And this is what my world looks like now: this is the view of my desk from my bed. This is the way light falls in this place. These are my hands, my knees. My feet, my solid ground.
So much, for so long, with so little
1/ A reminder that there are as many ways to live as there are ways to die. You have your ways to keep me safe, and I have mine.
2/ Am thankful for the rain, it is easier to be alone and quiet on days like these. There are some nights that even music has no place in but tonight is not such a night.
3/ Even this means so little to you: a sleep, a closing of eyes. Ash on your windowsill and decay such as that that lingers on your fingers (and so too mine] long after that last cigarette, or the one you promised would be your last, I don’t remember one from the other. Death is death after all.
4/ There is so little of me left for the people I love and that kills me too, in soft and sweet ways I don’t want you to have to understand. I’m not much of a person these days; I’m all used up just going between chasing down thoughts in my head and holding them down with words arranged, rearranged. Emergency scaffolds constructed in desperation and waning light.
5/ Stay close, my ghosts; situate me, keep me alive
But for the lovers, their arms
Temporary battles can take up half your life
I am not well.
Cooked sago for the first time today to put in some green bean soup I made, and sago is actually quite fun… until you try to wash the remnants of it out of the sieve
Haven’t been able to write. Still the days pass and are forgiven almost immediately.
I’d like to remember this about November, at least: that there is such a lovely brightness about the world after it rains—a stillness, a clarity, a beginning-again of sorts
L’appel du vide—here
In case of fire