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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in yoot_faari's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, March 15th, 2018
9:26 am
there’s a difference between confidence and chutzpah. the latter is like flaunting a fat pocket of lint. put a little distortion on your feedback. and floor that peddle.

think about your first finger. now feel your heart beat. now hear that man outside roar. and those birds roar.

i hit a dim note and then a hollow one. and then merge the two. i try to accompany myself but one end disagrees with the other. i told him i was getting ready but i couldn’t leave the bathroom for an hour.

marius said he refuses to call billy billy. billy says he likes that it makes men uncomfortable to call him that. sometimes i think he whistles and speaks in tongues even more when i’m around. but when i start recording he stops even though he doesn’t realize that i’m doing it. but we’re all a little bit psychic.

we both didn’t sleep but the caffeine worked until 2 pm and then i started to crash and george started ranting about things i should know but i couldn’t absorb it all.
i sent lopi the song before she went to bed.

there was a guy with a swastika tattoo on the subway yesterday. i hope he’s not from here. i sill like my city. but i am watchful. definitely ready to move when it’s time.
umbrellas are useful in prying the subway doors back open. don’t let anyone bully you into believing you shouldn’t force your way into the car when you really need to get somewhere. there is no train schedule. you’re at the mercy of time with the assistance of your crowbar (umbrella) hand.
Saturday, March 10th, 2018
9:51 am
he said he would be back to take care of me but he is on his phone. i guess i expected too much. yesterday i thought i either had malaria or some kind of dominican parasite. from 1 AM i felt like i was giving birth posteriorly and was in labor for 7 hrs until i found some pepto bismol. a long sweaty sleep and then the fever broke and i dreamt of a small beautiful dominant girl ordering me to hold long painful yoga poses in exchange for being fondled in all the right places. who was that? she was so captivating.
he brought me applesauce and bread. he was taking a spanish class. i made toast. we talked about politics. about the 2nd amendment and grammar. i want to tell him about my dream but can’t break through to his softeness at the moment. he is engaged in only the kinds of things that can be looked up and verified. so i am back in bed. my organs are sore.
Thursday, March 8th, 2018
7:20 pm
7:12 pm
we are inside watching the lightning storm. billy fell asleep at 9 and i was on the balcony for a bit trying to ignore the smoke. when we got back to the room there was a sign on the door saying welcome back with silhouettes of male and female costumed figures. and on the table a large green pear on a plate was left next to a small bottle of rum. this place is odd. we never know what’s going to be here when we return. sometimes our towels are missing but then all of a sudden there’s new products. one time the tv went on by itself. i decided to eat the pear while he slept since i didn’t have dinner and tomorrow we have to be up early to swim with dolphins. the guy who booked our excursion said that the dolphins we’ll be visiting will be leas stressed than other dolphins and i thought carefully about the idea of dolphins having to work and perhaps being under stress from being hugged too much and being made to swim around with humans. we’re getting some bright flashes now. i am trying not to worry about how the dolphins may perceive me. i imagine that much like most living things they want you to be confident but sensitive. i have strong respect and empathy for beings that give affection professionally. the whore, the massage therapist, the working dolphins.

you flood me with beautiful words. you said you’ve developed magnetoperception. i stretch my body over a map. i imagine your hands.

