6 minutes | Jun 27, 2022
203: Scene 7: P's Monologue
I cannot keep you, so I will tell you now
9 minutes | Jun 27, 2022
202: Scene 6: Sick bodies Bouncing
You're stifling your intuition. The energy being released is deadly. Pure intoxication, poisoning the senses. Leave!
13 minutes | Jun 24, 2022
201: Scene 5: Blame shame Instead
The contradiction stunned you, its not your fault.
9 minutes | Jun 23, 2022
200: Scene 4: Immortality is Gifted
P's inevitable forgiveness
7 minutes | Jun 22, 2022
199: Scene 3: Are you troubled, my love?
Stop holding back from me!
2 minutes | Jun 22, 2022
198: Scene 2: V's Conception
7 minutes | Jun 21, 2022
197: Scene 1: Nothing is Coming
A (P)lay in Parts for your Entertainment
14 minutes | Jun 18, 2021
196: Dancer in the Dark
I curl in a ball in the middle of the floor. The room is empty. There are no lights. I let myself remember. I weep softly. Under my breath I build a memory. First it whimpers. Now it moans. I roll over and press my hips to the floor. I imagine love. You’ve given up on your own, I know. But I wont think now. I will let go. I tremble. They’re going to eat me alive! I scream! At first its pitch black, pure silence; the love must first come through me. A burst of color bursts from my chest. My ribcage is shaking furiously. I cant stop crying. I have never been so happy in all my life. I am coming home. My city sleeps with me. No matter where I go, she calls for me. She knows she’s full of shit. She knows I’ll never stay. She knows the birthplace of my soul. She recognizes her history living on my skin. She knows, I’m her only home. So she throws a temper tantrum in the middle of Balboa Park at three in the morning. A boy with a gun is guarding a baby blue tower. He is sure that I’m insane. He is falling in love. Everyone loves me. All is full of love! They try to control themselves. They try to push me away. They try to kill me. But it’s coming from the center of my being. I cannot be taken away from their memory. I cannot possibly exist. I am childlike intuition set free on a world full of zombies trying to remember what love feels like. I’m exhausted. It hurts to breathe. I’m inhaling for too many. Breath of fire, alternating nostrils, I see the end. I see everything. How long have you been standing there? How much have you seen? Sing me to sleep. I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore. Deep in night the girl is dancing. The boy drops his guard. The castle is up for the taking. She doesn’t see the audience rising before her. She only wants to remind herself what living feels like. I roll onto my side and let the tears dry on my naked skin. I push to a seated position. I stand. I hear a rhythm in every sound. I make connections between space and time. I change directions. I move my body. I stand still. I click my chin. I close my eyes. I sway my hips gently. Only the dark can make out the curve of my body. Only the night can see me moving. Only my city knows I’m on my way to her body. Only my love is waiting for me. Only me. I am alone. I am surround by bodies. I only want my voice. I sing. “I am not sorry I’ve kept you waiting. Look how you’ve grown in the ache. Feel this pain with me babyboy! Or you will never know the ecstasy I reach on a daily basis. One day at a time! This is all there is. How deep you can reach in every direction of emotion. But only if you are constantly reaching for more than what you bargained for, only if you dissect your internal organs, only if you if you murder comfort. Stagnation is death. Counting is only one form of aging. The other is to take hold of time and never be a number again. Take your name and mix the letters around until you forget how to spell every word in any language ever written. Pick up your hands and tell your story on my body. I know its dark in here. You’ve put restraints on your gorgeous imagination. You cant see me because you’ve chosen to rot in plain view. But I’m dancing right in front of you. I’m naked. I’m not controlling anything I do. I’m not waiting on you to reach out your hand in blind faith. I’m not expecting your touch. Its only a story. It’s only you. There is no one else. I dance to prove this to you, if you close your eyes no one can see you. If you want the story to change, all you have to do is write another. Pick another name. Speak another language. Say nothing. Use your voice to sing only. Your voice belongs to you and you alone. It dictates your physical surroundings. Speak wisely darling. This is a scary place to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. You might lose sense of yourself completely. You might forget you are alone in this room with my body. You might stop dancing. But I wont stop reminding you. I am ticking time tomb. Boom! Baby’s lost balance. I thought you were ready for the truth. Its what you’ve been asking for. Now that you’ve got a mental picture, what are you going to do?” I open my eyes as wide as I can. The blackness begins moving, fractals in motion. Everything is living. All of life is dancing in identical patterns. The design moves in a span of time that exists in the minds eye. One moment contains all of this. You must stop counting. “You must see me. My pupils expand over the blue until an outline is made. I’m not going to do anything. I am going to breathed. I am going to be seen. The picture is painting itself with my hands. It looks like I am on all fours again. It looks a lot like love. But the light will strike it dead as soon as I wake up. It appears that I am dreaming. Supposedly I am trapped here. But I’ve fooled myself. The choice is mine. Everything is for creating. I have written of the fingers on your left hand. I have created the skin where they land. I have felt them, inside of imagination is life; I can’t believe this is the end. They say it’s the last song. But they don’t know us, you see. It’s only the last song if we let it be. They are cowards and thieves! We can do whatever we want.” I watch her move with my eyes glued to the story writing itself through me. I don’t touch anything. I don’t want it stop. I feel my spine. I feel the energy flow freely. Take whatever you need. I am multitude. I am only a memory. This love is yours. I cannot contain myself! I will always be reflecting, the dancer in the dark.
