24 mar. 2010


Humor me. Let's meet in the hallway and pretend not to know our names. I once thought yes, and started seeing butterflies everywhere. You would always give me love through anger and agression. Humor me, make me feel I was everything, I was your bus rides and dreams and song associations, and all your suffering carried my name. That's all we're really asking of each other. Humor me.

The guilt was everywhere, scattered like ink, scattered like all our mistakes upon that creamy tablecloth we realized from the beginning we would be unable to keep clean. (Life). Like ink that guilt ran and cleaned our sins when emptied out and recognized. I once thought no, and felt the cieling crumble in. This guilt, that guilt, looking in the mirror guilt, why can't I love you guilt. Break-the-antique-vase and run away syndrome. But sometimes you step on a living baby. And sometimes you step on yourself, or your heart, your beliefs. At its worse- that wonderful being that gave you beauty. Beauty is the seed of love, then life. Stepping on those things, killing them accidentaly. Running away. That's guilt.

Everything, lifeless, points towards you. Guilt is the most sickening and painful throbbing reminder of life- we feel more alive then ever, but like a roach in the carpet, impurely.
But no. Guilt is not my fault. I'm trapped: it's just because I can't really run away, it's just because all the broken pieces are there, it's just because you made me love you! It's just because we can't turn around and be somewhere else, laugh, dance, reality doesn't adapt to our wild imaginings, but I didn't want to hurt anyone... And now I feel guilty for not wanting to carry my guilt. For not being able to. For that part of me that just doesn't care, that keeps running, that runs back and steps again on that defenseless baby, and laughs and chases blindly its deep deep desire. That's never going to change. I didn't want to love, but there I went. I didn't want to get involved, but chased and spoke and took three steps.

Guiltless! Humor me. Take my hand and let's go behind the curtain there, in the spooky auditorium, and forget together. That's what I'd like to say.

Last night I dreamt, and there was much heat, my sheet probably was sticking to my body, and I went to the river when the sun is low enough so that light shines from things themselves, and I bathed in the river, and truly was clean.
Humor me.

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