this morning we got woken up by this satanic sound that turned out to be coming from the alarm clock which somehow got turned on for the first time since we’ve been here. it was like static and pterodactyl shrieks.
Friday, February 9th, 2018
4:57 pm
patrick wanted to build an ornithopter out of steel and styrofoam sans any knowledge of how flight works. he thought he could wing it. (canned laughter) and probably gave up on that dream but i can see he is still creating pet portraits and selling them. today i came across some portraits i took of brooklyn, the cat i nicknamed grandma. and then grandmy. because grandma was david’s nickname for patrick.
last night i wondered why it is so difficult to make an ornithopter that can carry a human. i researched this for about an hour and from what i read; because a bird changes the shape of its wing as it flies and they do this naturally according the changes in the air which they are adept at sensing, we have trouble creating something like this that is safe. but maybe take safety out of the equation and we have a lot of room to mess around.
but then i thought, why the obsession with birds? birds are not the only creatures that fly. i look at my hands in the mirror. they are small but certain people do have long fingers and slim bodies. maybe we can learn to fly like bats. or pterosaurs. or insects. let’s look up pterodactyls. the largest recorded being to ever fly is the quetzalcoatlus. it was as large as a giraffe and shaped similarly but it weighed significantly less. it launched itself into the air in a very peculiar way i noted. and then i realized that i wasn’t supposed to be studying how to make a functional ornithopter. i’m supposed to be memorizing acupuncture formulas. and it was late. and i might have contracted a virus from the lovely man in my bed.
in the morning after the coffee banter i decided to surprise raagini and suman with some empanadas. i got to meet their newborn who is gorgeous with midnight eyes which will turn brown and strong black hair. raagini showed me her nipples which she said were not effective in feeding. her nipples looked normal to me. brown areolas, a nipple that protrudes slightly. i said i don’t know what i’d do. maybe they would change shape. “they” always make you feel like you’re not mom enough.

it’s overcast and the branches sway. Kirk, my twin flame, call my new name into the lightning and begin a world before the nothing hits. mark you, the waxing and the waning of this year’s sun. the white dwarf sings “sunny.” and the kid strokes the crone’s face recalling what pain was at that age. will he find my place in the trees? it sways in the breeze, my place in the trees.
Wednesday, January 17th, 2018
1:33 pm
light shed on the muck and i am looking up. looking foreword to bare my entire body to the sun. it will be so good. time will charge through as it did last night on a tank of a steady feed of caffeine. why do i get itchy when it wears off? and then i had to start the sedation process at 2:15. i explained that i was smiling but yet rather miserable. my eyes rebelled at the screen so i switched to actual text books. i hope this is truly my last hurdle. and still not sure why this all couldn’t have been friendlier. but i am glad some of my peers found some community amongst the creatures. on occasion i bear my neck to them on request.

this is a hudson yards bound 7 train. it smells like talc. today you cannot hurt my feelings. i am so numb. yet i want to punch the guy to my left who just gave me an elbow without saying excuse me. why must you reach into your pocket after you already sat down? i need a green juice.

dear water tower.. is it the game or the gummies? everything is melting and i feel saturated with words

today i am so tired, my eyelids adhere to my eyeballs. and i feel you strong as ever within me. enveloping and invading. i imagine you asleep and i am here adoring you, wet with anticipation. i am possessed entirely by the ecstasy of continuous longing. i do not seek relief.

i am not the hunted but rather, the consumed. it is sunday and i am sad. i feel you next door, yawning. in the beginning there was tape. something programmed for direction. a compass that leads to the most discreet destination.
it was the conveyor belt of patients. one after another they came and i sent them away. most of them were smiling. some in a daze. it was a steady flow. i had no food all day, just tea. i felt no hunger. but then it hit me. and my right foot got very tight.
i saw you across the way and waited for the cars to pass before i crossed. you were asleep and it took me a few pounds on the glass for you to pick your head up. said i thought you were dead. we had a marvelous meal. filled with conversation about music and chilean sea bass. i got very fatigued.
today i curl into myself. i want to be ravished a little.
and you are not here. you can see my tears on the sofa drying.

god says: say nothing. say. no. thing.

i appreciate the induction.
Saturday, December 23rd, 2017
10:11 am
nestle in.
i’ve got an intense unholy desire for artificial grape flavoring.
and i feel like i won my soul back somehow just by waiting. just out of ambivalence and laziness.
perhaps just a passing chemical reaction.
can you feel the apathy? no, the wound hasn’t sealed, you were in my bed this morning.
i am prancing down the street to some sandpaper voice singing of spice and grit. and i think can hear you, there you. so different from me.
it’s like crack when the high is no longer exciting, just stressful and yet there’s some remainder or a craving, of a tendency. i understand to some it’s more than that. she sat near me and reported, “this doesn’t feel good anymore. the sweet flavoring wore off and now it’s just chewing the cud for the activity alone and i’m so so tired.”
but call in to watch me sleep. call in anytime. flick the lighter.
there is nothing to gain except wisdom.

