let's try it.
1 dec 13
Not giving a fuck vs Having nothing to lose
29 november 13
Finding unsent tweets from when the city was beginning to bloom: I fell in love with you to write you into my history.
28 november 13
My tiny frame engulfed by my huge fluffy coat, like a blanket between me and the winter ahead.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
I unbutton the top and usher him in, "but you have to stay."
25 november 13
What is happening to our limbs? They're all twisted into each other. Like a young couple falling in love.
24 november 13
My wet hair marks its way along the hardwood floor.
"Did you bring your brush?" he asks.
I nod, "do you want to brush my hair?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Well, you've been asking to brush my hair for so long... but it's getting dry now and it might ruin the curls, but whatever..." I jump up, move past my doting cats, get my brush and place it in his hand.
He turns me around facing the hazy New York skyline as I sit between his legs.
"It's not as difficult as I thought, looks like there's not too many knots this time," his voice smiles.
His succor moves with every graze of the brush along my back.
14 november 13
Some emails really do feel like a letter by post. Not in length, or in form, but in the successful transmission of affect across distance.
13 november 13
Save me from this emaciation. Bring me all the poems.
11 november 13
The mark on the skin as index of desire.
6 november 13
M—, Thanks for inviting me to your birthday party. I'll bring you a present, but you'll need to remember what it is. (Don't try now. Wait 'till then. And it's not a memory, but something you remember--not something to remember). See? Hardly wet, yet likely slippery.
3 november 13
Thank you for taking the time to hang out with me today. Here is the film of that performance piece I was telling you about.
I'm gonna try'da finda good improv electronics show for you.
See you at the S— Lab.
1 november 13
It was fun talking today. I was thinking, seeing as over the past couple weeks I haven't managed to suggest a time that works for you, I thought maybe you could suggest something for the lab (or whatever else) when you get the chance.
31 october 13
A cat in a box.
30 october 13
I watch my professors take on a room without taking up space. She's sitting on the floor, within her husband's lap, holding his knees between her hands and shoulders. He's sitting on a chair, half attentive and smiling, attune to her love’s recognition.
27 october 13
For all the years of pain I've remissly provoked —now it's my turn. Hurrah! Oh, you've come. You've found me! Just in time, just as I was ready (?????) to move away from it all, you've covered me in slanted mirrors.
26 october 13
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25 october 13
The nurses, with their clean robes and over-plucked eyebrows, laugh at my stress: "Oh honey, don't be so impatient. Come back next week if this persists."
24 october 13
Longing for our fumbling fingers the first time our hands met each other.
23 october 13
All the 90s r&b love songs aren't enough to bring him back.
15 october 13
sonõ - I make a sound.
26 september 13
Mexico, te extraño mucho de menos. Muestra señales de vida, querida.
25 september 13
All the people between our gaze as the audience to my hand reaching out to his, "Hi, I'm M—. What's your name?"
23 september 13
The headlines on all the major newspapers read, "M— O— on trial." I didn't see them, or need to. Everyone else, dutifully, had digested the news ready to inform me.
17 september 13
New York, everywhere I turn.
16 september 13
A 5521 kilometer-long open wound the salty ocean won't let scar. The ocean waves pull me south as he starts drowning to the east.
13 september 13
Staying home to read poetry. Staying home to learn new words to love him with.
3 september 13
The smell of an English countryside past the red curtains out my window. Mosquitos surrounding my etiolated thighs. Gusts of smoke filtering through my humid curls & another unfamiliar ceiling.
30 august 13
28 august 13
To move him across my body, I find my cigarettes and my grandmother's ashtray —the only material memory I have. I lean back listening to Julianna Barwick's Forever on repeat. I smoke with deliberation and protractedness, focused on every drag as him entering me.
23 august 13
Another unfamiliar ceiling. The Doldrums remix of Grimes's Crystal Ball. Photos of pre-1989 Berlin wall on the player piano. Broken fan. Zucchini fritter greased hands. Rolling around on a vintage Persian rug.
22 august 13
My gaze moving back & forth like a boat on the South Pacific. Him as the ocean full of stars turning directions.
21 august 13
Holding onto the smell of the Chiapas. Olfactory memory is the most powerful.
20 august 13
In Condesa, I hide from the rain in an organic shop, ask for coffee sin leche, and listen to the language I know not. I watch people move in a way I know not.
19 august 13
My heart won't stop beating out of my chest. The morning sun acknowledges our changed bodies & I know the withdrawals will come so much.
