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30 November 2018 @ 06:52 pm
it's hard to make this walk at night  
so often they come out of nowhere, the things that matter to us or the things that could matter to us. sometimes i think our most inexplicable matters could actually be preparing us for the things we'd not readily see coming under our specific concern, but this is a hypothesis, and one still under evaluation at that.

i am scarred inside and out with the ways i have survived my own affections. oh, god, i think, paging back through old journals. oh, god. love isn't intrinsically tied to suffering, i hear, but they maintain ties.

there are so many things you'll never know about me. i'm saying that as generally as i am specifically. in the specific cases, i suppose some part of me acknowledges that you are choosing for it to be this way and, also, that this should influence my behaviors and feelings related to you in some manner.

but, then, who knows.

you know, it's an echo chamber. you know. you know? i can't even call them conversations with myself any longer. i say something and i listen to it repeat over and over itself until the boundaries come loose and the words twist themselves into their opposite. again, hearing the opposite, i must start again from the beginning of my grieving process. or i'm further along in it than i've ever been before. it's a hard call. maybe both are true, probably they both are. maybe i need to get out more.

and we live with our sadnesses or we live in spite of them or we ignore them completely and keep living regardless. good people suffer. bad people thrive. the people who love you go on with their lives in spite of your mortality. in the end, all the people who've loved you and hated you outside the boundaries of reason are just other processes, ever running toward that last line of code.

always the longing: as tiresome as it is satisfying, as absorbing as it is alienating. in so many ways i am out here alone, further and further from familiar things. there isn't a way back, there isn't even a language to return. echoing old and frail, barely a full word pronounced to ourselves by the end of it.

putting the chaos into the form of a question: what i need to know about this, a sort of distancing from the formless hunger of desire. asking about it is an attempt to contain it. define. learn its rules, its boundaries: make boundaries. perhaps because the notion of a question can only survive with the possibility of an answer, perhaps this is why asking a question is so disquieting. if it is one thing, it cannot be another. not in a binary sense, more a sort of balancing. there are things that it is and things that it isn't. a veritable cityscape carved out against the night sky.

but, then. who knows?

music: elaine radigue - triptypch part 1