I wake up at one thirty
then I forget to eat and and fight myself
the evenings are prettiest: I drink
and watch hero movies in which heroes
follow a direction
Ceci n’est pas un poème déprimé
The hatred of my hatred vindicates me: I am still a consciousness in and of the world, death foreshadowing in all of its tissues My body tortures itself I must watch, I watch pain is no measure as my spirit is gone this is not suffering: I am an automaton I don't want to wait ...
April 13. Village life.
I wake up and I think it's late but it's not. It's only 9:30. I pay the old lady and go. Carolina will show me a traditional village, where ecotourism has become the main source of income. I am shown cocoa trees, and taste the sweet pulp. I chew a seed too but it doesn't ...
do you know a name? (parental guidance advised)
every Monday i wake up with with a pain that i am not allowed to call pain some subconsciousness has conspired to destroy whatever vital ambition i hate this fucking show but i am not allowed to turn it off week by week my life is rotting away i have lost all interest and inspiration ...