January 2010
“Fiction is the truth inside the lie.”
Sometimes when I’m alone I think of all the great and fun times we shared together, just you and me. The things we used to do to scare the shit out of each other or if we’d travel on two buses and train just to grab a coffee. The late night walks and the endless laughing. Talking in our sleep or yelling whilst awake. Cooking and cleaning then watching movies that made us cry. Sharing...
You know, sometimes it seems things go by too quickly. We’re so busy watching out for what’s just ahead of us that we don’t take the time to enjoy where we are. Days go by and we hardly notice them. Life becomes a blur. Often it takes some calamity to make us live in the present. Then suddenly we wake up and see all the mistakes we’ve made, but it’s too late to change anything.
“You see? You just can’t trust anyone. The first girl I let into my life and she...”
– Zombieland.
All those dirty words that you said, did you mean them? Did you now? You’re biting at the hand that feeds you, like a stray for some scraps. Everybody you once knew has turned their backs. And everyone you once loved has sold you out. Everyone I know, they faked it from the word go and I need to know why, That everyone I love has been swimming with the sharks and I don’t know why....
You know what I adore about you? You put up with my shit when you could just hang up the phone or simply walk away, instead, when I walk away from you or hang up you call back and run after me. I also love the fact you call me every single morning to wake me up, your the first and last person I hear from before I go to sleep and when I wake up. I love how you cuddle me and hold my hand in front of...
Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want...
We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering -these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love -these are what we stay alive for.
“I’m running away from you, please don’t beg me to stay.”
Maybe love, too, is beautiful because it has a wildness that cannot be tamed. I don’t know. All I know is that passion can take you up like a house of cards in a tornado, leaving destruction in it’s wake. Or it can let you alone because you have built a stone wall against it, set out the armed guards to keep it from touching you. The real trick is to let it in, but to hold on. To understand that...
I packed my suitcase and walked outside, so filled with rage, wanting to go anywhere but there. Only to realize I had no where to go, no one to run to.
“Yes, I find it hard to love.”
