Category Archives: Uncategorized

THE INNOCENTY OF THE WATERS

PEOPLE with eating disorders are “allowed” to keep their identity secret. You’re not allowed to be a person.
You are simply “a stomach that ate.”
Everyone who sees you has a lot of power over you. You must be nice to them, speak in a certain way, present
yourself in a certain way, and never be so self-conscious that you don’t want to eat.

You don’t want to eat because if you did, you would be severely sick.

You wouldn’t be in control of your life.

You would be a creature.

You would be weak.

It was during my treatment that I learned who I really was.

I understood that my eating disorder could be cured, because it was merely a disease of mind and body.
I didn’t have to be afraid of food, because it’s a powerful human tool.
I knew that I was not being a stomach that ate; I was a person who had been infected by a brain that
wanted control. My illness wanted to make me not a person but a mind that ate.

A mind that went through life being controlled, and told what to do, and how to feel.
A mind that no longer could think for itself.
A mind that wanted to give up control, but didn’t know how.
A mind that could think but couldn’t act.

I understood that I had to take back control of my life.

I had to make myself be a person who was not a stomach that ate.

I was a girl who thought, and had dreams, and wasn’t a blob.
I was young.
I was a daughter.

I had big plans for the future.

I was a Christian.

I was a girl, who needed love, and felt loved.

I needed to be loved, and loved.

I wanted to be strong, and able to live a life that my illness would never again keep me from.
I wanted to make a difference in the world, and to love others.

I needed to learn to love myself, and to use my illness to help me learn how to love myself.

I could choose.
I would choose.
I would love myself.

I could have a beautiful life.
I could be happy.

In order to be healthy, I had to learn to let go of that which I didn’t need.

I needed to let go of the need to control my life.
I needed to let go of that which scared me and made me afraid.
I needed to let go of the struggle to know what to do next.
I needed to let go of the confusion of what I wanted and who to be.
I needed to let go of the struggle to say no.
I needed to learn to say yes.
I needed to let go of my imagination, because life doesn’t work that way.
I needed to let go of my imagination, because my illness was reality.
I needed to let go of my imagination, because my disorder was my life.
I needed to let go of my personality, because my illness was my character.
I needed to learn to find my own self.
I needed to learn to let go of being tired of not being a stomach that ate.
I needed to learn to be a person, because being a person is what I wanted most.

And after I learned how to let go of that which I didn’t need, I became a person that my illness no longer could control.

I learned to say yes.
I learned to say no.
I learned to laugh, and be silly.
I learned to cry, and have emotions.
I learned to write, and speak, and love.
I learned to have fun, and to love life.
I knew how to make choices, because my disorder was not only no longer controlling my life, but was helping me to make choices.

My eating disorder was the healthiest thing that had ever happened to me.
It was a sickness of the mind, and a sickness of the body.
It was a sickness of the body that was a sickness of the mind.
It was a sickness of the mind, that could be treated, and a sickness of the mind, that could not.

I learned, over time, how to say yes.
I learned to say no.
I learned to find my voice.
I learned how to be brave.

I had not learned how to be brave when I was diagnosed, but I learned it with the help of my mind and my illness.

I learned how to be brave, because I had to be.

I had to be strong.
I had to be able to overcome this disorder, and be brave, because there was no other option.

I needed to be brave, for me, for my parents, for my friends, for my boyfriend, and for everyone who loved me.
I had to be brave.
I learned to say yes.
I learned to live in a world of uncertainty.
I had to live with the uncertainty that my mind and my stomach might not agree with.
I had to live with the uncertainty that my disorder would destroy everything that I ever wanted in life.
I had to live in uncertainty, for me, for my parents, for my friends, for my boyfriend, and for everyone who loved me.

:: 10.22.2020 ::


FIGHTING FOR COMPLETE UNDERSTANDING

i held my arms, sleeping, around her breasts, bending, allowing myself to fall, the ghosting, dark wake, the fiery sands
burned by a storm of thorn trees, burned by the march of sea and the keys of incense that hang near her bed. Soft and fiery sweetness,
a book of songs that didn’t affect me, a white dress with a tattered hem, elegant skin whose breath has already evaporated.
There is no physical reflection on her breasts, my love, the fluidity of a river in the shadow of the heron’s head. There is no
destruction of a dead river in the pale water of her beauty. Your eyes, the depths of their ravines, the fire in the dark, your hearts,
holding mine, their tornness, the loss of a companion, in the silence of the corridors where the footsteps of strangers run.

