There is room for debate.

And who would thought there was something to bite?

That Picture of You...

That picture of you makes me sad. You look beautiful, so beautiful...and sad, so sad. Oh God! did I infect you with this virus, this disease that causes one to view life in sepia tones of personal distress? God, but you look so beautiful and I can only think of the soft skin of your neck just below the whisps of hair hanging loosely about your shoulders- or the look in your eyes when you felt love and trust and the closeness of another's embrace, or the terrible distress in your voice when you called out to me from a thousand miles away to save you, to save you, to come get you and take you away from all this hurt and hatred and bitterness and despair, to come save you you from the last heartache and that last pull off the empty bottle that holds all our hopes and dreams, to come save you from yourself, but also to come save myself from the fate I have chosen, come save myself from myself and all the demons that possess me. And all I could tell you was no, I couldn't make it, couldn't be the one, or the right place or the right moment because why, again? Why? What stopped me? What compelled me to continue drowning in this sea of suffering? Why? Why, again? Why?

And I think of all the cigarettes I've chain-smoked, the bottles of wine drunk, the endless nights staying up, looking out my window at the emptiness inside, and I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. I don't know. I don't know. I love you.

Wandering

Would it not for sheer consternation and an inhibition to speak what is on my mind, the disconnect grows. We are already moving away from each other, and from the others, at a speed approaching the barrier of thought. What shall we do when we are too far apart to care? What is the distance between two stars; and between lovers?

As I say this, I feel colder, more distant from you now, and I know there are pockets of Time betwixt the mind and the heart, as surely as there are pockets of Time between now and tomorrow. What weight this distance seems to me, and I wonder how we ever managed to reach this point in so short a Time. Ah, but Time is an enemy...

There is no point in feeling this cynical, this bitter, but the heart knows it's own paths and I am but a spectator watching, as if from a great distance. Is it possible to become distant from one's self? And is it possible to go too far, to wander away and not be able to find your way back? I wonder, if while wandering you were to find someone else, another version of your self, would the old self die? Can the self exist without it's self? And what is the difference between the self and the Self?

I do not know these questions, nor do I spend my waking hours striving to find the answers, either. I shall not look to find a reason, nor shall I want, but wander to and fro neither searching, nor being searched for. I am becoming anonymous, faceless, heartless, bodiless, soulless...selfless?

I hate to inform you...

I hate to inform you...this blog title is already taken. you thought you were clever, but alas, so was I, which makes the two of us stupid, doesn't it?

Go to hell