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unhinged_longing
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blueberries
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i always love to wake up. motherfucking right, man. always a cat roaming about, siamese or domestik, or a tremblin'ass chihuahua wanting to sit on my bone hard lap (nerve.com).
i have something to say, right the fuck now, and the whole world is my captivated audience. whether i do clowning, tell a story, or sing in a primordial eden, i am thankful for another sunrise, a new intake of oxygen filling the vast network of veins and arteries and blueblood, shit.
i am sad, though, this morning at the condescending thought of the "bad news" i received in the mail. you cannot come to me.
winged messenger bird of kemulya deposits the words from the maris den cieans.
and it is this:
i got off the phone with you that thursday morning impressed first by the fragility in your voice which i did not particularly expect. a perceptible tremble as if innocence was speaking the notes from a lonely violin somewhere in the morning woods.
awakening dove from the bare branches of my wandering imaginings.
perhaps this is not the time. we are not ready for face to face. my loss or yours?
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011215
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unhinged
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my tears can't tell you how sorry i am
if only everyone thought the same way about me that i thought about myself
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011215
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blueberries
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i understand your reason for staying home and value it for its foundation of love to your family.
would we all be so rooted in
pater familia.
still i shall not relinquish hope. i shall not refrain from a new attempt on monday morning.
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011216
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Dafremen
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Sweet, the tribal longings are not dead. Soon the revolution....give it a year or six.
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011216
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farmfish
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Dafreman...explain the relevance to this particular situation, or is it the remnants of the platoncy you share with her?
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011216
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Dafremen
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Not at all. It was a statement in keeping with the familial theme. In as much we have ceased to value family, so have we ceased to value our future. Self destruct is the mode we're in. The revolution will come not from without and not with one figure at the bannerhead, but from within, millions of tiny voices at a time. Any other questions oh fishstickian one?
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011217
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blueberries
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i often think of that morning when written words became tangible, turning from script to voice. so fragile. i heard the real you, the trembling, the respect, the wonder.
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011229
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