From: (Anonymous)
Date: February 4th, 2010 01:39 pm (local)
Select:
(Link)
Where’s your compassion? They must feel so lost. They’ll never know who they really are and they are running out of time. You sound like you hate them . . .but you seem like someone who would love them.
(Reply) (Thread)

there is no
They

I am reflecting self hatred
we are lost

I hate myself
I do my best

I struggle along my own path, learning how to love
taking the paths I find more than I create

I envy people who I perceive as taking an easy route
yet succeding
I believe true living comes through suffering
and the purity is distilled through the process of suffering, making life more Real

remnants of my childhood, past lives, or perceptions upon this life

I often forget we choose our battles, and that which I fixate on
others find trivial: we all have different points of focus

I may be using this
as many may have
to justify my own wallowing in failure, pain and delusion
but I am only aware it is what I am doing occasionally
and I have not yet figured how to make right actions based on my understandings
so I am yet condemned to suffer

in the realm of suffering
I sometimes glimpse salvation
even occasionally inspiring others to freedom
but mostly compounding my own and inflicting more upon others
I often dream, however, my suffering is a necessary task in existence
and I am doing my part

for i am doing what I do
thus it is my duty
until I am appointed another task
for whatever reason
or none

I am aware
I may decide otherwise at any time
I may understand why, or be completely unaware of the change

but this is now.

This
is Now.

Today
I was telling a friend about this
a Virgo
masters of judgement
and healing

he told me
when ever he finds himself judging someone in his head
he says to them, in his head,
I Love You
and it is better

I smiled
and said “that’s a clever trick”

then used it all day

but again
“sometimes I forget completely”
“unconscious and insane I spill sad energy everwhere”
and I have gone through a long period of silence
which has done me no good
and I am done with now

I only know my life when I tell my story
so even if I am saying hurtful things now
in time I will understand
I have been besieged most of my life by mine sleeping ego
and the hoards of countless others

experiences thought and unsaid
are also benifit when heard
all that is needed to cure a disease is to be fully present to it

this is just a deep inhale

in a long story

what I am grateful for
is I rarely inflict this upon people directly anymore
so I am at least growing in that regaurd
but that it still grows in my garden
requires some tending

this is how we roll
merrilly
along

a few days go… Tuesday
I was walking through Cobble Hill
looking at the copious Mexican joints
the bookstore
the great healthfood store
awesome bakeries
wide selection of Asian restaurants…
the buildings and streets looked nice too
Yeah… my friends want me to move to Brooklyn
and I’d be a much happier consumer here, Yeah…

I went to give that massage
and came out into the beautiful snow
walking over to Bergen street on Court
I passes three couples
all with thick black-framed glasses on at least one of the two
cute little beanies
or conspicuously bad hair cuts…

Oh yes, that’s why I don’t live here: I would have to walk past these people every day!

why do I have such an allergic reaction to them?
any place I go in the city where I see a uniform fashion irks me

hipster and rich-bitch styles are the hardest for me, though

these kids
with their Specifically bad hair cuts, clunky glasses, overly cute ill-fitting clothes
overly cute or garishly taseless in a thrift-store kinda way

I don’t understand their world in any celebratory way
I’m all condemning
to me, it feels like the same aesthetic as Palace Music strikes me as

you have no rythm
can’t hold a pitch, voice cracks
but you can write songs
so write songs accentuating your flaws
great!

so self conscious!
the way they dress
saying ” I’ll never be pretty/handsome so I’ll be awkward/cute on purpose in a loud sort of way to let people know I’m not ashamed of being myself”

am I ashamed of being myself?
I’m obvioulsy loud about who I am?

no no, it’s that quality of loud-individuality (which calls attention to itself in an uncomfortable yet proud way) that conforms to such an over-used style.

like the rich-bitches (no details needed) who look like that to say they are rich… instead of wearing high-coture
which would say the same thing
but better: more true, less trite, more interesting.

what would I rather see?
quiet handsome style like Dominicans?
I guess ostentatios black style has never bugged me because I have never been a part of it (I did the hipster thing when I was 14… which is another reason: I’ve been over-it since I was 16… I wish they were)
and though there are a few signifyers I find tired and absurd (the stickers from the measuring tape on the hat: really clever when I first saw… now that everone needs to wear it I kinda hate it)
( to make a point, random black guy wearing one of those stickers gets on the train “singing along” to his iPod loud enough for everyone to hear, saying Nigger over and over and over, pussy-ass nigger… something something… but he’s just saying it loud and flat like a robot repeating with no passion…)

yeah
I’m all in a gripe about people aiming at being individuals in a completely conformist sort of way
like “coming out” or “in” to your true self is just a matter of changing boxed personalities pulled off the shelf.

