audrey hepburn

a woman who will do anything you ask... hesitantly. it's the subtle doubt that makes you love her all the more. without that it would just get boring. she could love anyone, the fact that she's with you is pure circumstance. when she crawls on top of you in the dark, you just happen to be the one she's crawling on for now. all those things you said to each other, those are words you can say to anyone, anytime. words are easy to say. love is easy to make. it's only a matter of finding two people looking for it in the same situation, in the right frame of mind. anyone can fall in love. anyone can fall in love with anyone. the changes that happen to us can make us love someone we may never have considered an option. in contrast, it can make us fall out of love with someone we thought we could love forever. we're all just waiting to fall in love with each other, even if we think we already are in love. we're waiting for something else in life to love. the only real love is a new love. like happiness, fragile, fleeting, and over.

trying to relate to her idea of god.

would i make something like this? no.

the accident

she spoke somberly about her scars to the camera. referring to it as "the accident", she mentioned, we don't always have any control over the things that happen to us, but we do have control over how we deal with them. she looked as though she was about to cry when she said this, but the editors cut to some footage of her walking majestically from an ambiguous office building. sometimes we deal with things by not dealing with them.

left of a labido: nothing.

those girls. you know the ones. that only have worries in life so they can feel like they're the same as everyone else. they even force it sometimes. doing things a certain way makes them feel like they have more control over their world. although it seems much more that it was made for them. they did this to me. they're still doing it. the most beautiful of relationships are doomed to wither and decay into barely recognizable artifacts of a forgotten perfection.

going back

i don't know if i believe in eternal return, but it seems to be something to be desired. as a man, always penetrating, always seeking the forgotten comfort of the womb. the mother, every man's first penetration. he seeks out others, he'll try and fail, and settle for something he can tolerate as a parallel to perfection; a reminder of where he came from. for girls it's different. perhaps there is comfort in being the host, a feeling of being wanted, needed, fundamental to a system. but even they have this cryptic nostalgia for comfort which compromises into coitus. inside of her he's a parasite. she thinks about him, he thinks about her. they both think different things. they both do their part to keep things going.

developing a nervous twitch.

"Historical Fact: People stopped being human in 1913."
-p. 95 Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides

see that kids, there's nothing more to worry about. we're just one big assembly line. you're just worrying over something that already went wrong. this whole thing.

much too late for closure

throwing away what you meant to keep. getting what you thought you wanted. remembering only warmth and skin. feeling nothing like it.

some don't even have to think about it, some call that true love.

she welcomes each coming year like taking a stranger to bed. trusting each will be good to her, won't leave her worse off, beaten, or lifeless.

luciferian dilemmas and the ease of coping with the coke inspired orgy we had last night.

cheap champagne and hiding fom sunlight. sleeping in the same bed, but not touching. remembering who we were and seeing now that we haven't come so far. using tongue only to remember what it feels like. collectively letting daylight slip into bad documentaries, without saying anything. when they broke up, she moved all his photos from the shelf over her bed to across the room. he walked her home the next morning, filled with these ideas that make his actions right. justifications for marrying a teacher, for having kids, and not having to deal with them.

whoever you are, i love you.

she only gave me a look. it was the most i'd know of love. there was heartbrake in her eye and i knew i didn't need anything more. i overflowed with my very own alienation from love. it was something to hold dear, like a secret they'll never pry into, they'll never even consider. my memories of love take me someplace that never existed.

lonely mistakes

she was alone at a bar and needed a ride home, that's the only reason she called at 2:30am. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

i was only her prom date, that's all i'll ever be. two bottles of wine later, she's touching a russian girl's boob between drunken interludes on the dance floor. she complains about men while we drive off, a little damaged, but forgiving. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

she's just trying to figure out her life like the rest of us. it makes us feel we have more control over our own lives when we help guide others. that's the only reason she's being nice. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

she talks about work through a computer when she gets home. she types about how she's trying to make friends. she talks about what seems to be working, but mostly what doesn't. she goes to church to keep her spirit up. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

you start doing things when you are one person and they become a habit until one day you find yourself a different person doing the habits of someone you no longer understand. habits and mistakes can disappear with enough time.

in the end there's only what we think

she convinced herself that love is what you feel when you desperately don't want to be alone.

things we learn before love

brushing teeth
driving
sex
drawing a straight line
fishing
tetris
the birthday song
not to eat rocks
the difference between good and bad sleep
long division
to tie shoelaces
tv is a good excuse to do nothing
hat hair doesn't matter if you keep the hat on
feed the dog
to make friends
itching makes it worse
to lose friends
money is a necessity
to use the toilet
to say 'thank you'
...for the most part.

the great thing about wanting to be bukowski

trying is already having succeeded.

practicing agnostic

i don't believe in god the way you do, but i don't think we're it. there was a lot of assuming going around. it was pretty obvious.

she never called to say she doesn't want to talk to me anymore.

he smiled a dirty smile as he held the bottle of whiskey, looking straight at us. we didn't know him, he didn't know us. but he smiled as he walked by showing off the bottle of whiskey as if to say, "this is where my night's taking me." thinking the same thing, they sit alone. each of them looking for a future to project their past onto.

so, today it was snowing.

i wish i was better. worrying about things only makes it worse, right? a paranoid life is not a life worth living. fish probably don't often want to be caught, but whatcha gonna do? hook in the mouth. poked and prodded. flopping around in a strange place. there are a lot of people out there who aren't socially adapted. society has failed them. they have failed. they life reclusive lives, possibly shared with an equally reclusive person, where they focus on specific menial goals in order to be fulfilled. it really doesn't sound too different from the socially adapted. it only comes down to dealing with other people, whether it be by choice or otherwise.

she spelled her name wrong, either that or i don't know anything.

waking up tired seems like it shouldn't happen. so pretentious, not like self-righteous pretentious, because aren't we all. not like claiming value where there is none, because who decides where there is value? but to try so hard to the point that things seem to take so little an effort. disappointed despite effort.

rainbows of cocaine white, she bites her lip.

relationships based entirely on self-concept. are you willing to let him think he's someone he's not? is his happiness worth that to you? are you willing to play along? for how long? if you let him think he's exactly who he wants to be, will he eventually become it? are you the only thing keeping him from it?

we use others to construct an idea of who we are. the people around us are constantly changing, we are constantly changing. depending on others for any amount of meaning is futile.

letting the cat lick it off.

realizing if you look hard enough, you'll find people who don't think you're crazy. even if you are. more time spent thinking than doing. trying to only see the world i want. looking at the same things. falling captive to an endless dream. not giving up on the life you want, even after it's over. a bitter afterlife.

dead dog, curiously approachable. a lonely heart diluted with experience, sits in the chest like a fist. he forces them apart, though they want to be together, his eyebrows. life catches them by surprise, like a cake, with a person inside; now there's nothing to eat. if cannibals find themselves lonely, isn't it their own fault? you could probably say the same for anyone.

the life we live is nothing more than something we do.

just when i gave up completely, something turned it all around. it was only hope.