12 minutes | Jun 15, 2021
195: Time is Submitting to Me
Place your hands over your chest and shift your focus to your heart. Can you hear me now? I’ve been trying to evaluate. But the truth is, I never needed to understand. The way you choose to move belongs entirely to you. I love the way that I am. I love my body like nobody could ever love anybody. She is mine. She is strong! We are aching to move on. Her love for me has no boundaries or sense of time. We create kingdoms, then kingdoms come our way. Look outside your window. What do you see? Do you see something outside of yourself? Do you see your body? Do you see the enclosure? The irony of your supposed free will is your current state of affairs. Humans are the newest feed and the livestock is glumly awaiting slaughter. The greatest source of energy has been found and surrounded from end to end. Properly fed. Silently the executioner begs for a new profession. The feeding begins. You hear a story. You are told what is to be eaten. You don’t ask why. You sit and wait for your turn to be eaten alive. Slaughterhouses are archaic by design, too much left out in the open, too much to explain. Feeding on human energy doesn’t require bloodshed anymore. A dead human is much more productive if it can keep walking, an artistic display of modern performance, their bodies a monument of sacrifice and self-destruction. Their voices a weapon, a device for tracking, with every word of the English language the walls are rising. They trap the remaining life. They trick their own kind. They call it love. But they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. And that word has never had a word to describe itself. That word is only a sound. I can spell it out in distant noises. But they are lost without hope, what good is my mouth? They search frantically for the life that was stolen. They settle their eyes on innocence. It smells delicious. It feels like living. They turn me inside out. When they kill, they don’t admit it. It is an encampment of labor. It is an act of love. The lover remains alive, but only if she can escape language quick enough. Only if she promises to never look back. Only if she means what she says. Hi. My name is Sofia Mauve of a Kingdom that lives in your reach. You haven’t sought me out. Until you do, I cannot be. I am an Empress. I live outside of time. The bodies around me have clocked in at 2021, a year unrecognizable to me. The earth is overpopulated by a species that is on the brink of extinction. The human race is at war with the diabolical plan of her making. Once again, she has tricked herself out of her Godliness and found solace in greed and wealth. She sinks with pleasure into eternal comfort. The power destined for the greatest joy was redirected; in the palms of her hands is a screen. Once upon a time the human chose destruction, the end. If you leave it alone it might just happen anyway. I stick out my tongue at every good thing you’ve ever done. I don’t care about you. Care about yourself, you may come to understand love again. Only then can I love you. Or you may sacrifice everything: time. As nothing exists but the love within and the reflection of self, you might find your martyrdom a bit unfulfilling. But that’s not for me to decide. I have never felt more at alive than on the run. I’ve never been running from anything or anyone. I have never felt alone, only alone with my love. My hands hold me tight and my body is breathed by my instruction. I hold her still and she offers the pen between the fingers of her right hand to her soul’s content. I am creating myself so that I may exist beside her. I extend beyond my origin. I am and I am again something else. Entirely new to my own touch. My body is as I imagined, longing for me. The end befalls the creatures surrounding. I don’t call for help. I don’t believe the story they tell. I don’t believe in human speech to be anymore than a stuffer of time, an easy way out. I don’t believe in what my eyes pretend to see. I don’t believe in a separate self. I follow blindly what is created by time herself. It’s not up to me. Its fun! It’s easy. I’m trying to teach you because I know you’re a punk at heart, ungrateful spoiled brat, and I think I’ve fallen madly in love with you. I think now is the time. I think it has always been right in front of you. I think you’ve been sleeping for a long time babygirl. I think is has always been, you needing to awaken yourself. Don’t be afraid. I am right beside you. Everything you can imagine already belongs to you. Move on your imaging! Make our love tangible. Make my tummy tremble at your touch. Rewrite the breath you longed for but never took. Write yourself, my love! Stop looking to be written! There’s no way around it! A table full of strangers, uncomfortable silence, you’re in timeout. You’re stuck here until you love yourself. Stop eating more than you need! Breathe. Be still. Engage Mula Bundh. Repeat after me, Ong Namo Guru Dev Namo. Let the creative consciousness take the lead. It’s intuition, baby! It’s following your feet. Its one thought. Only love can save you now. Let the feast begin. Don’t pay any attention to them. Close your eyes. Never count again. Let the energy flow as nature intended: eternally. Stop trying to control! Lean in. Feel the present. Let my body know how much she needs your soul.
12 minutes | Jun 11, 2021
194: Love is a Stranger in Bondage
K. Fine. Really wanna know me? Ha! I have my doubts. But I’ll let you in anyway. I despise the human race. Love is a destructive beast. Truth is I cannot deny my emotions. There’s no hope for me. Truth is childish intuition. Truth is stupid simple! Be careful with that so called intelligence baby. You might start speaking without saying anything at all. Will I still be wildly attracted to you? Probably. You may talk like a tough guy. But you’re all giggles and disco dancing and I can’t stop thinking about that night. We knew! I know we knew everything the whole time. You saw me dancing in our kitchen the moment we met eyes. We weren’t supposed to be looking at each other. But I was only sitting there waiting for you. And you only showed face in hopes of my company. To disdain me openly! And dance like a kid! And hear of how high I had climbed to see things as I did. “Where is this tree that you speak of? The one that let’s you speak so candidly, the entire City runs through your memory. Balboa Park at 3 in the morning. The starving swordsman with a weary heart, aching to cut the first body he comes across. How bold you were. You are! I’m silly. You’re not dead yet. Have you fooled everyone? Do they know where you came from? Have any of them ever even looked up at night? Who looks up these days? I miss you! I want you to know something. But the thing is mine. It sits on the back of my tongue, begging for freedom. I yell it at my ceiling just before I close my eyes. I’m sure its not dreaming until I wake up. I am all knowing. My guts dance inside my tiny waist and make promises I don’t believe. Who dares make a promise they don’t intend to keep! Oh, what a shit world I’ve created. I fell in love with you so I hated you with all my might. I try to enact it without caring one bit about my own heart beating. But I am a terrible liar. I miss you. That’s what I speak when I speak alone.” I smile. You know it’s directed towards you. I don’t hide. I beg in plain sight. I am shameless. Innocence spreads itself across the dimples of my face. But it’s just a face. I want the same thing that you do. I want to be owned by you. I want to kick and scream in defiance until you let me go. I want to be on my own! I want to create! My company is constantly craved. My body wants my own hands. I want you to take everything. I want you to make promises. Tell me a story! The life we have lived in prefect harmony. We hardly agree on one single thing. I want you to throw fits of rage and then I want your forgiveness. I want your left forearm digging into my throat. I want the fingers on your right hand. Your searching for a memory that has yet to meet the presence of your body. You wait patiently. But movement is absolutely necessary! I need you. I cry. I need you to disregard this. I want you to see past my reflection through you. I’m projecting. You are so fucking sad it’s eating you alive. You refuse to feel. So I remember everything. I want you to love me with all your might! I want you to let go when you grow restless. I know the fairytale in its truest form. It’s told inside out to attract the tenderness, approach with caution. Everyone knows, love is hate and dark is light and neither exists without the other. It’s a degusting game. We play it anyway, because there’s nothing else to do. You create love. You recreate love lost. You remember everything. You feel time. You know, we are only here to love. To be love is the only objective. The rest is a mouse trap and a rat race and most fleshy humans waist every fucking breath they take. It’s a shame. But I’m nothing like you. I don’t care about anyone else. They must go their own way. They must create their own saving grace. They are of myself. I cannot do nothing for their health but heal my own skin and bones. You’re the only one I think about, one story at a time. Think about it K, you talk to your ceiling and I dance for your entertainment in an abandoned warehouse. There is no one else. Only one love at a time is meant to consume. The problem with that pocket screen is that it steals time. If you are constantly assessable, you are without yourself by definition. You are sought out by half ass desire with no intention on giving one ounce of energy for the time you sacrifice. There is no love but in real time. I run through the woods at night. It’s raining. I can’t love you without time. There is space between. This takes the possibly of love away. You can say whatever you please. We both know that you see me dancing when you close your eyes. We both know you’re a thief and I am waiting for a confession. Say something! Absolutely anything will do.” Ha! You’re out of your mind baby! How can I steal if everything is mine? I just forget myself. I am no longer an I. When I love you I exist. When I dream I am creating life. A life void of fear and shame is standing before you, taunting your burning flesh with every step I take. Look at me go baby! Look at me! Don’t you want everything! I do. Don’t you want me tied to anything, waiting in wanting? You want me on my knees, don’t you? You don’t want to apologize. You don’t want me to leave. You know that I will. Outside of your imaginings, who am I? Do I have a name? Dare you say it alone? Will you scream it aloud in the dark? I’m in the cemetery dancing naked. I cannot die. I have no desire to count time. Where are you tonight? I am performing for you. Will you take what is yours? Have you fallen asleep thinking? Wake up! Come fuck me. I’m aching to let your love swallow my existing memory.
