state of confusion

I most definitely have a personality disorder: the combination of my "defining" characteristics or qualities are in a great, grave state of confusion; they are not arranged neatly or systematically. These traits that are supposed to be defining lack definition; they have no precise position or exact location. The idea of something, especially a person, is often better than the actuality- however, unfortunately, you cannot have sex or share a bed with an idea. I want to redeem myself but I have gone so far that I don’t know how. You once read or heard that drinking alone is the first sure sign of alcoholism, therefore you make certain to always drink in the company of friends at best (ideally) or strangers at worst (more frequently). I want to redeem myself. I need to restore my health, only thing is: I've gone so far now that I don't know how; I am so used to being perpetually sick that I fear being healthy would be such an abnormality to my body that I would be thrown into an acute state of confusion bordering on insanity. Often times he spends too much time staring into the despairing reflection of his own vanity. She does not own a telephone but there is a constant ringing persistently piercing her periphery. We are utterly alone and despicably lonely; in order to feel and seem less crazy we talk to ourselves aloud, loudly. Incessantly.

easier to leave

Not pregnant. Eating for two nonetheless. There's a line I never know exists until I cross it. It's never enough until it's too much. I feel cleansed after the binge; my stomach is a bottomless pit. I ate more in one sitting than most eat in three Thanksgivings. Feeling- currently- a bit disgusting, but ultimately replenished. Something something something, then, another thing. When we live hard we die softly; I have learned many, many things throughout the duration of this existence. One of them being this: in any relationship it is always best and wisest to leave a bag, a suitcase, packed by the doorway- because when the shit hits the fan things get dirty, fast. And, you can never be too certain about anything except for this: it's easier to leave than to be left.

bad weather

I am not the same person as I was yesterday. We're not the same people as we were yesterday. Give it- at most- three more years and by then my hair will be completely gray. Multiply my age by your age then add an infinity and that integer will equate to the amount of love I will give thee before dying. Nobody wants to be the haystack- we all need to be the needle. You see- you will see- that nothing is everything when everything is nothing. You see? You will see that you and me were meant to be together in good and/or bad weather. It is snowing in my desert. No thank you- I do not need any dessert.

make it true

my chipped tooth. the confidence of youth. the fact that competence doesn't exist and your existence is living proof of this. did you tame the shrew or was it the shrew that tamed you? everyday is yesterday and all yesterdays are made up of tomorrows and todays. if the earth were flat we could fold our maps until your body stacks on top of mine. mankind is not kind. but you- you are divine- and the fact that you will never believe this is enough evidence to make it true.

my hands are chained

sometimes i wish i
were brave enough
to call my own bluff-

sometimes, like right now, i wish i could just run outside
into the middle of a crowd of people, on a busy street,
take to my knees and scream: "god, help me! please
save me! please love me!" whilst crying,

and, if someone were to step forth and wipe my tears or simply
take my hand, then i would marry that person- i would forever
be in debt to that woman or man that grabbed my hand-

but, alas, i fear that if i did do it- if i did cry in the middle
of a crowd bearing all, becoming a skeleton directly before
them- that nobody would come to my aid, that they'd all
just laugh and turn their backs...

sometimes- like right now, at this exact moment- i wish i could
look straight into your eyes and confess: "i love you so much, i
don't mean to be mean, i'm really not even tough, i fear i'm not
good enough- that i'll never ever be good enough- and that is
why i lie, that is why i yell and throw things instead of smiling
and crying, but look at me? look at these eyes, how could i be
bad, i'm not really bad!"

no, no, no...this is all wrong. i can't explain; suffice to say there is
a feeling like running away boiling between the blood and love in
my veins- i have hunger pains, i want to love everyone
and everything

but every time i do it hurts so much i inevitably begin to hate. i cannot
touch it. my hands are chained.

i.

the only thing you have to prove is that you have nothing to prove- every single time i open my mouth to speak i tell a lie; it's true: i'm lying.

ii.

uh, there's this feeling inside of me like a heat or a sickeningly strong energy- i think maybe it is love, or at least the anxiety of loving- yet it's strange and disconcerting that my natural instinct is to run headfirst and as fast as i can into a wall with my head, or to break something to pieces with my fists- is love always this violent? i can't imagine filtering this feeling into a gentle kiss...

iii.

