I have a strange sense of home around you that is hard to come by, especially for me. Although, a long ago history whispers fears of guilt, I can already see us building as I do with many people. As you must know the stars and molecules align only briefly and powerfully and you are a consistent reminder mystique can be fertile if housed in accurate perceptions, or at least we would like to think its too-green-for-reality vines and pastures are fantasy dreams we can wake up from without scars. I have them and I think you do, too. We both ran away, as these mental asphyxiations were closing in, for damn good reasons. There is so much experience and life I’d wish to share with you, not for fantasy so much as for a mutual understanding, a core need for freedom and destruction.

You never will know the instance I had of giving “it” all up to be available to you. Of fucking it all, but I have already done this and I would have been regressing, not developing I realize. Life is full of splits and so far I have been able to jump miraculously over them with only a few scars to my monikers. I cannot say I’v never fallen because I have, so deep, several times. I am always able to dig myself back out of my own self-dug graves. Mine is a dotted landscape of such extremeties and I can see you desiring such territories as well. I do want to show you, but know experience is the only way and I cannot do that for you, not do I think you’d want me to.

You flirt with intellectual intimacy, pull my flickering intentions down around my ankles as if I were merely an another mental suitor for you. Then I remember your necessary promiscuity of such things, pull my skirts back up and flutter back to reality. A taste, only a taste.

I think we could live a life of fluttering and flying and north to south migrations, there is a possibility of satiation of this burning desire, to know and grasp the phallic power of knowledge. You want to dance with me? I wonder who will try to deny the other first or who will give in. We both want to conquer the world, I wonder if we could or should conquer the other. And I wonder if that is the point of it, flirting with the disaster of our own personalities (feminine chaotic state) and somehow finding a way to downplay it all. Yeah, like hang out, whatever.

My motto as of late: Working to give meaning back to the life we all forgot we had.

why is it the loss of a brother hangs like a constant shadow on my psyche? So much loss … so much disappointment as Adam, so horribly correct, reminds me …

“Look at this place, look around you. Isn’t it crazy? We’re in an enormaous warehouse of vibrating colors meant to reel us in.”

           –Adam, wide-eyed and absorbing

“Yeah, our ancestors braved the wilds of the jungle. We go to Best Buy and buy DVD players …”

       –Annika, cynical as always

I have been dormant for so long it seems … various manifestations of fear working to destroy the natural gears of my psychology … but good news, intuition is awakening and I can feel that acute taste lingering, calling, again … fuck everything else i am going to run
…and that is to read …
-off to William S. Burroughs I go, ha!

On the eve of
    Destruction and creation

             At the midpoint, halfway, and in between

When I remember
      Or force to forget
When I suffer
      Your absence and my own
When I carried you
      And your feet dug
      Your nails bit
      And your tongue dripped folly and drowned my breath
When I finally succombed to leave you to your death
      —Because I had to save myself

When I felt the weight and the lightness converge

            The midpoint, halfway, and in between

—-I ran                                 (purely instinct)
      Ran farther than desire
      Ran farther than desperation

And finally—-
   Like the softening light of a new sunrise
   When it seemed a safe distance away
   And I slowed my pace
   On this landscape of memory
    (But you can never truly run away from yourself)

I felt the cold through my spine    
                             in my abdomen
   Your semen birthe
   Foriegn as the new terrain
   I had forced upon myself
                                         —–to forget you

But you linger
And
Peek half open still,
                             like cancer,
                             like a scar that will never heal
                                             that waits and roughs and immortalizes
     The emptiness, the pit
I feel you
   Seeing behind these eyes,
                    my eyes
And I am afraid …
Now more of myself than I ever was of you

                 But I am washing my hands of all of this
                     This spiral marks a beginning
                                       @

“What would it be like if you never saw me again? Would you be able to get over it?” —my lost soul of a friend, Mike

These questions seem hollow and I fight them with all the displaced martyrdom of a scream at the witch’s pyre. I refuse to accept this is the end because I know life is never as structured as insecurity, inferiority-complexes, would plan the unknown out — give an easy answer to your oscillating brain and nauseated stomach, overreacting nervous system, a sign you are afraid … fight or flight syndrome … you have every right or reason to be … I know this and you know I know this more than most …

You gave that to me, the painful jerk of foundation I needed to crack open the lid and let my personal pandora proliferate consciousness. Whether you realize it or not, this cements my essence to you in a way your manifested fear, the girl you think you love, that horrid abomination of life and experience random fate has called Jenny, could only hope to massacre again and again. ((This is futile for equations are blanced and she cannot exist without me …)) Do you not see how this all connects so delicately and completely?