“give me some useful information damnit. his messages are like empty cans that i have to open manually.” the taco place where you told me that reopened.

much love to the Lebanese man who met me in the park when he saw that i was eating a tomato from the farmer’s market and asked if i was an artist. he said i can always tell an artist when she is eating. i would like to meet more like you, i said.

you are a faun, a demiruge, concerned with the whims of humanity. i have a seat in the crook of your arm.
is this refuge or entrapment?

“rant”Collapse )
Saturday, November 18th, 2017
9:35 am
“did i freak you out?”
most people know me by now. i’m either going to ruminate later or immediately and it will come up. something hideous that might have seeped out. something incriminating. they are tasked with having to reassure me that everything is fine. that i have not turned into a cockroach.
cockroach, your problems are not mine.

saw a performance act where two people; a woman with large breasts and a man with a dancer’s body smeared each other with butter. a woman with flowers on her head scareamed. a man in a plastic dome gave birth to himself. and a man wearing a giant baby mask cried out some words into a megaphone that i couldn’t understand. they lit stuff on fire and the room was filled with the smoke and the stench of burnt plastic. i had to leave and couldn’t find Lopi to say goodbye. i just dug for my coat, sleeve over my mouth, and ecsaped down the stairs.

sitting here with my book i am reminded of how much i love my chosen work. i am rehabilitating myself slowly. need better focus. shishencong. nestle in.
Friday, November 17th, 2017
12:18 pm
people keep shooting other people. it’s like Darwin awards in reverse.

there are too many things to take a look at that are on hold until after I get licensed. i want to study climate and weather science, bio, take a little crash course in history and learn mandarin, brush up on my spanish and spanish literature.

i modeled for a drawing group and dani was there. i could recite the evening’s conversations from beginning to end. he was quiet but mentioned writing his novel. said he began writing it twice and stopped, but this time he’s going all the way. the others asked how he manages to write exams, create master art works, be a father and write his novel at the same time. “you don’t sleep” said someone else. dani said “i just feel like i’m doing everything half-assed.” i think that was the only ernest thing i heard all evening and it resonated with myself. only i sleep. i sleep a lot. i was created by two animals that are both pathologically tired.
the hostess had a lot of chutzpah. it was the way she threw her voice with a blunt crackle at the end of each sentence. she made noises which communicated frustration at the drawing.

signal malfunction. the smell of homelessness. the song of you comes to me in a dream informing me of the existence of other countries, simpler ways of categorizing things. one time i was with a man who gave out a dollar to everyone who asked. he said fifth avenue was very expensive one sunday afternoon.
11:45 am
and they will turn me in your arms into a newt or a snake. but hold me tight and fear not.

nobody talks about this so i have to. i get up seconds after him so he gets to the bowl first. so i leap up on the sink and pee into it while brushing my teeth at the same time. then i carefully rinse it out. but sometimes he does get off the bowl for me because he can be too slow. if i didn't know better i'd say he is a horse bc it smells like processed hay. but one time he tossed in a lit match and closed the lid afterward which caused an explosion.

if i'm talking to you about how i'm feeling, it's already half over.

he texted me to tell me it's all going to be ok and i was bawling.

here in the living room in the light of the afternoon weekday. fourtet, courtesy of cheri and kava tea.

maybe i can ask if i can submit a facial interpretive dance instead of the exam. if i could perhaps get licensed on that basis alone.

