Four years. It's across the Bodensee. Just a turn away. Four years. Could as well have been my entire life. Did i know it then? Could I have? Do I know? Could I? Time does not follow its own grids.
"...the impressionable period of adolescence," yes. That's all I heard. How faulty a device I am.
jan. 16 / 2021
Time flies; Icarus dies. "Guess that's checkmate, bitch."
For tenacity I contemplate the world; for remedy I contemplate the universe. Seventeen years largely wasted.
One, call me by my majesty. It was like the cretaceous. Get the party up while either the sun or the moon and then the lamplights are bright. Last party. T-rex. Volcanoes. Hoch-Kreide-Zeit. Over and done with, like when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
Two, but the dream is worth everything.
Three, I wish to be everyone who ever was.
jan. 22, 3, 4, 5 / 2021
The human voice is a pathetic consolation prize. (For all the bits and pieces of us that died without a sound, perhaps never aware of their ceasing. Like us, if we we're never taught the name of death. Should I be glad for them, then?)
Being something means I can never un-be nor re-be it.
feb. 3, 4, 9 / 2021
What if I long for deep dives out of my own shallowness? They say opposites attract.
You all watch, don't you, without twitching a limb or muttering a word, don't you? Watching. Even from within. And supposedly I contain you.
It's still a winter day and yet the sun is a scorching caress.
feb. 10, 5, 8 / 2021
