shout it
shut it
shout it
shut it
shout it
shut it
shout it
shut it

do you care about her or do you just care about going on tending and nursing your feelings for her? it's not even for that they'd grow; it is only so that they would not perish. then it's worth holding onto?

everything that's so basic and taken for granted are given over a million assumptions, why should i assume i'm even capable of being affected by something like this? do i even have the right to be sad when a patient dies? doesn't that just mean i'm not good at my job? everything happens cosmically; nothing ever happens to me, i'm sure.

I don't know who you are anymore, and I don't know which one of me I'm supposed to be when I'm talking to you. It kind of pricked me when I thought you'd be more inclined to come see me because I can give you pills, and then you might have to pretend you wanted to hang out so it wouldn't seem so obvious that you just wanted to get home and get fucked up, but then I remembered when I was like that and I wondered how many people thought what I thought and if That's the me you'd want me to be, well, I guess she's not too long gone, yes surely she is still around or else who is it that i've become??

Authenticity

I wish I'd made you real.

Learning Curve

I have to keep reminding myself not to settle this time. I am learning about what I want through process of elimination, or negative selection. It's not enough, and it's not okay. But it will do right now. Sometimes I don't realize certain things, until I have articulated them, to no one in particular. Maybe I say it for my own sake; maybe I realized that's how I realize things.

Things are starting to come together. I find that I really don't care this time. There is not even the self-deceiving, sporadic, roller-coaster-y good-feeling anymore. No more reading through text message exchanges and letting out a sigh of contentment or yelp of excitment. No more worrying about what I'm wearing or what I'm going to wear. No more stealing glances and stealing kisses. No more negotiation. I have no grounds to give, and I'm not going in. And then I find that I am bored of this after all. It is just as unfulfilling as I'd always imagined. It is the reason for inventing emotional investment in the first place.

Now I wait for things to fall apart, to fall away. For when I should realize, I don't need the real physical attachment just as I don't need the invented emotional investment. For when I should realize, positively, what I want. Good things do come to those who wait. I read about myself, 3, 8, 13, 17 months ago, asking myself, when will it end, when will I be free... And I'm here. I might say it took too long, or I might just set the burden down. So now I wait again. It's not enough; it's not okay. But it'll have to do for now.

Some soul in me, before me, in my heart's mind, longs to go back to "God will be all in all."

As far as conscious memory and remembered consciousness goes, I have never been religious. But I know and remember the feeling. There is something that compels me to regard the feeling as almost physical, because I distinctly know that it has always been, and always been before me. "Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone" indeed.

I admire the energy, the surge to tax one's (conscious) self logically, intellectually, spiritually and ceaselessly for an answer. I only wish I too had an answer so sweet, and so sweetly irrefutable.

I do not want a violent awakening. I do not want to be cradled or caressed. I don't need to look back in the sand and know that those singular footsteps in my hardest times, belonged not to me. I don't need the voice in Herbert. I don't need the first or the last, the just or the merciful, the son or the father.

I just need the soul to come back home to me.

I've met the floor you can't fall below. I just want the reason you don't need to go beyond.

I don't subscribe to facebook relationship status updates because...

though I appreciate that they have attempted to accomodate a range of possibilities with "it's complicated", and have actually bothered to differentiate between engaged and married, there are simply no passive-aggressively delicious and wicked choices such as:

1) recently fucked but don't really care for ________
2) live with but secretly cannot stand _______
3) waiting to take the place of the wife/husband of _______
4) conceived a child with but in no other way related to ____________
5) ready to break up (over dirty dishes/carpet/laundry) with _______
6) single, stalked by and scared of _________
7) positively have never ever cheated on (baby I mean it please call back) ________

I mean, these are just a few that come to mind.

Radio/Image Dissonance

When you like someone on the radio, a-lot-a-lot, you should never look them up to see what they look like. I was sorely disappointed to find out Garrison Keillor of The Writer's Almanac did not look like that famous semi-profile of Walt Whitman in old age. Or even sported a pristine all-white suit such as the one seen here on Mark Twain. Instead he is passably a member (see picture, also, cf. 'red socks' link) of MWLLOL. And he wore red socks.


oh and I discovered hyper-links today.

Christmas

Played Monopoly with the cousins for, behold, 45 minutes.

My (nuclear+extended) family have no holiday spirit.

No wonder this is (at best) trite for me.