The insanity of technology in relationships, how it has changed sexuality, subtlety, the expression of genuine emotion. The complexity of the past and how beautifully it can be portrayed, though now we simplify to make things more magnificent.

Back home...a patch on my left breast, a cup of wine by my right. The air is cooler than I'd expected, not stopping my body whole with its humidity. I got away this weekend, and saw my family with new eyes. It was the first time in a long time we were active together, cooking together, watching depressing movies together, drinking together, laying in the sun together. My father and I took grandpa to the beach, (Ma wouldn't go, her skins to thin she says), and walked him slowly with our arms holding him up down to where the water meets the sand. Each step his furrowed brow raised a little, relaxing, until we got the the water and it rushed the sand up, burying his ankles, that he smiled. I have always been able to make him smile, but it's work and always has been. Today though, with the sun and my hand in his, holding him up, I truly felt my age, my heart, my whole being. I felt the joy he felt and it was my own and for a few minutes there, I loved my father whole too. I asked him questions all weekend, trying to get him to talk even though he hates it, I asked him what him and ma talked about on their first date and he laughed,
"I told her I didn't like her red hair and if she wanted to keep me she'd change it!"
"And what did she say?"
"Well, the next week it was black."
I hope I remember these things and I guess one day I'll ask the same questions of my own parents. I realized I don't know where they went to school, who influenced them, how they used to live. I want to know these things. I hope my kids will ask me these things.
I am home now, and I feel at ease, glad for my family and all their demands. And I've quit smoking, today, the first day since August that I've gone without a cigarette. I can do this, I'll just keep doing my dance and sing "I don't wanna cigarette, I don't wanna cigarette! I don't wanna die!" each time a craving kicks me in the ass, and they do,
hard.

drunk.
lips.
blankets
with sleep on a roof.
waking up to the hot blue,
sky
baking my body brown.
The fourth of July.

The wound image of sex,
your four year long masturbation.
Your impulsive tendency,
your youth,
the way the hair curls up your belly
like my head,
wrapped up in scents of my own wet fingers.
I am stopped,
by god or my own free-willed promiscuity and forced
to learn sincerity
from
one blue and one green eye.
The wound impossibility of sex when I come around at night
to make knowing easier.
So you will know me in darkness,
the one side of my face sunk into pillows.
The one taste of my mouth after all these tongues merge into
years we believe we have lived.
And these fluids are endless.

"...Agatha Christie tried to portray not only the agony of creation (the scene where she destroys a statue just after laboring to finish it because she senses that it is lacking something), but that suffering that is particular to being an artist, an inability to be truly happy or unhappy, to truly feel hatred, despair, ecstasy, or love- the sort of aesthetic filter that separates, mercilessly, the artist from the world"

"Usually, when I left the office, I'd take in a peepshow. It set me back fifty francs, maybe seventy if I was slow to ejaculate. Watching pussy in motion cleared my head. The contradictory trends of contemporary video art, balancing the conservation of national heritage with support for living creativity...all of that quickly evaporated before the facile magic of a moving pussy. I gently emptied my testicles. At the same moment, Cecilia was stuffing herself with chocolate cake in a patisserie near the ministry; our motives were much the same."

-PLATFORM

Realizing I've never been happier than I am right now. I have so much growth, so much past that has brought me here and so much more to work on. I am filling my mind with the worlds words! Learning what I can, listening to new mouths move and accepting my purpose. Relationship is all there is, no career, no money, though I know I need these things and have the desire to work for them, I want to experience humanity and let it experience me. I've been feeling so many quickened heart beats on my back and felt my breath and mind learning how to deal with them. The intricacy of stories, how some people can be as detailed as a book and see the world through these little details. Knowing that I lost someone and have gained more, knowing that emotions are not rational and come and go. Knowing that some people will stay with toxicity forever and that I can allow them to because I know myself and what I look for in my world.

So many quickened heart beats on my back,
each one a new story
each one the color of a strangers eyes.

And the disgusting things about people is their ignorance, their love for being blind, the ability to misunderstand and accept misunderstanding. I want to pull each mistake out, carve them out into the sand with my toes so they'll cover themselves up when I go.

Wow. So incredible the way life flows,
how words come out of me this one time because I forgot to think about if you knew me or not. You do, and I am getting to know myself now, wanting time and more time. Confusing where to start when I want explanations. It was so nice to see you.

i have been left.

some things wont leave me...like wanting to throw up on and punch things sometimes. I've been thinking a lot about the order of things, the order of the way our minds work, the order in which we go to get where we are. I've been thinking a lot about hate, and how it really cannot be separated from control and self-loathing. I've been thinking about how there is too much to do and nothing to say.

Noticing my home as if I've never lived here before,
settling into knowing I'm moving forward even if other people continue to say "oh, well...you have time" without knowing me. not to be angry, but mobile and not get caught in what I don't believe in.

He said to make sure it spilled out of you,
he said to not show it to lovers or mothers.
Well I showed it to both and called it intimacy
scrapping the tops of buildings like we did
trying to pick up extra change for the hobos you
wanted to be.
Now I look at you,
trying to spill out clumps of
your hair
pulling from the drain,
our flight fell.
Crevass of echos deep in their chaos, it melds into
the swirl of who you were to me,
sitting up late,
wanting grasses greener than
the dollar i spent
not sleeping in bed with you again.

How did I know we'd end up like birds on a swing,
never quite still,
never in one place,
moving forward clipping my wings from the black rubber seat,
I sing.
I sing for you,
the one who brought me close to death,
close to throwing up my body till there were only shins.
My face is stone
my tongue sits on it, the main attraction lapping up
the moon and the sun when they meet each day.
How would I know a swing could bring me so close to living?
Living like loving the only way I know how to
living in love like it was my seeing eye dog except I wasn't anyones self respect but my own intelligence.
How would I know what it felt like being stifled
to be dead to be a translation of other peoples thoughts in my head.
How do I know I love you?
I love you I love you
and I want to say it till I'm awake again.
Awake to the past not owning me and the present not being me
but awake awake to the movements we make when we agree that as humans,
we can collide together and as swings we could fly together and
as hope for the bottom truly being the bottom
we can rise up together.

I am making myself sad
into wet mud and I can't scrape it off my shoes or it'll get stuck in y fingertips.
I am making myself sad holding my arms around the meat of the first tall tree i see.
We are all making sadness
pulling down branches trying to reach the stars at the top.