I put a profile on dudesnude
which I used 7 years ago or so
don’t remember when or why I deleted my profile
but hadn’t used it in years
friends of mine (in Brooklyn! those same friends! but they have their own unique, comfortable &/ interesting styles) both told me how they liked it better than manhunt, which I abhor, so I thought i’d try it.

just over a week after putting it up
I’m over it!
it’s only been about 10% sexy and fun for me
my main pic has been viewed 14,000 times
i’ve already got near 200 messages
and most of them are from people with no profiles
or skinny young bottoms who say something like “hi, you’re hot” or “I kinda like the beard…”

so I’m already coming from a place of annoyance
and I get some message from a couple in Virginia
beautiful hot huge-hung shaved muscle boys
they look like porn stars
oh, late 30’s
so they are past their boy stage
what’s next?
hot, thanks for the hit
why am I irritated?

again
ubiquitous style

another similar message from a hot guy in WeHo
a few from SF

saying ” it’s so cool you don’t discriminate ”
because in my profile I say I enjoy fat and old guys
they read me wrong

and it makes me feel like I’m angry at every person who’s ever chosen to live in a gay ghetto
who lack enough imagination to di anything that isn’t obvious
to even consider something outside of the mainstream might be of interest

even when they’re finding themselves attracted to me

I guess that’s why I used to like bear sites
before I started choking on the big chunks of unconscious SAME

I think that’s why I like guys 50+ so much
it’s more common amongst them that they’ve realized they can’t package themselves as the perfect sex object so they HAVE to come up with something else or just let it go. give up. be who ever they are
which at least offers the oppurtunity of surprise and diversity…

.iP

playing at power

I wasn’t hungry
i’d eaten two slices after yoga
before going to give the massage
but Artichoke is a good pizza
so I went there to eat
I had 8 minutes to wait for the bus
it was snowing
beautiful outside
but cold

I ordered, and began waiting
some meek little kid starts talking to the brash Italian kid working there
serious
his name is Vinny, he’s huge and boisterous
the kid, obviously Jewish, early 30’s
is asking something in a terribly sincere tone

Vinny makes him repeat it louder
makes him explain it
the kid doesn’t say “kosher”
he asks what kinda rennet there is in it
I’m not stoned or drunk
and I was befuddled by the clunky request
what’s up?
Vinny doesn’t get it
says he doesn’t know if his cheese has animal or vegetable rennet, if he even knows what rennet is
I speak up
helpful fool that I am
tell him the packaging would say if it were animal or vegetable
I’ve noticed it for years
never understood why
Vinny ask him if he’s vegan or something
which seems dumb to me
the kid looks put out
Vin tells him he’s in the wrong place

I ask him if it’s an allergic thing or a ” I hate to kill baby cows for their gall bladder” thing
he says “Neither”, exasperated
Vinny says “what brands of cheese can you eat?”
the kid lists a few
Vinny says: “you’ll be fine, that’s all I’m saying”

then they all start talking about my hat
I tell them the story of buying it in London
then finding out it was an Afghani freedom fighter hat ( some would call them Northern Pakistani terrorists )
but it keeps me warm

the Jewish kid decides to buy a slice
and asks Vinny how long he’s been making pizza in this city…
I’m still oblivious
but Vinny looks him in the eye and tells him he grew up making it
Does the kid like Chicken?
yeah, he explains, but can only eat it from certain places…
… trailing off elipses in his meek voice.
he’s a handsome guy
why’s it such a big fucking deal that he’s kosher?
Vinny says -Yeah, and you can’t mix it with the cheese, right
the kid blurts “I’m Jewish”
Vinny says “You’re Orthodox.”
Vinny says ” I grew up in Boro Park!”
and only slightly knowing what I’m doing I say, “Yeah, I had a chassidic boyfriend once”
he never told me animal rennet in cheese wasn’t kosher.., thinking about it, of course! but why would I ever think about it?
and why would I say that
than to put the screws in this meek Jewish boy
who’s obviously ashamed of being who he is
and resents us for not respecting his arcane belief system
it’s all so subtle
these little shoves
Vinny says ” You know Jerusalem 2?! my dad put the lights in there!”
coming back to common ground, letting the jew know he knew exactly what was going on
playing cat and mouse
the Kid takes his slice of pizza “your dad’s an electrician? The pizza there sucks”
he turns and leaves
I say ” He could have just asked if your pizza is Kosher”
Vinny says ” Oh, I knew what he wanted, I just like giving them hell”

all this push-pull
it’s obviously fun for the cat
scary and traumatizing for the mouse
but he ain’t dumb either
he’s playing into it
so he’s gotta like it

but am I a bird or lizard or something?
why is this always shocking to me?