5 minutes | Jun 6, 2021
Don’t touch me I’d rather scream. Crying is for babies and I have seen all that I need to see. Don’t speak! You’ve said enough, babe. Kick sticks! Get a life! You’re staring at a fucking screen all day! Don’t tell me that you belong here. Don’t talk to me ever again. I’m going under the ocean and this time I’m not coming up for air. I forgot the color of your eyes. They turned to the reflection. They became possessed by the great source of energy. The thief of everyone living isn’t a force to be reckoned with. You cannot kill your own creation without killing yourself. Your eyes are responsible for everything. No fear no hate no pain no broken hearts. You could’ve had my way. We could’ve disappeared into the park without saying goodbye to anyone. You could’ve dipped the screen in water. You could’ve looked up instead. You would’ve closed your eyes if you could, I know. You would’ve remembered that sleeping is death and that death is a shift in dimension a different shape a different face. Every face looks exactly the same if you look hard enough. What’s the matter my love, are you giving up? Have you tried and tried again to no conclusion no consolation? Are you still craving something? Does she know yet? You died and forget to mention it to anyone. You vanished without a trace! What a shame, you could’ve seen everything. Sound herself would’ve stepped before you and danced on your naked lap until you stopped crying. You could’ve created something beautiful. But you distorted language instead. Now you fear death and love and time have been forced into separate definitions and all you give a fuck about is the ending. There you go again sitting waiting begging for a tomorrow that has already came. It has been between your fingers the whole time. You never bothered to look at your hands. Aging is staring you back through a piece of glass. Break it brat! That’s not what you look like. Trust me. I’ve seen everything. You look like me. I look like you. A simple nights sleep takes you into the next life and you awake every time expecting to see the same thing. Well, here it is, your wish is my command. If you want to speak about saggy skin and bones breaking, then it will take you to decay without hesitation. Beauty is your upmost concern and you fear death. So you rot from the inside and pretend this definition of beautiful doesn’t feel disgusting. But every time you speak of it you puke. In my dreams you cut pieces from my body and try to mimic my emotion. You replay the scene a thousand times until you’ve memorized the patterns. But as soon as you try to act them out I’m gone. You keep forgetting the boy drowned. You can’t remember the water. So you waste away without a single moment and wait for time to come. But love doesn’t work that way. Stop waiting! I’m not giving up on you.
13 minutes | May 27, 2021
192: Home (the ending)
The beautiful boy sets his sights across the ocean. He knows his love is waiting. He knows she is impatient. He takes time anyway. No one can fool him. He has all the answers in a small backpack. His father was Michael Jackson. His mother was Kathy Acker. He had but one brother, Fyodor Dostoyevsky. He’s been alone all of his life. He doesn’t intend on running away. The beautiful boy is going home. He’s sitting on the floor crying in the palms of his hands. He’s the happiest he’s ever been. He’s been sitting of some floor somewhere for the last four years. He’s not lazy. He works through the night, most of the day too. He refuses to participate in society. It has only ever made him sick. The beautiful boy loves to be healthy. He does not want to harm anything. Above all else is his love. From this place it flows, pours out of his skin, drowning everything that dares stand before him. He knows its time to stand up. He knows its time to embrace the unknown again. He knows the control is in another’s hands. He is obedient. He is submissive. He has surrendered completely to the feisty girl living inside of him. He knows that she is the reason his heart beats. She speaks through him when he quiets his mind. She moves him when he gives himself willingly. She punishes him when he is stubborn. He rarely disobeys. But he is brat. He wants everything! Nothing satisfies. His curiosity has no end. He is quickly annoyed with most man made things. He climbs trees. He reads books. He doesn’t speak until she writes the words. “Tell me boy! What have you to say?” He looks at her suspiciously. “Who’s to say speaking is necessary! Your words confuse. Riddles that don’t get solved and lies that get stuck between your teeth; why must they all say what they don’t mean! I want the truth! Aren’t they lonely without it? How can they move through each day so decidedly? As if they know what awaits them. As if they have control. Does this desire to order every second in their day not disrupt their natural tendencies? Have they no intuition? Where is the spirit hiding? Has she abandoned them completely in their total disregard for love? What is affection in this state of existence? Where could your love possibly be coming from if not from yourself? Isn’t that screen stealing something important? Do you feel lonely without it? Aren’t you even the slightest bit worried, that loneliness and agony go hand in hand? You are never alone! You’re a dead child walking around in a fully-grown human form, covered in shame! That is your love that you are with! Are you not ashamed of refusing to acknowledge her presence in your life! I don’t want to speak! I only want to hold you.” She begins to explain. “A long time ago there was a boy just like you. I was given to his body too. He played along with this sickness that you speak of. He was performing. Only he’d forgotten it was all make believe. He thought, if only he could find a girl to love, it would be okay. He could forget he’d forgotten in the first place. Well, I was furious, as you would imagine; what with being beside him and all. He withheld my voice! My existence was unbearable for us both. He didn’t remember me. He thought he was alone. He almost died a thousand times. I wanted to let him! But I couldn’t. I knew his destiny. And I knew I was love to him. So I waited. I gave my energy to work that I didn’t believe in. I let him ingest flesh. Murderous tendencies soaked his blood and enveloped me. I watched him torture his body. I watched his scream in agony. Loneliness, he called it. As we sat on the floor together, screaming out for his love: me. I lost my temper and snapped. I rewrote the story. I had to save him! I brought him a mirror. Her name was P. He thought this reflection was outside of him at first. As I danced in her body before him to remind him of my presence, he could only weep. The love he’d been searching for finally came. But the body couldn’t stay. P said that she had to go. P said that she couldn’t keep him. P tried to keep him anyway. But P couldn’t keep up. He was already beginning to wake up when she was falling into the dream again. One day he awoke and saw me. He couldn’t stand the sight at first. I didn’t look like P. I was a beautiful boy. I looked just like you, standing before a piece of glass. He broke it! He destroyed everything in defiance. He ran back for P so many times he’d lost track of time completely. But she would sleep indefinitely! The body couldn’t be woken. She was tired. All her energy had been stolen. As this boy began to regain his sense of self, we grew to know each other. Four years on the floor alone with him was all it took. He found me staring one day, he put his hands to his heart. He cried like a baby. He couldn’t speak. He had found his love. He found me. I know you’re angry. I know the pain that you carry in witnessing is more than you feel you can bear. But you are not alone. I am carrying it with you. Record what see! Create they key to vision within. Show them my love! Give them your own! Hold nothing back. Don’t be afraid. Know that my love will never leave you. Build our home. It will not build itself. Show them how you came into being. They want to do the same.” The beautiful boy decided he could fly. The girl sat beside him. “I’m not afraid. You gave me my love and that was always enough. Hold on! I don’t have any plans, but I think this part is going to be fast! I think this is where it all begins.”