1:17. but something amazing might happen within the next 3 minutes. my spirit was lifted? well there you go. there's something that would be worth happening before Kim Jong Un bombs us right now. i will go out smiling at least. on a sunny day. sunny. 1:21. should i move? will it be crowded. maybe it will be just me in the echo chamber.
stop texting me. unless your name is caitlin or billy or my parents. please. stop. you don't know me.
Saturday, November 11th, 2017
9:57 am
dress like a Turkish woman, i'll fall in love with your eyes.
i move forward into the car and look up into the hole in the burka, into those round marbles of madness.
why do we shrink back in terror? what knowledge do the insane possess; refracted superficially in the eyes, that is so frightening?
i toy with the notes within which constitute the icy streak of my chest cavity and offer it care.
she's got a shopping cart. maybe she is wearing it only to keep warm.
a man is unconscious in the luxury of the warm seat on the N train. his face a grey sunken paper sun. his clothes will be scrolls of some future Torah.
a Spanish couple grazing lips at the rapidly closing doors. good morning. the crowd splits and greet the bright white morning wind.
8:01 am
when you do tree pose you really do look like a long magnificent tree shining in the distance there overlooking the bosom of the ocean.
your body still excites me after all these years of rejection. i want you to wear blue. large moving cornflower eyes following the clouds into another year. waiting. for chalcedony winters. reheating a batch of butternut soup. the ground pepper dots. i could have told our end from the beginning.

i hold my cock under the meteorites.
on the red towel she lay beside me. it had been a perfect day. our skin was not yet tempered and we coated ourselves expecting our chests and faces to still be a little raw sometime past dusk. sensitive to the night air. my eyes caught the glimmer of every cheek and breast and the smile of every beauty. the longing animal within me expands and craves the soft flesh of many others. i can carry them all to orgasm, to tears. i felt her warmth and an intense thirst beginning and she had to leave. but i came to her the following day and took her behind a tree in the North Woods.

hello. i am alone in a cabin amusing myself. but you are invited to come any time. come. come with a thousand women clinging to your fringe scarves, dangling from your codpiece tassels.
come wrapped in Italian leather, in german bread dough prepared by the fair hands of some tender musical polyglot. the door is open. to the elements.
Wednesday, November 8th, 2017
9:45 am
you once told me that if many people tell you the same thing, then there must be some truth to it.
and then some self introspection is necessary.
i think also if you are witnessing some problem that seems common within a certain population, the etiology probably has to do with a pathogen carried within the environment of that population. if you feel resentment towards such people who complaining of the symptoms of an epidemic, think about how you might be contributing.

what season is this? it's warm and everybody is screaming and honking and alarms are going off.

i keep telling myself that you are not that guy but i end up thinking things like "this is the last time i will ever care." or i decide not to speak to you for a very specific amount of time like the way i am with drugs. but you are not drugs. you are the one i want to smash this line of thinking with. confront it. you, with the innocent face, said you'd make me invincible. but i'm bloated. belly full of cow meat.

i come home and he's passed out. i told them he would be. it is now 2:02 and i can see how it's easy to never want to sleep. when i grow up i'm never gonna sleep. when i grow up i'm never coming home.
why must i, like the crickets..
never bathe.
never die.

i'm in purgatory of earthly delights. he leaves, i'm naked among the sheets. he leaves, i am naked in the foyer. he, kisses me goodbye, rubs me up and down and gives my bottom a hard smack.
today is the first frost. he called and said "it's the first day i can see my breath."
"well thank god."

i missed the day of the dead. it just passed over us without taking notice. i was present for the full taurus moon. hoping that the taurus people that i've disconnected myself from are well or at least well-maintained in their respective worlds.
we are blessed to have these cares. we are not starving. we are not sleeping in sewage.
all this stress about an exam that i can afford to take again. hormones told me last week that i must run and hide from bears. that everything i've ever done was shameful and being analyzed by everyone. i owe you everything for putting up with my shenanigans. to feel imperfect and whole in your company. and i am truly blessed that you are there every day bearing witness and giving voice to the waxing and the waning of everything.
Monday, October 30th, 2017
8:39 am
quiet morning as if muting the ears with two large conch shells. desire to freeze time. before the first car horn. before he creaks over to the toilet. my body carries a great about of sadness in its chest and abdomen where i caress and send breath. the neighborhood awoke at once.

last night i bailed on everybody so i can drink wine alone and appreciate some new music. lopi called me. she showed me her boobs. she told me she has a dealer for her art and she'll be back in a few days.

fucking. mosquitos. where the F are they coming from? i woke up to cover self with deet. and then billy walked in. "hi billy."
"that sounded very innocent"
well, if i don't say it that way, he gets disappointed.

