written as an exercise in stream of consciousness, unfiltered writing, trying to type faster than my mind could comprehend, to see what would come out. here are the 8 original, unedited pieces.

Mar 13, 2021 1:19:15 pm

(1)

i wonder what it would be like if i drifted off down the street and as i was walking someone caught my eye suddenly her lips are in sight and i see her hands are like mine screaming to be held and gentle but firm pink and white nails that cut like cigarettes on a rainy day( its not raining its dry but i wish it were raining why cant everything be romantic like it is in my dreams she looks at me but doesnt see me and points behind me i look i think that i see nothing then realize everything is behind me even though its dark the trees are sparkling recent raindrops that havent found their way home residing on ungrateful leaves those bastards im at home with her these days staring over the table my hands have touched hers a thousand times yet none every time i feel the desperation of the first time cursed to eternal cyclic nature i reach over and over and over and over again it burns every time god of passion is one of the cruel gods bearing company with pestilence and famine id rather die of starvation than have her touch me again drown me in bleach or shell stroke my soul again my lover is the one i hate the most we share a moment as she cracks a smile at me and i know shes imagining the distance is gone between us in her imagination she takes an appliance and in an act of transhumanity makes it part of her with no such applicator of her own uses her new self to upset discontent and put me off balance causing vulnerability so that i might cry i go to cry out but she covers my mouth loved ones are near and our joy would hurt them like it always does so it hides under covers behind doors glued shut that hateful beings we love so much may be spared pain disgust agony though they sin their retribution need not be an expression of our art this asynchronous punishment would be more a crime against expression itself than against the poor sinners

(2)

beauty turns to disgust as i look at her face for what i know is the last time as her smile drips vacantly into neutrality and i know shes empty and i know shell never feel again but its okay because the memories dont go away

(3)

today as i anticipate the view of the wake of the last day i ever couldve pretended to know her no tears fall from my eyes and the fire has left me absence of both water and flame though i know my blaze will be ignited and extinguished endless more times this exists as knowledge not feeling

(4)

we die in each others arms within ten seconds those ten seconds after shes taken her leave but before ive taken mine the most excruciating ive felt in 719 months when i look into her once glowing eyes and see theres nothing there this is my desideratum

(5)

its a privilege

(6)

dream a dream of a day at the market we weave through the crowded streets of the merchant port losing only one coin for every pickpocket that (not who) passes us she or she holds my hand steadily and firmly as i trail her to her favorite mercantile and she shows me the carving in the ground memories from deep in her childhood as she says it shows her an emotion shes felt seldom elsewhere i wish i could feel it too but all i hold inside is meager appreciation for the way this artist 719 years ago delicately drew enough lines in the earth to make a depiction but ill recall her showing me forever

(7)

there are emotions we can feel as children that we lose later on if you dont get lucky enough to find them early youre out of luck

(8)

elusivity of childhood pure nature sometimes less elusive when we put ourselves among enough trees in every direction that we cant see where we came from and we cant see where were going when you stand somewhere and gracefully lose enough perspective that you become capable of feeling small once more a library in whom (not which) you traveled too deep you are crushed by mountains of paper and ink and knowledge and understanding that youll never know as much as him numinous awe at the mere state of the world itself gazing at the badlands of south dakota out in front of you everything looking alien stifling heat utterly convinced youve somehow been transported to mars and the sheer terror of not knowing how to get back making you feel tiny indeed




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