2002-09-12
The seperation of truth from reality and dreams always falls the hardest...
I have tried to stay away from all forms of media for the past few days..
I don't want to see those buildings fall again, don't want anything to be cheapened by tributes and violins playing that anthem.
Instead I have been listening to The Smiths and reading Henry Miller.
"Henceforth we walk split into myriad fragments, like an insect with a hundred feet, a centipede with soft-stirring feet that drinks in the atmosphere; we walk with sensitive filaments that drink avidly of past and future and all things melt into music and sorrow; we walk against a united world, asserting our dividedness" - Henry Miller (Black Spring)
Over time it becomes cold yet still so fammilar. When the cold sets in there is nothing left.. (but how those thoughts may still dance in my head)
Lets pretend it will never get quiet and slow. That there will be no caution no pausing no break in the narrative.
and if this break shall occur can it be graceful without hushed whispers and blank expressions.
Except you with the black hair and the ink that reads 'honour'in another script.. we don't speak for so long and each time you surprise me harder than the last. You will make a beautiful nurse.
(yep... she's been reading Miller again)
(can't do this anymore. it isn't getting better. I just don't know. cannot pretend this is alright. lonely as fuck despite it all. I've been standing here longer than I could have ever concieved) .