this has been written to be forgotten

I know an "us". I have known them for quite some time. The attempt to dissect them holds more interest than that which is naturally generated by the two of them. They are in the nicest of all possible formulations, boring. They also never split up. In person, they present themselves as a "we". On the telephone, the other is always invoked, unneccessarily, superfluous - like a layer of gauze lain across a vaselined lens. It is not that I don't like them, or either of them. I am struggling to see their appeal. They are prised together by bonds that I cannot see and this makes me hope that they are not a unit of negativity, imperceptibly poisoning the environment of those in their circle with their fear or dependence.
They never split up.
It is a she and a he. Who she sees in the mirror is not herself. She has never seen herself, marked the changes, imported her lineage into the phyical features reflected back to her eyes, never looked at herself and rethought "I see me and this me I see is thinking, seeing one thing which is myself, and thinking may things simultaneously, which is myself." Her fashion is robotic, she wears it like she borrowed it from a mannequin where it fit with greater ease into the mannequins active lifestyle.
He carries with him a regret that he is not something else. He is stopped at a date past which his ownership of him has never moved. He ascends on escalators as if there is something insistent against which he must procrastinate, he is stifled by unformed excuses.
They went to _____ and are planning to go again to see "another" mall. On the telephone she told me they had Starbucks.
I wish I could only ask "Why?" when I wanted to know the answer.
In this intstance, why is provoked out of inquiring mouth noises that form my claiming of space, some way clear of the befuddled march to nonexistence that their life seems to me to be.
Oh they are so friendly, it happens though, that once you get there, there is nothing remotely engaging about their presence.
They are not interested.
Simply, this means that they are not interesting. And they never split up.
They take forever to get to the point of what it is they introduce so portentously to say. Ay mi, there is no point. And she likes to tell me about the people I do not know to whom she has told "so much" about me. And then she lists my interests. I am still making eyecontact with her, thinking this is me, here with you, this is me thinking, you do not give any outward sign of being cauterized from reality and yet you cast burning arrows of ephemera from a loosened hot air balloon.
He is gazing, through some fine mental mist, into the panorama of mountains and the river below us, he nods - it is an outward sign of nothing - from a damp inward placidity.
Like many people from where they come from, conversation is an unexplored theory.
Unlike those I had met previously - ambassadors - who have forewarned me of their proclivity to statement and, in the unlikely event of a diplomatic extension of communication, or return of verbal, their reliance on aggressive habits and one up manship, these two are bereft of anything to state. It doesn't keep them from keeping silent, or paying more attention.
If they never split up, their antennae will fuse. They will hear nothing and as the dark room they will inhabit shrinks they will know with ironclad certainty the thing that they have "always" known, that this is as good as it is.

here there is always something that will bite you

wednesday, april 20th

he picked his words like they were long stemmed irises of pure blue.
and the steam of fermenting citrus lay on the air beyond the wall, beyond the wall where there was a landtip.
mollusc selecters wrapped in salty cotton, cattlebirds in that way land habituees visit the water, deliberately and delicately spirographed around each other.
in this place i have counted many cigarettes and thought about why they were there
i have wondered why there are diverging opinions on what is clean
here is always where i feel life like crunched up cellophane in my stomache
here is where my feet don't touch the ground when i run
here is where there is always something that will bite you

in the before stages

you can get by on being polite in a strange new place. anaesthetized with the novelty, which lets you not have to connect, only be regarded favourably, and that really is unchallenged because nobody is looking too hard, or asking normal from you. when you only have to deliver the superficial, it saves itself from being insulting because you are so consumed by the strangeness, that your behaviour as a stranger in the place serves all interests quite adequately. it is matter of time before someone gets too interested.

may peace be with you

free of bonds, rattling at pace inside an accomodating doing-web, influencing lives light as an impressionist, absorbed like litmus, lasting as butterfly dust.

when will this stop being so?

i think i am starting to get bored, and at 12.35 i feel like there is no future and my brain is about to be pulled out through my nostrils and it's magnitude is real in that i will have no recollectable allotment of prescience, that it will be horrific and complete, and then at 1.47 it's all on and the afternoon quivers before us, and i am enthused, and i think little steps little steps, take everybody into the magic, look look look, what can you see? ask always, what can you see, and save for myself for a clear later, what i see.

it's that in the morning time it's fine, and i am doing apartment living, not the french apartment from memory, this one apparantly comes first, i cannot ask for anything in addition to what there currently is, and yet i can, depending on who is in the conversation and how we began to phrase our intentions to each other.
my ego is off kilter so i cannot be faulted, it is unnerving how decentralised i am, this is some version of health. without the 'me', there isn't at all the same possibility for neurosis, or ambition, what would you call it? i feel that i am walking sideways like the little prince, a book that pinches above the eyes, the soil here is also yellow.

and i don't have to take responsability for everything

All the people i love, they are with my thoughts. I am always with all those who love me.

I shall sit here, on and off, for days and days

monday, 4th april

I speak in my capacity as the 4th most beautiful girl in a company of 38.
Why then, you needn't speak at all. Your radiance is eloquence enough. Should you speak, it may be dimmed.

and if you ask why they spoke thus, it was because they were more outspoken than their mothers and to speak so made their fathers proud and woul be remembered fondly in the silence of their future status.

ie. and this is for an illuminatory example My youthful exuberance is but the halcyon cloak cloaking circumstances reduced by minute encumbrances.
Needlework a case in point.

I write because if I were to dig a hole, they would shoot me.

I often go abroad I shall bring you back some tidbits.

and I see all the combative children here and I think how the girls feel a shadow on them, how they will be twisted, diverted into the suctions of inconsequence and greed, castigation making them willing, producing from their will, the volunteer. So that their bodies are their universe.

Which is so sick, but who has the guts to say where lies the affliction?

Sex and the city advertises estee lauder lip gloss.

time

monday, 4th april
time is a product of geometry and energy.

"the sun is red"
"the sky is red"
"that's what i said"

"the beauty of this place is indescribable"
"that let's you off the hook then"
"that's what i said"

"habits are important"
"language is important"
"that's what i said"
"language is a habit"

"habits are the language you speak"
"and that michelangelo, is why i don't understand you"
"you don't understand because the language you speak is a practical impediment"
"to any encounters"
"to encounters that invite dialogue"
"are you saying we might struggle with communication because the two of us are fluent in confluent tongues"
"parallel idioms"
"closed circuit transmission"

"floxlepoff, i like talking to you"
"yes me too"