Hot nights & hotter days. Jim Noir [whom I concur with... living in the key of C sounds wonderful]. Simply floating by is fine at times. And, I am doing just that, floating atop the waters of life hoping no one rocks my humble boat. This vessel is seaworthy and I have acquired my sea legs, though they did take much getting accustomed to and breaking-in. But me&Jim[&ChuckProphetlately] are done just fine by this pontoon.

Been responding interestingly to any hostility lately. No mutuality, just pity. Pity for those with hatred in their hearts. Pity for the spiteful, vindictive, petty. That existence must be a miserable one at the core. My core explodes in vibrations of love and rock and roll, spurting song and nectar. I dance through my days, stepping in rhythm to silent songs flowing from my heart into my ears. I have photographic vision, each moment a mental polaroid for posterity. Every individual encountered is inherently good&beautiful. What life must be like otherwise, I do not want to become familiar with. I do not wish to become bedfellows with negativity.

I have ere said that happiness is a choice.
Love is [also] a choice. [So numerous the choices we humans have!]

I don't assert this in the acid-soaked, Haight-Ashbury sense.
Rather as such:
Cut free your ties to ill will.
Let go of your bitterness.
Embrace those you cherish with the tightest of grips.
Turn a blind eye to the rest
[with a Chris Crocker-esque "It's a hair-flip!"].
Seek the common ground rather than acting as a separatist.
And, love.
Just, love.

oh, we Cassandra's of the world.
we need no one.
it is our greatest strength & our fatal flaw.
we are perfectly content going inside ourselves.
we are nomadic. we are emotionally nomadic. we are numb.
when we finally feel "love," we love with such fervor.
[you will have no better lover than a Cassandra.]
we find each other. we are drawn there; it is magnetic;
we can sniff it out in one another as dogs do.

you cannot get close to Cassandra's.
you cannot know us. itisnotpermissible.
you may think you can & we may tell you that you are.
but, you cannot, to (y)our dismay.

we devour people whole.
we collect we catalog we consume.
you cannot define decipher deter us.
and we. cannot. stop.
we try.
we fail.
wetrywefail.
but, oh, we try.

(we fail.)

I firmly stand by the bitter truth that we are all alone in this life, in a way.
We are all existing in our own solitudes.
Sometimes our solitudes find the solitudes of others,
and they are solitary together, simultaneously; synchronized solitude.
If you are in a room full of people, you are still solitary,
the only one with access to every aspect and essence of yourself.
Rilke even once said,
"Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other."

[Perhaps I'm just speaking for myself;
my walled-off, tongue-biting, facade-bearing self.
Truthfully, I can count those who I have revealed my true self to on one hand,
not even utilizing every finger upon that hand,
and have been let down in every instance and wished that I had not.
I quickly recoil and lock it back away,
until I am persuaded to dust it off again.]

I deeply cherish my solitude in a way.
It is entirely mine.
Perhaps I love it with too much intensity,
place too much pressure upon it,
because it, too, shall occasionally fail me.
On this date, every year, it fails me miserably,
and I end up experiencing a deep depression with night's onset,
with the onset of my solitude,
no matter how wonderful the day was.



Today is my birthday.

...and what is purr-fection, anyways?

I have found my stasis in instability afraid that stability will disturb the equilibirium don't shake my counterpoise by slowing me down I do not wish to change the way things have come to be.

Having trouble distinguishing between what is for the best and what will destroy, and longing with much more intensity for imminent destruction. Thejuiceisworththesqueeze [Idobelieveandhope?], butjuiceislacedwithhemlock.

It is tame and kitten-like, but I am like the lion. I ravage and roar and proudly display my mane to envious onlookers that paid their $10 admission. I preen and lick my paws and stack my body accordingly. Born Free, for certain. This pace is too slow & quickening is not foreseeable; it is not in the kitten's nature. The other is surely like the lion but personifies that Bill Withers tune of old and will be the demise of self and dignity.

What do I need, then?
All I know is:
I need Hot Chip and insanity and whirlwind nights and excitement and groovy times and those pretensious indie fucks and art and noise and eternal cataclysm and Leyendecker and earth-shaking, body-rocking experiences. MEOW.


I will jade you.
I will devour you.
Run.