From the raves I must admit I will never feel intoxicated, but I need so desperately to feel intoxicated, to finish my life in the warehouse,
under the light of an old beveled mirror with a knife propped against the square of glass, the light of the ghost, of the burning card,
of the ghost of unimportant dreams, of the funny dreams I dream every night. I would like to exist like the strange creature that thrives
in the laboratory of an art dealer in an abandoned warehouse.

Held her ankles, enjoying her existence, trembling, embracing, trembling, our breath circulating the smoky air of a kiss.

She only exists when my back rests on a cold polished floor, in the darkness, in her natural state, my brother, my pride, my hope.
To touch her, to feel her breasts, her lips, her hands, all the parts of her body that run all over mine, that brings me nothing, for this expression
is simple, low, they do not consider her existence, my love, to raise her up or to lower her, to grab her legs, to kiss her lips, to kiss her nose.

Everything but the head, where she is still touched by the forehead of a stranger, from one of the corridors, one of the cracked doors, where her
lovers walk, from the stones and shadows of cold halls, the one that is lifted from the depths of a world of books. You only exist, my love,
with the touch of your palms.

From behind my childhood wall, I have met the daughters of stars, from behind my own walls, the girl that lives in the corridor, has warmed up my life,
there with me on the cold polished floor, my passion.

Everything is there, hidden in the dark depths, revealed by the hallway, the fading curtain of candles, the evening light, a kind of passionate romance,
my love, whose bones are growing every day as if they were long-dead, those young girls, the memory of the last night, the abandoned street,
the shadow of an old bed, a memory of the night that passed, but only lives in the room where I am lying.

Leaned against a window of a skyscraper, red-eyed, like a demon, muttering, covered with a black apron, sobbing from an open wound.

What was that, love? What did you see?

Those eyes of the future, seen in the silence of my mind, in the chaos of my thoughts.

It was dark, I have left the house in the street, I have entered the house.

What was that sound?

I can not go further, there is nothing here, it was dark, it was closed, the doors were closed, it was dark, the house empty, but it was empty as
the city when the people pass through fighting for love, compassion, and complete understanding.

:: 10.21.2020 ::


LOVE CAN BE THE BEST TREASURE

Love can be your best treasure, and all the rest after that—by that I do not mean money, that is after all in very short supply in any society that places more of value on family and society than it does on money—do not compare.

My treasure is a bit of you and a bit of me, a scattering of memories, of places and sights that speak of us.

When I am old, and if you will still be with me, I will hold up my pocket knife and let the tarnished blade drag against my body and stare into the wood, as if to study the grain, so that I will know you better than ever before, so that I can tell you a few stories about our days, our strolls along the marshes and the rain-swept fields, and we can close our eyes and remember being together, like in the days when my name was Cassie and you called me Jennifer—at least for that night, when your name was Silvio and I called you Toma—in my dress with a jasmine moire ribbon in the back and a couple of velvet braids going to the middle of my back, and you in a white dress with ruffles at the collar and a buttoned-down plaid jacket with velvet trousers and stockings. We are wearing white hats, white gloves, and white shoes and holding each other by the waist. I love you very much, Toma, very much—so much so that I fear I will fall, if I close my eyes, to that dark, cool, damp land, which has been calling me for a long time. You love me too, you say, but in the way that one loves a mad brother—you love me in a way that reminds you of a friend you once had, but you don’t love me. You love me in the way that a child loves her father: you love me unconditionally, and you tell me all the time that I am beautiful and that you can’t live without me, but you don’t love me like a woman loves a man.

You tell me to get a head start if I want to get home before dawn, so that you can sleep without your fear waking you up in the middle of the night. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake up, thinking of you. I am lost in dreams of you. In my dreams you are waiting for me, standing in the courtyard, waiting for me to arrive.

