Friday, April 27

So, in the future if I rave or rant, just set it down to literary ebullience.

I just bought this book of love letters called "A Literate Passion" and I strongly, strongly recommend it to anyone who may read this and is currently breathing. Despite the fact that Henry Miller is a right ugly cheating dickwad and Anais herself is a beautiful one, the passion between them is intoxicating. I can't put it down. I can't help it.


"I lived it with the consciousness of the poet, mind you, not the consciousness the dead-formula-making psychoanalysts would like to put their clinical fingers on--on, not that, no, a consciousness of acute senses... We went to the edge, with our two imaginations. We died together."

"And today, in the most precious good health, I had a very languorous, pleasurable sensations of aches in my arms-- from holding you so tightly."

Tuesday, April 24

Downhill Slopes Thrive on Gravity

You hurt me.
And I'd bet it'll take me years to admit that to you.




Every jab I'd thrown at you pales hideously in jest, and you can't deny it.
Honesty is a tetanus shot.

Sunday, April 22

Saturday, April 7

Long Distance Relationships Will Kill You

It's hard to swallow again and I wonder if maybe it won't go away this time.

Monday, April 2

Why is it so gundamn hard to be happy?

It isn't fair. She gets everyone she wants, I swear. She could pick anyone out of a crowd and be dating them within the week. How can she be so happy having no substance? How can she move so easily through relationships without tying any heartstrings? How can she not see that nothing will ever come of that? Where's the goal? Where's the purpose? What's she looking for?

Why is it so hard to watch?

It's like she's skiing down a hill with her eyes closed. She glides so easily without ever needing to stop and look at where she is or where she's been or think about where she's going. She just exists on a track of life that lets her fly.

And I'm walking down that same hill, in steel weighted boots. Each step takes the entirety of my strength and I spend hours regaining it staring at everything around me and contemplating the entire journey. I can see far enough to know where I'm going-- I just don't know how I'm ever going to get there. I'm too scared of crevasses to want to do anything but lie in the snow and stare at the horizon.


Because it's so fucking far away.