the old death tremors
This morning a tearing singing sadness, such as I have not felt in a while. Yet I did not weep. Bizarre evening, which I lack the energy to describe. I stood awkwardly in my boy's clothing on Chicago Avenue, and pondered ethics as I gazed into the horse's liquid left eye. A little terror as I scuttled back to Union Station; self-induced. Beggars on the street called me 'sir.' I shook inside my clothes, and again and again I felt the old death tremors. Traffic often does that.
While I'm reluctant to lock this entry, I distrust your undifferentiated readership, oh journal of mine. There are things I mustn't tell you, in light of it.
Shall I arm you with a flaming sword?
shall I gird you in gleaming steel?
If I continue, I will need a top hat and a black tie of my own.
I get a chill sometimes that shakes me through, and each time I know I won't survive it. Each time I have been mistaken. Surely the chill of my true death will be unprecedented and undreamt of?
I do not miss the old false freedom; its pitfalls were more limiting than these clearly delineated boundaries. Yet flashes of rebellion twang in me still, when I must curb my thoughts away from That Which Must Not Be Considered. I sometimes weigh the words which must, even in profoundest intimacy, never be voiced--which cannot be voiced, even in solitude.
While I'm reluctant to lock this entry, I distrust your undifferentiated readership, oh journal of mine. There are things I mustn't tell you, in light of it.
Shall I arm you with a flaming sword?
shall I gird you in gleaming steel?
If I continue, I will need a top hat and a black tie of my own.
I get a chill sometimes that shakes me through, and each time I know I won't survive it. Each time I have been mistaken. Surely the chill of my true death will be unprecedented and undreamt of?
I do not miss the old false freedom; its pitfalls were more limiting than these clearly delineated boundaries. Yet flashes of rebellion twang in me still, when I must curb my thoughts away from That Which Must Not Be Considered. I sometimes weigh the words which must, even in profoundest intimacy, never be voiced--which cannot be voiced, even in solitude.