:: 10.21.2020 ::


TRYING TO SPEAK THE UNSPEAKABLE

Is it a society of wicked liars?

Is it a race of contemptible malefactors?

Or is it, instead, just a group of people coming to terms with their lives in a different way?

A growing number of people are choosing to live—and die—without judgment, without the reward of popularity, without the flattery of public adulation.

Most people—without much fuss—are choosing to die quietly, often in comfort, not coughing up blood, losing organs, gasping for air. Rather, they do the things they like, they have their lovers, fall in love again. They experience as many experiences as possible. They have children, watch them grow up, let them out. They do the things they love. In fact, they do as much as possible.

Maybe they are only one of millions who will die this way, quietly, without much attention at all. But for those who read about the Swedish model, maybe they’ll read about this man who, when he was ten years old, decided to end his life when his family wouldn’t let him live the life he wanted to. Maybe they will read about one of the last people on the planet who were given the opportunity to kill themselves.

Maybe they will read about the first person.

Whether he knew it or not, it was Doran, the poet, who led us here. In 2020, when he was 36, he pulled his wife and a friend onto a commuter train in Paris. They sat at a table, drank wine, and ate wild boar with the train’s conductor.

After that, he had a drink with friends. By 2:

Then they all took colors all within their head. And they tried to say the unspeakable.

:: 10.21.2020 ::


DEVOURED BY THIS NIGHT

THE other day i was passing a certain gate as rain fell as it will in spring ropes of silver gliding from sunny thunder into freshness; as if god’s flowers were pulling upon bells of gold.

i looked up and thought to myself:

Death.

And will you with elaborate fingers possibly touch the pink hollyhock existence whose pansy eyes look from morning till night into the street unchangingly? The always old lady sitting in her gentle window like a reminiscence partaken softly at whose gate smiles always as the chosen flowers of reminding me?

And it felt as if life as a curtain caressing the bottom and i realized that the back of my head was already the red rose but i laughed aloud and when i looked behind i saw a horrid twin with red hair from some diseased shade: who was standing watching us from the wood side until she saw her wayward twin and from the trees spring a golden fruit made of bitumen with hair whiter and flowing like ravens feathers whose bright eyes saw exactly what they looked at.

And one nagged black beauty who had apparently lost her black beauty as soon as the white back of my head turned white then all black beauty fell in sync with the waning sun devoured by the night.

:: 10.17.2020 ::


HAMMERING NAILS

I like hammering nails and speaking in foreign tongues
cause it doesn’t remind me of anything

I like holding my hammer in my hand
cause it doesn’t remind me of anything

I like bringing fire and singing in churches
cause it doesn’t remind me of anything

I like crunching bread and all hell breaking loose
cause it doesn’t remind me of anything

The things that I’ve loved the things that I’ve lost
the things I’ve held sacred that I’ve dropped:

are my deepest shameful behavior

All I have to do is stay off the quiet roads
i will continue to drive slow

cause I like repeating words and knowing what I don’t know
cause I like me and I like me and I like me

sleeping inside a fitful sleep and dreaming of hammering nails
speaking in foreign tongues cause it doesn’t remind me of anything

nothing at all.

:: 10.17.2020 ::


ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 1)

OCTOBER 16, 2020

From as far away as she can see, let it come to her as a hand’s span of her whiteness. Even so is she without color and not wholly white— everywhere, without color at all. when she lifts her veil she sees— let it come to her as a hand’s span of her whiteness. The third definition, one almost completely made up of related but incompatible concepts, has also inspired a certain amount of speculation, from thousands of artists over the centuries. Of course, the representation of all of these concepts (white, black, pale, dark) would be exceedingly difficult, though the distinction between “polished” and “lame” façades seems particularly interesting to me.

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 2)

Who is the Malay in the sky? …it is not he who remains seated. The one who sits there is the wind; It does not recognize this? It will not recognize. He is the Great Ocean! She is the loyal girl of a house on a plane; the goddess is the daughter of a King— She is the goddess of luck!
The one who sits there is the Star! She has no name for this! No Name! The name of the one who Might be a dragon-god is a brown stick with ink stains and scratches, which she gives to her faithful. When the maid ’s back begins to move, a sleeping; when the hands of the god begin to move, the Girl of Flowers, many-faced, comes into his possession and is made his wife.

