a poor livejournal attempt

the past year and a half of my life has been documented in a little red book, and my god, it has been so fun to rifle through it and see where all my brain has gone. some of the spookiest cobwebs produced some beautiful anecdotes, here are my favorites

october twenty-seventh, twenty-twenty four -- "lost feelings like waste tumbling through the air and rising to the atmosphere. he told me and now i have to pretend i can't see every feeling in your head. my friends held me as i digested the thick truth. i could feel all the energy leave my body. i wanted to cry when i saw you next. i know it's not my fault, and more importantly, not yours-- and that's what hurts the most. you trusted him and he broke your solidarity like a pencil. i can never tell you this. i can't be mad at you. i'm incapable. i'm just grieving what i thought i held firmly in my hands. i wish i knew the whole story and heard it from you. do you have a reason for the sudden drop of interest? if i had time then, i'd do what i was afraid of. i keep going back to that trunk, that backseat, that bathroom, that field. do i wake up in your arms as you assure me it was all a bad dream?" 

january of twenty-twenty five -- "just as plant, i repeat. cyclic breath of life, carbon dioxide, oxygen. monday, monday, monday, monday, blurred through daily animosity. cut in green leaf, my soil is long gone. sixteen, twelve, eleven, yes-- the pinnacle holding card. royally flushed, spiraling. roll down the slope and look back with horror. it's better, yes, but bad nonetheless. an unbiased fulcrum of feeling, of pattern. it has been before, but will it always?

maybe we must learn love before we receive it. animalistic obsession, fear of hunter seeing prey. nail hammered into wood tries to pry itself out, maws of a familiar cage on leg. sending signals through the powerline, visualize and taste and hold and love, ghost in mind, phantom in world. sickeningly reading my soul and tossing it back at me. swaying on the boat till i can't anymore-- a silent prayer for the shaking to stop. the right path has not existed and never will."

undated, estimated january of twenty-twenty five (i'm a sucker for cannibalism as a metaphor for love, so tw for that if it's an issue ^^) -- "don't you think prey deserves to kill? unfamiliar blood and canine teeth is like foreign forbidden gold. god forbid his priest feels list over blind naivety. wine spills down his chin and oh, it is good. remember the drip and flow and pulse of undescribable close proximity is holy. forget the times your legs were bound above the fire, your blood let dry, prosecuted after fine selection. love is unruly like the bitter smell of her breath in your ear, but it is love, so there is much rejoicing still. in quiet rooms, there is contradiction and tender care to the holes she left. bandage the celebrated and remember-- think before to the damage once yearned for. think about the connections. is life not but a merry-go-round of themes and symbols, trash recycled and reused? fight, flight, or faun-- the shaking legs feel more like home than standing up ever has."

undated, january of twenty-twenty five (tw violent imagery) -- "we are the first race to hunt our own species. differences are and always will be 'threatening' and no small child knows the difference between pure fear and the result of pseudo-justified intolerance. pack up that nagging voice of hers and sever her throat so she never speaks again, yet be surprised when she's lost in the rubble. it's been four years and i'm still finding only chunks and pieces of the girl who was an enemy to herself."

one of my personal favorite poetry-structured pieces from february of twenty-twenty five -- "anna maria, florida, and i am sunburned. a thick layer of fog covered the ocean in the afternoon and she reached out to run her tides over my legs and say 'it is okay'. if there is a heaven out there, i hope it's nothing like i've been told. i hope it's the mist and shells and sand and rock of the south and the elderly and the families and the gulls. serenity and peace. she laps quickly again and i ask 'are you mad?' she replies, 'sometimes it is better to be than to name' and the gulls fly over the sand bar again as i am temporality and the ebb and flow of time. they gather in hundreds and say thank you as mother washes and cleans and provides and loves. a shell pokes my foot and i ask 'is there a reason for this?'. pause-- ebb, flow. 'if it is, then it has reason'. i gently return it back to her and the carcass sinks to the floor, because what is given is given to be loved and returned. the sunburn on my chest is aching again. it ebbs and flows like the sister of the sun, like a bright red shell of warning that i exist, i perceive. my skin has never fit quite right, but it sinks in the sand and is held by a force so unimaginable. she says 'you are love here, and there is time. sit, think, watch. stand near the old man (feel more connected to a stranger than you ever have) and watch the wave and flight and flock and wonder if he too has the same weight on his chest (now gone) (though breathtaking)'. he knows you have never felt present." 

holy yap. do with that what you will, random internet people. ^_^