the dreams where we talk,
just talk, are much worse than in
the ones you **** me
the world is a scary place right now
all around looms apocalypse foretold
and I think back to simple times when the villagers mined and farmed unaware the pillagers forthcoming,
does it really benefit us to know whats coming?
is not fear of disaster only an extension of our fear of death?
does she not catch us all eventually?
no matter how hard we fight eventually we will be forced to surrender if we are not prisoner of war
machines breathing for you
your mother's heart beats like the most beautiful song
but you don't know for how much longer
and you don't know what you'd do without her
and you don't know how you'd ever be able to pay the bills or work a trade with your history of anti social behavior and inability to integrate and troubles with authority
yes, indeed we all love to fight it
every single power that be
man will strive to **** God until he surrender
yes he will
and every time he will lose
we all will lose eventually
it was Auden and stop the clocks
at age 12 in the top floor of the academy
I felt loss and I understood it
and I knew this is how i could communicate it
the inherent suffering we all feel,
that comes for us all, some more than others
I never really felt good (and that is best for artists after all)
and I always tried to die, likened myself to Plath and tried to martyr myself to the melancholy
dying is an art,
like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well
but what was any of it for? why live a life of surrender?
I believe so much in the beauty of life and people and all things bright and beautiful
the reason death and disaster are so horrific-
because its all just gone and it never comes back and its so simple and I'll never ever understand it
nearly two decades and only now has the passage of time grabbed my head and forced me to look,
forced me so.
I cannot look away no matter how much I want to
and I am filled with so much regret I spent all those years siding with the enemy
poisoning the water that I too drank from
I dont know why I did that
I really dont
I really thought that time would wait for me
I would do anything to stop her walking foreward,
but there is nothing one can do
that is the root of our fall;
no matter how hard we fight it
she really comes for us all
my mum was diagnosed with cancer shortly before the pandemic began. I've been forced to confront the realities of death and time.
I feel the cold weather, gale forces sweeping through the coast and tides trickle upwards in embrace of the parked cars on the harbour
for an Englishman, I'm not a very English man
my upper lip is not stiff,
it trembles and it shakes,
as do I
there is no calm on these storming streets and I don't know how I can carry on
well, we english do love to moan.
seeing the dead body of someone you do not know
feels like committing a great betrayal of intimacy
I did not mean to gaze upon thee, I just wanted to know what the commotion was
I apologise dearly for the intrusion
ask him to hold you
why? because you are lonely?
or are you just cold?
I would have done so much different had I known the consequence of my actions but I was a child and how was I to know?
I understand now things I once had, security even within transience and I squandered, oh did I squander.
Even now I am drawn to the childish impulse to lay blame. It was he, because he hurt me. It was she, because she lied.
Childish impulses to hurt, destroy, scream and cry-
to leap off of the top floor, a memo around my neck with chicken scrawl,
"I regret it all," and oh, I dearly do.
There are many weighs I do not know how to carry with me and so I didn't walk with them, I stayed and rested and hibernated for years before I tried to go outside again.
There are many things I still do not know that I feel an adult should.
I've never understood less in my life.
I feel as though I comprehend language more than the act of communication itself
I can recite definition and etymology
Spell it out loud for you
But understanding of language is no substitute for understanding of the other, to truly convey meaning
And oh, I crave to communicate but all I do is speak
in my fight or flight of thought, deconstructing and analysing
Oh do I crave to be understood
clanging against disequilibrium,
Oh do I throw myself at the door and ****** my fists beating at it
Oh do I scream and rip the handle clean off
Oh do I cry and wish good wombs had borne better sons
Oh I set the whole world on fire for its sins and seek forgiveness of mine
But I am unable to reach through the barrier
I cannot touch or be touched with words the way human beings do
I have miscomprehended everything all along
And as much as I crave a saviour I have made peace
That nobody will ever know me
and that my words are all I have
echolaliac epileptic, easily defined by clinical terminology
my body is cumbersome though my skin is thin
the isolation disorder is double consciousness, watching through my own eyes,
it is out of body and it is lonely
(as am I)
the older I get the more I realize that my neurodevelopmental disorders affect me. I realize how different and lonely I am. I realize how people must have perceived me wrong all along and I don't know what to do with my past clinging to me like a chain around my ankle.