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 3)

How much noise there will be with what she will say! How much nonsense — If the moment comes when they cannot shout a thousand echoes of this shall roll up into, a hall of destruction! It is not he who remains seated— the sky is the dragon! For the god, if it does not recognize his Self, for the mysterious parent, and for the spirit of the mother’s the deity will manifest as a day.

The rule is to have a day?

A day, he will say, the gods create when you look into my sky—I frayed by the water of my heart I am and even if you build me a heaven, are scattered to and fro, which I must If any returns to this world to say that the earth is firm in this, what do you In spirit declare? Or what do you say? If anyone says that the heaven is firm, the earth is like its “skeleton,”
What do you say?

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 4)

No—it is very clearly this:
When it is the Earth’s sky or any sun which he has made solid, it is like a day to the god of night; when the sun is at its zenith it is no longer a day to the god of the night. But once there is a day for him he tells, when he sets the “sky” against the “earth,” as it were “like a hole on the back of my head,”
It is like a day to the god of night. Or he breaks the body of his father’s house—
“It is not as you imagine!” he says/ And once, as when someone, for whom we are paying in advance, tells us to go/
“How much he owes me!”—he stresses that much.
If the day which does not recognize him is like “a child’s drawing” the night— from as far away as she can see let it come to her as a hand’s span
of her whiteness.

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 5)

And if she lifts her veil she sees— let it come to her as a hand’s span of her whiteness. Is there a gesture or a facial expression? There will be, shall there not? What can be a look? Her head will shake for a moment—she can neither speak nor breathe as all her ears hear.
She runs, has no way of knowing how ro bow down and be moved by the peace. With what language can she come to you? If it is not through you and through your ears? You desire to hear her dream, the storm not come—let not the rain, the lightning, the storm, or the wind: will come to you, and should you hear the shrill sounds of the night-jungle and so strange

The dragon that has risen from the soot, you would not want to go back into the Earth and not the old Earth.
THE WOMAN’S SPIRIT /// in the beginning, after the virgin egg was laid the Mother of Paris took hold of the fertilized egg
and, suckling it, held it in the darkness between her thighs. when the egg was filled she laid it before her Sucking and smiling and laving She called it as it was coming to life:

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 6)

“Morning Star!” “Great Fable!” she sang.
Then, when she’d stopped her work, it was deep-Came out of the ground, and as it appeared It was
looking down at her with opening Smile, and the sound of it, and the light: The clear breath—he said, “It is Morningstar!”
The World’s Greatest kiss- no :://}|| THE NOBLE WIFE AND THE NOBLE GIRL — “He is someone who is beautiful—one is surrounded by someone. For him the truth exists, when it does not belong to his will. When his the warm breath of him is flowing. He puts everything else aside and The word “beautiful” no longer pleases him.
‘And I shall not agree to serve you, dear wife, B ut I shall be your servant, woman.” As long as I am the bearer of your children, I shall suffer the scorn of others. I will not stop long in my calling: ‘Those who despise me are the ones to envy; Those who praise me are the ones to fear; All the difference, if I am honored, Struggles not to get at me. Of all the groans that cause me pain, the least is enough to make me rejoice. If I am the bearer of your children, I shall suffer the scorn of others.’

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 7)

Is there an idea there that needs breaking through, something that should be beaten down with nails,
A thing that would last and give strength to your will and make you see with your whole being that it is true? The man’s wife: nothing is the sum of itself, what he thinks of her has nothing to do with her,
Her mind is something in itself that’s ever here in the seat of his thoughts.
So you should believe in her—speak her name like the apostles of Christ; you should shout it, like the Jews in the desert; you should think of her, like the French, the day after a liberation; you should admire the last flowering of the human species. When they approach a woman; when the head of the table is lifted to receive the cup of life, when the name of a woman is humbled by her history, when all the chains of the past are broken and thrown aside. So you should love her, so that your heart and mind are awakened by the beauty of her existence and show her the warm smile of it.
THE TOYGYST

ENGRAVER OF MY SOUL (Part 8)

“I can keep time; I can wear everything.
“I’ve learned how to hold something up and it goes in a circle. I can come to each house in the town and if they are a poor family. We can eat for less than the cost of a meal. If they have dirty clothes or not, or they have to walk— We’ll do it in a half-hour.”

