that moment where you realize that your old best friend from high school (who you used to joke about sharing one brain between the two of you because you were that telepathic with each other and had a semi-tragic/mostly-bogus falling out with in said high school) will be in Quebec with you for 5 weeks.
this is what happens when you live in the biggest small town imaginable.
Then there are those days when you feel that you really haven’t accomplished anything at all. That you are nothing. What do you have to offer to the world besides your sorrow?
Do you want to get married some day?
There are two types of violence.
The first is soft-spoken, hidden within the trembling pleasures of the soul. It created the words sadism and masochism. It’s the kind that we relish in the dark behind closed doors.
The second is unwanted. Whether it be physical or mental or emotional, it destroy us, tears us down until there is nothing left but a steaming pile of self-loathing.
It’s said that the abused become the abusers, but I don’t think that’s true; it’s too much of a transformation for a person to go through. Violence begets violence. It’s a response. If the violence is desired, it can be returned with just as much love and care. If it’s unwelcome, curdles the soul with fear, it inspires the fog that clouds all reason and whispers to the mind: hurt something as you have been hurt.
When you hurt me, I can only blindly strike back. It takes so much of my energy and courage to contain this beast. It has been growing inside me since I was first introduced to violence as a child. You are feeding it dark matter. All the light inside me is being pulled into this black hole within me.
This dark passenger. It wants to destroy you.
it comes back to this. tantalus. life-bearing fruit and water just out of reach. i need more. (is this greed or gluttony?) no matter how much i consume, it is not enough. (it is not you.) and when did i become so barren? empty words. echoes down the long hallway. i am not facing the mirror. i am afraid of what i will see there. (it will be you.)
they say you learn from your mistakes. but they don’t say how many times you must make the same mistake before you learn anything, really anything at all, about how to exist in this feeble world.
Can be translated as obsession but it is more an idea you are fixed upon more you have become fixated
Like I have upon your poetry Robert Desnos that is a beautiful mathematical symmetry like the Fibonacci sequence or the Vitruvian Man or the nautilus shell that is not the symmetry of two perfect halves but the symmetry of the light that reflects the dark and the dark that deflects the light and the symmetry of the syntactical agreement between you and me and the chain of endless phrases winding at the hand in the hair or was it the hair that was a hand
Unfettered by the punctuation of your breathing
The images tumbled down the waterfall of your form
The ash of Mount St. Helen falls in the skin of a Valencia orange
The lighthouse whispers in the ear of the ocean
The waves break on the mountain
You are at the top waxing to the world that you are Robert Desnos
You are fixated upon the ghost of love.
Pulling my hair loose I can love again.
Natalie Walker - Colorblind
(Source: youtube.com)
This. And this and this and this.
(Source: youtube.com)
