this isn't the way things end in books and I am more interested in fiction than reality. I write what is real so that I can feel pain as if it was inflicted on my arms- my arm has the most peculiar unpainful bruise and i wish that i could feel it when i push down to hear my pulse on my wrists. Often I forget whether Its beating or not, my heart, because it feels fairly void of being there.
lets not forget- actually lets forget everything- like those quotes i favor from movies where things work themselves out. I'm sad to not even see echoes of what was, and its rude to assume that i am rude and mean and cruel- i am far beyond none of those petty things. I never inflict pain because i am so desperatly afraid of karma that i clench my teeth and rattle my smiles at everyone. I seek out the lives of saints, and that poetry is more relevant today than ever. my own mind knows what will come of me and yet it takes me a long time to accept it sometimes.
i write my wit, and my wit is wrought but bringing me pain- it all comes from seeing humour in the worst and blackest because if i cant smile through these things my teeth will rot worse than my heart. I fear I had too much sugar, but then i rememeber that times has been worse, and they will be worse again.
I only type well, and when i try to write, its too honest to appeal to any. I dream of being published and i forget what it is that im doing.
for stating of facts i heresay- i should purchase a laptop and write stories in the cradles of my nook in the arm of the church that I'll sleep in so soon. Tuesdays are my lucky day, i was born on a tuesday, i nearly died on a tuesday. I believe in these moon phases too, and I can feel the ocean current quite steady at my back, but I would rather smell the seine right now, far away from this desktop.