cycle 1: time, nostalgia, love idea,l, "2 [Love]" (cuteness, caring, spiritual warmth, loving-kindness, unbias, comforting) and possible halo effect, time ideal
cycle 2: age, sad, stress, love, work, (epiphany?), die
cycle 3: self unlike, self loathing, disgust [? sex], love
TIME:
"i'm going to love you even if i feel like shit"; but time gave it up.
high school was the defning moment of my social life, up to now. i wonder, sometimes, how other define me.
drugs? love? cuteness? do i turn guys gay? time?
what is time?
it's something i'll never have enough of.
(TIME MONTAGE:[CYCLE 2])
we grow up, we get sad, we get stressed, it pays off: we love. waccomplish our life goals: we win. then, we pass onto another realm of life: heaven.
*it is a pattern. life is full of them, and if we learn the patterns [of life], we learn how and why to live.
so, where am i now?
i'm between [part two and three:] sad and stress- i'm learning.
and i'm i'm sad enough, i'll learn to love. if i learn enough about others [that is], and sadness will get me that.
NOSTALGIA:
*i saw it once. i loved a girl, jacquie, and she loved me.
we laughed, we cried, we fucked.
i learned, she didn't she didn't "get" me.
i lied, i cried. she loved me again. but then, she learned. i saw her learn.
my simulacrum tears taught her to doubt, she moved on.
simulation became sincers, i hated myself. i was lost.
*nostalgia took over. i can still cry, but not for myself:
for my hurt friends.
if they cry enoug, like i did, i'll learn,
like jacquie did.
2 LOVE [Love Ideal]
now, again, I am in love. with a new girl, named sarah
i went to her to [have her] cr on my, so i can learn. i want to fuck her body *and fuck with her brain.
she needs to know, i own this girl's motal coil.
so that i [myself] can press on.
2 [Love]
she is breaking, her dog is dead. i'm not learning, sarah: why should i care?
show me your real misery, that which may substitute my own.
she'll talk for hours about er parents' divorice,
much like my folk's own, but i wasn't upset about that. why would i be?
but she'll talk, and i'll listen.
she won't put out, no more than a cure. she's a "pure" christian.
she's not like me, but she's sad. what would i learn?
*she knows how to shake me of my once feigned sadness.
she knows i'm selfish, that i need her to stay alive.
*she knows i'll never be a man [or: "the man that i want to be"].
TIME IDEAL
life is full of patterns, and death ice a cyclictic motion.
here lies sarah, dead.
she ran away from me, to find god.
to find god in herself.
age, sad, stress, love, work.. deal. tio'me been pushed too fast. dear sarah.
shere was so much car in your unsteady heart, you taught me to know *myself, taught you to hate me.
but, in the process, you didn't teach me to hate me [or: myself].
you taught me to love [CUT: and that's an advance].
3.20.08!
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Cycles Comic
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1 comment:
High school isn't a moment to a boy. (it isn't even a moment in the grand scheme). Everything from "It's something I'll never get enough of" to "I saw her learn" is pretty fantastic. I saw it as narration over children playing in a park. Transcending it's intended is a really good thing. Your Noah muscle is twitching. Too much for my liking. There's nothing wrong per se with the logic, it just makes for a depthsofthesoul read, which doesn't suit me in my happy times. Jacquie makes me think this was written about JS. Love Ideal is the gothest thing i've ever read. Not that the obvious contrast between ideal love and clearly dreary expectation-bashing truths of the thing. Partners with any depth are going to be sad, sad people. No two ways. Selfish thing sounds like truth to me. Boy God is that how it feels. There's truth here, it's just the delivery that gives me pause. I don't know Sarah, but she's done somethin' to you. People can do that without staying too long or doing all that much. What matters is how close they are when they self-destruct. To them it isn't a damn thing, but they weren't watching it happen to someone close to them. They'll recover, sure, they'll do it at their own pace, free of constraints or concerns because the way they see it, they destructed it on their own and they can get better on their own. It's part of some kind of reconstruction I never understood fully. They move on and can't be bothered to look back. You saw it happen, you were standing right there and they meant enough to you to make a difference. The kind they no longer have the time to monitor now that they're a better person for their trouble. You blame yourself, things about yourself, your thoughts are marred, hemmed in by doubt, your creativity takes a dark turn. Conor Oberst got over it and made Cassadaga. No one's asking anyone not to take the neccesary stop in that place where no doves live, but know it isn't the last stop. This is good, but it's a snapshot. It's moody, like a graphic piece is. The prose could use some work, but you don't seem to be in this to sound like Charles Frazier
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