When I’m not
out in public drinking far too much and quickly, talking far too fast and loudly, lunging much too unstoppably for any nearby testicles set, making out like I’m genuinely and relentlessly obsessed with black cock [of the illicit and enormous Race Traitor kind] or jawing off much too free and frankly about upsettingly unacceptable things like abortion, The Final Solution, pedophilia and/or war...
I can be found reclining languid and devastated with my eyes lightly closed wearing nothing but a stylishly oversized set of sleek Sennheiser headphones listening intently to my arresting and latest indie rock ballad discovery allowing my heart to singularly, quietly. Kind of break
thinking about too many silently clashing and crashing shards of shades of shapes of everything, flowing downward into the erasing enclosure of pure feeling, flowing upwards into the bright blank absolution of pure time, into all the crushing beauty of tomorrow, all the distorted perplexed rememberings of a collective eternal yesterday, the unfinished stories, the unwritten triumphs and conflicts, the greatest sacrifice, the greatest injustice, the greatest shame or perfection, the greatest love story ever. That always almost never was.
(it’s the falling that’s the shining [most elusive most memorable most worthwhile] experience of into love] it’s the search and seeking, the chase and promise and hope and wanting. The caring deeply, instinctually, continually and still. And not caring at all about caring too much and knowing (or wanting) someone [bright and brave solitary and serene right and real gentle and genuine tremendous and true]. To be there, mean it always, taking care from the beginning moment, taking care endlessly, of no one else ever [not even themselves first or fundamentally] but for