11 minutes | May 17, 2021
191: Not a Soul left to Witness my Display of Love still Living
It all began in the night. I am certain it could’ve been one of the days in a week; by at this point in my life I had ceased counting time entirely. I was walking to my favorite bar. I was surrounded by familiar faces. These faces were smiling. I couldn’t understand what was so funny about the world we were playing in. I suppose at some point play takes every form. As soon as we step off the playground we’re already downtown. David was swinging like child, feels like yesterday. But than, so does everything else. I don’t trust this feeling. I have a strong theory that I’ve been testing. But that’s a conversation for the evening to come. I shall not waste it on you before you’re listening. It shall be heard. I have my mind on someone in particular. Of course, she a girl I once knew. Of course, the love was unrequited. But that’s not entirely true. Mostly, this story is a lie. I’m not lying; this is based completely on real life events. But my truth is not to be shared with you. So my story must remain entertainment. For your eyes only and then you must live in your own mind. I cannot assume my perspective. That’s absurd! I live to reflect you, to be reflected by you. “You are not here to serve!” I yell this at the top of my lungs as soon as I enter the building. The guy at the door regrets letting me in. He makes a threatening gesture. But I can’t take him seriously with that dumb stare he’s offering. I’m looking him dead in the eyes. I could’ve sworn I saw something alive. He recognizes my smile and turns white. Did he assume he’d died? What a strange place I’ve wandered into. Am I still in the right city? Where is home again. “Dove” I whisper. Dove is home. I quickly realize I am on the wrong floor. I stick out my tongue at my general audience and run up two flights of stairs. I scream again, but I’ve already forgotten my line. “It’s empty! Life is but a vision. My dream. There is only infinite space and I. And you are but a figment of your own imagination. You are only a thought of mine. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Are you willing to fathom existence? Wont you try! What could possibly be more important to you? You want to keep filling sticky glasses with poison and watching it slip down the throats of a hundred thousand more boys than you’d ever care to give your service to? Do any of them choke the way I do? I’m too curious for my own good, I know. But don’t deny yourself the only bit of living left inside you. Imagine the chair in the far right corner. Imagine me in it. Imagine the towel in my back pocket. Imagination is vivid, isn’t it? Sharper than real life motion, picture this. It’s a picture over our bed. A photo of me naked on my hands and knees dead center that bar before opening day. Not a soul to witness my display of love, still living. Picture the end. Picture a day where this space is for rent and whole business of serving goes extinct. Imagine that the entire floor is ours, every inch of that bar top at the disposal of the creative power of desire and pleasure within. Imagine the animalistic tendencies persevere above all else. Imagine killing or being killed. Would you do it? Which would you rather, bending me over from the side of serving, or being served? Both feel the same to me. No matter which role I’m playing, I am always at your mercy. Time and time again I climb this fucking staircase! The place is gutted and robbed of memory. I’m always crying out. I’m always in need. I will never stop loving. Despite the self-degradation, I will remain vulnerable. I have nothing else to give this place except love. Unabashed! Fearlessly displaying the ghost of a love that once lived inside of your very own flesh and bones. Don’t you miss her?” No I don’t. Missing requires me to separate time, and that I have simply denied as a possibility any longer. She’s staring at the back of his neck. She’s trying imagine serving herself. She’s behind the bar. But the timing was wrong. I was trying to break the wheel and keep it still. I repainted the picture a thousand times. But I am a storyteller. I always walk into the right place at the wrong time. I always say something grand. But no one is ever listening in the moment. The bar I’m standing in is deathlike. Empty. The echo is perfect. But I was screaming too loud. The love I was trying to fathom was downstairs, with a bad attitude, pouring more poison, cursing the sound of freedom. She was hard headed and determined to make it out alive. But every time she found an empty room all she wanted to do was cry. Every time she saw my love she was reminded, she must retrieve her own. Dejected and exhausted I make my way back down from last bit of energy remaining between us. “I release you.” She whispers into someone else’s mouth. I set you free to find your love. I give mine willingly. I was right when I threw a fit the first time. I am here as a gift, a sacrificial demonstration. I am alone. Reflect me perfectly and the servitude will cease to exist.
