i dreamt, on accident; though everything was silent and swathed in an all engulfing black. as if i were embodying the void itself. when i woke, i relived in reverie. i couldn't. i couldn't call forth the desires that once effortlessly crept and enveloped without consent. something was vanquished. there is no flame burning. only the soot is left behind. my soul unperturbed, at last. je suis libre.

everything's such a joke.

maslow's 8 ways to self-actualize:

1. experience things fully, vividly, selflessly. throw yourself into the experiencing of something: concentrate on it fully, let it totally absorb you.

2. life is an ongoing process of choosing between safety (out of fear and need for defense) and risk (for the sake of progress and growth): make the growth choice a dozen times a day.

3. let the self emerge. try to shut out the external clues as to what you should think, feel, say, and so on, and let your experience enable you to say what you truly feel.

4. when in doubt, be honest. if you look into yourself and are honest, you will also take responsibility. taking responsibility is self-actualizing.

5. listen to your own tastes. be prepared to be unpopular.

6. use your intelligence, work to do well the things you want to do, no matter how insignificant they seem to be.

7. make peak experiencing more likely: get rid of illusions and false notions. learn what you are good at and what your potentialities are not.

8. find out who you are, what you are, what you like and don’t like, what is good and what is bad for you, where you are going, what your mission is. opening yourself up to yourself in this way means identifying defenses - and then finding the courage to give them up.

i simply cannot comprehend all this vacillation.

don't lick your finger and dip it into that vast vacant atmosphere in attempts to discern the path of the winds, just wander with the gusts. walk backwards into them, even. don't look. don't turn--i'm warning you. the moment has drawn near and you must now permit the complete engulfing. it’s yearning to swallow. you’re yearning to be swallowed. let it take you. let it take your entirety. it's time. it's coming, it's coming swelling up and you can't stop it. breathing sinks heavy, sinks heavy, sinks so heavy, twisting hair, cerebration dripping out careful scenarios. sentimental. sultry. sensual. strong. it pushes and you've fallen. sinking. submerged. transposing energy. powerlessly possessed and swept away.

“You are right, Sahara. There are no mists, or veils, or distances. But the mist is surrounded by a mist; and the veil is hidden behind a veil; and the distance continually draws away from the distance. That is why there are no mists, or veils, or distances. That is why it is called The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. It is here that The Traveler becomes The Wanderer, and The Wanderer becomes The One Who Is Lost, and The One Who Is Lost becomes The Seeker, and The Seeker becomes The Passionate Lover, and The Passionate Lover becomes The Beggar, and The Beggar becomes The Wretch, and The Wretch becomes The One Who Must Be Sacrificed, and The One Who Must Be Sacrificed becomes The Resurrected One and The Resurrected One becomes The One Who has Transcended The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Then for a thousand years, or the rest of the afternoon, such a One spins in the Blazing Fire of Changes, embodying all the transformations, one after the other, and then beginning again, and then ending again, 86,000 times a second. Then such a one, if he is a man, is ready to love the woman Sahara; and such a one, if she is a woman, is ready to love the man who can put into song The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Is it you who are waiting, Sahara, or is it I?”

--you are right, sahara by leonard cohen

i have a tiny sore underneath my thumbnail. unreachable. no one can see it, but i feel it so intensely. the constant throbbing. and it aches terribly--but sometimes i'll catch myself fixated and smiling. reminds me of you.

