Regenerative experiences: Plunge into the sea. The sun. An old city. Silence.
// Susan Sontag
MIND: Opaque
It is all happening, here and now, the past is waiting for me, it has the blue colour of her eyes.
// Bo Carpelan
MIND: Unity
I regard and respect the genuinely human, living with nature — not going against nature — as refinement. I ask, what most makes me a human being.
// Vincent van Gogh
SOL: Negligent
I remember her body like Corradini
Hard as stone until caressed, brought to
Life under nimble fingers, made soft, angelic
Vengeful Medusa, nimble queen
Elusive garden surrounded by
Rose-filled walls you would be
Best off not to climb, esa rosita tiene espinas
The smell she exudes is always
Tender, but even honey tastes sweet until
You feel the sting, enchanting with a smile like a
Lighthouse, shining through the darkness to
Help everyone else, never thinking to keep
Enough to save herself
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Strong Bones, Made for Storms.”
MIND: Concealed
There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it.
// Gustave Flaubert
SOL: Ingenious
Tell me more of addiction
He says, picking nails at the
End of the bed as I stretch
Emitting purrs like a feline
Languidly checking my back for
Bite marks
Answering his question
Through intentional absence
As the daylight crawls and
Falls over the sandstone walls
3AM Thoughts // AKA “A Habit, A Destructive Vice, A Toll.”
MIND: Interrogation
And are you in love? And are you happy? And do you sometimes write a poem? And have you had your hair cut? And have you met anybody of such beauty your eyes dance, as the waves danced?
// Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Quentin Bell
MIND: Volatile
You hold a little fire up to my bare skin, which is already a small pyre, one which burns and burns but never burns down; in fact the flames are ever growing.
// Franz Kafka
SOL: Malevolence
Your depression doesn’t make you
A better artist –
You aren’t even an artist now.
You write dried up, worn out, reused metaphors to
Try and cover the regurgitated plots in your shitty prose:
He loved me and I left him,
I adored her and it was never enough.
Your fake epousing of wisdom isn’t worth the
Plane ticket you bought to another country,
Trying to douse the North American off of you like a cheap perfume.
Buying a different accent, a stranger lifestyle,
A few voyeuristic stories to tell through loose lips to tight friends.
You are a fucking fraud and it seeps from your skin
It pulls one side of your smile down like
Rotting wallpaper drops to old wooden floors.
Your mind is evil, your thoughts are despicable –
There is something growing toxic within you
Eating you alive from the inside out.
Vileness, treachery and a cunning
Set of linguistics round you out but
You are not worth the
Time or effort, and soon
He will have had enough.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “My Intrusiveness Bleeds Elusiveness.”
MIND: Autograph
She kissed
as if she, alone,
could forge
the signature
of the sun.
Said The Shotgun To The Head // Saul Williams
