One Hundred Years of Solitude

HHB Ms. S 341/ 1:6.

Happy Anniversary to me.

Not to be taken sardonically.

;

That is what it said to me, opening this space.
Happy Anniversary.

When did I first start this? 4 Years now?
Lost on another planet, a different one from this.

I did open it on my birthday then, didn’t I?

A week after thanksgiving,
deciding to get high for the first time
to cope.

;

Of course I’m not back.
but I couldn’t be misperceived as cruel.

I shouldn’t post this, but I want to. It’s not for you,
not this time, anymore.

I came to assure there’s no resentment
that I am building myself better
that you won’t find me here later by tonight or the week
scrawling drunken maddenly vitriols across this web;

;

I was not a good enough person,
to her, to myself, to anyone.

.

.

we can respect that, right?
that medicine is bitter tasting
the cure worse than the disease

(it’s name is) work.

.

.

 

but I’m still here
& I’m still watching you,

Oh world.
♫♫
.

.

.

.

.

 

It’s not the end of you yet.

Standard
One Hundred Years of Solitude

Cien Años de Soledad

Es demasiado facil a sentar me aqui con vous.

Es demasiado dificil tambien.

Si no quieres que me hago dramatico,
entonces que?
Seis meses, amour.

Veremos en seis
donde nos ponemos.

Dejame en pas,
y aqui te hago lo mismo.

Haci sabes que estoy bien, y vivo.
Y tu sabes que para siempre te escribire;

pero para ahorita- por favor mi hijita sauavidad, pulcherissimus stella of them all; please for the love of it all;- hey suavecita, mejor amor de mi corpore’al dolor. ya te encontraste tu translador. ya seria culpa de alguien mas; hey por favor por favor por favor, por favor de ja me in pas, porque te extraño mucho, ye duele, a quedar me aqui sin tigo, por un rato mas.

Pero me dices a no ser dramatico.
estare bien, baby.

Recuerdalo.

.

.

Y haci se puso, el hombre de soledad.
aprendiendo su idioma desde nuevo.

hmm.

Standard
Uncategorized

Austin

The world has left me alone today

Because it knew I’d be here with you.

.

It’s very quiet up in my head. It’s calm, which I didn’t expect. But why ask for a fight, why go in depth in what sucks. Just pass and be alone again.

.

We’re not grabbing wine to make use of the complimentary

We’re not sharing a tub in a bathroom without a door.

We’re not placing any pins in the maps that envelop us.

We’re not both staying here anyway.

.

But you’re still as cute as you’ve always been

So goddamn cute as you’ve always been.

Smart and ever watchful.

Better than 

Where I am.

.

But there ain’t no other place I’d rather be. Even rain soaked in the nosebleeds as the tempest and the memories roar. Life just ain’t the same without.

.

But you’re a woman, that never lets me feel like a man. Never feels quite right like a man. Even though I rile like it.

Not the kind of man you’d want anyway.

.

Your cheeks are always so playfully round. It kills. And you’re always so monochrome.

&rogenous.

I love all your stupid curves. 

.

Yeah.

Let’s start the show.

Standard
Diary of Repair

Reznikoff

I came here to spout my imagination of Objectivist poetry, before being sidelined by a new piece of literature I feel like chasing off.

I’m not sure what part of my life is supposed to be work. That is a very problematic statement; it is one that I am working on, along with piecing together what a non-perverted form of Love is supposed to be. If I have any shred of an assignment on this Earth, it will be to be that, to do that, Information Officer.

& if I am going to be a writer I don’t seem to be a very good one.
There doesn’t seem to be much dependability on it, no idea of when it will come and go.
It’s a rather uncontrollable form of anxiety, I admit.

I can not assume to be of any comfort to anyone: in this state::
This is not what hard work looks like: anywhere on earth.