if i could i would most definitely take off all of my clothing then proceed to mount the tallest building and scream through a megaphone- or better yet project my image across this galaxy's sky, its ceiling- and say sincerely: "love me! that's all i want or need."

iv.

i am madly in love with someone i haven't met (yet).

v.

i am the little engine that couldn't.

never sure

She's telling the debt collectors to take a number,

She tells the doorbell to go to hell-

Her mailbox is spitting envelopes into the sky

The door's lock is busted and she could care less
the reasons why

All dreams eventually die

If not realized-

All eyes cry (from time to time

Falls on her tongue

Melting instantaneously

Like snowflakes or confectioners sugar

And she's always certain that she's never sure

to begin with

People are inherently, inevitably, invariably disappointing. Take it from me. Further, the biggest most drastic and dramatic people-related disappointments inherently, inevitably, invariably come from within. Trust me. That is, if trust is a word still in your vocabulary. I will not judge you, neither will I be angry or surprised if you ceased believing in such virtues as honesty. How could I blame you? I'd be lying if I were to say or claim that I still believed in those virtues- they are antiquated and outdated. Hell, maybe they never even existed to begin with. Maybe every single virtue we cling to so dearly is just another marketing scheme. Everything is a marketing scheme. The bottom line since the dawn of time (for the majority of humanity) has and always will be money. If it sells people will buy it- and, if people will buy it then there is a market- and, if there isn't yet a market don't worry: it will assuredly be invented, it will undoubtedly be created. We will create it. In the end it's the closest we can get at divinity; we cannot find it within our capacity to obey god so instead we play god. Arrogance and hubristic acts know no limits within the fists of a capitalist- for that matter any type of externally imposed, ideologically established society. It's pathetic that people have to calm their conscience by lying to themselves. Creating heaven and hell; in order to sell redemption or sacrilege.

Incidentally and regardless it is not the "isms" that are worrisome, it is the "ists." Furthermore, our main concern should never be the leader but the followers. True there is "safety in numbers" but just as true: there is danger in quantity; there is always only one leader, there are numerous followers.

I hope you know I'm making fun of you, but I also hope you know that in making fun of you I'm making fun of me too.

dinner jacket

I awoke- although I can't hardly remember having fallen asleep, or for that matter sleeping- at four in the morning with ears ringing.

Not only ringing, but there was also such an intense and piercing pain in the pit of my right ear that I thought for sure- for absolute certain!- that a bug had crawled in there to die last night.

Surprisingly I was not alarmed by this occurrence in the slightest. I simply tilted my head to the right and began to smack my hand violently against my left ear. I was hoping, you see, that the bug would crawl or fall out. When finally, upon finding nothing, I decided that there was no bug in there I sighed a deep sigh of relief. Indeed, my ears must have been ringing for a different reason. The pain persisted but I began to not notice it, having become well acquainted with the "acute act of ignoring" pain in my earlier days. I leapt to my feet and began dressing.

I dressed hurriedly. Which wasn't at all complicated, for it seemed I was already wearing most of my outside clothes to begin with. How this happened, I do not know. All I know is that I fixed my hair a bit, buttoned up my waistcoat (or vest as they say these days), slipped my feet (sockless) into dress shoes, put on a dinner jacket, and went into the toilet.

There, I proceeded to squirt cinnamon flavoured toothpaste into my mouth. I began chewing the paste. I felt the granules of flavour crystals burst in between my teeth; I felt deeply happy. The taste made me feel deeply happy and even, strangely enough, relieved. I looked at myself in the looking glass above the sink and smiled so much that I thought I would burst out laughing. That happens, you know, a smile can get so wide that it has no other choice but to transform into laughter. It's a most pleasant occurrence. Unfortunately on this occasion I was unable to break my smile. Due to the fact that, at this exact moment, there was a loud noise somewhere inside of the building, a crashing sound, that distracted me and made me remember what I was doing.

Afterwards, I was thankful for this auditory interruption, for it enabled me to come back to reality and complete my mission. Although now, I am not certain at all if I actually heard "a crashing sound" or if it, too, was just imagined.

Anyway, I was in a great hurry to leave. I continued my half-assed and impromptu grooming. I ran water from the faucet, swished the toothpaste in my mouth and spat. Before turning away from the mirror, I took a good look at my face: I looked terrible.

