more about Cassanova:

Cassanova really loved every woman he was with (so many)
and you know why they didn't see it...because he loved
them by himself when he found their curled hairs
in his bed and on his bathroom floor.

look at some of this...

cavecanum.com

people post anonymous secrets. it makes me feel so tiny and yet somehow important. plus, all the shit people go through makes me feel more sane and better about my petty sadnesses.

for those of you who don't know; mercury went retrograde today. the next two weeks ought to be interesting, as if sh*t weren't already interesting.

i'm mean huh. i shouldn't be trying to teach other people lessons that i can't even teach myself...but, i guess i said that in my last post. then why do i do it? well, if i wanted to be focused and there was a person near to me that could force me into a more directed course, i might want them to try...but i'd probably take it personally too. makes sense. oh well. this probably means more lonliness and judgement...but i've still got now. eh?

i'm so done...

i've put my phone in a cabinet and i think i'll change my message to say, leave me a message, or write me an e-mail.
i'm tired of the games and drama other people are going through around me. i don't want to help anymore. i can't even help myself. i don't want to be expected to be available or want to hang out or talk. i can be alone if i'm left alone.
i don't want to use this blog or other forms to communicate anything at all. this is an outlet. (see post: primary outlet) and i don't want it to be informative. this is the most direct thing i can put out right now. it's my intention. i will manifest the present unadorned me...my very own right now life.
i hope you are well. i hope i can do this honestly.
see you on the other side of my struggle. my melodrama must die. bye.

potentially a phoenix. potentially a fly.

i want to cry until i puke. fuck everyone. no matter who calls i'm still alone, and the bottles just keep going empty on me. sobbing, retching, passing out. i want to wake up on the other side of a storm, but the thunder keeps heating the air someplace i want to be, and the cold here brings the cowshit stink from north of town. goddamn you.

trevor it's so hard. you're going to be okay. they're beautiful, and so are you. wake the fuck up. this pain is a most necessary part of actually living. scream FUCK inside your head. smile and cry at the same time, you silly schizofrenic little boy. they may never ever see you, but damn are you alone now. and so what. CHANGE IS THE ONLY CONSTANT! THIS TOO SHALL PASS! always always pass. sad and alone to happy and loved...joyous and free to pissed on and dejected. surf the heat of the middle. let it pass. let it pass as it has to. born, live and die alone. which is unity, not duality. lover of the lyrical romantic, you will be crushed by all the glittering beauty you conjure. but hey, where the hell did the phoenix come from...yep, that's right.

primary outlet

sloth tangles in the mixed impossible hegemony.

you musn't make sense of outlines of phonecalls, two hugely dark birds swooping and cawing, may i call you by a true name i've asked in this wish to disappear. the toilet paper running out, mentioned again, and again, and i remember physically to put the roll back on the right way. OVER!

but to wish you in a dreaming day is stifling. do i, or don't i, just want to be alone. her smell is so captivating, even here where it's just a wisp of a trace memory. the most powerful kind they say. who the hell.

i'm not ignored. just reminded by people i don't want to, who come in and out of hours and consume so much my breathing resricts itself to coughs. wake me by phone, heat, a lazy lazy look in her eyes. i'm not impressed. how long is a million seconds? how big can you visualize? marbles, say, 1, 10, 100, 1000, 10000? then what? ten thousand times one hundred. good luck getting that to stick a picture in your mind. anything, even post-it-notes, or dice, or sand, eggs, people? how bout 8 million inside NYC limits, and 30 million more in the metro area. those numbers are completely unchartable in our mental space. no map can correct your course through that size system.

and the deal is, i was born, she was born, and after the adventures we've already had, and the wisdom we've gained, we're supposed to meet. and we will. but why isn't it ever who i think it is. i have yet to shake her hand or kiss the further reaches of her thighs/flights. whisper back, i have ears for radio waves and all kinds of other resonance. put out a drawing signal. i'll stop whining. let's clear this static with some supersonic WHUMP! and we'll know precisely where we are in this mess by the echo that makes.

why do walks always have to be long?

okay, i read personal ads. the free ones on craigslist. i have several reasons: i think they are sad and pitiful and hilarious, and entertaining...occasionally i find some person who piques (yes, that is exactly how you spell piques) my interest. i've actually met in person a few of these people.
i guess that's not the point. there's something else: in personal ads people always say things like, "i enjoy cooking, eating, red wine (almost always red), reading novels, and LONG WALKS...hmmm, now is that really true? who the hell takes long walks? i kind of enjoy short walks. you know, around the block, or maybe seven blocks if i have to walk to work or something. hiking is different, i enjoy longish walks in the mountains, but come on, these people are talking about walking around their neighborhoods on concrete paths.

maybe the sidewalks will turn to cotton. maybe that cottonsong on my feet will give me a final levity. that's what i read instead. long walks? i enjoy naps. especially with company.

(to my blog readers, that rant was stupid and i'm sorry : )

me either.

i forget to breathe. a sweatsalt lullaby caromes off the nightening sky.
"for everything's fucking sake!!!" i want to scream. i can't scream. i yell
so fiercely this sake*miso forsakeness, wasabi sting, her perfect skin/
averted eyes...i saw you for sure looking at my window...don't reply.

so shallots sever a necropolis, shhhh. i mean shush. grityourteeth one
slicing back and forth sinews, slung into a grace i cannot name. nearsight
ability to penetrate panes through which a million signals defract. i love
your light eyes in the dark slieght of shadowed doorways, say bedframes.

when paychecks are paint: the searchslides will set life, the evensong
calls pantomimetic, a nearwhisper catcall, an inaudible curse, the cast-
out old will generate ships, set anchor in love...spell everyword wrong.
the elephant in the parlour is your desert hoofprint thirst: a hearse.

bloom sixteen petalholes in the door. catch balloon flights two high.
cotton forgetting, your thighs miss me, your eyes are suchdeep mirrors.
i am a hearth where secret pages turn to flameghosts, your name
on every one. you are tonguetied bright, a porchlamp for my life.