18 august 13
I watch him sleep between the layers of white bed sheets and trace the world on his exposed shoulders down to his left arm up to mine. It is all I can do as goodbye.
17 august 13
"I'm going to miss you. I can't believe you are leaving," his lips move.
"I guess I just thought you were going to stay forever," he continues as he looks ahead onto the dark empty streets.
My delicate hand grips his shoulder, "I have learned that when you are ready, if I wait, you always come back."
15 august 13
I turn toward her wide eyed, knowing I will be acknowledged.
She looks over me, "He had the same look when I saw him earlier."
"Really? What do you mean?"
"Your faces look like you both saw the light and it was too bright."
13 august 2013
My eyes won't stop moving watching the sharp lamp post shadows cover part of his face.
"I've been thinking about your eye thing. That look is democratic."
"I don't believe in democracy… the look, it's all consuming."
"I like that"
"Because i want to consume all of you..."
"I'll have to use that…."
"...and also because you let me look that way"
"Because I like it."
4 august 2013
"I'm so glad you interrupted us," he says smiling as I move away.
A wandering dog's bark is all it takes for me to lose my footing. The terra cotta tiles do not ease my fall. The center of unwanted attention, again.
3 august 2013
She holds her brown fingers between my curls, "Can I touch your hair M-a-gda?" she says enunciating the A like always. I take her arm and hold it steady.
30 july 2013
Can I come in? I want to watch your world for a while, your moves, your gestures, your embodied orientations. In quietude I can take you in. In quietude you appear.
28 july 2013
We try to walk up the unlit mountain. My head under his armpit and my cheek against his white shirt held us together. It was late and I got scared. “Maybe it would be ok if another couple was with us,” he casually mentions and I burrow some more.
27 july 2013
He walks in with a careful step. His hug envelopes me completely. First it's the ribs, then the arms, then the face. "My M—, oh, you need some energy."
His girlfriend nods in agreement.
I can feel his fingers over my emaciated flesh as they push between my ribs.
"You look sickly, I am worried."
I think I should be but I'm not. I stand proud with bags holding up my eyes.
24 july 2013
I'm sorry I was early and it hurt. I was still preparing my heart for you. But there you were, and there I was. Can I stay?
19 july 2013
I wake up with his arm grasping my shoulder. His mouth gently open releases a soothing morning breath on my neck. Our matching bronze skin spreads over the bed. A cat's tail grazes over his ear & his eyes open to see me right (t)here.
17 july 2013
They come at my door, one after another, holding bowls, pots, mason jars, yogurt containers —all with variations of liquid food.
"Magda, you must eat. You're Magdaeats!" I hear them say, as one after another I tell them to go away.
My saggy body looks in the mirror as the scale blinks barely 110 pounds.
16 july 2013
5 hours 14 minutes 23 seconds
14 july 2013
Stuffing my mouth with ham sandwiches because I couldn't cut the carrots.
13 july 2013
He was driven to fear because I was driven by fear. I was anxious & nervous & so he became that too.
12 july 2013
All my dance moves penetrated by his —arms intertwined, feet in and out, head down doing figure eights matching my hands.
11 july 2013
I sped so fast on my bike that the pedals started moving on their own, conspiring to get me to him. I slid into oncoming traffic, ran past security on the bus & lifted my shirt to show him the tears running down my ribs, only to only notice his tears matched mine.
10 july 2013
I stood still in the rain waiting for him. A wounded brightness among his doubt.
9 july 2013
I wish I knew then, when we said I love you to each other, we meant different things.
8 july 2013
Being apart is very draining.
22 june 2013
"Why won't you let me be in love with you?" A question I'll never ask. Yet, my moves betray all attempts at emotive silence.
11 june 2013
I write out the lyrics to "Good Woman" by Cat Power over & over in the black notebook you left behind until all my Muji pens run out of ink.
7 june 2013
I stopped writing because I stopped wanting to remember, relive or imagine any & all of the/my/our future potentials.
16 May 2013
15 may 2013
Making art with their pain.
28 april 2013
His fingers move across the table, the same ones that traced my entire body as a site of love for years. The same swift fingers that moved to mark my body. The same fingers that pressed against my breasts even when I cried. I let them touch me, because it's not up to me. I am begging for love and see nothing of him and everything of us inside those fingers.
17 april 2013
I fill notebooks with clumsy words instead of filling you with love.
