theallconsumingvagina

the paint begins to splatter the wall
2004-06-04 14:39:12 (UTC)

life is full of patterns that can scarcely be controlled

it's nice, this feeling of writing to no one. it's so
roomy, so spacious so free. it's as empty as it used to
feel. writing to space, air, non-action, blank, emptiness,
intangible clementines...it's nice to write to the future,
to the inevitable nothing that obviously sits on your
tray. it's nice to keep putting and placing, to keep
shifting, rearranging, to keep piecing, gluing and cutting
and pasting. organizing is fun. right? i realized today,
something that i've realized a million times over, that
everyone i've ever met reminds me of someone else that used
to be in my life- it's like the recent replica has filled
the gap the very initial one created. is childhood truth?
probably not, but it astonishes me how much replacing,
dropping, adding, and shifting we do with the "roles" of
people. we even replace ourselves- adapt whole new self-
images for the sake of "improving." the more you want
something, the more you become it i suppose, personalities
are so fucking chameleonic.




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