After the massage
which wasn’t a massage
more like petting a rare beast who needed some love
and far more attention than he was interested in earning
I walked out and the snow was beautiful
I was kinda tired
but figured i’d go to nowhere for a drink coz it was a beautiful night

the G train was at the platform as I walked in
and figured I’d go ahead and make that mistake

of course the fucking thing stopped half way
and we had to wait ten minutes for the connecting train

when that train arrived
the announcer sounded like some inmate on holiday from a mental hospital…
but the skinny conductor in my car had some words with some heirarchical superior about something
the fat little guy turned around and barked at him ” you want me to shut this shit down? ” stares nails and spins back to walk on..

That, I thought to myself, is why I can never have another Job
having to deal with regular human power dynamic bullshit
just not interested, fuck you very much
being put in some system where I’m considered less-than some stupid bastard who gets off throwing his insignificant weight around

when I get to nowhere
I say hi to a guy I know
feeling embarassed I didn’t show up at his art event last night
but offering no explanations
excuses
I’m really tired of excuses
I’ve decided they are useless
and I’m doing my best not to play with them anymore

I walk around a bit and catch the eye of some guy who told me I’d given him a massage a few years ago

I don’t remember anything but his face
I tell him I’m happy and tired, just led a yoga class and fucked a porn star…
but refuse to tell him which one.
he’s wearing gold Italian shoes and purple socks
and launches into a long story about how horrible Indiana is

I know
I don’t need to hear it
and some cute guy is smiling at me
adorable bear all bashful like
I excuse myself from the handsome but irritating guy next to me and go talk to the bear

we met last time I was here
I gave him my card
he told me he’d looked through my site
and was happy to see me again
he’s there with his boyfriend
there are many odd pauses
so I start rubbing him
he’s very cute and there is lots of sexual energy between us
he asks me what I do

I do my best

and him?
he tells me he’s a retail manager
I pull out of him what and where
and it’s nothing arty (i always think of the NoWhere bears as Arty)
so I wait for the “and I’m writing a novel” or “I also make movies”
instead it’s “my boyfriend just graduated with a masters in fine art”
I feel odd
big adorable man
with a boy friend
and only offering love and adoration, not a brainy boy
so sweet
but kinda off limits to me
right?
what can I do with that?
hot sex? break my heart?
I’m not very good at making friends with men I can’t keep at mind’s length…
which leads me to talking with his BF
been together two years
and already living together
Just graduated NYU….
I bring up N, did he study with him?
yes of course
glowing reviews
calls him “the least cluttered person he’d ever met”
I can’t help it and make a stab at that one
so he asks me how I know him so well
and I say we dated, call him my X
and spill myself all over the place

I never say “dated”, don’t think in Xes, but there i go again
just trying to associate myself
another power play

I wasn’t feeling bad about any of this til I wrote it out
do my words put a hurtful spin on things?
or is it how I let events emotionally sink in?

the black kids on the train went to the same high school
the one with corn rows is telling the chubby psp player all the teachers that got fired for something or other
there is some power dynamic going on here
but they’re on the same team of course

the adults always lose against the kids
eventually

(writing at home, eight minutes later)
( i was so engrossed writing this, i didn’t finish on the train, i wrote all the way down the long 1 tunnel… got to the mouth of it and finished typing watching the snow fall… clicked off airplane mode and hit ‘send’… then i noticed there was a kid standing next to me. he said hello… through about thirty feet of thick murky water. he said he’d seen me around. around where? around here. he asked where i was from. he was missing my responses. he kept repeating my name, incorrectly, as if it might mean something if he could just remember it… i felt his dick and his need and i wasn’t interested in either.. i wanted to watch the beautiful snow fall in the orange lights and blanket everything… everything… he waited next to be, blinking like a dog… waiting… tall skinny black boy with a do-rag on and a purple beanie.. i jumped out into the snow and stared up into the sky… i started heading towards my house and said good night… he followed me… asking my name again.. i said good-night… and just as i turned my bend, i noticed he was waiting at the corner to see if i’d turn around… he gave up just a second too soon… though i wouldn’t have taken him in any how… i’m not into collecting waifs and stays.. i do feel for them though. )