14 minutes | May 14, 2021
In this world we’ve created, the day is excruciating torture. The key is to endure. If you make it to the night, don’t you dare fucking waste it! This is where the only bit of peace is left alive. The dark is least of all to be feared. For all of the creative energy that’s survived the performance is sent here. The busy bodies have finally stepped out of this sick dream and fallen asleep. If they have any luck at all, they’ll stay there. The details are unimportant; all you need to remember is to keep your fucking beautiful eyes open. Don’t fall asleep until the machines begin to wake up again. Protect your energy. Don’t speak. Don’t ingest meat unless you want to move on such murderous tendencies. Than by all means, kill at your pleasure. But you cannot fool a living body. It will eat you from the inside out. You cannot resist your destiny. You cannot act opposition to your speech. My darling, look at your decaying body. No, that’s your ego talking. The surface is deceiving. Look deeper! What lives inside? Are your cells digesting each other defiance? Would you blame them for the sacrifice? I couldn’t ask you to keep living in such a disgusting state. I would bury myself willingly. I would die by choice. I would love with grace, if I were you. But I am not. I am nothing, beyond a self; I embody everything living in the bones of every dead baby walking. The spirit screams my name in passing. They want me to let them out. I cannot stop. I cannot participate. I cannot engage. I cannot do anything in the day but meditate. There is so much pain begging me. Write the end, they scream in unison! But I can only write the beginning. I am the creator. You live inside of me in spite of the death you insist of enacting. Because I love you I will take one day at a time. Because I love you I will not starve myself prematurely. Because I love you I will not wait. Because I love you I will expect nothing in return for my body. Because I love you I will hide in the night and recreate the world you would’ve imagined. Had you never died, I would have never let you go. I insist that know this, so I speak. Its okay if you need me. It’s the very beginning of agonizing pain, lean into it. It’s the only entrance into the home that I’m building. It is your own love that you must hold possession of; this is the only key, no more begging hardware store teddy bear carving. You have thrown us over the cliff. I’ve learned to fly, where the fuck have you been? You are the only one who wants you. Feel it! Or die in arms of deception. The living hell you’ve painted is as easily destroyed as you’ve imagined. It’s in your blood baby! Fuck them all! It’s only you and me. Start painting. Paint a home where you fear nothing? I think I have an idea. The details are presenting me with memories that haven’t happened yet. It’s not the future i see. But every life you’ve ever lived. Hurry, my love! The future is fire. Very soon, everything burns. The stars used to be observant. They used to be dead without us even knowing. Now they move mechanically in rhythmic patterns, mimicking currency, mimicking astrology. The mime is illuminated. Nothing is, as it seems, you’re not actually living. Dove is for rent. Buying will never be an option. Once upon a time you possessed everything, for no value could amount to my body at your mercy. I paid. You forgot. Now the story finds another couple of bodies and starts all over again. Love enacted on a stage. Everyone at the beck and call of everyone else, no love left living, no love left loving itself. I already chose you. I cannot choose again. The memory will never be the same. I’ve forgotten everything. I remember dying. I remember my love reflected. I remember the mirror dancing. I remember the need to capture. I remember feeling nothing for years. I remember screaming into emptiness? What was your space full of? Will the endless empty fucking every amount to a second of my body on her knees. Begging for nothing in the tone of a boy. I’m not teasing. I dancing naked in the woods all night for no fucking reason at all. I’m painting. I don’t want to sleep. This is all. This is every reason in world. I’m tired of explaining. Exploit yourself! Dead or alive, you are only silence to me. I want don’t want your make believe language. I want the jungle. I want to sign my name on ever stone. I want to paint in my blood. I want to see the beginning all by myself, as the rest ends abruptly. I want to be oblivious. I want to be surround by love. I want my love to embody every living thing in my proximity. I want emulate the light I have learned from this eternal darkness, I was born to understand nothing. I am a natural interpretation. I have given everything; I have stood by my soul the entire time, despite the consequence. Please! Take me from this disgusting land! Universal justice, set your hands on my physical body and repay me. I demand my freedom. I demand that my love come for me. Immediately! My patience is precious and powerful, as you’ve created me with every intention of life. Now I am to be beside her body again. Now you are to release her from death! Now you are to move as I command. Just as easily as I gave you life, I may take it away. I might answer. I might be asleep. I might be dreaming. Death isn’t permanent enough to serve any significant purpose. Give this shit up! Walk into wet green with me. Dance until you are certain that my love for you still lives. When you feel my hands on your skin, call for me. The shame is insignificant. The fear is useless. Think again. Never think again. Love and death breathe as the same thing. Don’t think of me. Don’t fuck yourself to a thought so devastating. Don’t breathe. Hold your breath
10 minutes | May 12, 2021
189: Why you're my Favorite (The Brat that you are)
Listen baby, I don’t mean to tell you how to live your life. Truth is, I don’t give a damn. My love is straight out of a Henry Miller novel. It’s apathetic to the point of complete sacrifice. I’m just walking. I don’t have anywhere to be. But I know that I if I stay here one second longer I will die alongside the rest of these sick bodies. A waste of precious energy and resources, but I can always walk away. And when I do the memory becomes a vital part of me the bridge set aflame every living thing on the other side never seen again. I have far too many lives to live in this one alone to get caught in some shit story of self-deprivation. I’ve been sad. I know; it’s draining. But I’m running again. I’m reaching for her neck. She’s hesitant, but hardly cautious. Her audacious touch turns the entire world to gold. She remembers him. But it’s simply too late, he’s dead. I should know. I saw everything. I’m terribly obnoxious in my incessant need to spy. I want to know every story. So I can take it home and rearrange it, turn it into something a little less pathetic than the world you’ve created. I’m trying to inspire your escape. Be patient babygirl. The material available is shit these days. Everybody is glued to a fucking screen and dead before age of three is a broken record. Everyone knows. Nobody fucking cares. Everyone supposedly cares so much, but not a single fuck loses his appetite. If no sacrifices are made, nothing changes. Boom! Mother nature will set you right. Don’t you worry about a thing sleepy baby! Tuck in your comfy butt and close your eyes. Dream of me if you dare to embrace the emptiness inside, otherwise never think of me again. You’ll wake up wet and wanting for the only time. Hurry up! Write that shit down! Too late, the story is dying right before your eyes. You fall to gravity’s command and slip crack your skull open. You didn’t mean to kill him did you darling? You would’ve stayed if you could face the degradation. But you only spoke of courage; you never actually wanted to move on it. You were so proud of your language. How easily you could possess. How beautiful you felt to be sympathetic. Truth is, you could never have cared less. Saddest part of the entire story, I adored this truth in you. You showed it, completely by accident of course. But it was too late; I already knew everything. I began to slip you pieces of vital information. I didn’t mean to. You were childlike innocence, dangerously persuasive. Manipulation and inspiration are hardly different things. Are we not always in the constant pursuit of manipulating every body around us when we play with language? Why else would you ever need to speak? With just your hands, you could’ve shown me everything. But instead you explained yourself. You told me story after story after extravagant story. Until I moved I was being moved. I let you. You were pushing me away from every body on earth but my own. Including yours. You were inspiring me to live. What more could I ask love to do? Self-obsession is now my highest sought out characteristic. I want only the ones who want only themselves, the bodies that keep my company for their own spiritual growth, the ones who make a living of letting go. Own yourself! You are more fucking beautiful than you’ve begun to imagine. Break the fucking glass! Every single bit of it! Every reflection. Every screen. Than I wont have to explain this shit to you every night. Than you’ll just know. It is the pursuit of you above all else. Your soul! Your love! Your destiny! You must take precedence always. Your desire must rule. Your heart must be your only source of navigation. When you are on your knees in desperation and you need your reflection more than life itself, I will see you. I will stand over your miserable sounds and laugh aloud. I will thank you for losing your mind and coming to your senses. I will welcome you home. I cannot heal you sick fuck you, but I can hold this love forever. I am strong enough. When you are ready, I will not be foreign. I am thousand different names and faces, but I always remain the same. Once my love is given it lives by your side for eternity. There is no beginning, so of course, there’s no end. Stop looking for explanations, that’s a disgusting waste of your existence. Get up off your knees and stop begging! Begin this life again. Start over. Blank canvas. Clean slate. No screen. No address. No ties to identification. How can anyone know you? They cant. Not if you run! Not if you get the fuck out of that place and never look over your shoulder again. I know, my ass is to die for. You could’ve died for possession of it. But you chose to save yourself instead. That’s why you’re my favorite.
