Flesh soundtrack

Taking a break

Yeah, I had a lot to say.

I guess I'll say all those things when I come back.

Oh Jesus, it's so fucking beautiful outside. Spring always comes as a surprise, kind of smacks you in the face and you're left straying with a lovely daze.

I'll come back with my poetry, but first: I've got other things to do.

See ya, ghosts.

I just have to face the music

Why are you doing this?

Doing what?

Wasting your testosterone high on this?

On what?

Kicking cans. Sitting on the floor. Living like a dead person.

Leave me alone.

Life is knocking on your door.

Don't touch me!

Why are you hiding?

Stop scratching me!!!

Time for change

Je suis en Arthur Rimbaud floue

it feels like Christmas

A person with a good memory is a person with a lot to be afraid of; because whatever life throws at you, you'll never forget, your scars will never heal, they will never go away; ultimately all you can do is learn to accept them and love them, and that is a very difficult thing to do.

Loving blood is a very difficult thing to do. But once you manage to do it, you know that you can do anything.


With exhaustion,
Dzhohar Tsarnajev

cmtry gates

The unbearably mindblowing thing about dead people is that they no longer exist, and therefore I'm posting this again,

because they really, really, really don't exist anymore, most of them haven't existed for a while; James Dean doesn't exist; he once was a person with dreams and thoughts and fears and stomach aches, but that entity no longer exists, James Dean no longer exists, he's just a ghost caught on tape, just as unable to feel anything as a shoe box caught on tape; and even though I can watch him walk and talk and look sad, that's just an illusion: he isn't actually there, and ultimately the only place where he walks and talks and looks sad is my head. And this is how it is for Marilyn Monroe and for most of my friends. And Bukowski and Oscar Wilde and all those people, they don't exist anymore, they actually aren't here talking to me, all that's left is a number of sentences; what they felt, what they thought, what they found funny, it only exists in my head now, as a ghost, as an illusion, because they are dead, dead, dead

Why does this always strike me at 8 AM?

Plans (of a strong independent black woman who needs no man)

Um, so once again, this has nuthing to do with nuthing.

......................................................................................................

Call-outs.

Post Mortem.

^ Books I'm going to write some day. At this point, the only thing I know about them are the titles.

.......................................................................................................

Folie à deux.

Letters to Kip Kinkel.

^ More books I'm going to write some day. At this point, I already know quite a lot about them, but they're not on the list of The Books I'm Gonna Write First.

........................................................................................................ 

The Books I'm Gonna Write First (mostly working titles btw):

1. Bodies.

2./3. Losers.

2./3. Flesh.

4. The Boarding School of Killers (perhaps I should write this sooner; it's gonna be the brutal Harry Potter and it's gonna be wonderful)

......................................................

So, if I finished writing the 'dead Marilyn' book by, let's say, June, and if I took up a pace of one book every year (which I find wild but strangely reasonable), I would have had written* all these 8 books by the age of................ 26? 27? Ridiculous but tempting. In order to achieve such a pace, though, I should change the way I live and spend less time watching The Simpsons. I guess I can do that. I hope I can do that.

Bodies is almost done, almost done. And what makes things easier here is that Flesh was basically done when I abandoned it 9 months ago; there's work to be done, but not that much.

I guess it's healthy to have unrealistic dreams. It may be madness to make them come true, but I've never had any problemo with madness (problemo is an annoying word, Jesus I'm so Jesusly tired).

One thing I know for sure is that all of these books will contain music and pictures and love and death and shit and shit like that


* does that make grammatical sense? my head suggested 'I should be done writing', but my heart screamed 'no, JUST GO FOR IT, YOU'RE A STRONG INDEPENDENT BLACK WOMAN AND YOU NEED NO MAN TO TELL YOU HOW TO LIVE YOUR LIFE'

BE A NIGGER.
BE A FAGGOT.
BE A HIPPIE.
BE A SLUT.
BE A FATTY.
BE A CRIMINAL.
BE UGLY, BE DIRTY, BE CRAZY, BE STRANGE.
TRUST ME AND JUST GO FOR IT

Beautiful girls, beautiful souls

Hhhhhhrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhh.............................. I'm in love................................... with.................... all........................ of.................................................... you......................................................................................... hhhhhhhhhhhggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.................................................................................



One day I'll go and move to California for a while. And in California I'll write a book and name it 'Beautiful girls, beautiful souls'

Maybe

Maybe I should stop looking out this window.

And jump out of it instead.


Not to die, but to live.

On burping

The more I see, the clearer it becomes: I am good. I have always been good. I will always be.

It's something you know when you look out the window and see an old lady or a squirrell crossing the road; the instant love you feel for that tiny creature, the strange pain in your heart.

Old people, children, piglets, dogs, sharks, people with down syndrome, very kind people, very tiny people, bears, seagulls, crazy people, paranoid people, sad people, foxes, all these souls that people with white teeth and cold eyes can so easily stomp on.

Being good doesn't mean you can't be a Bad Boy. It doesn't mean you have to live a boring life. It doesn't mean you can't burp. It's about staying loyal to that painful feeling you get when an old lady crosses the road.

Time is injustice

etc etc etc etc etc


The passing of time is probably one of the most important reasons for my depression.


It's uncontrollable, it's unbearable, it's cruel.


I remember times when the only thing I wanted was the time to pass, the day to pass, the year to pass, everything painful to pass and life to begin

     She stared at me through the darkness, 
                   
                           from the other side of the room,

                                                    and she said:

                                                                           "Tonight scares me."

It's this simple

(Forget the 'education system'. Don't go to school. This is all we need to know.)