & unique, & we’re all human so our hearts do get bruised so i ask you,...
we’re sleeping with ghosts & rewriting the past into something less tragic. a story where you didn’t bury him & the storm never came. a tale where you didn’t lower her into the ground. instead we just laughed & thought how funny it is just to exist; how funny it is to be nothing or everything, erased.
do ghosts believe in demons or do they just call them humans?
podcast. destroyer of man. →
apparently the students have a song about how big of a bitch i am. hello bad cop.
every bone & muscle aches, they’re trying to break apart from one another. some fight they had over selfish things like existing & trying & failing to live up to expectations.
“you’re destined to make old bones.”
i studied the way your lips looked as you spoke to me. i was studying the way they grew wide then closed up again. the way they moved reminded me of the way your pupils grew wide that time we were caught breaking into that old hospital. you remember the one. oh your eyes grew twice in size i thought they would fall from your little head! you looked at me & i had to laugh further incriminating...
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the storms came & tore the limbs off viciously. listening to your favourite things (not so) quietly collapse into the wee hours of the mornings can be much more heartbreaking than you would believe. we laid you in the ground & you fought back with your heart & your soul. you rattled the earth for days & days & we’re still unable to clean the aftermath. i know, i’m...
white rabbit, white rabbit.