15 april 2013
Why can't I shut up once in a while?
13 april 2013
Through the sunbeams his ebullient green eyes try to convince me: "I believe love is a renewable resource. All that matters to me is you."
12 april 2013
Living tightly wound & wounded inside the irrepressible memories of my 20s.
11 april 2013
Sometimes you are so in love it hurts your body & you want to puke & run so fast your legs shake. It's the same for heartbreak too.
10 april 2013
I repeat what I said to him. I mimick us with you, to see how you will respond and it's never enough.
I mimic to remember, to not forget
& in turn I am never there with you
but with an image of him.
9 april 2013
"What do you want?"
"I want you to fill me with your love, I want you."
"You have me."
"But I want you forever!"
He hesitates & looks toward the long stretch of bowed hallway that used to belong to us.
8 april 2013
Emotions so wild, only the loudest of music to calm them.
7 april 2013
His gaze fills my photographic archives. His hands pressing the shutter frame my body. My voice, "do this, do it that way, no like this, c'mon, frame it, frame me" fills the photos too.
5 april 2013
Dancing to Calibre's Put that Woman First constitutes years of love and now I cry.
4 april 2013
The Smoothie show full of bananas, mangoes, dates, ginger, flax & masala. Live from my kitchen every morning.
31 march 13
The womb is where the light becomes you.
29 march 13
The first time I saw myself as an object of desire was when a boy's erection grew in front of me.
21 march 13
Fumbling between the snow mountains, I went to the health food shop down my street because I haven't had breakfast food in days. I bought snacks, fair-trade bananas and cereal, but no rice milk. I even had the coupon folded in my jacket pocket.
20 march 13
"Don't be afraid of me. They're always afraid of me."
"Why do you think people are afraid of you? Do you know what it is you do?"
"Obviously not, or wouldn't I change it..."
"Think about it."
"No. How can I think about something I don't know is happening?"
"I can help you."
I do not want to be saved. I am not her.
19 march 13
found words between language barriers —
I am watching you
moving away from us
because you are here somehow
everything I am doing you are witnessing
and I talk back
I am watching the projection of myself
moving onto the glass of my imagination
I like to remind me of you
but odors you left behind
little by little are evaporating
18 march 13
That moment we stopped sharing the everyday.
16 march 13
I wanted to write him into this but then I forgot, like always.
11 march 13
His olive colored eyes reflecting. I don't see him. My olive colored eyes refracting. What does he see? Our olive colored skin moving.
10 march 13
In us everything sinks.
7 march 13
I met him with a pose I thought he couldn't see.
5 march 13
A shock comes, fright, fright!
Laughing and talking, ha, ha!
The shock startled in a hundred li,
but one did not lose the ladle of sacrificial wine.
4 march 13
Always the music between us.
1 march 13
Just because he doesn't see me cry when he is, doesn't mean the tears don't flood my entire apartment when he leaves.
26 feb 13
While I sigh at New York's pace, she tells me: "I miss New York, I miss the sounds, the vibration. It can be maddening, but I was busy falling in love & it sounded like the ocean."
25 feb 13
"I can't find a picture of my Mom as a young woman or teenager. They must all be hard copies still. There is one on the bookshelf in my parents' house where she is looking at my father behind the lens. He always took so long to focus his camera, it was a running joke for our family. She is looking at him in this way, as if he were taking time to get her in focus. She is very fast, always moving to the next thing. Her look is not of impatience —it is a gentle smile that rises from the corner of her mouth and greats his fumbling care with a gentle knowing patience, a teasing there-ness for him, a complete confidence in his love that does not recognize the depth of her own feeling for him, but that betrays it in the causal movement of that rising cheek."
24 feb 13
Another unfamiliar ceiling growing familiar with the sunbeams.
23 feb 13
"Wow! You are really stratospheric."
22 feb 13
Joined the Romantic Movement.
18 feb 13
Stars so sharp cutting through the Prussian blue winter sky.
17 feb 13
Chat with — (79 lines) 12 Feb
Chat with — (72 lines) 28 Jan
Chat with — (15 lines) 25 Jan
Chat with — (100 lines) 24 Jan
Chat with — (1 line) 22 Jan
Chat with — (64 lines) 22 Jan
Chat with — (1 line) 22 Jan
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Chat with — (119 lines) 16 Jan
Chat with — (142 lines) 8 Jan
16 feb 13
Magdalena has entered text.
Magdalena is typing…
Magdalena is offline. Messages you send will be delivered when Magdalena comes online.
