mightly

[overocea]

livejournal. I haven't had anything to say to you, lately. I find you strange & despicable. maybe 'cause i'm sick, but you know, I doubt it. probably because I haven't had anything to say (fullstop). you know! went to the doctor again & she said I either have a virus or a brain tumour. I wonder if I get to choose. here is something I wrote down weeks & weeks ago:

people who are constantly sick are usually sad, generally sad. all the invalid mothers who die young aren't loved by their husbands; all the sickly, weak & undersized children aren't loved by their mothers. people who die from cancer have repressed negativity, probably throughout their entire lives! if I could step into the day & heave a giant breath of sunsparkling air, throw my shoulders back & everything off them!

I never finished the thought. the current one is that I probably won't be updating. indefinitely.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

the moon was the biggest i've ever seen it this past weekend.

i bought a beer and put on an old stones record i bought when we were in minneapolis today and something gave way inside of me. i realized that each time i've fallen in love it's been deeper and more fufilling than anything i've known.. and that since you're never coming back and i'm not planning on doing myself in any time soon.. i must be headed for something really amazing. after all.

and i think what pisses me off so much is that i truly was whacked out on dope when all that happened. you know that deep down inside and no alternate scheme you ever try to sell yourself will change that. something about truth shines out over bullshit ..and you're in my blood. i in yours. electricity...is toxic.

i went back to my old format.. the mutha thing. it's silly i didn't think to keep going with it in the first place, as it was original and ultimately my own creation anyway. really just a drag that it all sounds so clear now yet the emotion is just contrived as all fuck. "you don't know how to cover your mistakes.." is that how you put it? well, now i do. fuck em. art doesn't really matter. it's those little things like spaghetti and tweaking a strand of grass out without tearing off the shoot. chewing on the pulp. watching a sparrow die in your hands. that's art.

going to puerto rico ..down there with the real voodoo. yeah, the good dope. lots of money. nothing to do but sit and put out a stupid e.p. every year, sip margaritas and brush up on my spanish. i deserve at least that. someone who actually appreciates me. never thought i'd see the day.

when you realize i'm telling you the truth about what happened.. your life will get better, jess. i hope it crushes your heart into the same withered flopping pulp that your personal little scratch on my soul has molested mine own into. i really do. but....it'll heal. abracadabra.

i'm not about some bullshit. i never have been. that's why my magic works. because it's real.
a diablos, muchacha. your art doesn't suck.. it's just ..dishonest.

i'm moving soon. in a couple weeks. you want this divorce you're going to have to pay for it yourself.
i've spent enough on you. trellis@rushmore.com ..quit boozing your money away and get this over with.

the gash on my arm will stay with me for the rest of my life. it's the only thing a new tattoo won't fix.