Though it’s nearly through April, I’m thinking of that night in January when I loved you the night before and then I woke up from it like it was a dream. I was nearly disgusted with myself and confused. I’m like this with almost everyone in a sense, even platonic relationships. Being close to people physically is one thing, but being close with people on those other levels begin to scare me. We were close. I told you things with drunken glaze over my eyes and whiskey on my tongue. You listened even when you knew I’m just incredibly whimsical in that state. You asked me about them in the morning without condescending. You loved me. You might still. I thought I loved you until I woke up. Until I realized I was getting close with you and you weren’t who I needed to be close with. I left you in another state and told you I was in a separate state of mind. I just hope you know that I’m sorry I ever woke up and I hurt you. You were very gentle to me and I appreciate that. It was the first time I’ve ever experienced such nurture and I will keep you in my mind as a great example for so many things. But that is the only place I can keep you now or ever. Fucking winter, man.
I can’t believe I’m really saying this but,
I genuinely miss photography. Hopefully, I will be back soon……. Dum dum dum.
Today is a day for old thoughts but I think I’m done now.
The arrival of midday that i’ve slept through again and sleep is slowly threading my eyes shut. it’s only overcast out again. all of the good days ruined by rain. all the good songs ruined by bad memories. i dropped your words in my lap and let their bare feet step on my skirt. i picked apart their rib cages and put the guts in my pocket. i tried to tie our old tin cans and yarn together to reach you. i wanted to tell you how it dripped through my fingers and suspended from my hands like puppets but you weren’t home. so i just put a letter in mail written in italics and signed in blood. two little leos under the stars of some god turning in their drunk sleep. dreaming of graveyards and all the days they lied to their parents. prematurely falling in love permanently linking the flimsy traits of our shallow youth. pockets full of guts bellies full of wine and the secrets that make us burn. i’m only now learning to be tamed. i only act so violent because i’m young and i can be and i don’t want to feel like i wasted all of my youth growing up once i finally get callused and wrinkled wildly. i know the yellow light will never come and pour on me like i’ve always so secretly wished under my breath. maybe my freckles spell it out. or maybe its hidden in the cleft of my chin. i just hope one day you’ll notice and whisper it to me in bold words and not in the funky italics i wrote to you in. for now, i’m just going to stand up and let the old carcasses of your words fall into hell. just don’t forget that i have what i need, it’s all stuffed into my pockets and reeking of the truth. i haven’t found the cure to the skepticism that makes me so sick but it’s only midday and i’m only violent because i’m young and i only mailed you that letter because you weren’t home.
This is from a year ago and I still feel that it’s true. On a reposting rampage maybe.
“I feel like there is something missing from your life. And I want it to be there. I don’t know you like I should in order to feel this way but I think I feel this way because you remind me a lot of myself and I know how it feels to be myself. And I know there are a lot of things lost in space that I need. And I know I say “and” a lot but this isn’t supposed to be eloquent, it’s just blatant. It is the truth. Or it is what I feel is the truth. The truth of how I feel. I don’t know. I wish I could delete everything I ever wrote on this damned website. I wish I could just tear them out like the pages of the stacks of notebooks I’ve collected and ruined with thoughts that only lasted for what seems now like a second. I wish I could rip those memories out of me from my bindings. I don’t like looking back. The only thing that benefits me from things that have already happened is the spectrum I have acquired. I can see the lowest lows and the highest highs. But mostly the grayest grays because that’s where I live now. That is whats safe. Maybe you’re just trying to keep yourself safe too. I can understand. I just hope that you find whats missing. I hope I do too. Maybe its the same thing and one day we’ll be closer and you’ll tell me what you’ve found and in that instant I’ll realize what is supposed to be there in mine. Maybe.”
- me a year ago?!?
Posted this last Valentine’s Day but it’s so beautiful I’m gonna post it again
“Having a coke with you
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yogurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it”
- Frank O’Hara
violent femme: tuesday
Can we talk for a second? Let’s talk for a second. Almost two months ago I dropped you off at your hotel. Before we parted I sat in the lobby with you writing little notes on scrap pieces of paper. I remember being so scared but never telling you because I wanted to be tough in the ways you…
Ok Ashli, you rule the world. This is so beautiful.
(Source: ashliwood)
