||[Oct. 14th, 2010|11:39 pm]
so we can mimic each other's faults, mock them back, throw them up and skip them far across the sea. drink the blood made wine and the heroes make aimless - the job done, the question was never set, the heroes must always die, it is the only way to remain one. you demoralize, you lose your mythology, what happened to the old songs; we lost our own voices, breaking on bird screech and tick-tock chirps. |
(yesterday, no. i have no memory besides the one of touch.)
(i don't remember how emotion is written anymore. )
i want to see dried flowers and apricots, fresh parsley bitter on the tongue, the glitter in the dust, the paint against the floor. the wolves drawn from the ground, snarling at the sky.
here now, hear now, crooked - think or write too deep and nothing good, the shell's broken, live raw.
i'd rather stick to the wild energy of climbing trees and fencing in the park and forest late at night, lamps haloed in secret candle-light; i love how it always remains the four, comfort in the black matter surrounding the sides of vision and the questions. i'd rather still run feral with the dogs, play soccer with one, yipping jet, hey jet, kick and run and frolic offensive defensive playful; greet and meet and say goodbye, and he ran back up when he saw we were leaving.
Don't ask me what I want. I don't want anything.
I just want.
more and more daffodils i'd gather, and more photographic twists on things i've yet to try. maybe i'll fuck this up like a movie, or remember it as a film slide, cigarette burns on the cover. i've got things to make and things to do and art to cut and paste and redo and remake & yeah.