why are all his movies so cinematically beautiful? even though I continue to fall asleep to the thin red line I feel like I could just watch frames of it all the time without caring what the story is.

Disrespected

"rap it"

full ballooned mess,
the tip filled to the top with yet another man's
vision of breasts.
Place them wherever you damn please
(how is it possible you put anyones weakness in their knees?)
so later I can find some bit of satisfaction
in your dog
feasting
on cum
that filled to the top.
Then I realize I'm always the one
picking up your shit anyways
and guess what?
When your little dog shits that condom out
well god dammit it's me walking him and me
whose gotta pull it out.

'baltimore summers, we like our black men with their shirts off'
it's raining everyday and i tried to work on production. walked an hour to do a task that failed..which is why sometimes trying seems silly but the walk is usually worth it.

fucking poor as shit. a familiar morning among mornings that have begun keeping me comfortable. a dogs nose in my face, a fight in an old lady's bathroom. i've begun moping around,sick with the search for partnership unreturned. in many ways the happiest i've been but maybe only because i've stopped questioning and started just trying to accept things the way they are. ive been avoiding death, avoiding books, avoiding movement. and it seems like there is no real way to not avoid things unless you try real hard, which no one wants to do. ive picked up writing again, but i'm scared of what i'll put down. i tried reading again and burnt out. i'm just tired of reconfiguring life into little episodes.

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.