Only pieces now.

It’s a dark place sometimes. And you wonder how the damage just drains on through to the bottom of the soil. It just does.


Spilling over

Production Film Set Solaris 1972 // Andrei Tarkovsky

Damaged. Broken. Unthinkable. Pointless.

When people lie to you over and over, you just kinda find it hard to feel the truth in anything.

To make conscience manifest, and to face it.

“Tarkovsky’s Solaris is about a similar communication barrier, except the alien is one’s self. It’s not about experiencing the beyond, but experiencing the beyond within. About reaching the hidden facets of one’s consciousness, and becoming perfectly aware of one’s innermost thoughts. To make conscience manifest, and to face it. Tarkovsky utilizes Solaris as a metaphor for his examination of the human condition. The visitors, who are physical manifestations of conscience, allow the characters to experience a profound insight into themselves.” –

Clair de Lune

I don’t even know what to put here anymore. I am detaching far from everything. I want to bury myself in the sky. I don’t want to crater during this season. It’s unfamiliar to just not feel. Then absolutely the next day be overwhelmed. You really weren’t ready for this, or really ready for anything. Cover yourself up, barricade yourself in. It honestly feels like a curtain call. The writings I’ve read over the last six weeks, it’s like nothing ever counted. It really was just words, and nothing else. Some people just don’t care, they really don’t. Like how do you even wake up and just be. I don’t understand. And mentally I just take myself somewhere else.

39 Days

Note 1398
Maybe when someone wakes up and really sees the value in what was there, it will matter.

Note 1399
Winter, it’s really all I can think about. And yet it petrifies me at the same time. A cardboard box of things that will dump all on the floor at once. My safest place is always there, in the times that made a difference. As you leave your comfort zone, you unravel everything – you walk under branches and over the leaves. And years later it unfolds and reads like a beaten book. I could tell stories all day about very short intimate events. I can go there in my head and smell the air, I can feel the cold in my lungs. I can remember a shirt on my fingertips. And these places just are more real to me nowadays. I’m tired. I’m quiet. And I don’t want to lose the very little I have left.

There is just not enough time, and I really should not be surprised anymore. Why would I think the next one should ever be different.


“Most people have a rope that ties them to someone, and that rope can be short or it can be long. You don’t know how long, though. It’s not your choice.” – Nick Hornby

Good luck at 4am.

I always thought you should love people through the good and through the bad. You stick out the shit days, in waiting for the good ones to come along. We are all flawed, continuously. It’s a penetrating reality to swallow, but the sooner you absorb that detail, the better. I guess when the struggle becomes more abundant than the reward, people cave in. They surrender. “The Retreat,  and then leave” is the most consistent behavior that I have ever experienced from people I have chosen to share life with. In fact I generally smell it weeks before it arrives.

I’m too old for this.

And I thoroughly deserve better.



Note 1397
Never allow what you feel to be devalued by another someone. Everyone’s scales of importance are different. Values among us breach our heads and our hearts on all kinds of levels. In all of the variance not one single person has the right to make you feel as if your values in any relationship are not important. In fact, because it wrecks you, it’s ultimately important. Because it makes you stay awake at 4 am in a dark room, it’s fucking important. Because it will silence you for days on days fucking end, it’s fucking important. When someone challenges that, then they mislead themselves to foul. And if you think you have over stepped your emotional bounds by infringing on that, well you are crushingly wrong. Feel horrible as they swim on the defensive? You’re wrong. Painted insignificant? You’re wrong.

You and only you own what you feel, and no one person can change that. Not one voice on the table has the right to convince you how those instances “should have groomed you”. All of those perceptions reside there for reasons. These are reasons that your own intuition has cultivated. And you should use that as the reference volume for future disasters.

Those who stand in the damage instead of packing it up behind them will never be aware of the help that they, or you need and deserve – observe, pay close attention to what they keep. They will never be that curvature that should smooth the rough areas of what paralyzes you awake at night. It’s destructive, it’s failure, it’s a departing airport boarding call over head. Let that mother fucking plane go. There are plenty more on the way.

Do not waste your own life in that stand still.


Take advantage of it now, while you are young, and suffer all you can, because these things don’t last your whole life. – Love in the Time of Cholera