paragon of a parable @spyllage-blog - Tumblr Blog

dark nights, long d(el)ays

as i spend my free time, reading tiptree jr. and internet misogynists (the gentlesirs bring the laughs, tiptree brings the horror) and listening to kinoo, it's time to reflect. reflect upon myself, the world at large and what my mission is.

when tsoy sings about being young and doing things that matter, i don't see how that doesn't move everyone. i'm sure it would, if only they'd listen. he's very good with star imagery, too, so, you know. i sincerely like it.

well. what is my mission? what do i wanna (doot-do) do?

it's time to get used to working hard, get used to getting closer to people, get used to being a person who is stronger and cleverer and more enthusiastic.

yes, it's not like i don't have my vices (everybody does) and it's not like i don't have some pretty big faults when it comes down to it, at the end of the day-

it's time to clean my room.

rowing a sinking boat

the next day it's unbearably hot. i have to stand up at the train to my home town. i feel faint. there's some really annoying guys right next to me, later they steal the free seats. i feel nothing but inner vengefulness. later that day we get subpar sushi and i turn in my homework like half an hour later than i'm supposed to. fish butts. :(

we stand proud and tall at the protest, where we meet up with people we know (at least by face) and go to get coffee. it's delicious. the sun is shining, it's so warm. it's like heaven. feeling invincible. i get some stuff from the store. it's nice to spend some cash on myself and have new stuff. ugh - finance troubles.

on sunday anxiety begins again. i'm not used to sharing one bathroom with four people. one of whom takes about an hour and a half to shower. luckily, i make it to the train, i even get a seat, all is fine.

ugh, homework. never have these words been more true.

yet today i see him again. we have really good sex. then again, it's like this usually. sore afterwards. we have silly conversations bout spoiling favourite shows and lending someone an elbow to rest your jaw on. it's y'know as if i want to be in bed with him forever. as if i never want to leave. before he leaves we talk about how life is sometimes hard.

and then i go and do my other errands after the internet distracts me. i need to do a million things. i want to do some of those things, like get to know everything about stuff that interests me and meet new and motivated people. i also want to do a million other things.

well, mostly i want to have more time. i could read awful books, make silly jokes and walk around aimlessly forever though. totally. don't lie, you would too, if you could.

update for august

this summer we slept and talked in our dreams to each other. the next morning we remembered this.

this summer we saw things that were unreal and abstract. we took a trip on a winding forest road.

this summer we saw places that were achingly beautiful and haunting. mostly the southern regions.

we listened to music this summer too. all kinds of music.

this was truly our summer.

was and will be.

august august.

nah

what he told me yesterday

"there's no-one waiting for anyone in the world, you've got to prove yourself in the world. you've got to ask for things and take things."

"you're so sweethearted you're radiating goodwill."

so yeah that's something real now.

because the night

Take me now, baby, here as I am Pull me close, try and understand Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe Love is a banquet on which we feed Come on now, try and understand The way I feel when I'm in your hands Take my hand, come undercover They can't hurt you now, Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to love Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us Have I doubt when I'm alone Love is a ring, the telephone Love is an angel disguised as lust Here in our bed until the morning comes Come on now, try and understand The way I feel under your command Take my hand as the sun descends They can't touch you now, Can't touch you now, can't touch you now Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to love Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us

With love we sleep, With doubt the vicious circle Turn and burns, Without you I cannot live Forgive the yearning burning I believe it's time, too real to feel So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now Because the night belongs to lovers

Because the night belongs to love Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us Because tonight there are two lovers If we believe in the night we trust Because tonight there are two lovers

Because the night belongs to love Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us

regent

linnavärv vähe käristab tänavapinda,

kui tänavad jõest üles voolavad.

taevast ei vaata keegi,

kõik näevad und.