.iP

trying to get some business done
all of a sudden massage clients out of the woodwork
one i’m talking with tells me he’s pulled a muslce
because he was shopping with some friends
and had over-shopped and wore himself out

so i make a call to a company, a 800 number
but i dialed 800 instead of 866
and it was hot horny college girls chat line
which i have never called in my life
so i just sat there laughing
until they got ready to ask for my credit card number.

he tried to explain to me
the ashes in the box were the same as the concrete that made the bricks
brix
just grey matter
nothing specific
he could have filled the urn with concrete powder

the room was packed
I missed my
X

I drank
we left with the light change
bad cigarettes
chinese mafioso kareoke bar
all the books in scribbles
I had just enough booze
and burning soul
to sing anything

anythinganythinganythinganythinganything

they let us smoke in there
and sold glasses of whiskey for $8 a glass
knew nothing
mixed it with tonic
” Asians don’t drink whiskey… or milk ”

as they were all readying to leave
I headed to the rivington hotel
it wasn’t til later I missed my home down there

but I was sad
I was drunk
I massaged a guy
a fat guy with scars from skin tucking
a sexy sweet guy with a fat dick
a musician
from nashville

what a day day day

I massaged him
while talking
while singing “tower of song”
while passing out
and waking up with his pants on
remembering only part of what happened

what a deep tub
nice to rake a bath
but I stumbled on towards home
just after midnight

no lambajune at my old favourite
they gave me some chicken shit

delancy F stop
west 4th
waiting for the A

Steven is Dead
just rotting fat in a grave somewhere
just dead

too costumey
I’m almost home now
nearly lucid
lightened the load
enough brain rot
to lighten the load

.iP

morning morning morning

I’ve not been good at sleeping lately
when I put myself to bed
I play with my iPhone for an hour or three before sleeping
but last night I didn’t
I just lay in the dark
hands in Big-Head Mudra for twenty minutes or so
then turning on my side
then my stomach
then the other side
then back
and when I turned again I realized I had no hope at sleeping

I got up and drank some water
a quarter of a mg of melatonin
realized the video had stalled
so coverted it to iPhone size/format and set it to upload again
then lay down again about 2…

it worked better that time

this morning I woke at 7
mucked about
made tea
had some green and brown drink with oil
showered
late as always
waited ten minutes for the train
pretty smooth getting there
switching to the bus was funny
there were five (or more) buses stacked up on Jay street to replace the G train
they were all just sitting there… hardly any people on only one of them
waiting to fill before it took off
the B57 was also ten minutes late
but it dropped me off at the top of the block where I was going
interesting industrial block

I met a kid in the hall with a gigantic red mustache
we were going to the same place and took the stairs to the sixth floor together

a female photographer shooting five ( or six ) guys
( one being her father
one being her husband )
in a wood working studio
specializing in furniture
and reupholstering in a clunky hipsters kinda way
done by two girls (didn’t meet them)

I liked the space, but found the whole meme of artistic masculinity ( the phrase “noble savage” was used many times & one of the tea blends was called that ) being created by women in a female space quite funny
though…
I kinda have always imagined the heterosexual world ( though most of us guys there were queer, but the father, husband and red stache ) to be like that
yeah, patriarchy
yeah, rugged masculinity
with a lunch packed by mama
clothes made by mama
women complicit in all our actions
even if there is some clicking of the tongues…

one of the other models there was a boy I met years ago but hadn’t seen in a while
a certain austrailian musician boy with big brown eyes…

nice to see him again, yeah
he’ll be playing every Wednesday in February at the Rockwood MusicHall, 196 Allen st, LES

we ate fine cakes made with matcha; made with bird seed: millet, flax, chia, macademia, bitter sweet chocolate and sugar crystals. ate pears with beautiful cheddar blue cheese. fine chocolates. smiled. shook hands. played with the dog…
again, the room was called on to make technology work
and upon the silence I stepped up and turned on the old stereo: appalling there was no iPod hookup
only CDs… most of them burns
and mixes at that
not trusting their unknown style
I put on a CD-R labeled Fleet Foxes after whiping off a thick layer of dust
it only skipped a few times

