In the blue of morning, battling soporific demons (seulement, seulement, toujours seulement!) I remember you as more than a time of day.


That's the thing about youth. We have to see that our capacity to confuse-- others, ourselves...to blunder, regret, move on and blunder ever on is a vital pulse. Our mistakes keep us from the peril of static coagulation. So that progress of our civilizaion is carried on not in prudence but in a clumsy gait of wrongs and redress.

Our place will have yellow curtains, paint peeling at the walls. We'll always wake up to your breath on my nose, your fingers tangled in mine, mine in the curls of your hair. Days when your socks are still soiled but the fish will not eat other fish. When we know our constellations. Beyond seasons of Hyperballad, and Pink Floyd isolation. For now I remember afternoons of sitting at the steps of Wilson, drenched by a bleeding sun and feeding fat slugs with lettuce. We are ancient, memory of plastic papercut, timeless, wordandworldless, senseless, my irrational to your--to your vision that reaches the satellites of far future fiction.

Our expiration date will be over conspiracy theories of arabs and english butlers at the Waffle House and I've already requested to be buried next to you so that I may kiss you every night and compare with you the what is to what we imagined would be.

You are were to me, a life of happy deaths.

Want to touch. Want to consume. The subject of this want is not the same as the subject of its desire. Permitting that time is not linear, they switch taking the foreview until the illusion that they are the same is dispelled. For this experiment the controls will be eliminated which will leave only the variables to a play of inconsistency. And this ia a play. A Drama of divine proportions and comedic aberration. Often, who is desired leaves and leaves the wanting more to wanting. But who is the reason, where is the why? To continue, one must take into consideration that to want is a want and a want of want. In no way is this the be all end all. At All, if at all, is the end where there is nothing, no, not one left who can give their All or Nothing. The point of the situation shall be made clear to exhaustion but not here, not ever. Remember, this is a story of want. It is a story wanting of explanation, wanting of reason, wanting of resolution.
Take what what you will, will what you want.
To want any more is to be written the story.