üks väike asi lõksus vaid

ja voodi võlal sisar-veljed.

taevast ei vaata keegi,

maa pealt ainult üks silm.

aqqindex

Jacques Grange, Interior, 1975

humanly

Ester Grass Vergara

reflections

he texts me back after work that well there's this thing going on and we could go if we wanted to.

so...

and yes of course tripping. it's saturday evening.

i know fuck all about what's happening

you know we just meet (awkward hug) and hang around and eat good food and drink not-so-good wine (well, it was rose) and suddenly ("it's great to see you") hands tangled kissing carried to the bed etc

later we eat some more, go past ourselves to a place where there's entertainment. we've sights to see and sounds to hear, we dance or at least try and i guess we succeed in something at least. kissing on the dancefloor. such fun awaits but my feet are worn from unsuitable shoes and anyway

again we're in bed, his skin against mine, moving against each other. then again, early morning, then again when we both wake up from our dreams

have a shower, massage each other more kisses more closeness. more tenderness

he puts on that indian music album. you can guess what happens next.

we talk on the bed about dedication and purpose. we talk in the garden about racism and politics. we talk about how i should go. we start watching a documentary.

ok then it's time for me to leave. he looks at me with such a meaningful gaze until i'm behind the door. i suppose i suppose it's not as if we're anything else than us anymore.

holes in my soles

as it is, as it was...

i feel like coming out of a drumming fever, shards of pure pain pinned inside my head. (actually i had a long illness, but thankfully that's all for now folks)

so's whoever's in charge here someone who hates me? i mean, i feel like i've gone over this again and again and again, it's enough to stop me from trying to even find some joy, some light, some relatively content thing that can consume my life and that i can safely administer.

people leaving me in droves maybe, maybe by themselves, lost and weary. i guess i project an image that puts people off, you could say. i don't feel in any way alike to the ideal that is asked of me perpetually.

well, what can we say about things that learning never gave: it's all lost and weary, down to the last bone. down to the drumming fever and the shards of pain that affix my brain to the deep vast void, a mysterious sparkle inside it.

the battle stops, i pray that i'm not the last soul on the field, chained to a conflict that will never come to end. it's full of bushes and bracken there, deep scratches, down to the last bone. down to a rhythm inside my slow thick blood and to the beats it makes when it drips out from my nostil.

i can't communicate with him. i've tried. i have talked to him. he just idk doesn't care as much maybe. maybe he wants to bury his ideal of me like i've buried some other people who are dead to me now and will be maybe for ever.

i had a solace in silence, but now i'm filled with racing thoughts and dread about what's going to happen again.

what is going to happen?

nothing of importance. like this one life maybe.

this is madness

no, this is "i have to clean my bed".

fuck this i'm going to bed nao

well i had lolz while they lasted

you have permission to mourn me, blog

things are going about as good, maybe a bit better than i thought they would go.

desolation row

They’re selling postcards of the hanging They’re painting the passports brown The beauty parlor is filled with sailors The circus is in town

Here comes the blind commissioner They’ve got him in a trance One hand is tied to the tightrope walker The other is in his pants

And the riot squad, they’re restless They need somewhere to go As Lady and I look out tonight From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy “It takes one to know one,” she smiles And puts her hands in her back pocket Bette Davis style

And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning “You belong to me, I believe” And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place, my friend You’d better leave”

And the only sound that’s left After the ambulances go Is Cinderella sweeping up On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden The stars are beginning to hide The fortune telling lady Has even taken all her things inside

All except for Cain and Abel And the hunchback of Notre Dame Everybody’s making love Or else expecting rain

And the good Samaritan, he’s dressing He’s getting ready for the show He’s going to the carnival Tonight on Desolation Row

Ophelia, she’s ‘neath the window For her I feel so afraid On her 22nd birthday She already is an old maid

To her death is quite romantic She wears an ironed vest Her profession’s her religion Her sin is her lifelessness

And though her eyes are fixed upon Noah’s great rainbow She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row

Einstein disguised as Robin Hood With his memories in a trunk Passed this way an hour ago With his friend, a jealous monk

Now he looked so immaculately frightful As he bummed a cigarette Then he went off sniffing drainpipes And reciting the alphabet

You would not think to look at him But he was famous long ago For playing the electric violin On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world Inside of a leather cup But all his sexless patients They are trying to blow it up

Now his nurse, some local loser She’s in charge of the cyanide hole And she also keeps the cards that read “Have mercy on his soul”

They all play on the penny whistle You can hear them blow If you lean your head out far enough From Desolation Row

Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains They’re getting ready for the feast The phantom of the opera In a perfect image of a priest

They are spoon-feeding Casanova To get him to feel more assured Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence After poisoning him with words

And the phantom shouting to skinny girls “Get out of here if you don’t know” Casanova is just being punished For going to Desolation Row

At midnight all the agents And the superhuman crew Come out and round up everyone That knows more than they do

And they bring them to the factory Where their heart attack machine Is strapped across their shoulders And then the kerosene

Is brought down from the castles By insurance men who go Check to see that nobody is escaping To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero’s Neptune The Titanic sails at dawn Everybody’s shouting “Which side are you on?”

