Fragments of Journals, 2011
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I sort of wish I could be a caterpillar inching along on a warm branch, nothin’ to do, nowhere to go, metamorphosis but a vague tremor on the edge of instinct, not at all conscious of the chrysalis to come.
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To take this page of babble and fashion it into some brilliance; to turn it into a poem and then to watch that poem grow up off the page and inspire a devoted following, the Ross-loving cult of smack-addled teenyboppers Yes I could be the next Burroughs and inspire the youth to heights of junkydom the world has not yet seen OH they are shooting Opana and their veins are all ripe with abscess and poison OH They are mine I sink my teeth through their pretty young flesh.
I am alone, alone, a lone warrior through this jungle of needles balloons and spoons— through caves of dingy bathrooms and nervous handshake deals in the streets of downtown I am running from a demon I cannot possibly outpace. The end is here.
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Turning gaze upward through shade trees inhaling fecundity of a humid day,
the soil exhaling its soaked-in stew of rain and waste and pollen. Oh, September.
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I may be of inherent brilliance, me love to come to the conclusion—er, collusion—er, collision with my fate me feel so murderous oh hand the axe here I shall brain a gringo.
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Isn’t it strange to watch backwards become forwards? Think bus routes, the impermanence of home, the way the world shivers and sighs all soaked in the salt of longing, my consciousness the wound—stinging.
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There is always some beauty to be had. Regardless of catharsis, thus far crying’s done no good. Some semblance of real life, somehow feel it’s all gone blue and fallen through to the place where the soul dies. Yeah, clichéd, how trite to be earnest—there’s no room for that sort of raw vulnerability in today’s world. Let it go.
There is a handsome man in blue beside me on the bus. We as a people have grown so detached from each other that it is awkward and discouraged to simply acknowledge a stranger’s presence, to tell them they look nice, to tell them that from the moment you noticed them you couldn’t help staring at them over and over and over and wondering what their life is like and who they love if anyone and are they alone are the nights too long do they wish they had someone maybe someone like you? Oh, it’s all so desperate, it’s all so lonely, this world wasn’t made for a dreamer like me. It’s true that no one knows another person, really truly knows their core, their essence. It is true that we are lone warriors through this life, this struggle, each of us as a soldier from a different nation, a “stranger in a strange land,” got to spread your legs to let the light in, darling, fuck your way to better mental health.
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