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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