At the toilet seat, as I pivoted on the brink of emotional collapse I stopped suddenly. I could not feel what it seemed I should. The tears and sobs were only echoes of a lie I WILL NOT swallow. I am not a linear pillar and I do not take pills as easily as many would like. I will not be toppled or be silenced so easily. Of all the personality objects and boxes people have placed upon me, they haven’t changed the complexity of my essence. This is only a period at the end of a sentence in a book of stories that never ends, even when I die, because it’s not about me –a human– it’s about us –humanity– For Jenny and you this is a whole closed life, which will end as soon as it begins.

And I am sad for it but I cannot bring myself to take it seriously. I laugh instead at the ridiculous simplicity of the trap and close the door. Everyone leaves their nets out, language is the web and screw and opening, and I have seen this equation all before.

Is this, for lack of a better fitting description, beautiful?

He reaches out past my cracked exterior, these eyes that stare in mourning for a thing as yet unrealized and possibly never will be.  You see, biological cycles predict and predicate uf there is decay a film of fungus will grow, and I have been destroying myself so deeply I can barely recognize the mirror image or these sinking hands with the bones emerging — like stalactite definitions unearthed from a deep, forgotten cave.

I know everyone could see my walls. They reference themselves in generic reactions and mouth gestures. People can see more than they are willing to admit, even to themselves.

But people are reminding me of myself as I remind them of themselves, an awkward cycle of need. We are pulled by the pluralism of humanity and our revealing actions, a collective foreboding chaos that can no longer handle the tight strings of linear modernist thinking. Something is happening, we all know it. Some are just more willing by fate or genetics to sense the signs. From the age of ten, I could feel the pull, I had to write of the need, I felt obligated, I felt a calling. Is this evolution peeking behind all these processes of everyday life? The neurons working with the cells, the molecules vibrating in their organic shells, the hierarchy twisting its tail to reveal the spiraling, profoundly connected nature of everything? We are becoming … in every step, a rushing moment into the unknown, while still somehow paradoxically three steps simultaneously in past, present, and future … We have collected the bones and dreamed in the insanity of prophets. Where to go from here is a question we must let go and let it take us without pretense, without insecurity, without base assumptions or the safety of comfort and foundation, however hard that may be …

It will be, prior errors already accounted for (must move on), beautiful … It is beauty in chaos …

“It’s like you have fallen from a great ivory tower and now you see …” a father to a daughter in the wee hours of pain and realization.

patience is a virtue

but i was never known to be virtuous

i think i have betrayed everything i have ever known …

ps. geocities sucks … i am cancelling all accounts with those corporate fuckheads …

ppss. me at 16!

ppppssssssss…. insider info: me ex-boyfriend is in back but i blocked him out! cuz it just IS so much more beautiful on your own … you know, a cup full of freedom …

Individualism, Collectivism and “You”
In English, the singular and plural forms of second person pronoun
are the same. It means the word “you” can mean two things: you
the person or you the people. For example, when someone says
“you are smart.” to you, it can mean you as an individual are
smart or you as part of a group are smart. Because there is no
distinction between these two meanings, a person who grow up in
a dominantly English speaking environment is inevitably conditioned,
subconsciously, to think there is no distinction between an
individual and a group of people they are with.

What do you(individual) think?

((printed without permission)) by in the Linguists
_____________________________________________________________

warning: not a linguist, just opinionated/thinking/poetically/philosophically interested 

so I see (of course) many faults to this argument … I think you are *generalizing* and *specializing* the entire supporting evidence and *ignoring* the various strands of why this may be occurring, not so much a defining cultural bias (this connotates a negative or positive conclusion *ending*, not a neutral realization *opening*), possibly an intrinsic development of the human to (testing a recently developed theory of mine) complete the loop and paradox of the human vs. humanity conflict … one must look at the context, cuz man, it is ALL ABOUT context … as in, when I use “you” I may be reflecting several personal/community psychologies/sociologies, not one of which would be a bias, but a of who *you* are and using this plural/singular complex as a tool for intricate awareness of how the self exists within the community and how they reacte off each other in the combined STRUCTURE of language/ communication … although, I have not delved enough into other languages to be able to relate this theory to other cultures, the English language itself is extremely versatile, complex, and revealing … and I think you are revealing/contradictng/answering yourself in the very question: What do you(individual) think? Because you are addressing a community of individuals, asking for a *pluralism* of answers, while still maintaining an emphasis on the *singular* person … pretty damned interesting, hmm? I am going to go ask a friend about this, thank you for the meme, man …

hey, i care again … things are going to start fucking changing around here …