a patient said she felt like a donkey carrying everything to and fro. providing for this mouth and that face and those hands and that penis. maybe not the penis. maybe just the elevator. and i understand. why do i feel the need to lug my whole life around with me as if my home might burst into flame? but maybe it will. that's a very good point.
i feel guilty that i don't want to dance. i don't want to cover myself in paint. i don't want to talk to anybody. i just want to know you are thinking of me. and then go to sleep. or just dream with my eyes open in the dark.
Wednesday, October 25th, 2017
11:27 pm
i deleted the addiction and 3 hours later i have withdrawal symptoms. and i informed 10 people which started a whole 2 hour long texting craze and i'm late.
raagini's last day was yesterday. i didn't know i was going to mourn but when the day is marked it invokes contemplation. but she said she'll be back to collect the natto that i refuse to eat because i ate several cartons of that stuff thinking i was going to start liking it at some point but then i gave up. she said she has an appreciation for pungent foods that have the consistency of snot, so i said by all means.

edwyn said there will be cake on thursday. he also said Z snuck in to look for me the other day and scared him and when he screamed and jumped, she screamed and ran out of the spa. i peaked into the kids' party at the hovering mountain. they were eating, watching the projections and horsing around. the past forgotten.

i awoke this morning and realized i missed her. her perfume. the intimacy that i thought existed but in the end set straight. the sweet before tears knowing you must hold your own hand. all expression feels masturbatory. the encrypted silence is thick soupy oceanic. but he laid there watching me cry, he held me, bent me over the couch and pleasured me orally. call me depraved, but that's not all i am. do you separate your kernals from your corn? your peas from your rice? i don't recall that you do. truly i don't recall. but still to bask in the memory of a delightful fabrication. the way i remember you wrinkling your forehead during a hypothetical argument that like a pinwheel ran throughout my day with several conclusions as in a choose-your-own-adventure story. my adventure meanders from the page to the fridge and then out the door leaving the keys inside this time.
Tuesday, October 24th, 2017
2:40 pm
"he fucks like an animal programmed for you. "

"i want to get his attention but i can't tell them apart."
"that's because you're racist."
"yeah maybe. but i always have trouble when they're in uniform even if it's white guys."
cheri orders edamame, fried rice, seaweed salad and sweet potato sushi. she pours me more sake.
"how many guys have you hooked up with this year? Billy wants to know."
her constant need to spend money on dick seems feminist and i applaud it although sometimes i do worry about her health.
"hard to say. some guy asked me that the other day and i totally dodged the issue. i told him that as a philosophical person i don't like to think of people in terms of numbers."
"that's a very you thing to say."

we were talking with victor from mexico city who's here to create holograms for a party in the lower east side. i realized he had a wonky eye and liked him better for it. he told me about his parents' atheism and his agnosticism and the two were becoming very enthusiastic about astrology and some anarchist politics. i told them i had to leave because i was very tired and i hopped a train to the west village. cheri texted triumphantly that she is taking victor back to the Vale. between then and now i've caught a slight cough. billy is driving like we're on the cyclone. when i interrupt his rhythm he usually finds a spot.

i'm homesick for a place i've never been and i feel myself receding within. the air is crisp and it's so warm within the blankets and within the reach of my loved one.

some of what you say is so perfect that i don't want to ruin it with an imperfect response. just have it linger in the air like a separate planet i can revisit. but i want you to know it was received.

a lot of extremely ticklish people have been coming to see me. it's so bad that the moment i touch them, they cringe but they are determined to overcome it. the last one was able to be still for almost five minutes which was a breakthrough. we use breath work and i think i may incorporate vibration therapy.

coco gave me a lesson finally. she had me speak with my tongue hanging out of my mouth, which was effective. she told me to pull words from my thighs and we recited into our hands and towards each other's chests.

today everything feels heavy. even einhorn dragged himself around my living room and stretched his words longer with greater seriousness. usually he performs and it gets in the way. i almost told him that i like the frustrated guy more than the fake bubbly and high pitched. i do like some of that. but a lot of times i get prematurely tired. like i shot my wad.

last night we stayed up with the bourbon and carved my first pumpkin. i was very pleased with myself.
george implied i might be behaving more domestically because of my migrating rising sign from virgo to cancer.
i danced around in my collar.
"when was the last time you were offended by something?"
"i'm offended by odors."