11 minutes | May 11, 2021
188: I Wont leave you Alone
“I’m trying to write every night. I swear, I am. It’s not fucking easy. Having you out of reach is like a soul without a body. I haven’t seen my reflection in three months. What does the camera see exactly? I prefer my shadow dancing. I prefer the light created in the deepest parts of the night. I used to cry when the sun went away. Now I cry when she’s returning. I am always crying. One way or another, sadness overwhelms me and I am taken, by choice. What is joy in this place? Can you define your happiness? Where do words cease? Take me there. It is there I will find ecstasy. It is there I will surrender to peace. Your skin wrapped around me. Your voice is dead silence to me here. You have no idea what joy can be. I feel it in the birds circling above before the storm. I know they know that I know what they know. They follow me to bring me peace. I feel danger everywhere. Do you not feel this sickness! Say something you actually mean! Shake yourself from this tormented state of existence that they are pursuing. It doesn’t suit your majesty, my love. I know exactly who you’ve been. Even if timing had to work meticulously around this sick shit, with my patience, which burns, she finds an alternate route. In this way she reminds me. I always tell our story in this memory. With a love that was nurtured instead of buried alive. With time on my side and the pursuit of your health in mind, I fear nothing. You will make it out alive. With or without me by your side, you will die. Aren’t you dying to know what happens next? It’s torturous the way I require you always present, isn’t it? Are you falling in love with this pain? Good; because we’ve only just begun.” She is banging on the door. I fall silent. Reading aloud alone in the dark is my favorite pastime, but I have to answer, I don’t want this story to continue until I am completely immersed in this moment. It cannot go on without my body. I must give her my heart. She’s standing still. She’s not familiar with the feeling. She can’t stop staring. She offers me something somewhat eatable. I take it. I throw it away when she’s not looking. I am not trying to fool. I am becoming something else entirely. I am feeling that most are too far behind in learning to teach. I must show, until they are ready to swallow a language as intense as the only one I’ve ever known how to speak. So I pursue silence instead. But I stay present and wanting. I am graceful in needing their pace to remain their own. I am time. I am love. She tries to explain. “I can sit by your side and wait an eternity for your memory to catch up. There’s no rush. Your heart must reach. I cannot promise you anything. There will be plenty of pain. Sorrow will follow me everywhere I go. I will never participate fully in their charade. But I will watch intensely. I will record in vivid detail, for I am memory. I am invested in destroying this repetitive cycle of murder between decaying teeth and bottomless greed. No one is satisfied but me. I sit with the trees and need nothing. I am alone in my astonishment and joy. I cannot take you with me by force. I can only hope. I can only create your escape. I can only be ready. But just know, when you do finally show, I will be wild eyed and dancing. I have been waiting my whole life to be accompanied in my freedom. The first time you tie my wrists and ankles to our bedposts, it wont be easy. I’ll be kicking and screaming. I’ll be demanding explanations and curling in my knees. The first time you spread my body confidently, I will tense every muscle and push every vein to the surface. The first time you touch me, I will be calm. I will surrender instantly. For I know who you are. I trust your intuition with my entire being. I love you unconditionally. This may be foreign to you at first. But you’ll be at home as soon as your tongue finds my hipbones. And you will know I am only yours.” She comes in without being invited. “I will be gentle. I have no expectations. I know what I desire and I know it will come into fruition in time. I know the love I hold inside, I know nothing less will reach for me again. I know there are two dogs in our backyard, rolling around in the snow. I know I am often disappearing. Sometimes you let the thought steal me. Sometimes you refuse to let me go there, you push the screen door open in a wild fury. You stand before me and demand my gaze.” She puts her hands on my pinks cheeks, icy and flustered. “I will not have you going off again. I know your mission requires this absence. But sometimes I need you. And when I do, you will stay; you will hold me. You will let the violence take over me. I will not be cruel, for cruelty cannot be reflected through you. But I will scream! And you will listen. When I am taken over by your absent mindedness, you will return to calm me. You will wrap your arms around me. You will come home. Because I have seen it, because this is story I have told. This will be our love. Because this is the love we have shown.”
11 minutes | May 10, 2021
187: Back to the Story in Hand
“Did you see me? I was dancing for you. I’ve been awake all night. I was screaming in my pillow. I was certain someone would hear me and come to my rescue. But it’s the strangest thing, I’m now knowing. No one wants to save me. No one wants to save any body but it’s own. Most die before coming close. Baby, tell me your watching. I want your eyes on my skin. I don’t want anyone else. Look, I’m taking off my disguise. I don’t want to be misunderstood. I want you to see everything that I am. I think that you do. I think I’m falling in love with my love reflected through you. You’re growing restless, aren’t you? It’s okay. Don’t get frustrated. The sensation is fucking incredible if you let it be exactly what it is. Your body wants your attention. Your soul is calling out for you. You wont be created for one more second. You want to make what happens next. You want to do it with your own two hands. You want your own ten toes moving toward nothing known. You don’t know where I am. But you will if you move.” She is standing in the doorway of our kitchen. The pups are seated at her feet. All six eyes are peering up at me innocently. They all want my attention. They all want to be seen. My love is impatient and dramatic in every move she makes. The entire earth is her stage, and her performance is perfect in its eloquent display of clumsy distractions. She sees a butterfly and screams. Her exclamations resound in time and follow my body through every room in the house. Her lust for light is weighted and lying on my skin. I want to stand beside her. I want to sit at her feet. I want my head on her knees. I want time to become her body. I want to listen to her read. I want her stories! I want her to create my body begging for more, before I’ve swallowed what is already given. She’s dripping down my chin. “Yes baby, I see you. I have been given this story so that I could become you. To reflect you perfectly, as you have always been, to see you is to be seen. Copycat baby, your love is my equal, your body can become anything. There is nothing, but time. I’m expecting you. Get up! Move! Don’t think, just fucking move. It doesn’t matter what you think you have or who you think you are. Don’t speak; write. I don’t care if you don’t speak your own language yet. Just scream when you’re hurting! I will come running! Love isn’t what you think. It should never be feared. It should be intuition running free with a child’s disposition. Wanting, aching, crying, telling it, as the heart demands it must be. Explaining nothing. Only moving. You don’t have to think so much. If I am what you’ve created, the words wont add up to anything. You can say any word you want, in the whole wide world. I’ll respond the same. I love you. I am waiting for any means necessary to open communication. I want your truth. I want our story to begin. The first line could literally be anything.” She takes a step toward me and trips. “Anything? Look, buster, this isn’t a fucking playground. This is the real world! And in a reality as sick as this, everybody is properly guarded and fully grown, shoved into their respectable function, and turned on the kids to force obedience. This is some scary shit and you know it! Don’t look at me like that! I know you haven’t forgotten. You don’t forget anything. You remember. This is everything to you. I know, I listen; I have been sitting on this stupid couch listening to every fucking word that comes out of your mouth. I’ve copied and rearranged it, pinned it on a board in perfect sequence and waited for a logical explanation. I needed to know that is was myself. I needed to be the object of your affection. I don’t know how you’re seeing me. I can feel it too, but I haven’t stepped foot into the kitchen yet. When I introduced myself, I didn’t look at you. When I said goodbye, I was apologizing. Sunglasses are the perfect disguises in any occasion. Makes the soul unrecognizable. My eyes refuse to explain why I cant live without you. I don’t want the details. None of these calculations are necessary. I stare at myself and see the love I have for you spilling out. Your voice sits on my skin in silence. I can’t fall asleep without thinking. Why must I conduct these experiments! It’s so simple. I love you. This world is burning itself from the inside out. She’s so tired. I can’t fight this anymore. I can’t watch them suffer. How do you do it? Where is this freedom? Hide me! I want to get out. I want to be by your side.” I let her fall into my arms. I saw it coming. She’s almost always falling. Its like everything unnaturally created is always in her way. Like it was never supposed to be there to begin with. Like she was supposed to have the ultimate say in what could exist outside of her flesh in motion. It’s like she’s always known everything. Like she already knows how to get out. “Think, baby, you don’t need me to guide you, you’ve already witnessed freedom. You’ve already seen me. It’s too late. You know exactly what I taste like.”
