Day: December 3, 2004

My cam takes bad seventies pictures. Photography from the past, back before I was born. Still-birth moments of gritty focus and strips of light, yellowing. Another dash of the wrong age. Aggregate strata of vintage images, still life and frozen. Something about the reality captured keeps me. Boundries needling into me, I like it. The awareness of the passage of time. I want to build an album to show the world. Angles and continuity paths, the structure of something to share. Here on the internet, I’m only made of media. You, my bored and thinking audience, I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re appreciated. I want to share more, I want to play with all the possibilities available. Textures of multi-media streams, jumping jacks and bouncing balls. I caught three today, how about you?

We slept and I dreamed of you, I could feel you beside me. Your body warmth bleeding through as if you were sound, chords thrumming deep base through my skin. Long wave vibration modulated with your breath to kiss me where I couldn’t notice the touch, only the heat pooling inside of me. Fool me again, lover, make a difference. Memories want to apprehend your intentions and accuse them of shameless crimes. I’m not praising the ones who left me or left you, but I want their fingerprints gone. Washed clean again, like I used to be, like I think you didn’t have a chance.

Cries to god, I’m going to have them. Exclamations of christ, the death knell of ecstasy take-over. Your brainwaves are mine to taste, to play with. This is the power, this is the word. This is how to kill someone. Take their voice, their self-knowledge, strip them to desire, bare minimal sheathing of nothing. Civilization gone. It’s a capture of soul, knowing the word. The final song, the final spark of humanity available for eating.

The bitter taste of coffee on your tongue, it’s syrupy. Straining for reason, it’s not always my fault when you turn away. I reach for you to spite the defensive strategy endgame coming. Inamorato, keep yourself close. Gather me to you and let me question why. Slow exploration, shifting patterns of tragic I Used To Know You.

I miss you but I need to sleep.