Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk

Everything it seems that I like's a little bit sweeter and a little bit harmful for me. Indulgence gets us into a lot of trouble these days. But whether it is debauchery or depravity, we all get lost within its thick sticky skunk. But I'd rather we feel warm, and heavy rather than cold and thin. I just want to know if what I feel is a symptom of paranoia or intrinsic incrimination. I have a fascination with people. Mindless, uncouth people. They never rip or scream, or send utterances of maniacal phrases out of car roofs or chimney tunnels into the Great Expanse. I find it most peculiar that these people only suck mounds of oxygen into their lungs and blow out streams of carbon dioxide into the ether. They gargle with peroxide, and put steaks on their black eyes. .

Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter like a hard-hearted enthusiast

I am ill-equipped.
I cannot win the hearts of those that I love. I cannot win admiration, or fond farewells. I cannot win a ukulele. I cannot win. And it is dismally dull. And to that one for which I hold onto foolish notions and unfortunate familiarity: All I want is the best for our lives. I want you happy, and light. And what of those days when we sat in beautiful silence? Well , I'll just cast those off with an appropriate cemetary smile, and hope that somewhere you are counting ants on trees, and ice in glass. There is a light, and it never goes out.. but it is sometimes forgotten.

It's really bursting at the seams, absorbing everything.

Metamorphosis. (YOUTH)


It is a continuous change, a tearing off of one's own skin to make way for a different self. Are we indifferent to our suffering, or do we take pride in this violent transformation. Our figurative bodies, flayed and bloodied, cry out for something more than it's boundaries. Is it so strange, that we should want to shred, break, tear, grind, strip, and stab? The light within us is mutinous. It must get out.

Evaporar

The best in life is saved for the better versions of ourselves. Do you ever feel that way? Is there an answer to the bitter and hallow places within hearts, and minds, and toes? I sometimes wish I'd try to find them, or look for them in the dark boroughs hidden around the house, or in the closet space. But it's dark in there, and the clouds give no way for re imagining the way things should've been. We have no sense of time or space, or time travel anymore. Isn't that a shame? We could all just disappear one day. And reappear as burnt, inconsequential dust. howinteresting,howenigmatic,howl .

O

I'm just waiting to start again.

When you are engulfed in flames

It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing when to leave. But, people always leave, and memories remain untouched. That's how it needs to be now. If we have nothing real anymore, I'd rather remember us as we were, once. We've both changed. I think you're happier, more evolved now. And I- I am engulfed in the same pain we once bonded over. Isn't that ironic? You came to me with your bad dreams and your fears, and I gladly held you and shared in your pain. But I knew how to live above it. I knew how to live without that pain, and how to put it on just to relate to you. And now, through streams of moving thought and humane conversations, it has consumed me, and determined the strange course that I am now lost and wandering through. I should've looked for the warning signs, and silent transfer of spirits. I value this pain now. I value it, and live in it. And I feel more alone than ever.

Necessity is the mother of invention

If there ever was a natural way to adapt, and to change, I'd like to think that we'd have found it. I don't think its the strongest, or the most intellegent that survive. It's the ones who are most adaptable to change. The agonizing metamorphic process that each and everyone of us experience must endure. As we mature, and experience life, our eyes focus on the things that we once glanced over. Although ignorance most often begets confidence, I've been thinking that maybe its better to be knowledgable and yet uncertain. Sometimes skulls are thick, and hearts are vacant, and words just don't work.

Googolplex and Heavy Boots

One, and infinte zeroes.

She just smiled and read a book, and gave him such a gentle glance.
Such a look, he thought, could make a man fall flat on the floor without a sound.
He felt a rough pain run through his chest, only to see love oozing from his sweater vest.
She watched him toss, and turn, and wipe the love right off with his sleeve.
She wondered if he knew she was made to love magic.

I live a life of measure and ambiguity. That's probably not strange to hear. And I'm just a little person renacting the simple, trivial happenstances of human existence, all the while feeling insignificant, and foolish, and genius, but endearing and quite sincere. I wish I could've known my grandfathers. I'm missing something that I've never seen inside of me before, and I know it's them. Their empty eye sockets staring through my nose. I can feel their hands skimming the top of my head as they walk past, and I hear their whispers in my ears, so silent and grey. I wish I could've known them.

Two Pianos

We have different places.

Naked as we came

Honest, It feels a lot better this time.

Day In, Day Out, Day In, Day Out, Day In, Day Out.

So, this is inevitable withdrawal, and so far it feels all right. It would be nice to take a holiday away from this place. To just drive, and drive, and drive just to watch the road disappear beneath me. It's quite true, that the best moments in life are when one finds themselves in a familiar complete state of inadequate confusion. I think we were better when we were young, and content to live as bluebirds do. When it was just enough to sit around in a circle and tell stories about pilgrims&indians and make feathered headresses and black puritain caps, and eat popcorn and drink from our juice boxes. What do you say, dearest? But now, there's a man dressed in black, standing in front of me with his hands stretched out, and his teeth are made of wood. His nose is crooked, but his eyes seem nice. He was raised in a one-horse kind of town. Do you remember those times when you were with the person you love the most, just sitting in that car and listening to the badly tuned radio, asking for more time, or quite abstractly asking nothing at all? Sending out one-line wisdom quotations out of the sunroof, into the sky? Wasn't that just enough? To feel love and wisdom and confusion mixing together in one space, to form a completely pure feeling of random organized nostalgic contemplation.

Keep me in mind

And I just stood there crying, eyes wide open, breathing it in, holding it all inside of my head, willing it not to spill out onto the floor. Is there such a thing as mental atrophy? If there is, I hope it diminishes me, and sheds it holy light across my forehead, leading me to better places than this one. I hope it strips me naked, and lays bare all of my fears and wonders, all of my triumphs and my charms. May be then, I'll get somewhere. But, of course for now, I'd rather my story remain untold, until I have found a function for appendixes and funny bones. I'd like to ask someone, if they could love me as much as they love themselves. If I could witness their life, and attach it to mine. If may be they'd like that one day. One day.

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

I love you very much.



" How about another cup of tea?"

I hope when people offer tea, it's a gesture of love.

It should be.



It feels like I'm cutting out my eyes and ears and feeding them to my nose. Why is it, that I never seem to be, exactly where I ought to? The earth is shifting under me, taking me with it, and leaving me behind. I trusted it to take me to where I need to be, but it has failed me on every count. When someone says " I love you " it should be made a natural law, that the earth moves your body to the place to where that person is. To witness their tears, and kiss their mouth, and hold their face in your hands. But no, the earth is a big ugly moron.

Articulation

Everything hurts now. And everyone is the way they should be, except for me. I should be driven, and motivated, and ready to start, but everything is as it should be, and I'm left out. I'm a creep, I'm insane, I'm optimistic, and rightly so. So much for my endearing sense of charm. I was so much happier when I played the game, and knew completely all that they so discretely talk about. Instead, I find myself alone, and unarmed. Is that really such a bad thing after all? To go through life carrying no weapon of indifference or intolerance? They shout, they scream, TAKE NOTICE! TAKE INTEREST! TAKE ME WITH YOU!... Don't they know, we're all just trying to live? We're just dying to live. We burn the roads, blind our hearts, and it's cold and I'm tired now.