o frail loneliness, you are not what emily dickinson spoke of
��������� �����words have failed me. expression and art has failed me. i cannot get out what i need to express. garbled tongue, muddled head. sit down to write and the enormity of the blank page is dwarfing. a headache every time a thought about writing passes through. even this entry is a struggle, fingers barely moving over the keys.terrifying, too, to think that this sensation is real. where words feel false, every one an untruth in varying degrees. seeing common themes and motifs everywhere, great ideas, lines, thoughts. but the ability to put them on the paper is waning, decreasing as though muck down a drain. there were three shots of vodka tonight, the kind that burns your entire mouth & throat, all in rapid succession. hearing people talking about who and what they love, Love, and l o v e - the archaic symbology of hearts painted on their faces, twisted all out of recognition. that sparkle in the eye mistaken for happiness when it's a tear.
a miasma on the horizon. snow on the rise, again, even though the weather was so warm today. looks like a flock of escher-esque white birds in my imagination, cluttering the horizon and when they pass overhead they turn black, migrating from here to _____.
i have not been myself as of late.
thinking about blood and the way people threaten death. red paint on the concourse of so-malleable flesh, streaks as though attempting the hebrew Passover. all first-borns veiled in mist and ferried away silently. the original Pied Piper being god.
an ultra-modern ulysses, seeking vainly some port of home. thwarted at every turn by even the weather, the fading smile of a half-moon perilous tonight.
i would really like someone to point out the southern cross to me in the sky sometime. grab a hand, hum a tune. in all of my fantasies, the boy i meet and love always hums in tune. in all of my fantasies, the girl i meet and love takes off her shirt and lets me sing "dream a little dream of me". perhaps the boy i've met and loved is me, in another guise, somewhere in the oncoming clouds.
i think i would really like to discover myself in a thunderstorm.