He kisses her. She wants to believe him, so she says nothing.

Note 1013
Just disappear off the horizon, don’t even finish a sentence. Let all the pieces fall where they may. Shrug your shoulders and walk off like nothing was ever there. That’s how people handle entanglements in this time. Run as far and as fast as you can, it makes no difference. Thanks.

Note 1048
I’ve hated May and June for the last 11 years. Like a plate full of needles that you have to swallow. Thinking “well if things all land in the right place” it will be fine. But odds are that will not happen. Just digest. And the metal will taste like blood. And it will paint your face even if you are quiet as fuck. Charge on. I leave marks over my shoulder for every time I have to walk by something I don’t care to even touch. Throw it all the fuck away. It’s everyone’s answer anyway.

Note 1037
I’ll hashtag #wastedtime or some other fucking witty crap to throw into a sparkling bucket of social garbage. Like it matters anyway as people are fueled by “likes and thumbs” so much they believe it’s going to ignite themselves in a way that makes them sleep again. Good luck with that.


“I’m not a poet. I’ve never moved anyone with my words. Maybe that’s why they chose me.” – Solaris



The guardrail will take you home. 


“I was beyond fear and despair.  I was further on; no one had ever gone that far. I touched her neck with my lips, then went lower down, to the little hollow between the tendons, that was smooth as the inside of a seashell.” – Stanislaw Lem, Solaris

Not this time.


Art by CVCAMILLE 2016

There is a lot out there, and so much that I do not want to ever experience certain things again. The rewinding images, the blankets of dialogue, the wrapping of something more than only warmth, just fucking everything that was inside that room. It’s such a mixture of emotion that reminds me of a hailstorm that I hear.

I get it, I really do. But still in closing, there were things that needed to be tore off rather than being wound up. I begin to cross that final peak, that place where the boundaries are so high that things become deaf and numb. So motionless along the outside that it’s as if things just really no longer matter. Funny how much weight that some of those words were to carry.

In another life perhaps.

“It’s like I’m reading a book…and it’s a book I deeply love. But I’m reading it slowly now. So the words are really far apart and the spaces between the words are almost infinite. I can still feel you…and the words of our story…but it’s in this endless space between the words that I’m finding myself now. It’s a place that’s not of the physical world. It’s where everything else is that I didn’t even know existed. I love you so much. But this is where I am now. And is who I am now. And I need you to let me go.”

“As much as I want to, I can’t live your book any more.”

-Samantha, HER // Spike Jonze

Orbit drive by.



Driving today, as if I was spinning. Spinning lengths of memoirs across the road as I moved on towards the place. Waves of conversations and disasters gouging at me. I get closer to it all, while it just splinters more and more. Like film across the windshield, fast forwarding and stopping at parts, to where I can see just enough of an expression, the look towards something and then the look away.

You always have to move fast, faster than it. Or it will unwind you and all of your tape, it will untie all of your stitches so everyone can see.

The ridiculous season again. I still breathe it in and it goes straight to the rooms that it knows so well. Like coming home to a well made bed. They will always find their comfort, somewhere behind the rigid edges of what you wish you were all so content with back then. There will always be a hardwood floored room and a wall of screened windows that I know remains hinged to the back of my head until the day I die. It’s just something you can never undo or unwire, like years of old paste over a cigar box. It just will never go away. It’s one of those strawberry moments that are not even worth the telling because you know, you know that other soul will never see it as you do. I tell myself I’m lucky for that.

And I know you didn’t make me this way, I stood there and took it for much too long every time. I have grown strong in empathy with that. I should have turned back sooner in every case. Every year. Every time. I always kept telling myself just a bit longer and maybe it will make itself right. Maybe they will fix the scattered and worn pieces across the floor. They never did.

I tried. I really tried. I had countless conversations with you not in the room. Over and over in my head, me versus the walls. Like bullet points, back and forth, openings and closings – judge and jury. Debating to myself that maybe I could have flipped a switch and prevented one last disaster had I tried one second harder, one second longer. Or had I sent that one last text message that I hesitantly deleted outside my patio at 3am.

But really why should anyone have to do any of those things. Why should it even matter. I gave more than I have ever given to anyone. Sealed. Waxed. And in stone. Whether you read it or not. It was always there. It was always yours. You just never came home to open the box.

It’s late everyday at my house. My nights are long. I sleep mostly when I can’t think – and if I’m lucky I get a lucid delusional dream that puts me somewhere between me and you in a place where I just can’t touch anything but I sure am able find ways to feel everything over again, like the texture of the walls stumbling through a dark apartment hall.

I made myself forget most of the good things, just enough of them to make me not want to relive any part of it anymore.


“I felt myself being invaded through and through, I crumbled, disintegrated, and only emptiness remained.” 
― Stanisław Lem, Solaris | Summary & Study Guide

Quarante Quatre

Luis Guiles
Art by Luis Quiles. Check it.

“If Tom had learned anything… it was that you can’t ascribe great cosmic significance to a simple earthly event. Coincidence, that’s all anything ever is, nothing more than coincidence… Tom had finally learned, there are no miracles. There’s no such thing as fate, nothing is meant to be. He knew, he was sure of it now.” -500DaysOfSummer

Finis vitae sed non amoris


“Each of us is aware he’s a material being, subject to the laws of physiology and physics, and that the strength of all our emotions combined cannot counteract those laws. It can only hate them. The eternal belief of lovers and poets in the power of love which is more enduring than death, the finis vitae sed non amoris that has pursued us through the centuries is a lie. But this lie is not ridiculous, it’s simply futile.”
― Stanisław Lem, Solaris