the one without a country in crowded restaurants
he who wanted to go far away, always farther away
didnt know what to do there, whether he wanted
or didnt want to leave or remain on the island,
the hesitant one, the hybrid, entangled in himself,
had no place here..
- Neruda
theres too much of everything here. lately, to me, each place feels the same and i dont want to be there. i am too close to the same edges and ive been here too many times; the familiarity sickens me. the people around me are creeping into my person and that this can happen is scary. the smoke is in my skin now; the faces around me are the matte, numb colour of wanting to stay and more than anything else i have to get out of here and feel new again. i want to leave.
there is no pain, you are receding
a friend leans across the table and whispers in my ear that he can "hear the wheels in my head turning and screeching" and i laugh exactly like a person does when she doesnt want to. the music quickens and some part of me moves out of habit to its beat. i want to leave.
i want to leave.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
rush
shes looking for a new vein to slit. its what you do when youve run out cheap thrills and people to hold you down.
from up here, at this balcony, all you can see are the lights and cold streets running like straps all across a city that stopped resisting a while ago. out there, people are fast sleep on the pavements, finding warmth and inertia beneath the lamp posts. in so many rooms everywhere, women will make love on cue to their partners and have obligatory orgasms. they will then turn to the other side and think about making breakfast. dutifully, children are made, fed and put to sleep at 8 pm and for so many people life flows along gently. its disgusting.
the music reaches deep into her stomach and its harder to breathe now. she closes her eyes and wonders how far she would have to lean over the balcony before the wind would push her onto the other side. across her back, he runs his hand and the only thing she knows about him is the pattern of the lines on his palm and fingers. she breathes in deep, turns away and towards him. "take me away" .
your place or mine?
from up here, at this balcony, all you can see are the lights and cold streets running like straps all across a city that stopped resisting a while ago. out there, people are fast sleep on the pavements, finding warmth and inertia beneath the lamp posts. in so many rooms everywhere, women will make love on cue to their partners and have obligatory orgasms. they will then turn to the other side and think about making breakfast. dutifully, children are made, fed and put to sleep at 8 pm and for so many people life flows along gently. its disgusting.
the music reaches deep into her stomach and its harder to breathe now. she closes her eyes and wonders how far she would have to lean over the balcony before the wind would push her onto the other side. across her back, he runs his hand and the only thing she knows about him is the pattern of the lines on his palm and fingers. she breathes in deep, turns away and towards him. "take me away" .
your place or mine?
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