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20 January 2003 - 6:46 pm
wrong turns at Red Lights at Dawn.
So Here's the World and It's Bright and Beautiful and It's At Your Fucking Doorstep and Outside Your Windows There Are Big Bright Beautiful Capital Letters Having A Parade And They Sell Honey and Sugar On the Sides of the Streets and Little Children Cry When the Big Letters Gnash Their Teeth At the Sun and Eventually When the Sun Goes Down, the Moon Too
//
so here's the world. the world. encapsulated in tiny little inconspicuous, uncapitalised letters like pills. each one. " p i l l "
"taking aspirin doesn't make you high, it slows you down, makes you drowsy," jason said.
"i know," i said.
//
if i had My Way, I'm sure the Soundtrack to my Life would be Filled with Dramatic Music like Schoenberg's Unplayable String Trio. (my Heart is Reinventing the Aesthetic thank you Spencer Short)
i am solving a cryptogram. slowly but surely i am putting pieces together, and the letters are re-forming into cognitive bits, and then they start moving on their own like rebellious dogs, slavering and gnashing their teeth in my direction - sometimes i get bit - i don't need drugs - or alcohol - (but apparently Some Do to Get Through Life) - and some Play Guitar or Pretend.
the strings are angry now, like Birds in Trees, and they are Mothers Pissed Off because their Babies fell from the Nest and are now Splattered on the Road Below.
emily dickinson, you can shove your Ruffled Tulle.
and your Love, your Fame, your Bees and your Birds and the Sun and - O, Death! - you never mentioned Pills anywhere.
//
my mouth is filled with the dying flavour of mint. the room is vaguely cluttered, but not with much of my errata. jason's clothes hang off of the back of his chair. my bed is unmade. as usual. strips of fabric lay from drawers to the floor, chairs are covered in blankets, towels, pillows. i get used to it. i always get used to it, to change, to the way things move around me, because i don't bother to open my mouth, because If I Did, i would probably Say Too Much or Overreact (like i am Now) or just Hurt inside, and Suffer -
(i must have a Little Man who lives inside of me and Suffers - we will call him the Foolish Martyr, and he shuffles along emaciated and sad dragging his pathetic cross with him)
love is a choice. it's a decision to put someone else's life before your own, and you control that choice. sure, there's emotion, and sure, there's lust, and passion, but love is a conscious choice - it's not wild or wanton and whimsical. that's an emotion - love is not an emotion. that doesn't make it sterile, or cold, or angry or jealous or hurt - it just is.
and yes. I Do Know, thanks.
right.