something sweet, sherlock

you might have guessed that i use this space to insert some semblance of meaning into the reactions i have to the things that go on in my life, and that this is the only place i do so and it feels neccessary.
you might know that the clear moments i have are not social, you never overhear strangers in a group telling each other stories - their stories are not spherical narratives, their stories, the ones that can be overheard, are spiky and orbital and revolve around instants of recognition that they patch into relevance. so you know that the clear refractions of reality that i write are not social.
i listen to others in real life, and only in the "afterward" time do i catch up on myself. i take at face value - but, this is true, i am in these cases, a mirror that is relatively deep, and sees myriad other ways. i am self deprecating. and it sometimes twists in my mind that my writing is damning, or twisted, or ungenerous.
but this is as true - i write when the crystallisation is acheived; words are descriptive and strategic, not true in themselves, but an aftertaste of what has been true. When we are happy, we never write, we do other things called life. The dictionary is composed of words for misery, desire, and possession - (inertia, projection and doubt, and this i want to be incisive about).
the events in the day or over a period that disturb my state that begins with waking up happy, these are my project.
Perhaps i am selfish. i think this is a good thing, and it is neither in sync with or out of proportion to everyone on the earth's properties of being.
i know this: it is a mistake to think everyone else thinks the way you do. it is a mistake to think you are the only person to think the way you do. everything is a mistake. it is all a series of mistakes.

falling at the edges

tuesday, 22nd of march

again, they changed the schedule ahead of time, and yet they didn't tell until after the magazines and confectionary were disbursed, after the lyrics were decoded, after the chitchat and vaguely accusatory tone to innocuous remarks.
again, they were demonic, these crazed chrysallii of the 1970's, nurtured in a web of selective philosophy, and cartoon attention.
one little totem with his bleached jagged strip, had a knife pack. One for killing the beast, and a miniature for what? severing the eyeballs? the bleached jagged strip which refabricates even his follicles - how can i see him? how can i see more than a nothing? in his eyes i can see hate and disdain, and there does not seem, at this time, to be the possibility of a moment by which i can see how to see him. fuck that looks like wank.
how can i understand the disregard he reflects on me, when myself, i cannot see him and so, regard him?
again, they say, oh they are so shy
shy like ice
they say, they are so self aware
yes, like small blinkered creatures with underutilised spacial perception
they say, it is a problem for us. it is hard for us.
but i think they like it that way, because they are comfortable in their declamatory petulence, and because physical dominance is both arbitrary and authoritative, and that is their box.
and the yelling.
so, let me think of something nice to write.

time

sunday, 19th march

concurrent
instantaneous
perceived

abstract
composed
relative

a physical composition, whose definitions are wholly abstract, and which is experienced as an inverse of the subject acted upon.
intangible, fluttering heartbeat, remark upon the contours of this space.

this is how to put down, and not be told to

saturday, 12th march

pick up another relic,

3 minutes tops

i do not think i want you there
i do not think i even care
you do not want to even think
you were not absolutely right

you cannot even let it go
you will not let yourself believe
i so easily rethink and
you hold on to things and
sink

i think you think that 'or' is god
and that once that you have 2
then your certainty is 'true'
and your conviction is complete

i do not mind one little bit
that you like this little grid
you pay no mind to
any undefined
externals;
your world complete, dysfunctional, internal

your utmost, idiosyncratic skill
by which you fashion
your thinking cell
i like
it makes me smile
as you do
for a little while
and now and then
as i remember
remember - sometimes is just 'forever' , differently

and when you reach out to invite me
concentrating on the footholds
i take care because i'm me
and when i reach out and hold you
i see you through the keyhole
and my screaming is our heartbeat
no mxxg box you tell me is infinity