A Collection of Spectacles


i wrote a haiku a few nights ago (it’s five-seven-five, right?)

looks for paper.

lying beside you
your skin supurb in it’s splen
did benevolence

and thought it was good. then i realized how badly i cheated to make it work.


 then i thought about how

my legs are becoming all bruised and such from shows but i don’t mind

and i realized how butch i can be at times because it’s the only way i know how to interact with guys since it reminds me of staying in new york and playing cards and having fun and being five years old again with big glasses and books.

                           i realized how much i miss that.


      a series of random events.

                 on the phone i was told that i was loved. i think i said it back.

          i mounted someone and said i would give them a massage.

                    i cried in a dimly lit room because i couldn’t seperate my physical feelings from my emotions. they were entanged and represented by two colored strands of yarn. i cried and wet them and the yarn became liquid and ran off the side of the table.




it was not awkward for once.

for some reason, that’s all my mind can gather about the day.

i wonder how i come off to other people, how other people perceive me. i think everyone thinks about that though.

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i’m awfully content with life right now

(it’s all quite beautiful from here)

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i’ve felt well enough lately to make another list. it’s kinda sorta working already. it always works when i need it.

[clear your mind


focus on what you want

because you attract what you focus on]

and for once, i feel very content with the fact that i know exactly what i want in life. i want to make the best of it all.

i found this amazing (hilarious) song that i would’ve shared with you if…

well, you know.


*it’s still all in the back of my mind. just that the thoughts are dimming more and more each day.

i wonder if that’s what you wanted, to fade into the nothingness of my most trivial recollections.

this summer has been one of discovery. i’ve discovered who i am

              [an ever changing being]

  and have learned to accept it.

                        [who will continue to adapt and grow]

                most importantly, i have learned not to fight it.

    [the “me” you see today might not be the same one seen a week from now]


maybe one day we can meet up again, as children, when things are much more simple and pick flowers beneath the golden orb the Earth calls “sun.”

                                                              i’d most certainly hope so.

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i can’t sleep a whole night through anymore.

i have headaches but no pills.

i might have to move up the road.

i told my mother, “if i stay, i’m unhappy. if i go, i’m unhappy. i’ll never win.”

this is the most heartfelt thing i think i’ve ever said to her.

she said nothing. for a long time. and then said, “eat up.”

jokingly. she always jokes now.

but this is not that easy. i hate how she states things like oh it’s a bad situation already. almost like saying it sucks now get over it.

and my dad says, “i would never do it because of how it would affect you but i could see myself taking my own life. just to end this constant pain.”

all the while she thinks we’re joking. she thinks she can laugh at shit.

i hate this. i want to be on my own so i’ll know my downfalls will be my own doing.

 i was going to put up art reproductions on the (now blank) wall in my room but i’m unmotivated. what’s the point if i might not be there later? nothing has purpose.

i stare at the blank wall every morning. it’s representative of something, i’m sure, but i don’t know what.

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i hate that i don’t know what to want right now. i want to follow through with my original wish, dust myself off and try it again, but i don’t know if i want to broaden myself (because to broaden means to keep myself open and goddamnit i don’t think i can do that).

it’s this constant boredom that annoys me most now. that’s all i am now. annoyed. for there is no marking with which to pass the days.

(because there is nothing and no one with importance of that magnitude to waste hours thinking about)

now when i think, i’m back to how it was before. i’m don’t feel much but i know that my mind is working therefore i feel conflicted.

whenever i feel emotion (even if the feeling is horrible) i feel “alive.” that’s something i can’t say all the time.

i want to want but i don’t know if i can. or what to want.

i used to feel so put together but now i know that it was a hoax (sanity held together by a loosely tied ribbon).

i can only do my best and hope that i will never show that, inside, i am bare and minuscule and sensitive like the most fragile of small children.

but i’m not depressed. i consider depression to be a sign of weakness and i am not weak. i consider depression to be something of a luxury.

(i had a reason for why i thought this but it escapes me at the moment)


think about starving children around the world or hookers with abandoned children etc etc. they don’t have time to sit around and think, “wow. i’m fucking sad.” no. they’ve go to keep living. as long as i am alive i refuse to say “my life is bad” or let it get me down

because there’s alway someone out there who has it worse who’s still making due.

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