Original
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devote your life to the art of hate. devote your life to waste. solidify your anger into something tangible. something you can grasp, and pass on. suffice to say, let it go, let it all go away.
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again, it haunts me. I exist: a collection of past histories. to be detached here. my brain remains stained: a thin film of sepia, still, coats every corner. to be detached, here. here: a test message. half-assed half-fuck confession said off the record. to be detached: here. I have forgotten the foreign feeling; how to
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1. Blinking fast to imitate watching an old film reel. As if to capture you I watch you burn de-li-be-rate-ly into the spaces behind my eyelids: a silent protest, against a vague sense of mono no aware¹. All come to pass. This is my personal Hiroshima. Before you crash and burn, leave your shadows on my wall. 2.
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Our love Is like the coffee mugs Left unwashed in the sink After a night of warm conversation. Our love: it’s like a corner, Folded in a book; Jutting out, of a stack of old newspapers. No, our love is a corner, gathering dust. No, our love is the cul-de-sac In the lives we had
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transmitted messages to orphaned pagers litter the landscape, sullying the soil with words which follow others , phrasing phrases such as “I’ll call you sometime”, “I’ll see you tomorrow”, et cetera et cetera ad infinitum. we lie facing up, like numbers on a tattered phonebook – seeking reception – but we operate face down; plugged
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delusional writing on an online page stimulates the memory of having done something one’s not. sitting in others’ shoes shows a lack of logic and restraint when it comes to remembering one’s place. do not just dance to forget it all. this is advice. this is instruction. suck it up. stick out your paw. go
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I joined the site back in 2012 when I finally started posting my writing, no matter how good or bad online, and now, about 2 years exactly later, the website is shutting down. This website has been inextricably linked to many of my memories, both the good and the bad ones, over the past
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I. “I know what I want But I don’t know where it is.” I’ll keep looking Around in circles of dust Left behind, in the afterglow And the aftermath. “I know what I want But I’m afraid to ask.” II. I wanted to feel it again. I want to feel the familiar Movement: wrist
ugly stage 