.38 Special HP // Minolta SRT
I lack any sympathy for an artist whose creative center revolves around manipulation and malice. Be worrisome of the empathy and compassion you share, because when you hear someone speak and they believe no ones listening – you are apt to see what their head is made of.
I’ve seen enough people fall and never get back up. I’ve seen enough damage never get repaired because of the marks that toxic actions leave behind. Be mindful of how you speak and how you behave, especially when it involves what you think “would be love”.
Notes somewhere around (1280-1285)
I look and wonder where your head will be in ten years. Whether you will say “I’m glad I jumped”, or “I wish that I had”. I spend day after day wrecking myself with how things could be, but we know that nothing ever works that way. It’s as if we are both built like asymmetrical cogs that have teeth that sometimes make contact, and other times spin free. And it’s the momentum of that wheel that carries on the spin until we hope they connect again.
I’ve spun a lot in the last few weeks. I have had some warm nights, and days. And I always understand what connection can feel like. I also know well what its absence creates. And you tend to contemplate what the ‘dips’ are telling you. Their bombardment over and over again. Your head devours what the chemical feeds, while it soon becomes the physical that needs.
I am very tired today. In my brain and on my feet. Maybe someone will punch me on the way home. Or tell me they would “like to grow old with me”. Either would make me feel a hell of a lot better.
“You know, I can feel the fear that you carry around and I wish there was… something I could do to help you let go of it because if you could, I don’t think you’d feel so alone anymore.” – Samantha, Her
A view when I woke this morning. Tangible sensation of unfamiliarity.
“Anyone who has actually been that sad can tell you that there’s nothing beautiful or literary or mysterious about depression.” – My Heart And Other Black Holes
“Life is all about change. If it were static, think about how boring it would be. You can’t be afraid of it, and you can’t worry that you’ll mess things up. You deserve good things, and I want to be one of them”. – Elle Hopkins, Impulse
// Photography from my Tumblr: Red All Over //
I don’t even rally in the thoughts of storms and flailing nights too much as I have done in the past. I get closer to most things by launching myself through them rather than around or over them. I’d rather feel the intensity of the falling, knowing that the catch is worth ten fold the ringing of the landing.
The heat and flicker on the lips that causes that flutter, it’s very hard to walk away from every time. It’s rush, roars loud as water forcefully does up against a clouded pane. It pins me and pushes me, and I like that. People need that.
Distance is just a digit. I can sit across from someone and fail to notice an insect on their face but then finely feel the flutters of a heart 200 miles away. Intimacy is the fuel that continually revs that connection.
“I wanted to freeze time. I wanted to savor that moment, to live in that moment for a week. But I couldn’t stop it, only slow it. And before I knew it, she was gone. After the door closed I felt like the last person on Earth.” – Cashback, 2006
There is a curve along your waist and hip that is probably one of my favorite places to rest my palm. It’s cool and smooth and something I always think about when I wake up.
The temperature of rain, the surprise when it hits your face. Streaming across ringlets of hair. Wind wrapping around necks and shoulders, I like that smell it leaves. I like the cold and uncomfortable, and being able to find things warm. I miss you. Maybe I say that too much but It’s ok.
It’s fast. The time between holding on to things as tight as I can, and then waking up to get bagels. The smell of coffee, and clouded jabber in the background and the crinkling of pastry papers. Like wood burning. Familiar but not familiar. I stumbled in my head, I grabbed on to your hand and looked down at worn denim jeans. The air that stops right in the center of a pinhole camera lens photo – that’s the part that matters and that’s where I want to be.
2017 I will let you whisper horrible things, but I’m getting better at wiring those things to street lights as I drive past.
“Your problem is that you’re not happy being sad. But that’s what love is, Cosmo. Happy sad.” – Raphina, Sing Street