And Ezra Pound and T.S. Elliot Fighting in the captain’s tower While calypso singers laugh at them And fishermen hold flowers

Between the windows of the sea Where lovely mermaids flow And nobody has to think too much About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday About the time the doorknob broke When you asked me how I was doing Was that some kind of joke?

All these people that you mentioned Yes, I know them, they are quite lame I had to rearrange their faces And give them all another name

Right now I can’t read too good Don’t send me no more letters, no Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row

leaving forever

so i'm, you know, empty and alone

anyway

it's not like i really wanted something or idk

suddenly tired to the point of tears, almost. and no, i'm not joking.

well, maybe i'm bored to the point of laughter, it's not like there's much difference.

yesterday i wrote a serious and factual description of my today, but, hah, today i can't reall be bothered. too dead for that.

it seems i've grown tired of my life and i want something else.

or rather it's grown tired of me and is trying to get rid of me.

ahwell. i'll live.

a stray yawn now will be my goodbye, my only legacy.

i feel quite irate at myself. like, when's the last time i really concentreated on myself like i told myself i'd do? when's the last time i felt rly good about anything i'd done or achieved or like is it that my memory's been wiped when i got this far away from my original thoughts and principles?

yeah, i suppose i'm just mad at myself, tears trying to form in my eyes, because i'd told myself that if i just "relax" (ie kill time), do some sort of exercise and idk try to eat & take vitamins, then i'd "be ok", which isn't rly a very good or feasible goal, is it? it's quite distressing. wellllll, i guess this is what i keep this blargh for. i mean, i've almost (almost with emphasis) been honest etc everything else i said i'd do. i guess i need to idk throw caution to the wind and stir some trouble up for myself if i'm rly rly displeased with what i'm doing right now and how i'm not living up to my ideals and whatnot.

is there a way to get back? even if someone says i sound sentimental or overly dramatic, poetic even, i really don't care. it's what i want in my heart of hearts that counts in the end, because happiness, nay, even contentedness as just some sort of dulled gear would be impossible for me to achieve.

ah oh dear oh my oh well oh good old well

is there a way to get back? ok, i'll be honest with myself for a moment

* i think i'm in love with him, but i don't really want to tell him, because i know that right now, to me, it's just infatuation. and idk somewhere inside i feel as if i'll be destroying something rly frail or as if i'm not rly the right person (see, this is where the different worlds thing comes in)

* i think there's people in ye olde circle who don't rly like me and don't want to give me any chances. what i'm rly afraid of is that they might be right. like, maybe i don't fit in because i'm way too unconventional and whatnot

*i miss my family and the rats. i want to do everything to help them but at present time i see no way to do anything like that.

oh yeah i think i might need to talk about these things to real people, but since point 1 i can't rly talk to the person i would be talking to about these things and i get that i rly should but idk it seems like he rly listens to me and he's the only one who does and anyway idk i'm so torn up about myself right now

like how did i get here? i mean, i know i always manage to bury myself in work, but did it rly seem to me that it'd be better to idk masturbate than actually try and get myself to think over stuff, maybe even talk about it?

well fuck.

feelin'

it's morning we're in bed and it's another one of those wondrous awakenings. our situation quickly becomes compromised and oh well i mean it's not like i mind in any way

escapelle's not my friend anymore though. lol, i just checked online, seems she still is, lol. ok then. if i want to have more troubles than i bargained for!

i have my doubts and my awful bothering bouts.

and my slouch so unconcerting thereabouts.

whatever i manage to do in the day

the night comes by, takes it away.

/end up like joseph/.../

afore i forget this ever happening

i see a dream of him smiling, he smiles. later he tells me of his dreams.

i think something about ice cream. he says something about eating the whole tub.

in the middle of something he calls me wonderful. i call him superb. (and has it been done before, i wonder(full)?)

oh yeah, also flowers and poetry with someone else (ha, poetry) and being accomodating of each other while remaining in full rein of ourselves.

i think it might be good.

endlessly busy with school, organisation, hobbies of various kinds. having the stream of ideas i used to have once before that i hope doesn't come at a cost (lol i already know it comes at a cost, but maybe i can alleviate it a little bit so i don't kill myself eventually)

irreparably broken

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paragon of a parable