14 feb 13
"I love you" burning the inside of my mouth.
The Gregorian calendar, the ruler of my life. I can try to fight it by partying until 3 in the morning, by coming in an hour later than I should, by condensing my weekends with experience as if they were five days, but after a while . . .
10 feb 13
The erotics of a shared Google Doc cursor.
9 feb 13
His footprints solidified in the ice on my steps.
4 feb 13
He helps me study by cleaning up the womanhood between my thighs.
3 feb 13
Dangling heirloom carrots. Except I am not a mule.
2 feb 13
Listening to Whistle Song 12" remix by Frankie Knuckles and waving my left arm propelling the wind coming through my morning window. I insist he come over & lay on my bed to listen to it on repeat.
31 jan 13
The difficulty in finding (his) love in the particulars of his moves.
30 jan 13
I wait half-awake in my flesh colored pantyhose for his long surgical fingers to rip them apart and fall into me.
27 jan 13
I place all the change found hiding in my house on the counter of my local dollar store.
"How much is this?" I grow impatient with my inability to count.
"7 dollars and 43 cents."
"OK. Is that enough for six pairs of these?" I point to the cheap pantyhose balancing underneath my armpit.
26 jan 13
My Ativan fell in the bath.
21 jan 13
Listening to Genesis by Grimes at 4 in the morning. My hair stuck to my sweaty shoulder blades while I make circles with my feet around his heart with my hands in his.
16 jan 13
"I hope I never lose you. At least, not without a fight, ya know? That's all."
13 jan 13
Researching instruments that hurt the most, take the most time & need precision & deliberation of my own pain from/onto/via the Other.
Researching a deep empty well in the city.
11 jan 13
"I miss you," I lament.
"But I'm right here!" he replies in a blue font.
"Henry Miller says: I have never regretted anything. Regret, like guilt, is a waste of time."
"All I know is that I use regret to fuel my every movement. Henry Miller is a liar because he is impliying that he knows what regret feels like. So he has indeed regretted things, he just chooses not to think about it. standard."
9 jan 13
You could not love me, I was a small war. I could not love you, I was a small war.
5 jan 13
I relive my own empty promises: "The longer i keep waiting for you to actually see me, the longer it will break me down, and I can't, i can't let myself, I can't let you, do that to me."
4 jan 13
He was my Mos Def, my most beautiful boogie man.
3 jan 13
I look at the image I have of him & in the snow's reflection descry that he will never be enough. Not because he is not enough, but because I won't move.
1 jan 13
I cut the pomegranate in four quarters over my wooden cutting board. He sits at my kitchen table, looking over, "I have never had a pomegranate before..."
"I love pomegranates because they are difficult," I tell him as I walk over with a handful of seeds staining my hands.
He smiles naively as I fill his mouth with Persephone.
28 dec 12
While I wait, sitting cross legged on the salty hallway floor, he tells me: "I am no longer trying to understand your behavior in terms of reasons that motivate given instances of speech or emotional reaction. I am trying to see your affect on others as a result of more temporally dispersed rhythms of activity welling up from movements that carried the energy that could express itself with such force."
18 dec 12
Silence is the most painful.
17 dec 12
There is a myriad of mirrors in my apartment, yet I've never had the guts to face myself. I try & my body seizes up like it used to with my teenage menstrual cramps leaving me paralyzed on the floor. The hardwood floor buckles at my weight.
16 dec 12
My boots echo on the dark empty street. There's a glass of cum I spit out on his desk. He dances wildly with his disarming curls. My hands lack the tenderness his body desires.
11 dec 12
"I want a long calm to be filled with the circuits that we make to force a stretch of time bend to us."
8 dec 12
I cry as I come remembering his eyes on mine and the sun always between us. I imagine my vibrator is his thick large cock, the one that always extends past his belly button. Instead, above me, is a familiar ceiling and not his eyes moving across mine.
6 dec 12
My body lost its organs. I see my skin & can feel the sensations upon it, but they don't reach me affectively. I close my eyes to look inside but there is nothing. Not nothing like a darkness, just a sort of endless nothingness —no color, no shape, no sense of anything at all.
He reaches out to touch me & his hands dissolve into the sunbeams.
27 nov 12
It is past midnight & everyone has left to return to their lives. I am spread out on a hospital bed with materialized heart break waiting my turn.
25 nov 12
"Will you take sometime for us before it becomes too much?" he asks patiently.
dis toi, dis moi.
