13.Jan.2004

when it rains in oklahoma, i only think of your eyes.

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just yours

Just yours, always, now.

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No poetry. No verbal orgasms. No literary light-sneezes. No little deaths in text. No returned phone calls. I am going to hold what I feel for those who have genuflected out of substance. It's nothing personal. I am inebriated and conflicted. I surmise only "NotePad" could unscramble the inside of me.

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Just one, however, just one, I adore. You will never be able to comprehend in mere text. I should enflame your retinas. I swear. It's fucking gorgeous.

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I am so livid with you.

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How does it feel? How does it taste? When you drop from this earth that is only supporting you, how will it feel?

Fuck you, too. Fuck you.

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I am listening to "Clocks". I should have suffocated you with the treble when you came home.

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The demo is done. I am working on the second. What do you prefer, babies? E or G? It makes a huge difference.

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You always soften me. I want to be everything to you. ||| To answer you ...|||...because you're so ancient, and it seems you constantly strive toward that, an encumbered desire. I hope you find it. I hope I can be there to see it. There's no other way I'd be able to remember. Thinking of you, as usual. Good morning. I'll see you pony-tailed and gorgeous, windows open, on my other side.

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time & machine