;

But this place is very much a drug for me.
It is very much my escape, like I have sometimes been,
unbridled honesty,
a perfect divertissement-

An Infinite Jest of sorts.
It’s an uncontrollable pursuit of enjoyment;
I very much seem to enjoy being here, talking with you.
Even when it’s bitter,
I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,
right?

;

The truth is I need to write. I need to gird myself and get it done,
I need to find focus.
:
This is very much twitter to me,
and it makes me feel better
to see how many views I get;
even if it is through inflammatory things
that cunt war widow
telling me i’m being rude?
doesn’t that nigger
know I’m the President?

;

Christ almighty.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I’m pretty sick and tired of hurtin’,
active and passive voice;
I’m pretty sick and tired
of not knowing.

But really I’m just not sure how to ask for that thing that I need most.
Part of me’s just afraid you’ll run away.

That’s an irrational fear, is it not?
I am being irrational.
& as much as I enjoy coming here, and spilling such things, these blabbering confectionery confessions, mellifluous and babblingly sweetly softly so, sing-song y with please;[ or tri& brāk;-.....……. i don’t know. this is a diversion for me too.

;

Our president has no impulse control,
and I admit I fear I do too.

& a litany of other things about myself
i need to work on.

I’m not so worthless I can’t admit to myself there are no excuses,
or at least, nothing so immense that I can not handle it.

I think that’s enough on the inner workings aspect,
that’s only partially why I’m here.

;

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Alright. 460 words.
Let’s do a thou’.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I went to the chapel that day to find peace, and instead felt myself under extra auspicious watch. It’s one thing to be watched by the monoliths, because there is a definite “deadness” to them, if not “non-existence,” than at least a gratitude that they do not move; the Guardians instead have eyes as free as their wills, and the shifting in their seats and calculating eyes staring back made the sudden entrance of two decently attractive college girls perusing the art suddenly feel like a perverted performance piece. There was no comfort when the unassuming imaginations of numerous adults were now living and breathing each other in a given space that resonated each quiet movement into definite sensorially tangible vibrations though the air; emotional shockwaves?

But I had lost the sense of belonging I typically maintained within this space, of being home. I felt that I had come and disrespected the sacred chamber; not unlike dragging muddy shoes through the living room and putting my hole-ridden socks right up on the entertaining table. It was as if judgment was collecting evidence for a future case.
So I left.

;

 

.

It 

It was quieter in the Byzantine. It’s calmer there, and I’m not sure if that’s because no one even knows about it. But the lighting is more austere. The architecture itself is aptly brutalist.

I love the Byzantine because it’s not about me. It’s not about dad or god or heaven and hell and the world. The Rothko can have all that.

That day I sat at the Byzantine and just kinda wondered to myself about it. Would it look good in the living room? Could I build a home that suited it? Would we stare at it all day, instead of the TV? Could I afford this chapel to get married in? Would I? No.

I sat and considered the two other marriages now in my family, their dichotomy, and winding paths. This room wasn’t about children, it was about an us.

& even now in retrospect, it suddenly becomes too many things again; too many warning signs of dumb respect, rapids on the river matrimony, wedding things and all the underlying symbolism that could slowly chip away feliz façades to the empty canvas underneath.

And I have to ask myself if I really have to ask myself
if that’s what I want in life.

And I tell myself- really tell myself-
.

.

.

— – — – – – – —  -8< — – – – –

some other night..

.

.

.

.

.

.

It’s 2:47, The Astro’s Won it in the 11th,
AJ Celebrated his 2nd
and the family sleeps well.

Indictments come tomorrow.

oh baby!

goodnight.

.

.

oh baby

ohh baby-

you’re having a bad dream.

here in my arms…

.

Standard
Uncategorized

It’s Thursday. I’m listening to couples therapy. I think I wrote about it earlier, but never published.

I couldn’t confess this anywhere else though.
I wouldn’t want to tell anyone else. 

It’s a pretty nice day to spend alone, here in space city. Pull up a chair and watch me screen print, and let’s talk if we feel the same. 

Hmm. 

Idk. 

Standard