24 nov 12
I start rapping to LL Cool J's Doin' It. He moves across the room & his hands manage to nearly wrap around my whole waist.
"I love when you rap" he bites my lip.
I ignore him & continue to sing along, "doin it & doin it & doin it well..."
He throws me on the couch, his hands finally letting go to hook my black cotton underwear between his fingers and rip them off my hips.
23 nov 12
"Will you have a baby with me & hold my belly up massaging my swollen breasts..."
I received my eldest cat in place of an aborted baby. Now it is over a decade later & the pangs of child rearing can no longer be subsided by the softness of cat whiskers grazing my belly.
20 nov 12
It was my birthday a few days ago. I turned over 100 years old in heartbreak years.
19 nov 12
I want to tell her how heartbroken I am. I want to tell her of the devastation that's shattered my bones, immobilizing the same legs that gave themselves over to jump without hesitation. I don't want her to serve a passing purpose, I want her alongside me —but that is not love.
18 nov 12
My eyes were slits before she came and held them open with her fingers.
"M—, come with me," she moved her lips and held out her hand. I jumped without hesitation, and the arborvitae-covered mountains held themselves out to break my fall.
17 nov 12
I watch as the hornet gathers pollen from the leek flowers blooming in my yard. It lands on my hand & I am so still, yet it stings me anyway & stings me again. I don't move. I thought hornets only sting people when they are in danger?
16 nov 12
"How old are you turning this year?" they all ask.
"Why do we count with the earth's rotations and not the moon?"
15 Nov 12
DO YOU MISS ME? I scream on the streets, down the streets, up the streets, I play all the songs he introduced me to as loud as I can on my headphones to drown out the world & so I just keep screaming, "DO YOU MISS ME? DO YOU MISS ME?" lacking any gentility of the Sufi poets' ethereal murmurings that I admire so greatly.
14 nov 12
She comes over to cook dinner for us. I tell her I haven't slept & she tells me she hasn't either.
"It's the full moon in Scorpio, you know?"
I nod my head, "I should have known."
She sits near me and holds my shoulders and I collapse into her soft belly. I imagine the life that will fill her there one day and place my palm over it, whispering: "I love your womanhood; you are magic."
Two women crying.
13 nov 12
I am in pain. Is he in pain? I want to write this as fiction but I need to have the facts first.
11 nov 12
He asks, "so how is your brain getting oxygen right now?"
"Through the synapses attached to my iBook."
"If your brain was attached to your computer, I could hack into it and give you orgasms."
4 nov 12
"Don't take me seriously. If there is one thing I can tell you about me, or our interactions, it is that."
"I don’t understand you at all M—. I have no idea who you are."
3 nov 12
He sits across from me, maybe a meter, maybe less. I cannot keep up with his eyes. What are they looking for? What do they see? I want to ask him, but I don't. Instead, my hands slide inside my skirt as he keeps talking.
"Would you like anything else?" the waiter startles me, and the man sitting across from me quickly responds: "No, just the cheque please."
I sit up as the bill comes and he pays for his share, this time, his eyes somewhere else.
2 nov 12
He hands me a piece of paper, computer printed, because he doesn't like to write by hand —
A MAD ANGEL
That's your anagram.
I almost cried but started to dance to Robyn's Dancing on my Own across the hardwood floor instead.
1 nov 12
I travel across the city because he insists on cooking dinner for my friend and I. We are hungry so we agree.
"Why won't you cut your hair?" I sweep the hair out of his forehead, as he hands me a plate of ratatouille.
"Eat! I know you're hungry."
"Ugh, hair on foreheads is so awful. I can't stand it. I want to see your forehead!"
"Do you like the food?"
"I haven't ate it yet... I mean it though, hair on forehead, never good."
"Ok ok, I'll consider it," he sighs.
31 oct 12
"Look at me M, show me more..."
He moves my hair out of my face to reveal the twin cherries I've hung from my ear.
"Oh!" I watch them loosen and fall into his hand. He bites one, spitting out the pit and moving the rest across my lips and onto my tongue.
30 oct 12
We listen to John Cage's Ryoanji and turn into rocks exploring the thresholds of our dynamism.
29 Oct 12
I find old letters and move their words around:
La lumière m'a découvert, elle m'a dis rien... alors je l'ai cru.
Je voudrais y plonger et m'y perdre un moment.
En ressortir changé avec un bout de bien.
