Provocation

Timeless memory

Al que juega con fuego se le queman las pestañas.  You can erase the proof; go back or forward, empirically play with the possibilities even in real time. You can expose your weakness in a hearty confession, edit it or get rid of it. Better, you can turn it into a stony ultimatum and break a spirit or two.

But the truth is that writing is a course. Words are a world on their own; being face to face inside the same walls is tighter than the walls themselves. It does not work. Yet the enchanting silkiness of the touch of a word, being intoxicated by a reason blurring phrase is a pleasure that appeals to a greater impermanence than sex. Why to insist on having them both? It is against nature. It is just unfair.

03.05.2015

We broke up again, this cycle ends now. Every winter till the bloom of spring is the same. Considering that this time it did not hurt and the idea of doing something wrong felt so bad, it might signify the closure I’ve been waiting for. So this is the end I guess. Still that does not mean that I am happy with the collaterals though. I am no happy with the past, the facts, and the same shit that burst on my face every day. What I call sacrifice that is nothing but fear, comfort and definitely shame. It is not that I lost him, because my feelings are as malleable as my flesh, it is that I hate that I am taking the wisest route, but also the route is taking me on its guts. I am not proud, he decided not me. I should have done it but again closure is more important than winning a small battle on my war against human nature. I feel bad; I thought it could really be love. Quite frankly, all of this is just a big dump. No love, no passion, just nonsense. I’ll work on myself from now on, which must become my commitment to the privilege life has granted me once more. That is crystal clear, undeniable, and terrifying. Someday I’ll have my studio, read till down, dance, run, and meditate. I will paint and sculpt; I’ll be come a goddess. I’ll plant my food and make my own perfume. I’ll be a monk, and above all I’ll be beautiful. That is what I want, not another dick, not another family, no past, no false glories. No friends but many acquaintances. Not even lovers cuss I’d love myself to pain. And die, no letters or drama, just put an end to it. If he would die I beg not to meet him on the afterlife. God gained himself another victory on my penny so I better watch my back.