One is silver and the other gold.

A series of broken relationships.

My old pals, how I love them, but things are ending.

But with this perhaps some old spectres will also die. Perhaps I will be free from the shackles of history.

Though I don't really expect this to happen until grad school. The deshackling, that is. The slow death is as is: inevitable.

Alone wrote

8,000 Americans dead in 9/11, Iraq and Afghanistan.

Don't email me with your "but what about" and "how can you equate--" It's a fact, not a moral reckoning.

Every one of them is missed by someone.

Every one of them leaves behind a half-person, or perhaps twice a person, as they have to both eat pizza and open presents and smile at work while also carrying the burden of pointless emptiness.

You hear his voice in a park, see him just rounding a corner. And every morning before you open your eyes you try to wake yourself up back--

But time goes only in one direction. Better than spiraling inwards, towards nothing, as it does for parents who are left marking time after their child has moved on.

There's no shame in making him a memory and moving on, but there's not much relief in it either.

Hail and farewell.

Can't help but be reminded of suicide. What about those parents? There is no shame, no stigma attached to the death of your soldier son.

Let us gaze upon the wilde Pushmi-pullyu!

Been up late every night, sleep in late every day. Never wanna go to sleep. Never wanna wake up. But I do manage to get a lot done. I just miss alotta phone calls in the morning. And early afternoon.

I kind of hate how easily I see parallels between the lives of characters and my own. Is that warped empathy or extreme narcissism? As if I wanted their faces to all turn into mirrors.

No. I don't want it. I don't like what I recognize in them most times. Not in a self-loathing way. Just in a but-why-is-life-so-complicated way.

My brain is stuck on William Zanzinger and poor old Hattie Carroll. Just keeps repeating. Also,

They're just old light.

Some things you lose and some things you just give away.

Stuck on net change.

State A being preferable to B. I perceived there to have been a shift from A to B, but realized that I cannot define how the shift occurred. I first assumed it had been due to action. I had been unable to figure out what a plausible state shifting action was. What had caused the movement from A to B? Not action! Inaction! That is to say, stasis at A required something.

I was looking for a push. There is no push. Simply put, there ceased to be a pull.

A song he gave to me...

I already gave it to someone else.

Poetic hearts are a liability. Increased susceptibility to polarity.

Growing weary of symbolism. Even so I was tempted to follow that up with bird-bones. Ugh.

I just wanna go to Orlando and enjoy not being a punk but going to punk shows anyway.

Or maybe I'll just paint instead. OK.

(The echoes in this place make me feel like I'm not alone.)

What am I looking for? It's been more than 3 years. The trail has gone cold.

It's like I believe the wild theories put forth by my dreams. But in reality, I'm sure somebody else has just happened to have adopted his old handle.

That my heart pounded with such hope and apprehension blows my mind.

How fucking irrational can one get.

Jesus.

Foot, mouth

Open antpile, insert stick.

Interactions begging for reaction but there's no room for footnotes in reality, no matter how beautiful the story.

Oh.. oh.. see, there goes the proportion. You've gone and messed up the proportion again.

This is a place not sacred nor hidden.

Just this place like one I once knew.

And I hate to chisel in stone, but.

I don't understand, motive or impulse or resignation.

And I couldn't hear them but I could hear you. And even in these echoes expect I hear you more than you heard yourself.

I hope you forget. I hope all comes to naught. I hate the mocking overlay. I hate your nervous laughter. The sudden flight from reason.

My silence is like so many mincing steps.

No, you are not beholden to me. I am not your mother. You are right. Because I won't raise my voice, won't extract vengeance. I am so many beats of silence.

Understand: I am risk averse. It comes in part with rationality. It's left in part by blunt forces.

What are you slave to? It's something beyond fear. I cannot see it. I cannot understand it. I do not accept your reasoning.

I will not accept that it is a lie I cherish.

No outlet. No recourse.

Don't take this to heart. I stopped shaking a while ago. I am tired. Baseless.

I know these words. So well that I know how powerless they are.

Please.

Why?