glotteral fry into the golden curtain. i repeated the exercises as i stravaged along with billy through the woods and along the river. i feel unreasonably drunk off nothing in particular.
Monday, October 16th, 2017
6:41 pm
we attended a performance where an old man pushed objects across the floor with his face. i saw another old man there who i connected with some 10-13 years ago. he handed me two business cards after our conversation came to natural close and quickly introduced me to a pretty woman in red lipstick. i wore black and my heart was on fire, voice of metal.

on the tv; his raw meat face standing next to the mannequin. what will we do? i am still in shock.

you once said that your lovers are your anchors. but i am just another ship circling her own continent. if i cannot be where you are then everything that will bring you love and all that brings you pleasure and joy must be extensions of me.

i am in the natural food market naked under my coat. i thought it would save time. duck eggs, chicken eggs.. what i really need is some squash but i don't see any. i get some jewel yams instead. balances the hormones.

spiritual one, tell me. what is it to have a good life? to touch people's hearts? to do good for others? or just to be happy? or to walk the straight and narrow?

"it's late, my dear. can we talk about the weather?"
"most certainly. but do keep in mind that you brought this up at 1:46 and then at 2:01 decided that the weather is a superior topic."
"i'm tired."
what is he more afraid of, i wonder? is it really my anger; a sudden flash and downpour, or the idea that i may be in love with him beyond all reason? i turn over in a huff, wrapping my leg around a pillow.
a moment later he reaches out with his finger to tease the soft ring of my bum, making it squeeze irresistibly. and then his tongue is there flickering at my little hole, making my cunt hungry to be teased as well. i arch my back so that he can have the most pleasing view of my ass and as i drool onto my textbook i feel his stubble scrape my soft flesh as he laps lovingly, mercilessly at my clit. i whimper as i gush forth in hard spasmodic contractions. he moans as i succumb and fade.

but let's recap: i find you to be irresistibly alien. it is more of your general behavior and the way you express yourself which seems both familiar and foreign. familiar in its deviation from the norm and foreign, because in person your face even as it swims along with the terrain of conversation, doesn't seem to convey much emotion at all. and i must ask the most basic of questions because i can't read you. perhaps this is something practiced, that i must overcome an obstacle within my self to unravel and discern the nuances. i can make out at times a furrowed brow, a range of pitch, notes of laughter.

i know you're a funny lady and it's important to laugh at everything but this just made me sad. who the F said that they want you to die? if it's someone you know, stay away from them. get a restraining order. if it's a stranger that is sending you hate mail it may be because you're amazing and you're on the right track with your art. but please be safe. as far as i can tell, you're not an asshole. but i don't really know. reputable sources can tell you. people who experience you regularly might be able to tell you. maybe take a survey.

your body and lips are the soul of a poem. we both in our stead, on fire with the knowingness of mutual longing. i cling from the curtains, to the vines, imagining they are your garments. your vocals carried inflammable in the reminiscent breeze.

up late listening to the rain. the weather has turned already but watch as soon as i pull out the sweaters it'll be back to 80s. the crisp dampness is actually some relief.

coco canceled our barter date. voice coaching for massage. actually it think it's somewhat my fault because i don't feel ready yet. but my vocals need to be rescued. two women in my family have already lost their voices.

trying to get billy to admit he understands any analogy is nearly impossible.

families can be terrible to each other but things can always be more terrible.

but i think my point is that because this person doesn't seem to appear deliberately gender neutral i think my inability to identify them is due to having my brain hard wired by white culture.

cup of oats. glenohumeral joint. trying to decide if you are actually nice or if you just act nice. it would be to my benefit to believe the former.

