I’m just a zombie, living but not. I’m emotionless motion, lifeless life. Going and going nowhere.No comments
I could put down a bunch of words, but they wouldn’t do anything, or mean anything, or change anything. Or I could put down a bunch of violets. Violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets. Either way, it’s the same affect, no matter the words. Whatever I put down is passionless, pointless.5 comments
…and he got on a bus, a bus to it doesn’t matter where, he didn’t even bother to look. He has one of those passes, he could ride up and down the East coast until next year, if he felt like it. Maybe he does feel like it, life in perpetual motion, motion without movement. Going everywhere, but nowhere.No comments
She’s in your head and in your heart, she’s all over your skin. She’s this beautiful, nebulous maybe, yes, I don’t know, possibly.
She’s please God, please. Let me stay here, just let me stay. Please. Talking to God at 4 a.m. with the voice in your head, the voice no one hears.
She’s bright light and right in front. She’s vanish and perfect dark.
She’s sad songs, and lonely songs.
She’s Heaven and Purgatorying.
She’s want and wait, air and breathlessness.
She’s love and safe, peace and sleep.
She’s home and away, too far and away.
She’s your muse and your torment, forever in you, and on you, and with you.1 comment
So, in about ten minutes I’m going to die. I woke up late, my alarm didn’t go off. My alarm didn’t go off because the power went out. The power went out because, well, and this is so fucking stupid, apparently some giant fucking monster sauntered out of the Pacific Ocean and decided to crush San Diego. Who knows what woke the thing? Maybe it was off-shore oil drilling. Maybe I played my music too loud. Maybe this whole Goddamn thing is my fault because the fucker doesn’t like listening to Heart-Shaped Box at 4 AM. I don’t know, nobody seems to know. Just before the radio went out they were talking about casualties, people abandoning their cars on gridlocked roadways trying to get away on foot, trampling each other to death and getting nowhere. There’s nowhere to go, between the fucking Cloverfield Godzilla Sea Monster and the military trying to kill it, it’s nothing but chaos outside.
I’d rather just sit here with my Goddamn breakfast, my last meal of Fruit Loops and a bottle of vodka, than die out there in that sea of inhumanity. I’m just talking into this tape recorder because it seemed like the thing to do, to save a piece of me. I’m going to get smashed or burned to death, but maybe this tape and my voice will stay without me. I don’t know. Maybe Cloverfield Godzilla whatever the fuck it is will be the end of everything and my stupid voice on this stupid tape won’t mean a Goddamn fuckin’ thing. I don’t know. I really don’t know much of anything after twenty-nine years. I wish I could laugh about this because it’s so absurd, but I can’t. I hear sirens and gunfire, smell smoke and a million dead fish. I’m going to die and I’m scared. I’m thinking about someone who isn’t here, someone I love so much. If you’re alive and you get to hear my voice on this tape, I love you and I wish we’d had more time. I know it’s pointless to say that, but it’s all I can think about just now.
I think I have time to polish off this vodka. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me after I close my eyes for the last time. I wish to God this would just stop, but You’re not going to do anything, are You, you fucker? Maybe You’re not even there and I’m just sitting here talking to no one. If You are there, and You are listening, I’m sorry. I don’t know, I really don’t know anything.
I don’t know what else to say, except, well, goodbye.4 comments
She’s all curly brown hair, soft brown eyes, eyes so beautiful you’re afraid to look into them for more than a breath, or a heartbeat. You’re afraid of getting lost in those eyes, afraid of not being able to find a way out again. You’re afraid that they’ll look into you so deeply, afraid they’ll see everything inside you and look away. You’re afraid how those eyes love you, but one day might not.
She’s an angel. She’s your warm and safe, and everything good. Her eyes are your connection to Divinity in the here and now, in this world of blue skies that fade to black and fill with stars. She’s your paradise found.
The worst torture in Hell is said to be the absence of God, the loss of connection from one’s soul to Divinity. You look into those soft brown eyes, the eyes of your angel, and you don’t look away. You know you’re already damned.No comments