Monday, 21 August 2017

Saturday, 5 August 2017

"The bra hook buries itself
in our backs. The boys who won’t love me just
won’t love me. I sit on the subway hold
my hand. You are not the only one who
goes home and thinks about killing yourself."

"Elsa, what is mourning and can it be
learned. Elsa, how we start to tear from
the middle. When I forget who I am
I put on pearls and spray my perfume. The
only narrative I have running through
my head is I need someone to kiss me.
Like boats shaped like birds set to the west, her
heart will never be rid of its ghosting."

felt maybe in her past life she was
beautiful she was great. She felt maybe
in her future life she’d think this life was
beautiful it was great. The building smelled like
cumin there is nothing left to say."

angela veronica wong

Tuesday, 20 June 2017

“My mind, I know, I can prove, hovers on hummingbird wings. It hovers and it churns. And when it's operating at full thrust, the churning does not stop. The machines do not rest, the systems rarely cool. And while I can forget anything of any importance--this is why people tell me secrets--my mind has an uncanny knack for organization when it comes to pain. Nothing tormenting is ever lost, never even diminished in color or intensity or quality of sound.” 

Sunday, 14 May 2017

“We can only die in the future, I thought; right now we are always alive.” 

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

we always had world enough

oh, but time

Monday, 24 April 2017

So don't you say to me
That life's a trap
The future is nothing but a tragedy
'cause I'll be out of that window
Yeah, I'll start wishing to die again
Just say we're not walking backwards, kid
And show me to the door
And I'll walk behind
Out into the hot sunlight
Where the world's very much alive
Even when I close my eyes

Saturday, 18 March 2017

600 days of sobriety today

mostly thinking about how i used to drink myself to sleep because my heartbeat was too loud

how i drank to still the world when it became overwhelming, to still my brain

how easy it was to create distance, from other people and myself

remembering something someone wrote about addicts and how there is a lack of true connection between us and other people and the world when we are actively addicted. "they have about them the air of elsewhere, that they're looking through you to somewhere else they'd rather be". and of course, that's exactly what we're doing. it's always been about escape. fucked up to think that at the base of it the main reason that i drank for a decade straight was because i was in so much psychic pain that the world sober was literally unbearable.

there is a widely-accepted belief that addiction is messy, loud, unavoidable. that self-harm is so strange and sad and against nature that one who carries it out must be manic, obviously quite mad, forgetting themselves, out of their minds and having public breakdowns. that it will always be unavoidably noticeable to those who interact with the addicted person.
it was always very quiet for me. it was always very methodological. it stilled the world. i'd never stopped time like that before. i've never stopped time like that since. public downward spirals are the face of addiction, but the quiet spaces are where i damaged myself the most successfully. i needed those quiet spaces. no longer feeling the weight of having to appear functional to the waking world, no longer feeling the weight of trying to keep up with a life that was outrunning me. no longer feeling any weight at all

a famous psychologist said that the goal of all life is death. that self destruction is the way in which we express our inescapable 'death instincts'. the only way to beat it is if your 'life instincts' are stronger.
mine never were.
if you chase destruction, the 'elsewhere', you'll always find it.