the challenge . . . is . . .
not over. and we are colliding and WE ARE
infinite two
molecules locked in space overarching their previous predecessors
infinitively the infinitesimal underlying role reversal.
And I Love you.

Confession: I can't stop looking at your photographs even though it's a long long time after I should have stopped caring ( Read more... )

I think it might be time for a new blog soon.

More ugly girls with good hair . . . more meaningless moments on the subway . . . an instant of impersonal eye contact. We spend time in transit, as alone as together people can be, in the space between the place we left and the place we are going.

I started my collection of photographs of bathroom graffiti today.

Enter the arena . . .

You are all boring. Captivate and destroy.

Ultimately, only abstract . . . it is the price we pay for longevity.

It is more than the particular sum of various pieces . . .

THE WIND HAS BLOWN YOU SO FAR FROM ME THAT NOT EVEN THE BIRDS CAN FIND YOU. WHEN WE NEXT MEET, WE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE ONE ANOTHER.

I will put a notch in my bedpost and never look back.

The currency of the soul is measured in phone calls, and if you have them you will know that you really matter.

And I couldn't open up this time. Not my heart, and not my legs.
Thank you for being the most recent entry in my compendium of loss.

I am wearing thin. My head, my eyes, my bones are feeling more fragile than they ever have before. It's as through the three dimensionality around me has warped into a single paperthin layer, all it's apparent depth an illusion. I stumble, grow dizzy. Black out when I try to stand. I am in my glass house, glass body, glass slipper, and I can ( Read more... )

I will dig through your soul and compartmentalize your psyche. I will sort you, keep you pinned to the back of your glass cases.

And I will be safe from you.

My body is aching. All the hollows and crevasses of my flesh are empty and they long to be full.

( I can't help thinking of a poem I wrote when I was sixteen )