"you know
that i adore you
you know
that i love you
so don't make me say it
it would burst the bubble
break the charm"

so, this is my summer theme song. i have a sob fest every single time.
patti kills me. ugh.

i think about her constantly. i do not wish to, but it’s helpless. it’s inescapable. suffocating. there is something in me unknown which commands me. paralyzed, though in paradox, because my mind is constantly undulating but fixed on that inevitable dreaming. i find my desiring nonsensical, yet something in me refuses the frail illusions as such. at times i feel as though i have emptied my entire being and refilled it with only her--my veiled madness, my mystery, my impenetrable muse.

spent the evening sipping sleepy tea and hesitantly staining pages with spillings of smudged sentences and proclamations i'll never actually proclaim.
my journal has gotten awfully ragged.

i know that i've posted this before, but i really can't shake it..

there is a fissure in my hippocampus
like a perfume which lingers
plagued in a whirlpool ecstasy
desperado demoiselle dreaming apparatus
mucked in fermenting milky mind silk
and leaking unmelodious delusive storms
static syntax
enormous billowing envelopment
extraneous projection
of eroding illusions
dissect seeing
dissecting visions
light refracted
exposing enclosed entrapments
of the haunted hallucinatory heart

i've just detected my posts have been rather diminutive in terms of length, lately.
bare with me--results of a fragmented psyche.
soul scrubbin' and such, you know?

darling, i feel like a wasteland.

sentimental incoherency,
mal à la tête.

yoko knows.

lounging against auburn bark, women sat and denied the width of their wings.

can't get this out of my head...

engulfed under a quilt cuddled with my cat while watching antiques roadshow, drinking hot tea, and knitting...proof that i'm really an entrapped 83 year old lady.


in an unrelated thread, i have a new song up, if it interests you:

remnants of elasticity.

in dreams, i'm haunted by your whispering--
slumber begs of me not relinquish you;
though while such a soul strays asunder,
waking life yearns i surrender.

rothko makes me cry.

fears of the vanishing muse--
commencing the fickle quest for a proxy.

irresistible craving for a road trip to new orleans and baton rouge. irresistible craving for a road trip, in general. even dreamt about it.

UGH, I'M SO IN LOVE WITH PATTI SMITH THAT IT HURTS MY SOUL.
listen..i can't even explain it in comprehensible terms.
this simply isn't fair.
not. at. all.

gonna cry myself to sleep now,
goodnight.

p.s. patti, come to me <3

i keep catching myself tactlessly watching my heart pulse through me. dazed. i fall into these tranced furrows just long enough for my eyes to wearily descend and my mind to begin a lackadaisical yet intricate unwinding of the laced fallacies that have been weaving themselves on the unceasing looms inside me. but the beats. the beats are shifting. so effortlessly those once potent thoughts wane alongside such dissipating throbs. forsaken. everything fading. it won't take long now--this is the waxing of the wane, my darling.

little clam,
gorging on your grimy pearl--
how it grows,
and how you sink.

you're the only one i can never read.
i can't stand this dreaming anymore.

useless beating beneath breasts
useless throbbing thought thorns
fermenting dreams are the deadliest potion
how futile i was
to desire

"an enigmatic collector of both objects and people."

scrying bleak and blue and sad-eyed with warped murky dust-caked mirror caressing clavicles being mopey because i want her closer and you to fade away.

holding private dinner parties with ghosts and rusted harps while contemplating the shapes of our perished hearts on pretty china plates wearing heavy velvet veils to match the blood stains dancing to the dithering beats. just dancing to the dithering beats. eyes closed and dreaming. dancing, dancing, dancing to the dithering.

fille de mes rêves, si seulement vous saviez...

stupid fragile state of existence.

night morphs all into a state of indistinguishable chameleon. where are your arms? i don't know where to search. are they near? i'm searching. i need them. i need them desperately. it's 3:42 a.m. and the sixth consecutive night my soul has tried to slip away. i'm so terrified. i fear it's trying to reach you.

why won't it rain?

i want to go camping. no place in particular. i don't even want it to be a designated campsite. just some desolate empty land under the stars. where i can howl at the moon and it will echo right back through me. that'd be perfect.

should i...
should i...
should i...
should i...
should i...

i have often prayed for you
like this:

let me have her.


--leonard cohen

maybe tonight i can stay inside my body

everything is unfinished--my bowl of oatmeal, a dream from eleven nights ago, the void in my heart 3/4ths full.

you will not catch your unknown.