| (no subject) |
[Jun. 8th, 2009|11:26 pm] |
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walking. not exactly the time to feel depressed about a variety of so-called ailments in my sad, pathetic existence. i would be better off dreaming about being a worm. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 28th, 2009|10:59 am] |
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. |
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| Wanted: |
[May. 25th, 2009|10:48 pm] |
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Help from people who've been to europe. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 31st, 2009|12:03 pm] |
"All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me." |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 21st, 2009|11:30 pm] |
HI,
I really need the cash, so please go to stardust's website AND HELP ME WIN (at least, for all 10% of it)
my name is DAPHNE BOEY, fyi.
DONT VOTE WRONGLY. haha. |
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| mind and heart, charles bukowski |
[Mar. 18th, 2009|12:36 am] |
unaccountably we are alone
forever alone
and it was meant to be
that way,
it was never meant
to be any other way–
and when the death struggle
begins
the last thing I wish to see
is
a ring of human faces
hovering over me–
better just my old friends,
the walls of my self,
let only them be there.
I have been alone but seldom
lonely.
I have satisfied my thirst
at the well
of my self
and that wine was good,
the best I ever had,
and tonight
sitting
staring into the dark
I now finally understand
the dark and the
light and everything
in between.
peace of mind and heart
arrives
when we accept what
is:
having been
born into this
strange life
we must accept
the wasted gamble of our
days
and take some satisfaction in
the pleasure of
leaving it all
behind.
cry not for me.
grieve not for me.
read
what I’ve written
then
forget it
all.
drink from the well
of your self
and begin
again. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 15th, 2009|09:11 pm] |
with me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. this second is Life. and when it is gone it is dead. but you can't
start over with each
new second. you have to judge by what is
dead.
it's like quicksand...hopeless from the start.
a story, a picture,
can renew
sensation a little, but not enough,
not enough. nothing is real except the present, and already, i feel the weight of centuries smothering me. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 15th, 2009|02:53 am] |
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bit of a drag ain't it? |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 1st, 2009|05:04 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  irate | ] |
my toilet bowl is bloody choked. i cant flush it because flushing repeatedly means i'll pretty soon drown in sai water. i hate it okay i have to pee into the shower stall and dont get me started about shitting. pieces of toilet paper float up to the surface from time to time and i swear if i wasnt so vexed about it i would have been amused. I NEED TO UNCLOG MY TOILET BOWL. and my sink too. and my aircon. well, not so much unclog the aircon but ITS DRIPPING WATER. i feel so irate and you all know how much i HATE puddles of water. i hate it i hate it i hate it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 27th, 2009|03:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  tired | ] |
i am fucking tired
i dont know who i am anymore
i dont have time for anybody else, or for myself for that matter
i fall asleep on my feet
i dont do anything else
i dont complain, and i dont
falter because doing so makes me weak and
i am not weak so
I WILL TRUDGE ON.
well, who am i to blame really and
i suppose
if i think
on the bright side i can
see that at least i'm so tired
i
dont think. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 17th, 2009|07:02 pm] |
Hatch opens
Stark light
the television talks
full of eyes
the spirits of sight
and now I am so afraid
I'm seeing things
I'm hearing things
I don't know who I am
tongue out thought stalled
the piecemeal crumple of my mind
Where do I start?
Where do I stop?
How do I start?
(As I mean to go on)
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop? How do I stop? A tab of pain
How do I stop? Stabbing my lungs How do I stop? A tab of death
How do I stop? Squeezing my heart
I'll die
not yet but it's there
Please...
Money...
Wife...
Every act is a symbol
the weight of which crushes me
A dotted line on the throat
CUT HERE
DON'T LET THIS KILL ME
THIS WILL KILL ME AND CRUSH ME AND
SEND ME TO HELL
I beg you to save me from this madness that eats me
a sub-intentional death
I thought I should never speak again
but now I know there is something blacker than desire
perhaps it will save me
perhaps it will kill me
a dismal whistle that is the cry of heartbreak around the
hellish bowl at the ceiling of my mind
a blanket of roaches
cease this war
My legs are empty
Nothing to say
And this is the rhythm of madness
- - - -
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 9th, 2009|04:03 am] |
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a Mousie shaped hole in the universe. |
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| tropic of cancer |
[Feb. 4th, 2009|04:30 am] |
tried my hand at translation in view of my upcoming trip to france:
Sur la méridienne de temps, il y a pas de injustice: il y a seul la poésie de motion creé l'illusion de la vérité et le drame. Si à tout moment et place on se retrouve face à avec l'absolue, la grand sympathie que causes les hommes comme Ghandi ou Jesus paraissent divin disparaît. Ce n'est pas la chose monstrueuse que les gens aient créent les roses par merde, mais que, pour quelques raisons, ils veulent roses! Les hommes chercher pour un miracle pour quelques raisons, et pour l'accomplir il va patauger dans le sang. Il va se dévergonder avec les ideés, il va se réduire à une ombre si pour seul une second dans sa vie il peut fermer ses yeux au grotesque de realité.
from henry miller's tropic of cancer.
oh yeah, france is going to be a blast if i had 300 hours a day to translate my thoughts/wishes/desires/needs into french. whoot. |
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