Blackout.

TRG and Dub U, Losing Marbles

These words just fall out my stupid mouth; your eyes between the bars recede.

Liabilities.

Miniature Bridges, Your Mouth
Marty McConnell

What we do in the dark has no hands. No
crossover effect, no good-bye kiss after the alarm.
What we carry in, we carry out, end of story. This
doesn’t even want to be love. Except in minutes
when your face has the shape of my palm and I think
lungful. Let want out with the cat. Returns
and returns, something dutiful. Persistent.
Hold your breath, let it build, let go. This is practice.
I’m losing weight, a bad sign, I’m happy. Serious,
you say. Contained, I think. The cat comes back
with a dead bird to the doorstep, an offering. Bloodless
this should be easy. A two-step to cowboys. You’re beautiful
but that’s not the point.

x

I know my way back perfectly well. Like the back
of my hand, as it were. But look, the labyrinth walls
are high hedge and green. This also could be joy.

xx

I literally don’t know your middle name. Does that
matter? What systems we arrange for intimacy, small
disclosures like miniature bridges, your mouth. Not
what I’d anticipated. Softer. To begin with,
I should tell the truth more. I could miss you,
and that’s a liability.

xxx

I am not often off-kilter. But you’re so silent, even
naked, and almost absent. I hush too, why
are we here? Go. Want to throw things, you, the clock,
break windows until something bleeds and you finally
scream. I tell you too much; we are not
those people. Or nothing–maybe I say
utilitarian fuck. How would that be. I want you
to want to fall in love with me and that’s
unhealthy. Wrong. Leave your shoes by the door
and pretend it’s about the movie. It’s love
in the movies it’s Casablanca and Toy Story
and water no ice come here. Pockets need
to be untucked, drawers thrown open,
nobody’s safe. There, I’ve said it:
someone I was could have loved you.

your silence is like a kiss I feel you

Underworld, Best Mamgu Ever

A break in the clouds, a brief respite from the chill of winter. Whispers, laughter and endless city streets that murmur, "come and play!"

in the cold light of day.

Kele, Unholy Thoughts

i met the devil last night
at an after show
and then he led me in a cab

no more cokeheads, no more cocaine
you're getting sloppy
and someone has, someone has to say

here is bad, here is bad, here is bad, here is bad

i hear their thoughts now before they speak
i feel their eyes now go through my soul accusing me
we're only partners between the day
these thoughts they multiply

and one by one become unholy

I needed to believe.

All I want from life is to be warm, safe and at peace with my actions given my fortuitous position in this world. Sometimes I feel terribly, terribly lonely in believing that being lucky enough to be well-educated, secure and safe gives rise to some significant moral duties as one girl with an extraordinary amount of autonomy, one girl lucky enough to truly express a right to self-determination.

I hate it when people laugh at me for studying what I do - it's this stupid sense of duty that propels me through academia.

Kindness. Understanding. Passion. Selflessness. I just want to be able to look at my hollowed-out, pale face in the mirror and feel like, for once, I've done all that I can. I'm trying so hard - please cut me some slack.