Thursday, August 21, 2008


27, wrzzz

- when it rains parts of me somersault.
- i have the capacity to bend, like the opposite of certain flowers, towards nighttime,
__shifting into dreamforms and unreality.
- in the shower i think too much.
- i believe that when a man and woman first meet, they look like this:


- later, unconcerned with time, or future, or history (with time), i'm going to discover how it is to be me.
(- i know you all love it when i write about love... but i only do it when i'm lonely... so if you see me do it, i've been sadish)


overcome with beauty, i sometimes find it hard to manage. overcome with the beauty of: second third chances, long red hair, 6 year olds telling me about their birthday plans, lying by heaters staring without thought, that i am something that exists- in a universe that is made up largely of inanimation, being the last person awake in silent rooms, silent rooms, silence, i walked out it had just stopped raining, that i live in my own world, distance,

and dream my way into towns i'll probably never

breaking through barriers of my own making (or otherwise) (in any case real), leaving tracks

sentences marking points in and out of time, just floating

(i wrote in a short-story submission today to the editors, that i was not so concerned with typical elements of a story (plots, characterizations, etc) and find them limiting. What i end up with are fragments of stories, the parts that are most important. the parts that memory clings to;_ so that my stories aren't stories at all- they're what's left of stories, after the stories have long since ended. the memory of stories, affected by time's blurring, and romance's coloring, dream's dreaming. My stories are the blurry rainbows, the meaningful phrases, the lingering last kisses, the yellow sweaters, the palm-creases, the crooked eyes, the blue cars, the midnight basketball games, the shapes outlines colors,


(unkissed, i can only grow one way.
(into the ground, like a root.
__where it is dark,

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