november 12th, 2010, 12:57 am

just run in the door
i won’t say a word

face to face
our eyes will dance
our eyes will speak

in embrace
we’ll begin anew

my love

september 22nd, 2010, 1:25 pm

somber morning
wet outside
cold inside

nauseousness
i feel sick
i feel love for the past

the clouds were black
the lightning often
but the love was strong

passionless year
helpless, hopeless
sleep is all that remains

kill yourself
focusing on then
just to keep awake

you were such a lucky mess

september 12th, 2010, 3:15 pm

A person may conceal himself behind his image, he can disappear forever behind his image, he can be completely separated from his image: a person can never be his image. It was only thanks to three mental photographs that Rubens telephoned the lute player after not having seen her for eight years. But who is the lute player in and of herself, outside her image? He doesn’t know much about that and has no desire to know more. I can see their meeting after eight years: they sit facing each other in the lobby of a big Paris hotel. What do they talk about? About all sorts of things, except the life they are both leading. For if they knew each other too intimately, a barrier of useless information would pile up between them and estrange them from each other. They know only the barest minimum about each other, and they are almost proud of having concealed their lives in the shadows so that their meetings will be lit up all the more brightly, divorced from time and circumstance.
kundera, immortality, 328

august 10th, 2010, 11:18 am

it’s hard to know they’re out there
it’s hard to know that you still care
stars, “dead hearts”

june 10th, 2010, 12:30 am

a new twist on old 139.

i’m so sorry for everything
i’m so sorry for everything
i’m so sorry for everything
i’m so sorry for everything
the national, “baby, we’ll be fine”