Descartes in Love
Love, accepting that we are not pure and lucent hearts, ricocheting towards each other like unlatched stars—no, we are tainted with self. We sometimes believe the self is an invisible glass, just as we believe the body is a suit made of meat. Doubt all things invisible. Doubt all things visible.
Not to be a tragic person. What is a tragic person? The victim of a crime who does not realize the criminal is himself.
Adonis Prettyboy in Hell
And then her son with love-gun and a quiver
snatched a love-shaft and delivered—a twiggy arrow
in her nipple like a nasty sliver...
A big pig stuck me with his tusk, but it's life that's the bore, silly!
I never got desire, I always got what I wanted
And in this hallway incredulous of lights, I want wild pears, firm booblike fruit—Daffodils!
Clovers! And the trill of starlings why not! We could grow
apples here... Apples? So, I suppose I do miss her
—You know when I fell out of life
I grabbed her heart like a rope;
The target audience of my secrets is not my friends, but my journals and the
strangers who will read them in the future.
Child of Immigrants
I used to pretend I was American.
This was until I realized I was American.
What is forgiveness? When someone else's sin becomes merely an action
we ourselves might plausibly commit. The virtue of hypocrisy—we
temporarily become people other than ourselves and can notice our actions
from the other side, as saintly as no one.
abridgement. I am not a cow and Argus not omniscience.
We are clockfraught beings.
The man I love stopped my heart when he froze the world to night.
My heart being part of the world.