"And if I don't mean what I say don't take me for a liar."
There are things I believe in but do not say, because the moment I should say them, I would not believe in them. I have thought to have killed many good things this way; but more often than not, the root of them is not reached, and some night later, in the silent spaces from whence they pushed up, they come crawling back again, their bodies scarred from the errors of my lips, but alive and healed. More often than not. But it is such a hassle to wait for their return, should they return at all. And sometimes, I feel as if they lose sweetness upon each death and return. So more often than not, I prefer to keep tasting them unspoken, and speak them only when I must, or, as is more often the case, when I am being too foolish not to.
There are these thoughts that run around in my head sometimes. Run in circles up there. Sometimes it's just a single word. Come. Sometimes it's a face that starts talking and then another one talks back and a dialogue starts up. Sometimes they flesh out into characters. Sometimes they graft to my legs. And some stay inky and dark and mush about up there, separating and reforming; they do not form because they are unfinished; they are not spoken because they are still unstable. I do not know how much I mean them. They are freelancers without job assignments
I keep Luneth freelance. Because he's Luneth.
I have very poor dividing lines between my emotions. Emotions? Feelings. Feelings? Affections. No, let's go back to feelings. It is very fun. When you keep quiet about it. It is very difficult. But very fun. And...and I guess I am using the term "fun" very loosely here. Fun comes with blood and scrapes. Fun comes with fear. Fun comes with...a lot of internal landslides. But we are never so high as when we are falling.
There are these phrases lately
not good enough not good enough not good enough not good enough asking for too much too much too much too much too much too much too much
so often when I am working
I guess I get bored a lot
They do not cut to the quick; they stretch and stir from it. They are the nails themselves.
I've become incredibly vain and..and then he opposite, at the same time, somehow; I feel ugly and beautiful. Beauty through horror.
And itai; I will not say it doesn't hurt. It does. Like a bitch. To have these kinds of nails is to have them ingrown as well. Pleasure is not taken through it; it is taken around it. If through it, then only in that it exists before and after it.
Dunno. I'm bored of this for now. And God this couch is comfortable.
"I'm the pied piper, the rebel town crier"
ReplyDeleteBut who are you piping for, my dear Nautiloons?
These ghosts in your mind. They haunt you, they return in the dark when you are vulnerable. Do you call them? Or perhaps they call you.
What rats scuttle about and caress us with their wormy tails?
Don't forget about the verses of that song.
"There's a wolf among the sheep, he's been talking in his sleep, he's denying every word he's ever said."
I hope this embed works... damn, it doesn't. A link then:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwT9ltDBG14
I feels this post is akin to keeping a secret in a box. You tell everyone about the box and that it contains secrets, but you never let anyone see inside the box. Talk circles all around it, but you'll just end up right where you started.
But that's half the fun, isn't it?
ReplyDeleteAnd what good fun it is.
ReplyDeleteAnd what wretched fun it is.
And what wild times are had.
The way you ask your question answers your question--I imagine you are aware of this.
I'm glad I don't have to elaborate on some things to you, sir, as you have already known them yourself, perhaps more intimately than I. That is another fun thing, I think--the sharing of secrets without words.
Thank you.