freethought.

do you remember me in our days of naivete? weak in the knees, we spoke through harlequin lips and shot sparks out of our finger tips. in the depths of a dissolved valley we caught fire, and oh how we burned, how we turned the earth black, how we discovered that there is no turning back. withering petals cascaded in the biggest blaze ever created {bourne from our tongues, a slithering lie} as our consciousness faded into a lust filled passion {dancing in the rye}. broken and bruised, alive and abused, we awoke to destroyed innocence and we spoke of the remaining flowering quince. its symbols, its spines, its blossoming rhymes; foreshadowing the beauty in our painfully fragile times emerging from this cataclysmic mistake.

do you remember me? i persuaded you to deconstruct the world.

it’s a beautiful gift to be a part of and to be affected by the collective suffering of humanity. the people i admire welcome death not with grief or reluctant acceptance but with relief and joy. to move on (elsewhere) in a celebration of failure and loss, disappointment and heartache, mistakes and mistakes and mistakes; it is something i look forward to. (i won’t deny that i am reasonably well off… not by American Suburban standards but at least by Universal Standards. i won’t deny that i feel overwhelming love. i am not saying that i will condemn myself to sleepless heroin nights in some metropolis by myself.) there’s appeal in eternal sleep, a vacuum of quiet [of peace]. no discomfort, no isolation, no judgment, no failure. maybe i am escapist. i don’t know. i don’t feel very well. jumping out of windows. impaled on a fence. hung up in a bedroom closet. prescription cocktails. bathtubs and razor blades.

etc.