pendulous sorrow, blooming like tomatoes on the vine
��������� �����i run the stairs away / and walk into the nighttime / the sadness flows like water / and washes down the harbour -the soundtrack to last night, a perilous overhanging of drip-drop insanity, grating & terrible. camera-flashes haunted my dreams like ghosts you see out of the corner of your eye. dreaming (in epic) that i was trying to open up a drain to let the water in, to undam the dry area. around a huge bank (where the water swept in, labelled NIGHT MARES) black dots swam around in the depths.
i feel as though i'm dropping backwards, guiltily, a dogged step behind everyone, a heart so full that it becomes leaden and i am dropping to the ground. how is it that the most cynical are the ones who are the most romantic? the bitter pangs of hatred, knifelike, sawing through the strings of whatever instrument my heart & lungs choose to play - a zither, today, a theremin tomorrow, the seething cries of human voice .. in a box ... so much hatred.
i can't even explain how it is that i have come to feel this way. with the smoking, last night, and the drinking, the collection of blue bottles on my desk increases nightly. i beat corey up. not intentionally. but my fists needed flesh, and they found their target. i was so worried about someone commenting that i hit like a girl - this new mexico girl natalya thought i was gay. seriously, truly. kissing sandi, her tongue in and out of my mouth like sad words, i hear natalya, "he kisses like a gay man!"
instant hatred, like the release of tears. so cold and knifelike. "don't worry," corey says later, "if someone you don't know thinks you're gay - "
i don't want to / swim the ocean / i don't want to / fight the tide / i don't want to / swim forever / when it's cold i'd like to die
the languor of early-morning wakingup, tossing in the bed to the sound of the phone ringing incoherently like mothers in your ear. insensate terror & impassioned unfeelings. the closing lines of "the effects of gamma rays on man-in-the-moon marigolds" are:
"i hate the world, tillie. do you know that? i hate the world." the mother is silent, her face beginning to break down, the family tearing apart, like origami paper stretched too far to one side or the other -
i hate the world. do you know that? this lingering, sad coldness. i hate the world. it's not passionate, it's not violent. it's numb, unaccepting. the sun keeps fading in and out behind clouds out the windows. one moment it's dark. one moment it's bright. explosions of coloured flowers at the prickling corners of my peripheral vision.
numbness so easily turns to viciousness. and the coldness lingering in all eyes is so easily deciphered as
i'm tired. please, when you talk about me in years to come, if you do, be kind?