Words

March 7, 2008

“it has become impossible to completely separate my thoughts and my actions. I am losing my mind”

I dreamt my kidney rotted out of my body.

I wrote you the longest and most desperate of letters at 2 am. This morning the roads were busy. But not the roads I drove on. I saw a room on the top of a small building that I would like to live in.

I want to know what comes next.



March 12, 2008

‘I took a small vacation from thought. Meditation. Revelation. Vacant-ness. some time to stumble about the globe in a thoughtless stupor.’

Generally I feel better.

Some things did not escape me in my struggle to forget. Here are a few: a morning movie. a little new york diner and homemade pickles. Catching up with a friend. Laying in the sun with david. He little cats running up and down 156th st. the pretty brick apartment buildings winding up the curved streets. Videos and grapefruit juice. Love letters drawn not written. Laughing ourselves to sleep. the small boy at the end of the stairway, bundled up in winter coats and mittens, jumping up and down and up and down. Cream of wheat and pink lady apples with black coffee.

I want to move past this.



March 13, 2008

“Stop thinking everything you touch turns to dust. And you, you stop thinking that you are never happy. Both of these things are lies.”

Black coffee and the shitty little things I tried to bake. At least the jam is good. And honey never goes out of style. Cats meow and I meow back. Listen to the songs of the morning and stumble down the stairs. There are too many windows, just waiting to be jumped out of. Needles and thread and scissors at the desk. The little desk in the orange corner of the orange room three stories above the world.
The days of the week are completely lost. My mind stopped recording correctly.
If you rub cinnamon into your skin, it burns like a poison. This is compulsion.
Scratching through the skin to get to bone. This is obsession.
And dreams leave little to the imagination.

I want a good cup of coffee.



March 14, 2008

“Exhaustion . Fatigue. To weaken by repeated variations of stress.
These things can hit you like a ton of bricks. Then it is stumbling. Falling.
Sinking. Finally into sleep.”

I keep thinking about the end of ‘no country for old men’. I do enjoy talking about dreams. And listening while others recall them. I am beginning to realize my obsession for organic juice. And my fear of sugar. The number one reason I am a terrible baker, I tend to leave more than half if not all of the sugar out. And the number one reason I drink organic juice, no sugar. Added at least. Rockfish and sea water sushi for dinner. Strawberry icecream in coffee mugs at 11 pm. A telephone call from my favorite savannah residents.

I want to go back in time for a day. Back to the south.