drink. (though i didn't)
reread old love letters. wonder whatever happened to the person who proclaimed:
annotations added in the interest of truth and bitterness
the author, who shall remain unnamed, is aware of my intention
to post this
...
and if i look blinded
it's because i've never before seen light,
i've suspected that there is light, and i've
suspected that there is love, but i sure didn't believe in it.
not for me.
maybe i could occasionally catch a glimpse of stunning
beauty out through the bars, but it was just a thing that
wasn't me and wasn't for me it was for other people people
who deserved it and i knew that all i deserved was hell
and that even if i died i deserved hell, forever and ever
in aeternitas far be it from be to argue
forever and i had a pretty good idea what eternity was like
because every second was eternity.
so don't fucking worry about my standards. fuck them. they fucked me
i worry that i'll hurt you or that i'll disappoint you you did
or that i'll ruin you or that i'll break you you didn't -- it's impossible
or that i'll fuck you up another impossible task you set yourself
or that i'll be rotten to you breaking up on the phone with someone on a
psych ward is pretty rotten
or that i'll get drunk and pass out and that only happened 3, 4 times/wk
not think about you or that i'll go back to my jail
without you or that i'll do something horrible to you you did something
horrible to you
or that i'll break your heart again or that i'm my heart is impervious
and unbroken, and i never
allowed myself to love you
just no damn good for you and i don't deserve you,
but i have finally found
someone who meets
my impossibly high standards. does the redhead in canada, too?
i thought they were going to kill me, and
they were my most potent weapon against myself.no, your melodrama and
untreated manic-depression are
my idealism, and my love for beauty had turned me into
a total wreck. it was beauty and
truth and love that was torturing me this whole time. and drugs and alcohol
& mental illness
i have paid so much for beauty, i've given it my soul
to trample and destroy as it will, and it did,
and it used this best weapon against me and
I WON!
i won anyway. against the most tremendous odds and against
the worst i could do to myself, and against
the worst most awful beauty of god i won. this is so impossible
that it can't have happened but there it is immanent in
reality. i won. i'm alive and i'm actually alive and are you still?
i actually have faith and hope for the first time i can
ever remember and nothing can take it away from me ever.
i'm real dammit and i'll always be real and that's finally
why i understand why i wrote that absolutely horrid poem
i read you on your answering machine--because for the first
time i could write down my most awful fears and laugh at them
because they were nothing and they were always nothing and
if i could make them i could unmake them and all the jokes i
always made because i lived in terror every moment that someone
would see through me and uncreate me--all these jokes were true
and the joke was on me and damn i laughed for real for real
for the first time i can't remember
what laughing was like before, it was a bitter cough,
a sneeze of self-loathing, it was a poisonous bitter laugh
that poisoned everything and like baudelaire's
l'heautontimouromenos -- self-torturer
i knew utterly
that
laughter's the joy of those who've lost
the power to smile forever.
and now i find that i do not hear that constant mocking voice.
finally it's gotten tired and shut the fuck up and i feel
like i can actually live
and have real joy and real pain and
real eyes and i can actually see the world around me
like it's there and not just see the horrible hallucinationlie
that i thought was reality and was just a dead ghost is it still dead?
of nothing and none of it matters any more because it didn't
happen. it wasn't real.
now i can be real. are you still? were you ever?
so i can't possibly reject you because you created me, craftsmanship sucks
these days
you made it possible for me to be real and you made it
possible for me to be beautiful and so i am your work of
art. you say you can't create, well you created me.
you might regret that at some point, and i might fade
back into unreality but it doesn't matter.
right now, right the fuck now, right now is the only thing
that matters and there's no regret only fear but it's a fear
of actual loss. it's not a fear of fear of fear of myself
of hate of nothing a fear that's a ghost of itself and so
far removed from reality that it can't exist.
so that THAT is why thankyou and i love you
and i can't take it it's so intense and when
i'm lying in bed crying and crying and feeling
like there's a monster in me and like i'm eating
monster hearts that's you and it's real and
when i'm in absolute ecstasy and i love everything around
me it's real and it's not some artificial chemical
dream that
that i cooked up out of desperation it's real
and my art is real
and i've been writing things that are real
whether they're bad or good and
not some abstracted bullshit five levels from reality. fuck you. it all was
so i love you because you're me and because you're not me
and because i see you in everything
and because you're god. "god is dead and no one cares
and if there is a hell i'll see you there"
and that's it. and this is damn good writing.
thank you for taking time out of your busy
schedule to make me. we all do things we regret
--
sine | deb
pretty lies and bullshit and love in the summer sun