nevy's testing thread

nineteen - twenty one

i tried to write about your eyes but i ran out of cliches, i tried to say you plainly but there wasn’t enough truth, whoever invented this language didn’t anticipate you.

+ @tagged1

+ @tagged2

+ short note

+ more if u need

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WHEN I HATE THE WORLD

HATE THE RICH, HATE THE HAPPY, HATE THE COMPLACENT. TV WATCHERS, BEER DRINKERS, THE SATISFIED ONES. BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN BE ALL THOSE LITTLE HATEFUL THINGS AND THEN I HATE MYSELF FOR REALIZING THAT. BE SAFE, BE SAFE.

WORDS

TAGGED

NOTES

one of those stinking awful black days where nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger, an outlet for emotions stockpiled, an arsenal, and armor. these are the days when i hate the world. hate the rich. hate the happy. hate the complacent. the tv watchers, beer drinkers, the satisfied ones. because i know i can be all of those little hateful things, and then i hate myself for realizing that. there's no preventative or safe approach for living. we each know our own fate. we know from our youth how to be treated, how we'll be received, how we shall end. these things don't change. you can change your clothes, change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents, but sooner or later your own self will always catch up - always it waits in the wings. ideas swirl, but don't stick; they appear, but then run off like rain on the windshield. one of those rainy day car rides, my head implodes. the atmosphere in this car, a mirror of my skull: wet, damp, dripping and misted with cold. walls of gray; not a song on the radio, not a thought in my head. i know a place we can go where you'll fall in love so hard that you'll wish you were dead.

let's take life and slow it down, incredibly slow, frame by frame, with two minutes that take ten years to live out. yeah, let's do that. telephone poles like a praying mantis against the sky, metal arms outstretched. so much land traveled, so little sense made of it. it doesn't mean a thing, all this land laid out behind us; i'd like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while. i'm disgusted with petty concerns: parking tickets, breakfast specials. does someone just have to carry this weight? abstract typography, methane covenant, linear gospel, nashville sales lady, stocky emissary, torturous lice, mad elizabeth, chemotherapy garbage. i know a place we can go where you'll fall in love so hard that you'll wish you were dead.

the light within you shines like a diamond mine, like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway, like a snake eating its own tail, a steam turbine, frog pond. two full closets burst open in disarray, soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list, death's head, devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memory, movements. the movie, unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin. i know a place we can go where you'll fall in love so hard that you'll wish you were dead.

i've seen your hallway, you're a darn call away. i hear your stairs creak. i can fix my mind on your "yes" and on your "no". i'll film your face today in the sparkling canals - all red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver dutch reflections. racing thoughts, racing thoughts, all too real. you're moving so fast, now, i can't hold your image: this image i have of your face by the window, me standing beside you, my arm on your shoulder. a catalogue of images, flashing glimpses, then gone again. i'm tethered to this post you've sunk in me. every clear afternoon i'll think of you, up in the air, twisting your heel, your knees up around me, my face in your hair. you scream so well, your smile so loud, it still rings in my ears. i know a place we can go where you'll fall in love so hard that you'll wish you were dead.

inhibition, distant, tired of longing. clean my teeth, stay on the course, hold the wheel, steer on to freedom. open all the boxes, open all the boxes, open all the boxes, open all the boxes. times square midday, newspaper buildings, news headlines going around. you watch as they go and hope for some good ones. those tree shadows in the park, they're all whispering, chasing leaves. around six pm, shadows across the cobblestones. girl in front of a bathroom mirror as she slowly and carefully paints her face green, mask-like, like matisse, "portrait with green stripe". long shot through an apartment window, a monologue on top, but no girl in shot. the light within me shines like a diamond mine, like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway. like a snake eating its own tail, a steam turbine, frog pond. two full closets burst open in disarray, soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list, death's head, devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memory, movements. the movie, unreeling, about to begin.