(no subject)
perle just phased out. i’m not sure what happened. i cant remember it because i didn’t write it down. waxed like a moon but i don’t watch the sky anymore or like a candle that didn’t fall asleep when i did, and in the morning i feel sort of sad because i let it burn all the way down without seeing the way it loosened the walls. i buy more and its only spare change but still it feels worse than leaving three quarters of a meal on a plate. it’s like lighting a cigarette and putting on my favourite song and then looking down at my fingers and the cigarette has burnt down and i don’t remember smoking it and i didn’t sing at all. and i think, it’s ok, i’ll just play the song again, have another smoke, but i forget they’re there again, and everything slips through me, unheard.
i don’t really think of candles as illumination. i think of them as darkness, a way to be in the darkness but to see it. if that has some kind of correlation to my life i couldn’t be bothered thinking about it. i keep having absent minded fun but i keep forgetting to buy a network cable for my new computer and i don’t want to type it all up on somebody else’s. if i don’t do something now i’ll be sad again and there’ll be absolutely no evidence of ever living. they’ll read my archives and deduce that i was perpetually miserable, that death was release rather than the end of a story and the idea just pisses me off. i’m going to catalogue it all, but not here, there are too many spaces here. it’s not as full as it was.
i’m going to watch the sky now and see the cigarettes burn down in increments. i’m going to slow down time. it’s august and i’ve been in love for eleven months and it still feels so scary and new because i haven’t written down a thing about it, haven’t secured it in words or in my memory.
i don’t really think of candles as illumination. i think of them as darkness, a way to be in the darkness but to see it. if that has some kind of correlation to my life i couldn’t be bothered thinking about it. i keep having absent minded fun but i keep forgetting to buy a network cable for my new computer and i don’t want to type it all up on somebody else’s. if i don’t do something now i’ll be sad again and there’ll be absolutely no evidence of ever living. they’ll read my archives and deduce that i was perpetually miserable, that death was release rather than the end of a story and the idea just pisses me off. i’m going to catalogue it all, but not here, there are too many spaces here. it’s not as full as it was.
i’m going to watch the sky now and see the cigarettes burn down in increments. i’m going to slow down time. it’s august and i’ve been in love for eleven months and it still feels so scary and new because i haven’t written down a thing about it, haven’t secured it in words or in my memory.