Everything can be given away in one simple conversation.
Do you believe in truth?
Everything can be given away in one simple conversation.
Do you believe in truth?
who can say what a portrait really is?
(as the dynamic of memories begin to sit just as a person would in front of me)
#39: I walk the straight lines. I walk through the summer nights. I walk the silver rope of dreams. I walk through dawns of dawns. There’s not a lot that isn’t dying. I see people parading in front of each other like insects in a killing jar, watching each other die. I walk the straight lines through the Christ machines. Through the eyes of the throwaway people. Through the wards and the shores and the cracks in the skulls of the sidewalks. Through love’s howling vacancy. I am the freedom soil. I dig my own grave. i resurrect myself every night. I am all the things to myself. I walk the straight lines. i walk the spider’s jailhouse. I walk the think line, the thin line, the white line and all the lines in between. I wish I could trade in my eyes.
-Henry Rollins “Black Coffee Blues”
frustration flourishes as they fail to see the distance between things. The space separating them. We look up at the functional repetition of things. collected. displayed. kept close for others. and when we look up from where we stand. we can not tell the difference between what is and what was. They begin to coexist in front of our eyes.
what do you do when the one thing in life that you thought was beautiful is beginning to loose its beauty? i don’t know.
here i sit caged within the one environment that I had control over. and control is begging to allow the decay to spread into my thoughts as I sleep. I need to stay awake, need to produce. My joints need to be rotting at the end of my years, the gears need to be rusted with hope by the end of the try.
I sit across from you and count the number of times I find flaws in your statement and I wonder why It’s so vacant on this side of the table. what happens when you just let your mind wander? what happens when you begin to understand that it was not just the things that you failed to do but the things that you find yourself constantly saying. When you look into a mirror you find that none of this will prompt forgiveness from them. i wonder if i am set within these four walls for a reason. the bodies keep cycling through but i can not seem to remember how you came to be. this is a statement that is universal. because these molds that we seemingly are walking around in are begging to look for the answer to every mystery. the experience of being loved. of being wanted. of looking for someone to just be infatuated with the way you begin and end every sentence. react to every situation. live day to day.
(and you wanted her to spend time with better people anyway. you wanted her to see the good in him. you asked for it. you did this. no one will read this)
but the apples will rot and you will still love her and I will still be thousands of miles away hoping that you are thinking of that time we drove until the sun went down and I thought that everything was going to be fine. you said everything was going to be fine. I think we said that everything would continue on. but then you just left me at the end of the pathway. broken cracked cement sidewalk. where I could see the end (or was it the beginning?) wondering if you were ever going to go around the bend again. and if that would be you are running back to me. but you wont. you wont. because standing here lost in memory and anxiety seem to be my permanent condition. I have the inability to see. I can not edit. I can not. I can not. I have failed to do so.
"When I put my hands on your body on your flesh I feel the history of that body. Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake but all the way beyond its ending. I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear. I see the fat disappear from the muscle. I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching iself from the bones. I see the organs gradually fade into transparency leaving a gleaming skeleton gleaming like ivory that slowly resolves until it becomes dust. I am consumed in the sense of your weight the way your flesh occupies momentary space the fullness of it beneath my palms. I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curves of my hands. If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth to this present time I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain."
I told him to go find where his passion sits and wrestle it to the ground for infinity.
As you wait and hope and reach out for the impossible/Stuck in how it was/wondering if it will ever.ever.ever feel the same.
One day i will have to crawl out of this limbo.
