female/crazy/timid/ocean
"LOVE THAT IS NOT MADNESS IS NOT LOVE."
Insomnia of the spirit in the best way today. It won’t sleep and I feel indebted to Ginsberg. In his core was the molecular configurations of a lover, and someone who was hurt and saw hurt.
When I close my eyes I see only landscapes and dark holes and my mother. Her palms facing out and she is crying. The light is shining behind her and skull begins to throb. I see her hurt in so many ways I can relate to. I conference with my dad about her mental condition and I hear my own voice describing her fear, her non compliance, her slackened inhibitions, and mostly her cropped backbone of confidence.
In reality I wish there were I way I could help her. I feel her hurt and I know that her weakness and her faults are the same that I genetically inherited. But my desire to help her exposes itself by attempting to make her understand. This attempt is enough to completely terminate the signals from my brain to the muscles in my arms that decode: HUG HER.
I justify my lack of physical emotion and sympathy (and even empath) by (not so) convincingly reminding myself that she doesn’t like to be touched anyways.
And the only person I end up tricking is her. I’m too smart for myself, however, I constantly surprise myself with my ever growing and “fortifying” stubbornness.
“who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,” -A.G.
Love the bride’s dress.
^
I was here.
I was here motherfucka.
And ain’t none of y’all can write that in the spot I just wrote it in.
I’m here mothafucka, we all here muthafucka, and we all mothafuckas, muthafucka.
