where do you come from / where are you going?
My writing is so so poor. Apologies, folks. My briny brain can't keep up with my flying fingers (or vice versa) and then it just becomes a tangle.
I'd say (I have just said now, in my brain, in fact):
Maybe i should stop writing.
But i'm not forcing this on anyone, and whomever stumbles upon this here portion of the web can easily flee if they need to. Or they can restumble in, again and again, if they like to! Yes, all are welcome here, friends and foes alike.
Except if you are my foe...well.
...
Go on then. Do what you will. You worst, I suppose.
Oh...so tired.
I feel stirred by the late night (not late night) urge to pee before bed, and the tiredness of m slowly blinking eye lids.
I am...sleep, personified. I am person, sleepified.
Etc.
(Heh and ha. I make jokes.)
Come be with me, friends/loves only.
((Foes, you can wait out back.))
Come hold me closely, and I'll return the favor.
the head on the chest
breath
cologne
perfume
rising, falling ashes and then...
lashes that look up and close.
the key in the door, the doorway still open.
the hug just in front out in the rain/fog/sun/snow/leaves
just in from the outside.
the eyes close
the hands hold.
beating on
the arms round the back, brushing the hair
the small ticking clock in the background
((in my gentle dream universe, we still have ticking clocks. not just the magic light up eyes of a cell phone.))
music plays
what is it?
records
fog
coming to life.
some sort of music that is free for all or all for free and we listen and slowly start to rotate and dance
holding on as best friends or lovers will do.
there is no rush.
the pacing of a second slides out underneath the door way into the sun
but turns around
comes back into the embrace and wants to hold on a well.
so there is no real time. not really.
...
did you know, i once wrote those so freely, that i made just the most perfect of all sense to myself?
no one else will be so taken of course, but i hope you have that same experience within YOURSELF, within or in reaction to something YOU'VE done.
because these words aren't...well...just for me. not just.
((because they are 'by' me, so more than just a little for me.'
("me")
it might as well be you, though, mightn't it?
ohhhhhhhhh
i want
a vision
right here
of everything.
hold me, hold me.
i have this phrase that repeats in my head and i've titled many pieces of artwork with it.
it is:
'You are my girl, and this is the time.'
and i think on the muse/music and how i dream of this boy/masculine/whatever energy on the other side of life.
why do certain sentiments pop into our heads at the right/wrong/crucial time?
more like crucial, always crucial.
never cruel.
tell me your story.
i. want.
to.,.,.,.,..,.,.,..,.,.,.,.know.
goodnight.
I'd say (I have just said now, in my brain, in fact):
Maybe i should stop writing.
But i'm not forcing this on anyone, and whomever stumbles upon this here portion of the web can easily flee if they need to. Or they can restumble in, again and again, if they like to! Yes, all are welcome here, friends and foes alike.
Except if you are my foe...well.
...
Go on then. Do what you will. You worst, I suppose.
Oh...so tired.
I feel stirred by the late night (not late night) urge to pee before bed, and the tiredness of m slowly blinking eye lids.
I am...sleep, personified. I am person, sleepified.
Etc.
(Heh and ha. I make jokes.)
Come be with me, friends/loves only.
((Foes, you can wait out back.))
Come hold me closely, and I'll return the favor.
the head on the chest
breath
cologne
perfume
rising, falling ashes and then...
lashes that look up and close.
the key in the door, the doorway still open.
the hug just in front out in the rain/fog/sun/snow/leaves
just in from the outside.
the eyes close
the hands hold.
beating on
the arms round the back, brushing the hair
the small ticking clock in the background
((in my gentle dream universe, we still have ticking clocks. not just the magic light up eyes of a cell phone.))
music plays
what is it?
records
fog
coming to life.
some sort of music that is free for all or all for free and we listen and slowly start to rotate and dance
holding on as best friends or lovers will do.
there is no rush.
the pacing of a second slides out underneath the door way into the sun
but turns around
comes back into the embrace and wants to hold on a well.
so there is no real time. not really.
...
did you know, i once wrote those so freely, that i made just the most perfect of all sense to myself?
no one else will be so taken of course, but i hope you have that same experience within YOURSELF, within or in reaction to something YOU'VE done.
because these words aren't...well...just for me. not just.
((because they are 'by' me, so more than just a little for me.'
("me")
it might as well be you, though, mightn't it?
ohhhhhhhhh
i want
a vision
right here
of everything.
hold me, hold me.
i have this phrase that repeats in my head and i've titled many pieces of artwork with it.
it is:
'You are my girl, and this is the time.'
and i think on the muse/music and how i dream of this boy/masculine/whatever energy on the other side of life.
why do certain sentiments pop into our heads at the right/wrong/crucial time?
more like crucial, always crucial.
never cruel.
tell me your story.
i. want.
to.,.,.,.,..,.,.,..,.,.,.,.know.
goodnight.
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