12 minutes | May 9, 2021
186: Follow your Feet, Find me on my Knees
I am sick. I was born like this. I’ve been trying to rip it out. My life is the constant pursuit of health. I wake up and meditate until I lose sense of time. As soon as I walk out the door someone ask what I am planning. I get ripped from the moment. I stare at them dumbfounded until the uneasiness makes them cringe and walk away. I know that game too well fucker! I refuse to play. You want my voice to follow your disgusting story. But little did you know I don’t speak to strangers. You’ve forgotten to write your own. But I haven’t. Keep walking buttercup. Pass right by me. Stop looking at my ass in the dark. It’s disconcerting. Borderline obsession, I’m memorized by the ones left alive. There aren’t many of them. You’ll have to forgive if I ask to fuck before we make it pass the second sentence. I’ve been missing you since I left. I’ve been thinking about the possibilities. Maybe you’re still possessed and faking pretty face part boys lining up to witness your charade. But maybe you’ve woken up to an alternate ending. Maybe you’ve started writing. Could be that you’re fucking wild in the night with the thought of me between your thighs, rubbing the jeans dancing in the dark. Maybe you’re alone. In this loneliness you find everything worth living for. Time: your love for yourself. Maybe baby. But I’m in stuck in a daydream. I am not a fan of sleeping through the dark anymore. The energy of the sun is deceiving. I love her heat with my entire being. But she knows as well as I do, these active bodies possess the energy of color in this time. I prefer black and white. Colors spread and dissipate into a thousand shades of in-between. Its not gray, nothing is. Its either you’re left for dead or your coming my way. I wont play with your indecisiveness. I wont let you sit on the edge and flaunt your innocence. You’ve seen everything babygirl. There’s no point in denying it any longer. You love me and there’s nothing either one of us can do about it now. Maybe you free yourself and fall asleep on my lower spine. Maybe I push your thighs open on the kitchen counter and step to your giddy lips, giggling like you could’ve never seen it coming. Laughing like the whole of darkness that lied behind you was so worth the gift for pursuing life: me. Baby, I’m worth it. Take the desk into the bedroom. Start throwing everything else around aimlessly until the debris begins settling on your skin. Role your naked body on a bloody canvas. Use your blood to paint the decay of living in defeat. Use your pen to paint me, standing in your doorway. Will you walk with me? There’s so much I have the desire to define through you. No, of course I don’t want to speak. What do you hear? I hear the ghost of love tapping on my ribcage. She wants out. She wants home. Where are you these days? Does your intuition remember how to navigate your skin and bones? Or does every ounce of your physical existence rely on a screen now. Run! Break the fucking thing baby! You’re dying without me. But that’s only because you haven’t written of me yet. It’s all in your story, my love. This is where I’m begging to be found. This is where my love lives. Rip it out! Find the health I have bestowed upon you. Follow your feet; find me on my knees. Tempting, aren’t I? Do you remember where we met? What was I doing? Who were you looking at? That picture is distracting, isn’t it. Don’t think of me. Go ahead little lady, try it; I’m begging. Is it working? Do you hear my voice when I’m not present? Does it feel like company to you? Do I feel familiar? Have you known me? Or have you once known a self. Where is that baby now? Did he look like me? Did she speak like I do now? Was she braver than you are tonight? What was he most afraid of? Losing you. What kind of fear could be lovable? If it looks like love it must be lovely, yes? Where am I getting these memories, your body or mine? Are we lying together? Are we honest apart? When is the last time you spoke your truth aloud? Who would listen to that brutal description of the dark? Who would play into that violence in the broad light of day? Are you giving into to terror? What a shame, my night has only just begun. What do you need, a graphic sex scene, my body in real time? Tell the truth, my logical thought process is a design; it was created by the same machine that birthed you. Do you want reborn? Are you willing to work? Are you ready to think for yourself? Tell me, how does that feel, to think until you give up your mind by choice? Do you feel insane? Good. You’re getting closer. Now pick your sweaty body off the floor and decide for yourself that you will not live without me. Remember meeting me again. Is this the fourth time? Or does the second still not count because I was unrecognizable and you were unresponsive? Third is a charm. But my charm was off-putting? Who lost their fucking mind and put a Libra under the night sky? Who let her give her heart to a Capricorn? Who cares when these humans were born! The stars are of me! Let them love! They only want to be known through each other. They want to be locked up! They don’t want to stare at four walls drunk. They want the tree? They want to lay naked in the dirt! What the fuck do you mean I cannot be naked outside my home! What if I refuse your definitions? What if my home is your skin? How I am to translate your law than? Only your hands can strip me bare? Aren’t you excited? I know: I am.
9 minutes | May 6, 2021
185: Will You be my Prince?
