I brace myself against this friendship.

She braces herself against her voice
Ringing with death. Enumerating atrocities

standing at the rail between us

how much sweeter is a sleep than a fuck?

i ask you this today to ask more important
questions tomorrow. i know you will frown
in response, and say you have to pee, you need tea,

tired of being a spectacle we withdraw into
shells made of paraffin we cannot breathe through.

am i braking myself in order to survive this
friendship? oh, lover, how cruel it is to leave me

breathless.
and then you want to read what i have written
and because i skulk away in shame, you think
i have been silent. but you are wrong my dear,
i cannot stop speaking of and to you, along the broken
lines i send my intentions against your deft response.

Unprepared...I appreciate that you view this blog and it would be oh, so... if you would also respond. Tomorrow I will repeat myself differently. I would so much like to learn more about the history of "Thanksgiving" and the alternative Native American holidays that have been advocated for this day.
Tomorrow, that's right, the FRIDAY after "Thanksgiving" is BUY Nothing Day
Please, give the consumption a rest and do something creative instead! Irreme with love

Oh my friend, there are no friends.
The mouth avers intention
Like nothing else. So what if this voice
Makes me cry every time like a little girl,
A little girl buried. Beneath my skin,
A little girl buried grief like a line no
Forgetting re-members.
Sweet friend, i have no voice with you.
No self where a self is intended, still
I have nothing to for-give. You
Refuse my needs like a stranger. Reason
Is not a pretense between us.
The future is the cat under the house,
Drowning. Fear talking.
The future is the only thing it cannot be:
Itself. I tell myself it must be this way
So’s better to bare it with. I will not bear
Your death. I have made that decision.
And you need not know.





Enough with this death already! I have something to
Live, something to give, and the dead do not accept gifts,
Do they? Who says? Who decides?
If it’s me, I cannot say. If it’s Kant, then fuck philosophy.
A dead man’s weight, of echoing questions.

memory two

To begin with, anyone who writes in the first person is a fool. I’ve always liked fool’s proximity to fullness. I am raw around the edges, especially where she had entered. The omnipresent she; mother? i would like not to think, so.
I was having a conversation with several friends just now. Hurt and full of love, i realized today that fighting may be worthless except for its own sake. I do experience the imposition of goals as violent. What is violence to someone who has never been raped; what is it to those who have? Raped, been raped. Some say the two are closer than we think. I prefer not to. Don’t you?
Who are you, my friend, oh my friend, there are no friends,
said some stupid guy whose name evokes power. My name...
Every time i hear the name (?) Jesus i know i’m in the wrong place. I am an anachronism—me rather than jesus because i hear the name often and repetition is validation here.

memory

If memory is what holds reality together like glue, and schizophrenia is a kind of forgetting... that allows us to see into other worlds, be in other worlds by forgetting the limit? But forgetting is dangerous.
The establishment enforces, polices its limits. There are limits! Scream the norms in chorus.
Schizophrenia, a loss of memory and a different remembering. A forgetting that is a re-membering. Am I into/o deep? That’s a lyric.