Cross my heart.

all the people i have ever known

have become the opposites of ghosts,

blown-out, overexposed versions

of themselves, all technicolor

and high contrast and psychedelia.

everyone seems so alive and permanent,

models of humans that have jobs

and people they love and things

they are passionate about and

strange nuances and pet peeves;

all around me there are people

growing up and having sex and

getting married or strung out

or finally getting a grip on this 

enigma they call a normal life;

i don't know where i was when

these people were living.

all the people i have ever known

have been some part in creating

this mess that i am, or, it is

not their fault, it is my fault

for losing each person who soon becomes

a participant in the same conversation

as ever: "how are things going?"

"good, and you?"

all the people that i have ever loved

and mistreated or being mistreated by

or turned into a teenage emo queen for

are gone, visible to me through 

the internet or strings of gossip

and so very much there, so close

to my fingertips but never close enough

to actually care about, be cared about.

i've lost every single person i've ever loved

or cherished or enjoyed the company of

while looking for the next person

who could take their place;

and now, here i am, existing as a giant

spread-out cloud, like a stretched

piece of a cotton ball, particles

over the great plains of north america,

little molecules all over, not pieced together

but something broken up in the counties

of all these past and present people.

Laura, baby I'm right here.

Ah I like getting close with other peoples families. They seem so perfect in their own little ways. Especially my friends parents. When I visit their houses I get this overwhelming feeling of "Oh man I've missed you!" and then they glow and smile (usually). If you put them all together they would make one big super parent. Hugs and tickles. I don't like cuddles from my own parents, but when it comes to other parents. Hahaha I sound like a creep. They are amazing. I wonder if anyone else feels like this.

It's spining

"Do you know what I like about the world?”, he once asked me.
“No, I don‘t.”
“It’s that it spins. And spins and spins and doesn’t stop!” He put his hands to his head, looked at the sky and laughed, a sound like spilled water. “And when something bad happens, then you know that it will eventually start spinning, too. It will evaporate.”
I didn’t know what that meant, I didn’t understand what he had said, but I had heard the agony in his voice and had felt the mania in his laughter. Maybe he was going insane.
“Do you really think so?”, I asked him, not meeting his eyes.
“Yes.”

They drag him, drag him, drag into black night

good vibes.

i think about it and i think about the point of it. why should we live? why should we spend our time on earth, in this life, only to later die and become nothing. what is the point of being something so complete if it is only to end in nothing. how can life, which seems so significant when living it, mean so little. because it does. if we were to look back how many days can we remember? maybe the odd one when something bad happened, or the time that was just so funny. but how many days can we truly, wholly remember? 

do we remember the way that the sky shines during the middle of the day, the way that sweat gleams off of hot foreheads and muscles ripple underneath shirts do we remember how the baby looks when he first speaks, the mouth opening, showing gummy teeth, trying trying trying always trying but never really getting there do we remember the little things like the way her face creases as she beams and beams and grins on her first day of school do we remember? could we say exactly what it looks like to watch someone reading a book, a truly marvelous book, where they find that the way words flow over each other matches them makes them feel so real could we close our eyes and see perfectly the den of fox cubs behind the garden fence with their little tails and their orange fluff which seems to pick up just the tiniest bit of dirt, their eyes glistening saying look at us, look what we can do look look look. 

and i don't see the point in it all, because if nothing is remembered than how can it be, if nothing is remembered than how can we know of it, how can it have any importance? i said once how spectacular space was, how spectacular the idea that there could be someone out there, somewhere out there, who is exactly like us, and he said that they aren't important, nothing is important other than what is relative to us. 

but what is relative to us? 

because when we are decomposing, taking in nothing, feeling nothing, knowing nothing, doing nothing, remembering nothing, what is the point what is the point what is the point of everything that was?

378. It's not a gang without the cool girl.

Swim away and find your nemo.