“& my character’s not so hot” 00:18, June 24, 2011 (UTC)

I can spell heroin however I want: heroine. I can do a lot of things however I want, if only I’d let myself. But don’t let yourself tell yourself that, as it’s too true an excuse to be relied on reliably

I don’t know where this begins, so I’ll start where I know it ends: To all a good fuck

Faut pas faux pas

Not even my heroine will save me now that I failed crossing her pons asinorium

I’d hoped it’d take me to the moon. Full moons were always present at those key moments. I’d feel the forces of gravity lightening everything, even my evergoneliness. The world would become some kind of freaky utopia of coincidence. The sort of place where you flip a quarter and get a dollar fifty in change

Now I’m paying it all back with interest; without interest

People like to think people do things because of things that have happened. But then it’s found that nothing happened. Causality to shame. So people come up with chemical explanations on how people are ticking time bombs who end up going off at some trifle which nobody but them could figure, but they can’t figure it now because their head exploded. The fact is this: causality needs direction, and nobody’s going anywhere. They’re doing it because they’re doing it. They feel as they do because they feel as they do. Nobody cares. Tautologies to shame, but right is right. The only thing changing is that now isn’t then

What’s wrong? I ate too much peanut butter and jam, and now my ear hurts. Non sequitur problems. Turning two problems into one. An unhonest act of goodwill when most are looking to count as many as they can. Recipe: One problem that happened in the past and cannot be repeated, and some problem being endured with blurry causes and preferably solved with patience

It’s right enough. Problems cause problems. Does it matter how? Correlation might not imply causation, but correlation does imply correlation

Want to see a flower you’ve never seen before?

Such a beautiful poppy. It kept me from floating to the moon

Feeling heavy in zero gravity. The real kind of zero gravity, not the infinite free fall everybody else seems to settle for. Still, I never let myself drift too far as the galaxy drifts away

Sometimes I’d lock myself in a room and lay on the ceiling waiting for it to pass. Better than hanging upside down from a tree, though the fall was never nice. The moon usually didn’t come that close

Of course, that all doesn’t make sense. The moon would have to be denser than the earth to equal its gravitational force, at which point a number of problems arise

I’ve already got a lot of problems. So I guess the moon is denser than the earth now

Even with it pulling me, I didn’t feel ready yet. Now I’ll never be

Was I ever? I’m forced to accept that the moon exists in everybody’s reality. Yet they don’t feel its crush. What is my own? Time. Somewhere I hung upside down on some past snag of a reality that existed for a moment. Moments never last. Now I’m lingering in the present. My reality had already ended

Am I too slow for these planets that spin so much faster? I don’t know. I remember. Do you remember that time I remembered that time I re…

Remembering implies the experience ended. I’m still hanging, trying to call the bluff on the ever constant thing which with all its potential collapsed into what we call the past. In which what happened happened, and nothing more ever will. Suppose to be evergone. Left me on a cold dark night like any respectable thing would. If we don’t spend the time setting our scenes, where will we play?

There’s nowhere to play now that that heroine which kept gravity from pulling me down pulled me down

It’s colder where we live now

& like that, gravity turns on. The snow falls to the ground again. On off. Off today, without a clink in any bone. Tomorrow it’ll push me off. When I arrive there alone, as I never have

To quote: I would never beat you up / Nothing is so healing as the human touch / Touching another human being will forever be the most fascinating of experiences

I do another round and keep going until the next stop. Everything else has stopped, why shouldn’t I? Or maybe it’s all still moving, and only I’ve stopped. It’d be better to stop than to keep going in circles. There’s no escape

It’s safe in this rut which none else dares to intrude again

The euphoria of that intrusion. It didn’t matter how cold the world was; I was warm enough

Less a sense of the tangible and more a sense of my heart beating me up

Awake from a dream. Let it all fold back besides the phrase: Your incompetence beheaves you. Even there the question is raised as to what that means, where it is known that that is beheave. Of course, context deteriorates and it’s defined that a beheave is an awful drink of half water half coke

& back again. Always back. Looking ahead with so much hope, passing by to look back with melancholy. But the hope can still be seen. The looking ahead is a sight of looking back, yet so often do we fail to see looking back when looking ahead

See withered seeds leaking their death upon withered lips. This equilibrium everyone perceives, can’t they see it’s a fine transition between being crushed or uprooted? The smoke smothers the flame

For so long I was the only one to feel the pull, now I’m the only one who doesn’t. Through my pinholes I watch all the non addicts float away. Such addictions are inherit. Yet with so many still here, I am still bereaved

To think I’m looking back for so long, only to see what I saw so long ago be seen presently as the present. All those lonely evenings hanging upside down, is that later? When all the rest have finally gone where every modern man at some point dreams of being? Where was I in the past that I now see as my future? Or maybe I’m finally seeing looking back in looking ahead so that what is ahead is what is back

Dust to dust from dawn to dusk

It’s less lonely once one isn’t forced to see how unlonely everybody else is. Once my rose tinted glasses have their hope polished away, everything can be seen more clearly

Seeds drifted away to the moon, and the addicts chased after with fervor. But still I’m hanging on, getting high off the past below me

Now psychological egoism is no longer controversial. Everything I do is for myself. There’s no one to live for anymore, so there’s no one to keep me alive

This state of affairs might give an ironic touch to the end point I began with. I don’t know, I’m out of jest by now. If there was anybody around, they might look at me and say nobody’s home. But that’s for sure

Nothing’s sure in life? Everything’s sure in life. What is is

The trees uproot themselves. Gravity is a phenomenon manifesting itself in everything, so blaming it is as accurate as blaming everything

Yet I’m still hanging on. The world doesn’t have to play by my metaphors, and I don’t have to play by its. Dissonance on the rise, but time goes on. So long as I don’t mind, who else will? As for what the world’s crisis was at the moment, I can’t say. Probably some narcissistic show of the I created you so I can destroy you philosophy being applied in a violent divorce with the moon. The same philosophy that makes someone kill their children, spouse, and probably themself. Though this is really focusing too much on the world, and not blaming the moon enough. The moon’s the tiny thing that everybody bolsters with pity. It’s the moon that pulled everyone away in proving denser than the world despite all the problems that that’d imply. So maybe it’s moving towards the if I can’t have it you can’t have it kind of philosophy that makes someone kidnap and murder their children, and maybe themself, so that the still living victim is bereaved

Yet I’m still alive. Was I spared out of love, or hate?

She was hoping I wouldn’t take the withdrawls too hard. But I overstayed. The heroine is gone, but I’m still here

Faut pas faux pas. & trip. I can’t hear myself when I finally let go

In case anyone simply went into hiding, I wish them luck. Better than I’ve had, at least

To all a good fuck