Sun, 22 May 2005

kook (starting)
She stood above me, nipples smeared with green milk and canine fangs buried in her smile. The left hand reached up and held the moon like a peach while the right hand held the knife that dug into and pulled up small jewels from the skin of my chest. I remember this. This is a thing which actually happened. I no longer have an audience, a single person who will hear a single word, I want so much to not be alone. Openings in the mouths of blackbirds which fill all nature of alien chatter. Every intersection of any two lines is a cross. Choice of options against choice of absolute freedom means that there are problems with her heart and I must wait in the lobby again. I am not famous and you will never be in love with me. You’ll never know dear how much I love you. There is a skin you do not know and cannot see beneath the false skin you show to strangers, and this is the skin that I know, and you do not care. There will be a time of jubilee, and certain gifts will be hidden in places that cannot be visited, which is cruel, but there is a joy in knowing these things exist even if they cannot be found. This is the way, it leads to certain points. I cannot stop getting high. We drove around in a seriously modified Chevelle and molested angels. You tell me you don’t love me, well I don’t love you. This is not pleasure, and I am not happy.
(08:15.05.22.2005) [/scrytch] #