It was obvious that I hadn't slept well. Furthermore, my face was sad looking- to a morose degree. My skin was sallow and pale; it also seemed to be glowing sickly, like the light cast by a computer or television screen. This caused me to smile again. I pushed my bangs out of my face, blew myself a kiss, then left.

As I ran down the steps I could not help but feel as if somebody, or something- an apparition or a shadow- was running alongside me. My feet turned into icicles and it took all the strength left within me (which was not a lot) to keep moving.

Finally, with tremendous effort, I reached the street.

Wind was blowing plastic bags and leaves around my bare ankles and about my feet. It was terribly chilly. Almost freezing. I realized immediately that I was dressed inappropriately for such weather- "I shall catch a cold and die!"- I thought. And, this thought greatly satisfied me. I turned the collar up on my dinner jacket and began skipping in the direction of the sacred shrine (which was really only a shack readily accessible without a key). I knew they would be waiting for me. And, I knew, more than ever that I was going to kill every last one of them. I also knew, with such an amazingly firm conviction, that I was going to thoroughly enjoy doing it.

It was at this precise point in time that something outlandish began to happen. Believe it or not, a voice began to follow me- as if from above- narrating my every movement. The voice was undeniably familiar; it was the voice-over voice "they" use in commercials or for theatrical trailers. I began laughing wildly. I laughed so hard that my stomach started hurting. In fact, I vomited.

The vomit looked disgusting. I was lucky that nobody was out on the street, for if anybody were to have seen my puke they would have pitied me: there wasn't a trace of food in it. Only spit and bilious, lurid liquid. As soon as I regained composure this too made me smile.

I was almost there.

Then, I was there. I reached out my trembling hand and turned the knob on the door. Immediately, as if planned beforehand, I was overwhelmed with despair. I felt blisters growing in my pockets and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on age and erect, as if standing at attention for an angry lieutenant or drill sergeant. It was at this moment- this inopportune and, because of this, perfect! moment- that I collapsed.

Before falling completely to the ground before me I heard that voice-over for movies and TV voice whisper ever-so sultrily: "Please stay tuned ladies and gentleman, until next week."

more-than-fairly-odd couple

Apropos of nothing.

Indeed, we will be the more-than-fairly-odd couple; the "strange lovers" shall we be.

We will both be younger seeming (physically and maybe emotionally; however, intellectually and spiritually wise beyond our years) than we really are.

Neither of us will know for certain how to drive a car- additionally, neither of us will want to do so. We will prefer to walk or to take a bus or a train; any thing that allows us to hold hands with our thoughts.

We will be known as being radical and conservative at one in the same time; we will love each other madly- your heart being mine and mine being yours (forever)- although we will sleep in separate beds, spending the majority of our mornings alone in our studies. Me working on my writing and you on your melodies. Actually, we will both work on writing and melodies and artistic monuments (which we will dedicate humbly yet proudly to the concept of a masterpiece)- anything indulging our sporadic, consistent, and intense (intense!) creativity.

Some days we will see each other briefly (and fortuitously), in the hallway, in the toilet, in the kitchen- yet on these same days we will never utter a word to one another. We will read our books in separate rooms; pausing momentarily, placing bookmarks or dog-earing pages, and kiss each other desperately as if it were needed to sustain our existence. Then, just as quickly as our lips enjoined, we will retreat back to our separate quarters and continue reading.

We will take bubble baths together and read one another bedtime stories.

We will rarely, rarely ever party although occasionally we will partake in rather small, intimate intellectual soirées in which we will entertain our guests most cordially. When they leave we will hasten to clean the messes they left behind before running frantically to the bed we share and proceeding to make love under the covers more passionately than any creature in nature ever. We will kiss, suck, lick, touch, and so on and so forth, as if we were Adam and Eve and the whole fate of humanity depended upon our bodies writhing and entwining beneath or above our crisp, clean sheets. We will feel (and enter) each other's souls.

Afterwards, we will retreat to our individual beds and sleep sprawled out and naked; alone.

We will be exceedingly romantic. We will buy matching bicycles- quite quaint bicycles of a most attractive colour and style- and we will go on bike rides hand in hand with packed lunches in the baskets. We will find a grassy patch of earth, spread out our blanket (used solely for this purpose), place our healthy, fashionable (but mostly fun) food on top of the fabric and commence eating. We will eat and talk and daydream; although, mostly we will talk and daydream. For we will be so involved in each other that we will forget, therefore neglect, hunger or thirst.

