Wire Fuzzing

So.. so let's straighten this shit out..

There is a difference between crossing wires and disconnecting them Between making sounds and meaning them

I am in love with obscurities and tanglings and removals

I am disinterested in reaching the end if I suspect there is one I will cut my legs and crawl the other way Every other way Every which way

"Otherwise life becomes unbearable (precisely because the truth does not exist). One need not want to dispel appearances....[b]ut if one does, it is imperative that one not succeed lest the absence of the truth become manifest" p. 59

But namesae--can't you smell it when you get close? Like a finger probing against the outside flesh of the cheek, can't we feel the absence left by a pulled tooth? No need to open your mouth--we can imagine the gap in your grin well enough; we can anticipate it.

I've two buzzwords to use for this, this...it is exactly them. But I won't use them. I won't abuse them. I am being cruel enough as it is.

This is a mesh eyed fuzz headed black footed creature I drew a year or two ago. IT IS MADDENING.

I hate it.

But I love that which it creates; or what exists beside it, in the same position. They are the same thing, I feel; composed of the same elements. But my reactions to them are violently different.

One is all intrigue; the other is...is nothing. I cannot even express how truly it is nothing without using the goddamn word s--but I won't. It's the anticipation of an absence--the second before you blush hot. Before you realize SHIT FUCKIN' JOKE'S ON ME FUUUU-

The thing itself, the absence, or what is created from it (certain sorts of madness) is ugly and beautiful and cruel and loved and hated. My thoughts concerning this issue are sharp. If I said them, they would be fixed in their wretchedness. I have no interest in things that do not move. But I keep them; I lose them in only certain, particular places. I lose myself in particular places.

"Pull over."

"What? But we're almost-"
"PULL THE FUCK OVER. I'm done. I'm getting out of here. I'm fucking done."

I am usually pretty careful about this.

But certainly not always.

But this--this I am doing right. I am keeping Isaac at arm's length. I'm playing the tunnel game, the one you play when you're driving through Seattle on the freeway.

Here it comes...

Hold your breath...

And if you really feel like giving him a little push, make promises.

If I make it, I'll go dry tonight...

and if you really feel like twisting his arm, make promises you can't afford to keep.

If I don't make it, I'll ask him what I don't want to know...

But anyway. Yeah. That game, second degree. I'm not making bad promises yet--already got one tied up elsewhere, don't need no more--just the first, just

If I make it through this tunnel WHERETHEFUCKDIDTHISTUNNELCOMEFROM , all the things I've done in the dark of it will be forgiven; all my cruelties will be laid to bed, smoke on their lips.

I am usually pretty good about only daring the tunnels I can win at.

But certainly not always.