eating and posing as knitting and laughing
talking plenty of Tennessee
Red was from Kentucky
the Husband from Illinois
the Father had spent plenty of time in Nashville

talking of the smell of tobacco drying in sheds
that sweet smell
hats
making music
all the people we’ve been listening to
being on tour
traveling china
the stretch of the great wall we liked
and how we served our tea

photo shoots

it ended not too late
and though the photographer had me take off most of my costumy clothes
she wanted a few portraits of me when I suited up to leave…

the street was suddenly more lively
some strange motorized bear riding a bike in a tutu
with a big sign NO PHOTOGRAPHS!
like the cops flashing lights saying “there is nothing to see here!”
the bus passed me as I was waiting to cross the street
so i looked up an alternate route and walked down another street
imagining the life of living in such a strange industrial area
“we used to make shipping, now we make business”
under the freeway
waiting for a bus
minivan after minivan of chassidic Jews slowing down to look at me as they turned by me and down the street…
parking…
waiting?

I looked
and figuring I’d missed the bus
I walked down the street to see…

no, just eating lunch in a back street…
no, just late: the bus passed behind me

so I walked back to stand in the sun
waited 15 min for the next 57bus
wasted some time on Grindr
and by the time I got on the bus I hit my sugar crash

now I want to nap
but would also like to post the pictures from last night…

I’ll only have about an hour when I get home before I have to leave for Tom’s gallery show
kareoke after…

oh, wants…

.iP

practice makes less perfection
less criticism

if I spend my time going home 
every time I go home
writing about events
by hand even
by hand 
or by finger.

the day was very difficult
caught on edge
I kept wondering if it was the heated selenite that I replaced the Himalayan salt with
or that I ate a cookie before going to bed
and playing video RPgames until three thirty
whatever It is today
it wasn’t sitting in front of my computer and masturbating
but still plenty of fixating on this tiny screen or that big one

I started the day drinking healthy intentions: greens, browns, bowel brooms.
I ate left overs
I felt all shakey
I threw out rotten food, forgot to take the bag out when I left tonight, now my apartment will stink
I procrastinated long enough
the load of laundry I had to do
did not have enough time to be in the dryer
so I took it out of spin-cycle and hung it all around my apartment..
perhaps now is the time to put up the poster?
or will there probably be less people at 8am on a Sunday morning?

I went down to Envoy to see Jorge read
late as I ever am
and waiting 20minutes for the A train
I calmed and confounded myself on the train by avoiding pop music and the rpg by watching Doug Aitken videos that have been on my iP for months. Tom seemed to not like him… 
he seemed so full of ideas
far too many
equally bored and fascinated by them

They were an hour late starting, so i ended up being a half hour early… or right on time
I spent only moments rejecting Envoy and the scene… it became quickly clear it was just my insecure ego feeling threatened, thus demeaning that which was more powerful than I in an attempt to feel stronger
it occurred to me, watching doug aitken, that Succsess is about getting support, assets, resources behind you. 
amassing power, like politics and money… to be able to wrap others’ wills around your own ideas and make them manifest. 
that is the magic of masses: 
as said in that tv show: “I got clever and made them take their own [lives]”

I have learned, I notice, not to criticise unless asked to 
no matter what my mind is doing
I don’t voice it unless it is requested

after the first reader
the boy who organized the show asked if anyone was in a band? or knew how to turn up the sound?
I waited a few moments
ten seconds?
he said “no one?”
I stood up
because I can do anything
indeed 
my fingers went right to the dial after only glancing at the soundboard
I told him I’m not in a band
but will be sometime…

listening made me feel that I didn’t like poetry
I often feel that way
most poets I don’t like
nor do I enjoy overly clever fiction that sounds like it’s coming out of a creative writting class
that being said
I thought of taking a creative writing class
enjoying the assignments, feedback and community
while accepting I would not be doing the projects as she’d like me to
using sensual allusions, similies that force the flavours into the readers mouths
I think I want more sparseness
like the translated existensislisms I read as a child that made my mind work so hard to full in all the holes, cultural and literarily that weren’t covered in the translation

i had fun taking pictures
if I had an iPad
could I edit the photos I took on the train heading home?
make my selections 
and set them to upload as soon as they got on the network…

a boy sang at the end of the readings
a tall chubby boy
with a forced virbratto
an attempt at demure masculinity
I may have liked him a lot
because he embarrassed me
and I kept wanting him to stop
but while he sang songs I could not follow
I imagined them better with sweeping orchestra or punchy jazz band
such sincerity I didn’t trust
or fall for
but hey
he’s chubby, tall, big, no sense of style ( stupid grey tennis shoes )
long hair! badly braided in two tails 
again, his clunky masculine attempt at being a little girl
stubbly dark hair where his beard should have been, instead of just his thick throat
I wanted to like him
like I want to like Anthony Haggerty
how come I don’t?

