I came so hard in your mouth.
I saw the future, it was dark.
I know I’m not afraid
I’m consumed.
And another thing,
I’m still bruised.
Nobody knows what I bring.
Nobody knows.
[January 25, 2012 | 0:11]
Time in its infinite beauty and intelligence speeds up and slows down and rewinds on cue and off. Sentences realign and disappear and it’s like I’m exposed in the window of my soul opened by widened arteries in my brain. My focus realigns itself immediately and laser sharp words flow from underneath my fingernails onto the slab of darkened backlit sensing glass in this bed of striped sheets and fleeting dreams. I’m unedited, unabridged and uncensured. Part of the brain let go at the expense of sobriety. Every stolen look at the screen jolts me with unrequited attention and drags my mind away from where my fingertips want to be. The upper back’s congealed tension allowed away at the expense of a working mind, a tired mind, a vapid mind consumed by effortless transactions of mediatic value whose purpose becomes the acquisition of slabs in the shape of films or books or magazines or songs. Some sentences run free and others are wrought in unmediated decay. Good night, good night, good night.
If you don’t take money, they can’t tell you what to do. That’s the key to the whole thing.Bill Cunningham
[January 16, 2002 | 1:51]
Time moved like saltwater in ice in front of his eyes. The shore sang a different song tonight. Insomnia held out his eyelids and darkness hid behind him.
It wasn’t fear of sleeping: just the inability to do so. The sensation that dreariness was amidst a tumid river of disbelief and long forgotten memories. Thoughts sprung in his head and thoughts refused to leave. Not to live. They are alive, the boy said, while laughing at the stars. They are alive.
