How many things can a unit keep inside itself?
As I heard today- "one must recognize one's potential and then work to increase it".
I am a unit.
So if I were to have a small heart to heart with the schemer of things and say - this unit can take exactly 300 gulps of self loathing, 5733 pain filled heart beats, 25 instances of holding breath till face gets pimples and a little less than infinite longing, ( I'd say that's quite a good deal you got there)...
take it or leave it
And what then...if the schemer in all his wisdom decided to take it and to leave it? Where would that leave me and my outrun quota of gulps, beats, pimples and longing?
It has been exactly one year and one month since our 1st date ...the 13th month since we met on friday the 13th.
And yes at this point I would say it has been an extremely unlucky 13 months.I have met the man I want to spend my life with and I have lost him. And I really don't know why. I have great and profound answers to tell people who care to ask but i don't have a fucking clue.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
written in germany in a motel after missing our flight
The circmference of a circle contains in its shadows the history of the green world as we now know it.
Love blooms and outgrows itself with pain.An intimate relationship between wood and velvet... unlike the one between paper and pen they do not share a common cause.
History is all about colors and blood. All about the way words are spelt and how they shouousld or should not be pronounced.A thousand cheesy metaphors later, one has a chronicle, throw in stone and boundaries and an epic has burnt itself onto the human consiousness.
Life goes on inspite of the past.Crawls, groans,slides, runs and flies steadily forwards. One takes of , another lands, turbulence is just an excuse to not live too much. For who are the ones who make the rules? Children? Adults? It is the same part of us that asks the questions.
Rules are to create concentrated answer-finding teams.Not this, not that but everything.
You are everyone.
Love blooms and outgrows itself with pain.An intimate relationship between wood and velvet... unlike the one between paper and pen they do not share a common cause.
History is all about colors and blood. All about the way words are spelt and how they shouousld or should not be pronounced.A thousand cheesy metaphors later, one has a chronicle, throw in stone and boundaries and an epic has burnt itself onto the human consiousness.
Life goes on inspite of the past.Crawls, groans,slides, runs and flies steadily forwards. One takes of , another lands, turbulence is just an excuse to not live too much. For who are the ones who make the rules? Children? Adults? It is the same part of us that asks the questions.
Rules are to create concentrated answer-finding teams.Not this, not that but everything.
You are everyone.
today
Everything is now changed. I cannot say much. except that no words..no language can authentically represent the place im in. I do 2 things these days 1) function 2) keep telling, convincing and remending myself that he is not coming back. Jo is gone. death is final.
There is somehow a sense of wanting to be present here in this space where I am nameless and faceless.. so I have decided to simply copy things I wrote or doodled in the past. almost to record it because I am often filled with the hope..that he may have gone into the light, but I am not far behind.
So from now on ..whatever appears here is from before
There is somehow a sense of wanting to be present here in this space where I am nameless and faceless.. so I have decided to simply copy things I wrote or doodled in the past. almost to record it because I am often filled with the hope..that he may have gone into the light, but I am not far behind.
So from now on ..whatever appears here is from before
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