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esoteric contour

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...and counting [08 Sep 2003|02:57pm]
at least for me, it generated one of those deep piercing reactions, the kind that just misses a ventricle. and though it's quite over, just as outcries for reconciliation have long since echoed their way to silence, i'd like to think of it as something that still haunts me in the night, like words flung down empty hallways long past midnight. thus, accounting for my pale face and my night-light burning like the north star.

graces graces we have fooled you, and you will not be welcomed into those who are needing, for the monster that created you has changed his mind yet again about who shall receive you.
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[27 Jun 2003|01:10pm]
art is long and time is fleeting, and our hearts, though stout and brave, still, like muffled drums, are beating funeral marches to the grave.
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part one [19 Jun 2003|03:28pm]
i have this friend, a good friend indeed,
who spits at my face and then wipes it clean.
he's a liar, my friend. he's a mighty pretender.
and that noble girl of his, he's gone on to defend her.
so i am left stumbling my way through his love;
where the vines have grown over and nothing's enough.
through the hardships of friendships and pain of rejection
there's a sliver of a smile and a bowl of deception.
for every kind word there's a death blow that follows
like every peach has a pit to swallow.

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oh, i've proven myself a failure. [03 Jun 2003|11:07pm]
surely there is something strange and marvelous in the talent of this child, who unveils with ease the most secret recesses of the heart, whose passion caresses and dominates all other passion, who speaks all the languages of love, who leaves to us through words, all that is immutable and eternal in our lineaments, traced there by the wisdom of god.

this is where lack of conviction comes in. to deny thyself of his love and his graces is far more than a fight. for this romancer, when my doubts are heaved upon him, has supplied much better reasons for his justifications than i could for attacking him, and against such a formidable champion my weak arms are scarcely at an advantage.
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[01 Jun 2003|05:45pm]
we're all alone now, my friend and i. and we've grown sad together; amidst the feverish routines of being in love.
but my throat is warm when he caresses it.
he's intoxicating, that love of mine. and we've grown weary together; of hasty accusations and second guesses of faith.
but my tongue is lonesome and cold when he's gone.

and my darling, you are empty now. i drank up all your passion.
your heart, it's almost clear now. the red has all flushed away.
and oh, i may not have you now. but i have the correct change to go buy another.
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apprehension swallowed whole [28 May 2003|02:05am]
a native to promiscuity; he's confident, sifting through the mess of clothing, biting your lip, charging your neck with mouth wide open, demanding tender consolations of lips, hands upon backs upon face upon sternum upon body parts strangely foreign to someone who's loved before.
strangely, yet rightfully foreign. and this makes me all the more thankful for his tell-tale skin and his stumbling tongue. nervous junctions where mouth meets stomach and stomach meets divine intervention; those are the times of gracious rewarding for taking part in one of those deliciously tangible loves; those foreign bodies, familiar hearts type loves.
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it's all in the execution [26 May 2003|02:46am]
this is what she felt like when she came around.
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july 1st [20 May 2003|01:44pm]
i won't be seeing the fireworks this year.
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there is many a rest in the road of life, if we only would stop to take it [20 May 2003|12:46pm]
me, myself, and him him and her; we're all just trying to recuperate from a wondrous love gone wrong and an overdose of a prescription so violently passionate the slightest drop could knock you out. like any doctor in his right mind would prescribe a cold compress for a broken heart.
the patients here bear no withstanding for pain and they have no time to recount the sufferings of the past. so they grab that bottle right from the very hands of god. and before a chance of forewarning it's down his throat and he's kicking and screaming on that bathroom floor once more.

attention: all nurses report to the 8th floor. codeblue.codered.codebloodyfuckingmess.codeslicedveins. heart wrenching with d e s i r e.
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[19 May 2003|12:40pm]
she's breathing down the neck of the past
like you're kissing the neck of the present.
it used to be that even sparks were dismissed as nothing
because thoughts were too busy wandering overseas;
too busy for justifiable doubts,
too busy with "nothing else will ever compare."
and now it's painted all over your room, your face, your past, and your future.
because it will never leave you;
that love and that need for pretty words composed on prettier pictures.
like a hand-woven basket with every piece of you entwined.
a year's worth of hopeless romantics.
a game of taking turns to pat the other's head;
and what a wonderful, rewarding game it was.
but when the game is over you don't have to be a baby to cry.
and you don't have to be ready for the next one.
so grieve, darling, grieve.
take a time-out.
because the next game deserves full attention,
not stifled sobs.
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cold blankets layed upon colder bodies [09 May 2003|12:08pm]
on the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh i'd like to be left alone with a yellow pad of paper and a lamp with yellow paper over it. and after i have them you must leave me to plot revenge on this awful brain of mine. to read and read at it. then i'll write 'til it hurts and be the most pretentious, bastard in a gown, anyone could ever be. and i'll remember as far back as i possibly can; to laughing when i as 2 years old when i split my tongue in half and windex sprayed in my eye...neither of which hurt this bad. i will lie and cheat 'til i'm drowning in guilt. i'm going to be nostalgic; sobbing and laughing; back and forth, back and forth. by now i'm sure to be suffering.
and on the eighth day, i'd like to look in a mirror.
i just hope hearts are braced for this.
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[05 May 2003|07:07pm]
you've begun to question the paths you've walked in recent years; unforgiving years, in which you loved and had been loved and achieved due consequence of the two and whether with nickles or dimes have paid the price. this vision of yours is overwhelming to the senses and there is too much to remember and account for; just too much to consider any one thing more worthwhile and justified than the rest.

