The Aura of the First
It seemed like we were in the midst of changing the sheets. Stuck on the bed which doesn’t help forever changing the sheets.
Constantly walking around with a masking tape also to put on everything.
How to write in the comfort of modern medicine? The leather armchairs at the hospital lobby had a wider section curving in closer to the body, enough space to perfectly fit a notebook to lay on. I couldn’t help myself.
And also why I was there. To see someone who could. Because what I had peed in a plastic cup the other day? My head is spinning.
No its not that I’m dumb fooling around but mostly waiting for things to come find me. Because I don’t have an opinion or what. Or like abusive parents who have not dared to look at themselves and out of this from us trying to make monsters or what. Not existing in the crowds. And thus trying to make exhibitions or what.
A man just hit my flowers and I woke up. A man just walked into my flowers and I kept writing. A man called me a flower and I had to continue walking.
No context control is no control at all. Just reminding.
I recommend carrying flowers. It suddenly is more about the flowers and less about you. You know what I mean if you ever carried flowers before. You become the person who carries the flowers more so than a person full stop.
Don’t we all feel like a someone carrying something and less of just a someone, just a person full stop, question mark.
I’m learning how to swim you know. Learning how not to drown. Learning how not to be drawn
out of context.
onto a canvas.
bought at a store nearby you know. I think it’s cheap.
I drank my water like a finally.
To be less of a more, more or less. No, to be
Exactly. Hitting a good twelve.
And by that time it ceases to matter which number you take seriously. I like that.
So no more, no less.
No more more or less.
No But Exactly Yes!
I am who I am yet I whisper, I whispered by the ATM.
What happened to my game? Where did my muscles go? And perhaps I know this much, that like flowers, we give away even the least bit, our this bit, for more, to others. For love, for someone else, full stop. For who we want to become comma.
And in the name of love we still give away flowers. Or buy them to be exact in exchange for value. I love common sense. I think I grasp a great deal about it. My mom disagrees. But I disagree. I think it’s cheap.
Caught the undercurrent before the day ends. There’s a big flow and no obvious shelter, in this sense, I remember who I was but I don’t want to.
There’s this one street I need to go back to. On my way home from work always a confusion as to where I’d parked my bike. Just about to turn around the corner I’d take it out and light my joint up. My best friend. You have changed so many faces, probably just in exchange for fresh sheets. I’d written so much more when you were holding my hands. Just write me once. Admit it. I was the one to let go of you instead.
I’ll start the S and the O R you sure R we good Y,es continue please.
On the average day I now loose my senses. And they come right back up but Where and How, you know.
Not out of a carving. Perhaps some embroidery. You who the one who doesn’t deserve me the full sentence strikethrough full stop and undo. Certainly a good relief print. The kind where when you run your fingers over you can definitely feel it.
The list of things that used to excite me when I was younger: -Grissini and cream cheese -Formula 1 -Sunday brunch -Books on Pixar -Bookstores -Small chairs in bookstores -Multicolor pencils -School trips -Boys -Sandcastles -Ballpits -English teachers -Hot Wheels -Remodeled tiny houses -Swings
I think you should read this book. listed below.
A metaphor can be continued until it is resented from. It’s a remodeling of those times.
I read her a poem from memory, she started coughing. I should have known.
We all felt stupid at some point.
I ought to keep walking if I don’t see any difference between red and green.
When you have cash and condoms in the same pocket and have to pay for something make sure to reach for the right thing because the textures are so similar on the skin.
You know if you cried for me and didn’t let me know, it wouldn’t be cool.
Holding the dildo like a pen. Where would that take me?
(Forever commuting in this city. Read: forever committing.)
I have been reading:
Naïve. Super. - Erlend Loe
Soğuk Kazı, Y’ol - Birhan Keskin
Cold Enough for Snow - Jessica Au