I will be stubborn, spontaneous, impatient, and unreasonable at worst. You will see me as passionate, determined, ambitious, and strong-willed. You will be beautiful and I will never fail to tell you so. Although, as is only normal, we will fight wildly.

You will scream and break things. I will remain calm and quiet suggesting that we "have this conversation in the morning, when we both aren't so angry," this will only cause you to become incensed to the point of boiling- with steam escaping out of every pore, you will hate me for my insensitivity and pound your harmless fists against my chest; I will smile at you disarmingly, not to make you angry, but because firstly: I smile when afraid or confused, and secondly: I will find your fit to be most adorable. At this, you will call me "condescending," and angrily lock yourself into your room. I will secretly listen outside of your door, I will hear you crying- I will pause for a second, seemingly contemplating whether or not to console you; alas, I will stealthily sneak outside to smoke a cigarette. I will, in this moment, whilst exhaling tobacco smoke, be overwhelmed with regret. I will swear to all that is infinite that I will never hurt you again.

In the morning, over too many cups of coffee, we will not even remember it happening, until something (almost accidentally) reminds us of it and we will both laugh and kiss (with tongue) looking more young than ever.

I will be vain only in one respect: my dress; with elegant suits, sweater vests, cardigans, neckties, bowties, suspenders, lens-less glasses, etcetera. You will laugh at this. You will find it funny that my hairstyle will never change (at least not significantly) and that I will worry myself to the point of insanity over cutting it properly. You too will have your vanities- I will secretly envy your style yet compliment you outwardly on your appearance, infallibly.

We will be married. We may even have a child; and our child will be so normal that nobody will ever understand how (even though it will be adopted) it is ours. This will make us happy, because being so eccentric, nearly-crazy, uncompromising, and terminally-unique, we will be glad that our child will have life a bit more easily within its reach. For, we never did. Therefore, living (before we met) was far from easy.

when i study your picture

when i study your picture, this is what i see: a young woman- who is even younger than her numbers- who is at once angry (in a feisty fashion), scared (almost to an unbearable degree), ready to compete (but not only to compete, to win), a woman who wants to be left alone yet who is terribly lonely; lastly, there is such passion and an unabashed vulnerability (which it seems you mistakenly think you have hidden) in the depth your brown eyes offer that i almost want to pick you up (as if a little girl, or someone's daughter) shake you and proclaim: "it is okay! it is all going to be okay! you are strong, you are special, you are an individual, i will take care of you, i will readily let you take care of me- only we have to promise not to smother each other; that would be awful, absolutely awful!"

when i study your picture, this is what i see: a person who is terrified and simultaneously satisfied and excited by/with life, a person who is extremely confident at the same time as being embarrassed and painfully (almost to a debilitating degree) riddled with insecurities, a person who i want to love forever and a person who i know will one day hate me; a person whos glance cuts through me so deeply i cower in fear in a corner; yet, i know that i will always come back for more- and, i can't help but know that you know this too.

and, well, this last bit i am afraid to admit (but just as poverty is not a crime neither is being honest): i can't help but see my reflection in your penetrating stare/expression which pierces everything within me painfully (but pleasurably)- although i am far from an idiot (although a trifle idiotic) and know very well that the surface of this page doesn't reflect a thing.

forever jung

Like a stain.

Do not do what you are told.

We wish to be, to remain forever Jung. However, we know that we will one day grow old. That our psychological functions of sensation, of intuition- that our emotions and our thoughts- will begin to rot.

I forgot something. I lost everything.

Every time I die.

And, I still cannot decide if I am an introverted extrovert or an extroverted introvert.

When you stopped hitting me is when it really began to hurt.

heavens

If parallel universes do exist and we have lived
every possible combination of our existences;

If every box has been checked, every line crossed,
then our decisions are not important

For the outcomes are infinite- and, if this is
true then it only makes sense
that our dreams come from
these alternate realms
of existence- it

Must be that our subconscious is able to transcend
dimensions- this would be a great illustration
and reason for the fact that
I can speak perfect

Russian, Spanish, and French- that I can play the guitar like Hendrix,
that I got the girl and my wish- in my dreams, while asleep

I am a genius not only because I am able to tap into the vast region
of brain that I cannot access while awake, but also because I am
able to touch my subconscious which is able to transcend
dimensions and bring me news/tidbits of my life in these
many parallel universes.

Heavens!