I don’t trust my rejecting voice
I don’t want to say I should be more “positive”
I thought about it, perhaps a better word would be “procreative”
but all these words have messy connotations
when what I’d like to do is be more supportive
to say yes to what is happening
trust and love it
help it happen
see the beauty in it
pour out nourishing milk from my heart to make it stronger, prettier, smarter, greater

not poison milk
not strangle it’s throat

I want to be loved
and not by someone who loves like I do
with such a bitter toxic tongue

.iP

.flickr-photo { }.flickr-yourcomment { }

.iP

.flickr-photo { }.flickr-yourcomment { }

.iP

.flickr-photo { }.flickr-yourcomment { }

domesticity

I’ve often said
the hardest part of settling down for me is being Domestic
not being all tgat domesticated
yet with a critical eye
I get blown away at all the little bits that gather
the dust that settles

I was a boy
you could never the floor of his room
currently
my bedroom is a walk-in closet
the bed was even layered with crap for a few months!
but I’ve moved back in (January 2, 2010… even a bit late on that)

yesterday I did a water cleansing ritual:
scrubbed the bathtub, tiles and sink clean
and changed the filter and washed my water pitchers (should have been
done on the solstice)

amazing how much cleaner the glass looks
and better the water tastes
and whiter the tub is
and faster the water drains

amazed at domesticity
but my kitchen still has a pile of stuff at the far (not that far) end
of it

I vacumed the rug, cleared off the end table

why do these simple tasks feel like such Events?

how often do you clean out your water filter pitcher?
oh, what IS all that film… red? black?
from the pipes or the air?
oh, new york: you’re so grimy…

but I do love living on a hill
on nights after rain, like this one
winter, no leaves to obscure the shiney street of the hill
the cars (endlessly) going down
light shows across my walls of all the reflections…

.iP

The Unhealable Wound of Failed Loving

I’m angriest at my father for his inability to love me, his wife, his
children.
I’m terrified I am damned in his jeans, to walk forever that lonely
angry hallway

I papered a wall with faces of men that I loved
had to leave certain ones out
coz it’d hurt to much to look in his eyes
or feel him staring at me

I only got halfway through
and looked up at those men
and saw them all as people I’d failed to love,
Oh Look: some girls too

I’d tried
I couldn’t figure it out

the most recent scenarios aren’t even marked there
I had no expectations with them
though I know they were hurt
their own damn fault
I’m more annoyed at the memories than impained

but they still illustrate the hollow point:
I cannot love and be loved
left now, filled now, with voidy numbness, could be said

and I don’t feel I have the heart to try it again
that tedious story retold

I suspect I have to lose everything
or have it all taken from me
the last shreds of my heart
to empty me out

til I’m not eating or fucking or dreaming or hoping
til I’m just dead, living like the rest of us
(my imaginary companions… I wouldn’t call them friends)

when I’m truely alone
and my hands are no longer busy
will an angel come to do all the work for me?
brush my hair?
fill my lungs with air?
warm that hollow space inside me?

if all of my tasks are like this, yes?
impossible projects to complete
with maps, scraps, recordings and dictates strewn about
Everywhere
but locked from my doing by some indellible vice
or blindness
loving only distractions
some impossible riddle
so simple it has no words
thus out of my realm of understanding
until I vacate myself entirely
and let another control

will I then complete the mystery of my flesh?

.flickr-photo { }.flickr-yourcomment { }

i used to always
but haven’t much lately
discribed the world of us
consisting mostly of dead

I lived, once, in a land where everyone was dead
I was born dead
people there often aspire to be dead
yearn for it, and always terrified of it
wishing only to be, really, stuck in time
in endless repition
always young
always foolish
always irresponsible
always ignorant, and happy
free of the knowledge of their countless mistakes
and those of all their fire bearers

I…
i wanted only to be full alive
but that’s not how we live here
Dead
some answer I came up with
always the same
wherever I may go