September 18, 2005

maps II

You see the answer has been here, writing here, typing here and I cry because I am here alone and I ought to go for a drive but to where? In four months I am afraid that drive will take me to drunk-land, bars and cars and boys and men that don’t know my name but there is the slightest chance they will hold me for one split second afterwards and that will make me smile, make me laugh at the absurdity of me and my wake of lifelessness I leave behind. The typing takes away the tears and the more i write, the more I write and yet I am afraid to write things with meaning things that affect me and yet I will not let them penetrate my psyche while I will allow penetration to my soul and else where by the evils that be those evils that I languish in. those evils that have taken me in and made me one of there own and i smile to them because I know I would rather be me, be myself then some sister, some nun who has none but some figment of religion that I cant bring myself to look at, to look into for fear I would fall into this unfathomable trap that has no light that has no end. I cant not see the truths in your beliefs but I am glad that they give you some sense of comfort I can not find in translated words, translated by those who were there to sell their ideas to us in the name of some kind of hierarchy. And stop please stop your slamming your questioning ideas and blank stare into the screen the held my attention for so long . I cry, no I don’t, I don’t cry, i lie much better then I cry and the majority of the crying I do do is in direct correlation with the lies. And so there I am splayed for you all to see. And thus my spirit is not so pure, not so white not so spirit.


Alice: In Wonderland or Not said...

Spirit pure still shining through there rio.

Doug said...

OK, now all about me. I remember describing your old blog as including the most magnificent run-on sentences since Faulkner. Now I remember why I wrote that. You may be a mess but you're a dazzling one.