sometimes i wish i'd pay attention to intuition more. something was saying something was wrong but i didn't pay attention, didn't think about what it could be. if something happened, if something happened.. and i kept telling myself i should call, and i didn't... and... and.. and.

they aren't wings, but they're in the distance behind me. dark almost beside me, but not quite. i'm not their responsibility too much so they're not mine... right...? twenty minutes is too far away..?

some day everyone i know is going to die. i am just hoping i beat my loved ones to it.

yesterday is when i understood. the poster was sideways and my eyes faded and i warped into the blackness on the edge of that gloss, those glazed eyes just a click, just a replication, but the fact that i had it meant something. maybe they were actually right. you can try to fix yourself through the soft, pansy ways. if they work for you then they work. but sometimes i need more than constantly pulling softness in, in, in, in. i need to push something out that is so sharp and accepting and not beautiful, but still can be looked at the same.
the moments when the first state of emotion is all you have, and to touch it afterwards is to destroy all that you went through.
and what you went through made black ink crawl up your arm from your palm and fingertips, and you were afraid of what would happen when someone came home, but at least there was no blood dripping on the floor.
if i were to put her here again as an equal consciousness, i would say she is.. more stable, perhaps, or at least builds up slower. there are more things and less things leak in and let things build, but they do all the same. her medium changed, false blood that is black ink...

and i was laughing and i don't think she quite understood perfectly, but it was almost funny because it just was not anything bad. in the end, rek is not anything bad. she may be dangerous sometimes, especially with a lack of humor like she has, especially with that vampiric drawing need for power and respect, especially with her hatred for the weak. but i know for certain what she is, what forms she's taken in the past, and how i used to be her completely. but people split sometimes like cells in the mind. something recognized i needed to be balanced from that black red dark red brown grey grey 'shades'. and i followed a road that eventually led to keesha; it might have been superficial then but it's stayed with me now, now, when i'm like this and more stable than anything. i know what i'm not and if i wasn't part keesha then she wouldn't be here now.

i am happy sometimes. that is all of her.




something stirs on my heart and spawns things like beatrice and katrien. i miss beatrice. i feel like i should cry for her. where is she, lost in the woods, lost in the city? why did she ever need to return to there? my child, mon amor, where are you? my 99th percentile in pastoralism, my beautiful topmost ranking of the NEPS, it's all because of you that i'm something and i care. and i think you're in the forest now, and it's constantly dark in there but it's alright because you know your way. you know me and you know to point at moss sometimes and tell me to climb up rocks and inhale that sweet sweet spring air. and maybe that's it, that you're dead and you've become part of the forest itself. you've become the forest yourself. that's why i never see you, beautiful. your fur has rotted like those on the side of the road but you're dirt now, i think; the earth is made of you. and maybe you've permeated through to it and i will never forget you. i love you, my child. you are still here... do i know what to be? now that i've recognized your death, will i still.. hear you...?

that is the clashing, i don't know what to be. all these people are springing up like bux and ras and kyrr, but who's who and who's to say who's staying in the long run... & & & my little ethnobotanist, katrien, semishamanicisthatwhatyouare? just an enigma, really.

i want kisses from my beautifuls. perhaps this would seem strange to anyone else, but maybe this is how i love myself; partitioning parts i see in me and making them not me somehow so i don't see the little parts i don't like. and then i can hold my hand. i can see one part pressing against another easier and see how to resolve it. pressing, is that what that was, yesterday morning? rek pressing keesha back, suppressing, mild cloth and stealing medication and she relapsed and there was no part of anything except beatrice but when the forest can't reach the sun where where where how do the leaves grow? how does the green develop and be eaten and become part of the cycle and part of the spectrum and suddenly we're out and it's raining and there's a rainbow and yes, that's keesha, rainbow over the forest and the darkness below had spattered itself through pounding of fake wood and dead tree pulp and black crushed liquid charcoal ink all the way out and it wasn't here anymore.

when she sits on the roots and thinks and accepts things, it's alright.

in the end, with kisses and hands, we're one, it's alright.

my heart is heavy; i know not why.

clean face. strip body. curl up, sleep. thicknessheavy, that's the only wordheavy. dissapointment. tired. just sleep. just... sleep.

what the fuck is wrong with me? what's so dramatically wonderful about breaking boredom by fucking with the people who love me?

something went through my head today. i was told once that suicide is a completely selfish thing. is keeping someone alive against their will, only so you don't have to suffer their death, selfish as well? what is worse, giving in to your own selfish needs, or to someone else's? that last one is what i can't decide, on several levels. what am i supposed to do with you, and with me??

i always ask myself, why? or tell myself, what do they expect me to do? i'm not enough. like i can fix someone else even though i only function by ignoring what's wrong with me and focusing on you, playing up to your demands, and not even being able to tell you what's really wrong with either of us because you just get so damn emotional and threatening yourself and CHRIST. i want a conversation where i just won't have to worry about that, but it seems like i'd have to find a clone of myself, because everyone just gets so fucking emotional. well, when dealt things. when dealing, it's easy. you can ignore what bothers you; it's not thrust in your face.

just fucking deal it back to me, for once.