Me voilà seul,
une partie de moi est de l'autre coté,
comme je goute à une nouvelle liberté,
aussi je pleure de ne plus la revoir.
28 Oct 12
Underground by Murakami lays on the bed between the billowy pillows, shifting positions towards the modest moonlight each night.
"Let me read it to you," he says this morning.
26 oct 12
The sun finally came back & I left my house for the first time in days to greet it.
Walking towards the park, I look up, and the sun is so radiant it's burning my eyes. I write him a letter in my head. 8 pages in total. In summary: Let's make our own eyes, together. To see the moon & sun directly, in all weather.
24 oct 12
"Lay on your side, like that." He moves my hips, holding my waist gently, to turn me towards the window, "you need fresh air, take long breaths."
I look out to see the world move as he rubs my belly, holding his palm still on my heart.
"The heart is on the left side right?" I ask, because I always forget.
"That's where it hurts. That's where it always hurts," I cough my answer, coughing so hard that my headache comes back. "I hate being sick."
He holds my belly with his other hand, and it swells with our love.
20 Oct 12
I make it in time for the last train home. Settled on a seat of beer stains and crumbs, I examine my nail polish starting to chip, pulling up and down my index finger. I stop and look over at the man across from me, doing the same thing. He has a cut on his hand, just like mine, and starts ripping at it, just like I do. I bury my gaze into his hands, never looking up at him. We are strangers on a train.
13 oct 12
Point me in your direction.
10 oct 12
An earthquake rumbled between us, as if, the god of thunder, Zeus sent thunder down our backs. Right at the moment I wanted to hold on, the earth split and a deluge of fire made love to me instead.
08 oct 12
Unlearning abusive language.
07 oct 12
He has practiced the look of beguilement so much that all he perceives is his performance to be certain of its efficiency. I don't see him either, I just watch the cues he's perfected: two breaths; look into right eye; move gaze to left eye; pause; two breaths; purse lips; pause; stare straight ahead.
30 sept 12
I puked because I was too afraid to kiss him and instead ran home with mud snapping back on my new white sneakers. He had watched me undress in front of him countless times. His fingers filled me all summer long. But I refused to kiss him on the lips and he never questioned my reticence.
29 sept 12
"You have a tell."
"You said this to me before," I reply as he lifts his brows up in acknowledgment.
"But I'm not lying..." I reassure myself.
29 sept 12
We wake up after a sleepless night of falling between the beds. He reaches around my ribs to hold me, spreading his hand around my right breast. The disappointment reverberates through my skin.
"They've gotten so much smaller since I have stopped the pill" I say to him preemptively.
He clutches my breast tighter and kisses my back in silence.
28 sept 12
On the edge of the double bed that we made by pulling two twin beds together, he reads to me. It's a pulp version of Kafka's The Trial. We're in a motel somewhere in upstate New York and I'm on my period. He insists on reading until the sheets are sufficiently crimson with all of me.
26 sept 12
Every time I go to bed closer to sunrise than sundown I have an urge to obsessively masturbate. My pores sweat out caffeine as I lay diagonally on the bed. An urgent slowness. It always feels much more fulfilling than the daily routine.
22 sept 12
I watched my heart seep through the pores in my skin slowly, until I was covered in it. My whole body was completely covered in the filmy membrane that used to be my heart. Each beat hitting against my body as I tried to keep standing. It was like a series of church bells in time for Sunday mass, reverberating in&out/side all of me.
21 sept 12
We sat on the couch. Me to his left. Him to my right. Oblivious to the memories inscribing our bodies. Oblivious to the duration of our rhythm.
20 sept 12
A decade is a long time but it isn't forever.
16 sept 12
Lighting penetrates the tree & a deluge heals its wounded trunk.
30 august 12
Le chat: symbole de la liberté et de l'indépendance. Anti-productiviste et muse des artistes.
28 juliet 2009
I live too much in metaphors, in parables and allegories. I cannot see the literal or direct in anything. This weakens me because I cannot grasp simplicity. To me everything is full of layers. This is my inertia. I cannot touch the core of anything because the core does not exist without its cover and the covers are so symbolic it is impossible to weed through them to find the core.
I am in a frenzy. J’ouvrir.
2 oct 2007
I said I love you on the couch with my eyes closed after we had sex. It felt like it was on repeat and I wanted to mean it. I meant it that early morning, but I’m not sure I mean it now, not in the way I thought I did when I had downed a carton of wine.