sir. i can smell your gum in your mouth. i know the brand and flavor.
do you feel the need to demonstrate wordlessly
that someone has acted out of line
by giving them a bad look while pausing in the intersection of everyone's life?
are you looking for stage and audience for all of your grimaces and groans.
do you want another frozen tequila drink
do you want to hear that band on stage
especially the part there they tell you to make strange sounds in unison? will you put your hands in the air?
do you want to listen to the sounds of the 60s and 70s instead? which is your favorite?
Monday, August 28th, 2017
6:12 pm
in my opinion if he insists on keeping piles of receipts on the floor, there should also be piles of broken jewelry. or red rocks. or marshmallows.
or white bean bags.
he left without smiling. i left many ridiculous messages. i marched around waving white flags to music that reminded me of the wind.

time has sped up again. i'm traveling forward as fast as possible but my muscles are very tired. i rested a moment. a fantasy then drew.
you are my mirror. you fold over onto yourself and create infinity. i shelter myself in the narrow space before the vast emptiness.

in a plush room. her skin. our mutual lust. and then our sisterly communion on rooftops recalling faint shadows of a past. it was 90 something out and we were sweaty. the lady on stage played a nyckelharpa. i got involved in the ash hair that hung over her eyes. she had a delicate face with china lips. when she left the stage, we were deeply unsatisfied so we walked towards the pink sky at the waterfront.

"i just get sad to think the sun will one day be gone"
"it's all temporary. but feel this moment. it will never be the same again. with that sky and those leaves. and yet it will always be forever, in this time. the urgency of it just makes me want to fuck."

viewing the eclipse means blacking everything else out. the glasses stayed on henceforth while talking, while dancing. the dance directed towards the sun. and when the clouds would cross into view, nothingness, and then the slow reveal. i felt her breasts through the dress. i had admired her excitement and remembered licking her cunt softy in the shower because there it was at face level, but we had to go. i like to sit down which makes it convenient for another person to bathe with me.

we are home. he is nodding off. my achey head on his chest. the rain.
Tuesday, August 15th, 2017
9:12 am
nothing is manageable, just brace yourself. just scream into the void.
harkening back to love's lost look of Dickens. he offered his labor and she called him father time.
his hand cramped, he dropped his tool.
i must keep the faith alive, like Odysseus.
you are not the siren, but the deep black ocean itself.
you brought your goggles and didn't use them. it's best not to know what's down there. it's fruity. it's down the dark ladder. evergrowing crater.
who am i? who are you?
quis hic locus? quay mundis plaga?

being sleepy has always been a response to fear. just camouflage and wait for the scary faces to depart.

morning again, but which morning is this? i spend the first few awake moments searching for the answer because i don't have a clock. i'll find someone who does. i remember i lost something. a stranger in a car takes me on a scenic route to where i was when it was dark and at every quadrilateral shadow i thought "there it is." but it wasn't. a precious time to look outward.
he left me at the curb carrying a million apologies like bags on a camel.
Monday, July 31st, 2017
10:44 pm
in our glorious time..

it's been a dark day and we managed to avoid it mostly by liquidating ourselves and then having you reabsorb us into your heart. so, thank you. and then to be reassembled shard by shard.
we've witnessed many strangers being horrible to one another informing us what not to do. please dip into my focus. one two four, and again. don't let the past inform you, it lies. i am in love with the wind. the temperature is perfect. it will never be arranged this way for you ever again. so allow yourself to be blessed by your fear, your tears, the atmosphere you penetrate.

a wave of rats poured down into the pit. the stench of decay forbodes. the fiber and soft animist of self is a relentless tool of entropy. i look up at you and there is order. in the blinding humidity was about to take a ride in the wrong direction but you pulled me steady. there is something in your smile that would remind me of the 60s if i had existed then. to match that with something mathematical. some kind of symphonic version of your tamed lightning hair and laughter encoded. mercy. devi.
he doesn't dare look at the number or he might accidentally memorize it. he takes it and runs. hops a train to a bus to a plane into the desert. they are waiting in ceremony. the hum and buzz of the machines take flight and perform their delicate task of linking the stochastic vowels and numerals of a pre-invented language. the participants wait patiently until all data is received and is well documented sans human interference or surveillance.
the sandstorm draws near and still they sit in suspense and yet total zazen surrender.

it is morning. we have arrived carrying sweetbreads. i sing a old song up into the dry air. "desert be gone" through this new embryo, a new system's been created that will allow us to ignite each other directly. we sing and it rains.
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