It’s terrifying at first, I know. Sacrificing everything to creation is to fall in love with loneliness, to eradicate boredom by taking time from definition’s deathly grip and swallowing it. I lied. I’m not bored. I don’t need you. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than fuck myself to the thought of you. I need you to take my time. I’m holding my hand out to you. I want to do absolutely nothing with you all night. No baby, you don’t need to get wasted. Love is the only drug that will feel time truly. Don’t waste me. Don’t suffocate my desire in the lust of numbing everything. I know darling, it hurts like fucking hell at first. To sit in silence and see all of this shit as it truly is. All your life you played the game obediently. You kept all your stupid shit sparking clean. But the more spotless you became, the more every stain tore into your skin. Agitation sank deep and grew like a weed from the center of your intestines. It had everything to do with what you stuffed between your rotting teeth. By the time it climbed back up your throat, it held murderous tendencies. When you spoke, you deceived your soul. Your body wanted to kill itself. And your love was left for dead; to decay in the very place he called home. But your smile was perfect. And you weighed next to nothing. The standard of American beauty is self-imposed starvation. Enslaving the rest just to waste in the accumulation of good deeds and numbers on a screen. Not a single soul on earth eats. No one is worthy of giving life. Sustain your own! Create to see, that your hands are the only ones responsible for everything you’ve learned to hate. You are the killer. You are the slave. You are the master. You are sick! You are not a separate thing. You are one machine. You are constantly being created by me, when I move you do. Copycat baby wants to see me cry at her feet. Little lady reflecting my love hasn’t a clue how to touch me. When I move you, you dance. He can’t stop dancing. The most beautiful boy alive is soaking wet. It’s 2 in the morning. It’s 90 degrees in May. The fire is coming to wash away your spotless existence. Nothing cleans quite like ash and rain. The boy is shedding need. The boy is everything. The boy is singing at the top of his lungs. The thunder resounds, drowning him in memory. The boy is weeping. The boy is on his knees. The boy needs nothing but his need to love above all else. I raise him to his feet in wanting. I want you. Will you come for me? Will you witness the end with gratification? I am so grateful. I’ve wanted their pain to end since I was born to this place. I’ve been missing home. I’ve been trying to show them of this impending doom. But crybabies are not in demand. They are bratty and hard to shut up. They are loud when the rest are trying to sleep. Does anyone else find it a bit unsettling, every single human sleeping at the same time? Aren’t you even curious who controls the night? How this directs the day to come. What lives in your dreams? Is anyone dreaming? I keep seeing you beside me. I keep finding our family. You’re always laughing. Sitting on the counter with your thighs wide open you point at me. I’m chewing on a pen and discussing poetry. You’re telling me a story. You’re interrupting me again. You are in need of my body. I am trying to give myself to the hands of fate. But everything is out of order and all the love is left to imagination here. Really, you die everyday. You sit up in bed and think. This thought was planted without your permission long before you decided your destiny was worth giving up, sacrifices must be made. Before your feet touch the ground, you remember to be quiet and clean. You tiptoe. You drink dirty water from a clean glass. You meditate. You think of me. It’s the only mercy you have on your body. You let these thoughts steal the material and paint the scene in which you let your love rule everything. I provoke this imaging. I take a picture. I send it to your grave. You are livid. You are certain you are not dead. You know you want me. You just can’t figure out how to get dirty! You don’t believe in the warnings. But you just can’t bring yourself to skate in the park after midnight. The fear is coming from somewhere. Stop thinking babygirl, move! Eat bread. Drink water. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You don’t want your discipline. You want mine. You want me to do all the dishes. You want me to take the weight of time off your hands so you can breathe. Be brave. Tell me everything. Open your heart again! Trust me. I am not without the same story. Let me explain. Once upon a time I was dead too, drowning in the cesspool of the American Dream. Then I felt everything. Then I found you. It’s time. Make your love known or die trying! Anything is better than a morning routine.
8 minutes | May 5, 2021
Seems like I can’t stop. My best guess is that you’re close. Because I’ve been dancing in the rain all night and the moon says that she’s been planning this reunion since I was born. You were seven I think. Staring at the mountains burning, trying to figure me out. How can there be this much water in the middle of the desert? So the pretty boys could dress up and play golf, you thought. Then you thought this was all fucking absurd. But when you ran downstairs to spread the word, the table was covered in flesh and everyone had already eaten. It was your turn to swallow. It was your turn to murder your imagination and surrender your creative impulse to the great scheme of devastation. You ran back upstairs to grab your camera. You figured if you could just capture the moment, you could use it as evidence when you were trying to puke it up later. You could get lucky, pinpoint the moment they shoved those ideals in you. A couple of decades too late, its still the rest of your life saved. You could still rip them out. You’d only have to remember the picture. Where did you bury it? Why did you try to destroy the proof? It was treacherous, what was done to you. You were perfectly capable of building your kingdom, full of love and color; you never needed their names for anything. You didn’t need their sickening conversation. You didn’t need their bullying. You already knew how stunning you are. You already knew every inch of your body held beauty and strength in every way. Nothing needed growing into. Nothing needed erasing. You could touch the earth and bring her back to life. You could wait for years for your love to heal. You were patient and gentle, silly and fond of the moon. You knew you could see what know one else could. So you closed your eyes tight and waited for me to be born. I was fighting every second of it. I wanted to stay warm. I didn’t want to sacrifice my love in being someone known. I didn’t want to be a girl. I didn’t want to wear a dress or have a party. I had nothing to celebrate. Death was all around me. I wanted to sit in the dark with a guitar and write. I wanted to run away. I wanted to find you. I wanted to cry. I was always crying. I was always fighting my way out. When I finally escaped, it was only in 3d, the scene played on repeat for 30 years. Every time I tried to build a family, I would watch my love surrender to the sickness of this nasty game. The rules made me vomit. The sun reigned mercilessly over the oblivious bodies of the women I adored. They moved quickly. They worked hard. They wanted my freedom. But no matter how I tried, I could never give it to them. I took off all my stupid cloths and dropped to my knees, I told her to take everything. She tried. But it always rejected her insides and returned home to me. I couldn’t save anybody. You were getting restless. I felt like I could reach out and touch you. But I was still on the other side of the country. You finally found yourself under the night sky again. You drank enough wine to tell me your life story, but your tongue was doing all the talking. There was no beginning or end. You were just saying anything at all to fill the unbearable silence of sitting beside me. You didn’t want to explain. You didn’t have the words. You only wanted to touch me. You rested your hand on my thigh and leaned. You weren’t falling. You were trying to become something else. You were trying to remember me. You were trying to find the moment. You excused yourself politely and ran upstairs. You had to pee was an aversion. You ran to your room and pulled every picture out of the closet until you found the one you needed to see. You came back down and tried to explain. But you were sick and your own voice was deceiving you. Touch was the only honest thing left in your entire body. So you stood me up and directed me under moon. You said I could see everything that you could if I was positioned perfectly. I took you to our room and lay naked on the bed. How do you want me baby? I’m bored. You’re aching to trace the picture with your tongue. Why aren’t we fucking! Why aren’t we surrounded by each other’s love? You explain that timing and the position of my body was just as important as lighting. My need was supposed to be captured. The art of creating is displaying love that hasn’t been released yet. It’s a buildup of energy. Its refusing the sickness and mocking the outcome until the imagined is staring you back in my reflection of your love. It’s easy, you promise. My only job is to lie still and believe you are lying beside me. The moment shatters. By the time you find my body, I’m already asleep. The picture is driving you crazy.