“I will wander through the forest, thinking of the empty street, where there is nothing; will come to a corner and there will be a lady and her children.”
KONNICHI (FILICOW)
“I got a big experience when I was studying
In a medical school.
“I couldn’t go. So the universe died.”

:: 10.16.2020 ::


A Cold Dinner

NOW are those sure hearts to leave this empty beach, the weather wrought with hurricanes, the water fish to deify where the paddle was, where he sprouted disheveled chin and beardless chest the same, grasping the early in time the moral treasure he rotted at the bottom. Is even now he rots. rose bob. feel these cold nights, creeps of night seas, a thin secret being more intoxicated than well, drugged out the man and would grin a millennium to come.
What a fucking idiot. an idiot. this turn of events his sudden focus. the woman who stole from him all his violent and sensuous fears despair. his warm arms now become impromptu ones. the ellipses here, but only in intimacy. his fingernails roughened coarse, fingerless to say, yet as they are repeated in his gray, decrepit manner, afraid of breakage, one foot scraping his toes like an afterthought, receding at the matter caught, at no matter.” here, no “and himself” by which to capture a crowning tense reality, a man who will not listen for the godlike one who will, who resembles his index fingers until now.
what is a traveler who wants to look forward as though to complete his vacation? what would that be like?
he must leave, but when he gets home, he wonders if she cares to know he came. what will she do to him when they finish sharing dinner? what will he do for her, will she report him to the media? what will he take from her that he didn’t already have in his pocket, that he’d no longer stop her from becoming the next flower in his balloon of affection? who am I going to tell when I want to leave him alone? this cop-out argument makes no sense. what a narrative.
a son wins that fight but can’t cross-train. nothing changed: the given weight of events and the deadened sense of impotent disappointment that someone could be so cruel in their harm. heart-breaking anesthetic: think about this feeling of knowing, in our modern ultra-deprived state, that someone they knew was in pain, taking his last breath, his final wink, and no one was there to hear, watch. but no one called, nobody entered his recovery bedside, they just got up the courage to look and not the baby eyes, felt for a moment that awful gentleness he could never have found, that kindness and generosity. and then this society of no empathy was the least of our problems? honestly, why did they do that? the things
I wonder about are huge:
what of the child from all those shells of books and shorts and pulps? what of all the talent that has stagnated in the slam. of all the raw beauties buried in the spaces between expectation, shame,and self-doubt, behind us like a mill!

10.14.2020 ::


OH BY THE BY

Oh, by the by — oh my
how i wept upon a sigh
gently flowing on my side/
knowing emptiness within
my mind\  Oh, by the by —
creating worlds within my
lonely mind — never touching
tender female skin:  always
kissing empty spaces and
aching to die.

Oh, my.  

When death comes.  A deep
comfort.

:: 10.14.2020 ::

Oh, my.  

When death comes.  A deep
comfort.

:: 10.14.2020 ::


THE SKIN OF EVIL

i see you in plastic eyes i smell you in stomach juice
ah! hahaha! would you tell me that you are a queen of my heart?
don’t roll over my stomach!
hahahahahahah aaaaaah
how could you smile when i die
how could you kill me when i’m dead?
would you believe me when I tell
you that you were the queen of my heart?
a boat drowning in the amazon
river — sheesh
hungry piranhas
tearing flesh from all bones
i ate the holy ghost
and Jesus died on the riverbank
And if you save yourself: God
took a finger and stuck it in your ass
— makes you happy now. You really
like to turn pain into sex.
I wonder why you cut yourself
to see red juice fall from my eyes
— your breasts bleed blood so you
fed aborted fetus Judas’ tears.
how I hate you. How many
children unborn die for your
righteous life. You really rock
and knot nightmares.
AND IF YOU FOOL YOURSELF
you will MAKE SATAN HAPPY
brings your evil shit
around. You really like to
knock and roll. It’s rude
but so true.

:: 10.12.2020 ::