plagiarism is a beautiful thing.

Careless, indifferent to your surroundings, you swing your arm and the bottle held loosely in your left hand collides with a lamppost and slips from your hand. As it falls to the asphalt and breaks into dozens of jagged shards red wine splashes up and pools on the ground. You keep dancing, off beat, your other hand bringing a cigarette to your lips as your feet move around the pieces of broken glass littering the ground.

It’s so easy to forget this scene, it seems so distant already the next morning, but the glass is still there as a reminder and you can only wonder what else you might have broken, a question that you can neither answer nor escape.

my continued emotional existence, my ability to maintain some semblance of normalcy, to function, seems to be hanging by some unbreakably elastic thread and so i dive and leap and spin, getting dizzier and dizzier and i just wish that thread would snap so that i could fall and break my spine and not have to feel my fingers and toes going cold even as my core is feverish. 

our silence...

i can't tell if it's perfect or if it's poison. 

i can never scream, but sometimes i can't even whisper...

my heart is beating too fast and i'm dizzy and i want to break him for touching you, but i don't think i can stand up. the lights are off and i can't see the blank wall across from me, my throat is parched and the glass of wine in my hand is something i can't bare to taste because it's the way you tasted when we last kissed and the darkness here is almost complete but i still can't get these images out of my head, i feel like your face is burned into my retina and i want so badly to cry and the tears well up but they won't escape, i can't escape, i can't break free of myself, of you, of anything.

i just want to cry, and i can't. 

distance

with every step we take closer i feel as though we are miles further apart. 

and i'm a child of the metric system so between us is an indeterminate vastness that i cannot begin to imagine traveling. 

but despite it all what really worries me is you. 

migrations.

i won't edit. 

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Andeven had I walked through the night, and I know i felt that I needed to, it wouldn't have helped at all because ALL I wanted to know was 'how do you do it, how do you go on without it, how do you live again' but in the end you don't know the answer et ca sert a rien que je te le demande, mais je veu tant savoir, j'aimerais tant le savoir

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restless and unsatisfied, and the friction is constant. 

they think they know the cure for what ails them, or at least the treatment for whatever the ill but it's clear that the setting is not the scene.

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remarkably light. remark a blight.

read even more and roadkill and bold lies in grand hotels tell rote epics made absolutely repulsive - Kant and Bach lie, in great horrible truths : rubbish.

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i didn't wake up today. i never started thinking, or caring, or being. my heart's still beating, i'm still breathing, i'm barely even here but all i want is to leave.

------

spin me around till i'm dizzy
then drop me like the dead weight i am
----------------
what's the time mr. wolf? teeth tear through skin
pendulums dance side to side, arms swing, fists fly into me.
you've come to devour me?

-----

you'retheblackspotonmypristinelungs,thesullenyouthtomydiscosong.andyet...optimism
theemptybottlenexttomyglasshalfful,leadenmurmuringsonthesilverscreen,theashendustonanoldb-52record.
mouthfullofsandinanumbreallaeddrank,theheliumballonthatalwayssinks,shardsofglassonthebeach.
the radiation in my tan.

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e frole l'indécision, qui recule de mes avances
je brule d'émotions. je tourne en rond.
je ne peu m'échapper de ce tourbillon.

je ne peu savoir aout je l'ai perdu
de la certitude, dépourvu
comment faire pour obtiendre ce que je ne sais plus si je veux?
pourquoi plaire au moi qui l'avait voulu?


il se peut que décembre mai semé la confusion.
déjà en fevrier la recolte.

-------

what makes you happy?

i don't quite know what to say.
i'm not really "made". when i am, i am.

-----

I followed the lines from your nose to your eyes
and back in, to you skull
I followed the lines, the curves of your mind
front to back, and out with your spine

I followed your eyes as they locked with mine
and I watched you turn away
I followed your eyes, a steel-cold grey
and i longed for yesterday

---

Monday, July 30, 2007

I don't know where i'm going. Or where to go...
or some other vague statement of confusion/indecision
the emotional side is mirrored by the simple fact that now, as i prepare to leave the cubicle that has entertained my unpleasant self for a shorter-than-it-seemed workday, i don't know what physical location could possibly accomodate me.
if thing's aren't the same in the mind... if your thoughts are wandering without direction...
can the body just return to where it was before?
I don't know.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

it's 5:30 am and i'm walking through the byward market. i have a headache, although it's not from drinking... a mind more concerned with the beauty of style might find that my head aches from the weight of thought, but that would be embelishment without a factual basis. a lack of sleep and a not yet satisfied hunger are two slightly more practical explanations.
the sun is starting to come up, the sky is a light blue, but it still feels dark. 4 empty bottles of gatorade and a couple time as many cigarette butts keep a sleeping man company just inside the church's fenced off grounds. there's next to no activity even in the heart of the market, 4 servers from Zak's finish their shifts and light up cigarettes as they leave. as i pass them i wonder whether they recognise me from my very brief appearance a couple hours earlier... but i doubt it. the look they're giving me is probably the same they would give anyone walking around at this time of night?/morning?. i'm not really sure why i'm walking, but sleep holds no appeal for me right no........ it's not that i'm too busy thinking. thinking is the worst thing i could do right now.
i could take the bus. that would be good. but i don't have any bus tickets. ar there buses this early in the morning? why didn't i take the bus yesterday... "why?" is a question i could get a lot of use out of if i'm going to think about yesterday.
although i don't know if "yesterday" is the right word. the action is fairly equally split between pre and post midnight hours, and as i haven't slept yet and the sun has risen there is really no point in pretending that it's still saturday.
i want breakfast.
loeb-24 hours. the night cashier (who i've become somewhat familiar with simply because i hate to waste a daytime hour on something as dreary as buying a bag of frozen raspberries for my granola) is heading out for a cigarette. "don't worry" i answer "i'll be a couple minutes".
i can sympathise with his desire for a cigarette.... if i was a smoker i'd probably be burning through them.
i buy plums. and a yogurt/berry/granola bowl.
i walk. i'm back where i started... it's a bit after 6. i sit down to eat my granola. maybe someone will wake up. anyone. i could just really use a few words.
the granola is done. and my free newspaper isn't that interresting at the moment.
this is ridiculous. i'm going home.
i try not to wake up my roomates and lie down on my bed, call for a ride home.... real home. i want more than two pillows... i want lots of grass. i want a change... from my change.
maybe i'm not thinking clearly. once i get to sleep i'll be able to properly evaluate what has just happenned to me. (wait, that makes it sound far too passive... i'm far from passive in all of this even though it somehow feels like i'm disconnected... yet as i become more and more tired the wall i've established between myself and this strange saturday night seems to erode and while my headache is gone (unfortunately, my legs are shaking at random instead and i feel as though my guts were practicing nautical knots), the thoughts that that offer that irresistable opportunity for metaphor........ the mind aches with heavy thoughts......... are back.

-------

you're miserable and i can't fix it and i'm afraid it will bring the end.

you're miserable and i can't fix it and it's far too soon.