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of rushed words and hushed thirsts
mellowman

the wave, the surge

Some call it love and some call it sex.
opposites.
Call it what you want, but with one touch and you’re gone, so call in sick.
Human politics, from whispered hushes and distant crushes.
Mental fits breakin’ pencil tips and
inkin’ brushes.
Simple rushes.
God makes man and this is the devil's finishing touches.
- Butterfly Effect -

alfresco

beat, rhythm
questions, answers

movements



brief traces

August 2010
September 2010
October 2010
November 2010
March 2011
June 2011
July 2011
August 2011
September 2011
November 2011
January 2012
May 2012
July 2012
February 2013
March 2013
May 2013
June 2013
November 2013
December 2013
January 2014
February 2014
March 2014
April 2014
May 2014
June 2014
July 2014
August 2014
September 2014
October 2014
November 2014
December 2014
February 2015
March 2015
April 2015
June 2015
July 2015
December 2015
January 2016
February 2016
March 2016
April 2016
May 2016
August 2016
September 2016
January 2017
February 2017
April 2017
June 2017
October 2017
December 2017
January 2018
June 2018
July 2018
January 2019
March 2019
April 2019
June 2019
November 2019
November 2020
December 2020
March 2021
July 2021
November 2022
December 2024
January 2025

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

maybe, just maybe, we should've waited those 2-3 years before we got to know each other. maybe you would've really known your father, and i would've really known myself. and maybe, just maybe, we would've found someone better in that time.

so you know, we wouldn't have been such a burden to each other.


5:38 PM



I think I'm bleeding but no one sees it so I'm not.

I will not be with you. And we know it'll be alright. That's why none of us held on. But I'm bleeding. Somehow. It's bleeding.

I hope that thoughts of what might have been are prayers for dawns dipping our foreheads onto the earth, afternoons arming us with Remembrance, and dusks driving us to His warmth. I hope that trusting His judgement is a sign we're closing in onto our purpose, that I realise what's important, that you find what you're looking for. I hope that the journey that roped us here will be freeing ourselves from our ignorance, from my past, from your choices.

I hope that we will be alright. And we already are. Really. At least, you are.


12:21 AM


Tuesday, September 6, 2016

i don't know how to write in happiness.

sad words flow, not better, but easier, because they are desperate to be put somewhere outside of such a fragile shell. they know it'd break, so they break out. they're not better, for none of them ever are any good. inside or out. but yes, they're easier because they need to be.

but the shell seems to not feel happiness too strongly. or the shell hasn't filled itself with enough happiness to express it. or really, it has never learnt to be happy and never learnt the words for happiness.

but then you're running away from the simple truth. that your shell never is desperate in happiness. in happiness shell you're too immersed and content that you think you don't have to spill. that you don't need your tools to preserve yourself. that you're infallible enough you want to keep it all to yourself. within that shell. but shell see happiness fades and warmth chills into reality. why don't you see this why.

but shell, when that happens why do you not come back. why do you close your own eyes with your hands feebly curled tight. why do you run the run that's not for you and fall into that well of walls and unyous.

why do you convince yourself of convictions from untruths. unfused unfuel unto you now an unshakeable fool.


so you've lost it. you've lost something before you've even acquired it. good on you.



12:18 AM