Diary of Repair

The Long Goodbye

It is 5:30 in the a.m. and I am curing a screen, about to drive it to the local car wash to try and power wash it through, because this is the 4th set screen and 4th goddamn attempt and if the methods I have tried so far are still futile then yes I will need to adapt and improvise.

It is 5:30 a.m. and the same fear is slowly growing in me. The terror, I should clarify.

When she came down on the weekend of my sister’s wedding, (had I mentioned that?) I got night sweats. Twice in the middle of the night I found myself completely drenched in what my immediate fear was nocturia- before realizing the total body extent of my expressed anxiety.

;

I feel it in me already

Like little AJ wailing incessantly

Succumbed to separation anxiety.

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I can’t divine whether the level of honesty I excrete on here could be considered as valorous as it can be qualified infantile. There again by my conundrum, “But it reads a little desperate. Like you’re gasping for air and swallowing pride.

…Absolutely. You don’t write like a scorned lover. There is a tenderness.

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And maybe that’s enough.
So long as this is never read with mal intent,
that all these lacerations are inwards facing,
barbed jabs to keep you out
like giant two story black and yellow Caution signs
trying to maintain the strictest, starkest
black and white communication
that this hurts.

;

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I don’t think I like this pain. I think it’s fair to say (and agree) that whatever relationship she and I have was a heavily twisted one, that began from an abused power mechanic in it’s infancy that has warped to longstanding emotional S&M game a decade long.

It can very much be argued I bring it on to myself (for the sake of the human condition!), yes I do believe all power exists and resides in me to make positive change; & i think (know) that’s where the terror stems, facing that irrefutable, how absolutely broke we are.

& I wish we weren’t
& I know we won’t be forever.
I’m counting on it.

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can we not just end the book here?
how many times this kid gonna break his own heart
this year?

no, the rest is just epilogue really.
it actually ended quite a while back.

hmmm/ guess all those tapes are non-canon.

i don’t know
and who’s got the energy
to want to know?
just let them rest in peace.

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e-.

-end transmission-

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Diary of Repair

Morning Missives From Your Favorite City

♪♫♪

Didn’t you read this morning

That North Korea took our provocation of two low air bomber units skirting their oceanic air space- took that as a signal.

Because all signs from this president are meaningless.

And I mean that even to the white supremacists.

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Didn’t you read

Kushner and his EMAILS?!

You didn’t fall for that too, did you?

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Did you read

The Nazi Party of Germany gained 13% control of their Parliament?

Are you still sleeping, dog?

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Did you hear Japan and their quantum computer?

And look at this lumbering oaf in charge

Asleep at the fucking wheel.

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If you want this goddamn planet so much you can have it. Just get me a one way ticket off this godforsaken rock.

Yo! You want your nation that bad? The one whose blood and skin were the same red from the very beginning? The one who confiscates a language built off germanic, romantic, and hellenic traditions? You think we assault your heritage?

We’re never getting off this rock
if you’re up your own fucking ass over your lawn.

pissant cowards.

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“And the meek shall inherit the Earth.”

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How the fuck you gonna lose your desire
For Space?

Bruh.

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Uncategorized

Move to California.

What do I do from here?

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I quit writing for a while because I just didn’t have anything left in me. No love nor god to guide me.

On the love end, well. She was off in some other city, having late night LCD Soundsystem nights into her city, riverwalks and city parks strewn from tip to toe in lights, No curfews, no lack of rights.

She said not to take it personally, that she was leaving the city, not me.

But I am this city.
These streets are my streets,
these potholed veins my blood streams
these bars the future haunts-

my
broken obelisk.

This whole goddamn time* reeks,
you know?

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She was abusive,
though in this warped mind I’d argue
she wouldn’t have been if I didn’t let her be
and maybe she just didn’t want me to let her be
anymore.

There seems to be something rotten in that, huh?

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My sister asked why she was here
i didn’t really have much an answer.

“So that we know what bad looks like,
for when I finally find good?”

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hmmm.

 

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*town.

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