but i'm walking a dirt road too, darling. and i'm way-worn and approaching an ambush; i can see it from here. but follow my lead and refuse to be selfish and sulk in a tub of self-pity. for everyone reaches this point of contradiction and hung juries.

this is the crossroad of a life of substance; that of passion and wonder and at times self-doubt. and there's no time for sketchy, apologetic paragraphs to those you've hurt along the way; there's no time for that at all. and it's unnecessary anyway.

you've awakened your conscience, now repent in sackcloth and ashes.
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honeyed words atop fallen hearts has never felt so good [05 May 2003|01:21pm]
oh, delicious tears; the heart's own dew! they've taken this night and sanctioned me to bundles of apologies for this evasive, fickle brain of mine; whilst my heart is adding an abundance of fuel to this flame and is overflowing with desire. this bastard heart. it's waging war on my meticulous planning of a life of reason and rationality. it's pouring cold water on all of my childhood hopes for "someday" stability. and i always felt i needed that certainty; but more than ever now i feel whole and righteous in affairs bereft of it. because with bated breath and a stroke of a finger upon my forehead i'm consoled and reassured that we're deserving, i'm deserving, and it's only fair to allow for uncertainty because it's inevitable even in the loveliest of loves.
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[04 May 2003|06:46pm]
whether our bodies or our hearts
we've still succeeded.
we were peasants in a fairy tale.
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[02 May 2003|11:36am]
my tongue is not as slick and my eyes are not as dark as they used to be when i was a liar; when i pretended to be at full attention each time you told me you were failing miserably. i was feeling guilty back then. and i was feeling obligated. you were the seeds and i was the gardener and i ruined you and everything you could have grown to be. i planted you too close to those dripping-love roses and now you're tangled. and all i am is sorry for not planting you next to the sunflowers or the daisies; oh! you would have gotten along just fine with them. i'm sorry for not feeling guilty anymore. because it would be the compassionate thing to do; rather than feeling carefree while you're still tangled. it's just that i'm finding myself jumping on my bed for no apparent reason at all, except for maybe my being tangled with roses myself. and i feel i should be sorry for being so wonderfully content with my bed and my roses and with each passing minute; but i'm giving up self-deception for good. and isn't it better to feel rightfully obligated to a friendship, rather than a lacklustre infatuation?

so forgive the idea of an uncertain future, darling; but it's the irrational, unpredictable, red roses that we depend on to be our leaders.
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[16 Apr 2003|01:28pm]
the tyranny of secrets is taking hold. and i for one, am a prisoner.
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[09 Apr 2003|12:29pm]
We are all human --
we protect ourselves
as well as we can
even to the point of denying
clarity, the point
of self-deception. As in
the consecration to which I alluded.

And yet, within this deception,
true happiness occurred.
So that I believe I would
repeat these errors exactly.
Nor does it seem to me
crucial to know
whether or not such happiness
is built on illusion:
it has its own reality.
And in either case, it will end.
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[06 Apr 2003|05:17am]
the seats are back and we're looking up and no one has the slightest idea of what to think of ourselves. all the while, he's trying to tell us he was framed; but we're all framed, really. we calculate the area and we determine the edges and we set each other up for the framing...of thoughts, of intuition, of motives, of descrepancies....and we all second-guess each other. and it's ok, because no matter what we still have our secrets. and there's still that bit that hangs off and whether you cut it or fold it and tuck it away for safe, yet wrinkled, keeping is up to you. you determine your own. because that edge, that feeling that no one can frame, it could be your downfall...or your revelation.
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[04 Apr 2003|02:36pm]
though indecision may lead me to restless nights, the right side of me is sleeping dear, with the possibilities not possibilities at all, but an infallible picture of serenity. and the golden lights, not neon, but gold; they're accenting every perfect line of your face, and you're still talking, venting, reciting, competing....and you have no idea that you're still intact, and every line is still perfect. the puddles can't even ruin this, and puddles! oh, why they're the most dreadful things! yet you supersede them, and you're doing it with such charm that i've forgotten not to walk on the cracks. and back there, between that block...was that 2 or 3 steps? for now i think i'll count to eight and pretend this never happened.
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[30 Mar 2003|11:26am]
tomorrow is coming and my thoughts are still wandering off to yesterday and before and before and before. oh, and my indecision is hardly doing me any good. that, along with the undying vigor with which i deny absolutely everything has my hands scurrying over these keys like tomorrow is approaching too soon. self-deception is a killer and i'm not the only one. or at least that's what i'll tell myself for now. and my hopes for tomorrow are that of one in complete and utter desperation. countless tries to admit to everything; yet still no closure,no summation. this perpetual tragedy of trying; yet all the while never succeeding.
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