eaglenebulacloud

the shadow of the earth moving across its own surface travels faster than the speed of sound...i wish shadows could create sonic booms.
there must be a fine line there somewhere. out in the dusk: a roar approaching: evensignal.
lights burst life-like this sad cloud shadow on an overwarm november, little spots of cold.
i wish, if i may, that i could have your cottonsong, your yellowochre warm bath of sun, beside my collapsing frail will. smile that works too hard. laughter that moves about the room opening doors.
i love you. (je t'aime). and i don't even know your name. votre nom...

like the wise king's ring inscribed: "this too shall pass"

"hipocrisy is often the truest truth." because our truths may change from moment to moment...is it necessary to have a binding integrity that holds us through? are the actions of my affected self (that me that is annoyed by traffic or the weather, made happy by a pretty girl's flirting eyes) bound by the integrity of my infinite innermost divinity? that kind of divinity is unmoveable, immuteable...but always adapting to itself; it inhabits this vessel who's facade is my light seeing eyes, my tonal aural self who hears your whispers, who knows when you're ready.

there is something clever and elusive in logic. it keeps us at armslength from a certain truth (certain?) that inhabits us. so, i go instead into a discourse with an unspeaking Self somehow through the jumble of language...i come out with hope, and a simultaneous premonition of failure which "rather than cancel each other out to apathy -- makes a loud dissonance that dovetails inside [me] sharp as knives". this must be what faith is: rambling nonsense that somehow conveys truth (truth being hope...that inevitable change will come and knock us down, and relieve us completely from it).

note to self:

hello old man
sitting in young hipster body, drunken another saturday night, inhaling poison.
you know so much, wise old self, so many lives behind you.
how funny to be alive in this life, making coffee (like that matters), like anything matters...
meeting people who mean everything: very little, making jokes: cappucinos. sp? whatever.
my balls ache...i shook them too hard while masturbating earlier. maybe my friend will come over and help me out with that...yeah.
well, tonight will be another in a series of lost lives that could have happened...old man, what would you do instead of drinking yourself stupider tonight? your soul is so old what else is there for a young man looking for love that he knows can't be found by looking?
probably not masturbating till it hurts.
shall i post more shit? shall i start exercising? to gain weight mind you...i've lost more than i can afford to.
okay. comments? sure.

blood---shot?

today, in the cold, inside
my skin, my anxious shifting
toward tonight, complete alone
with sheets that hold tears.

i don't want to fucking sleep alone tonight, have to. i don't want to have taken steps away and away from everyone i've loved. i'm going to end up in a job making money i don't need for nothing, with very little respect for the people i serve. with very little respect for myself. pitiful, so making a break for it, wherever everything takes a person to love...tries so hard to take a person into softness, such soft skin, cotton again and again.
too old for this angst? hmmm, fuck nietzche. and his floundering cock blossoming bombastic sluicing. there is more positivity to be had if one didn't have to spend so damn much time witty in solitude.
i'm never this upset, but my eye is red for no reason and it won't go away...and today comes friendless, because of me. books are just so many words. ta da...i wrote again. maybe i'll put on some makeup.