“Everyone has his own way of mourning the passage of time”
Resolution: Two haikus:
“Doesn’t matter whom
As long as your with someone
Like a parasite”
“The weight falls away
When you expose your slight breasts
It makes my heart pound”
I can’t live to drink, dance, and fuck. All I want now is peace. Peace for you and peace for me. I see couples holding hands and kissing, legs intertwined as they stretch out on blankets. They dote on each other beneath an infinite expanse of sky. But what is to be said of lovers? They do not contemplate the atmosphere and what lies beyond the blue. They are oblivious to the fact that the universe is constantly expanding, that ancient stars have used up the remainder of their fuel after billions of years and have collapsed under their own weight. They are ignorant of the laws of nature. They are selfish lovers. They have created their own universe, one without time, one without destruction, one without death. There is only the “now” they experience when they look into each other’s eyes. The only physics that governs their movements is the physics of love-making.
The gas giants are not as greedy as lovers.
(good god, i want to collapse you with my weight)
(when i see you i want to fill my lungs with your breath)
Some will say I am selfish for the way I think, but I have learned that it’s no use living your life for someone else.
I would say that I’m sorry, but I refuse to formulate an apology. I am a result of a sad distraction. Once upon a time, two people thought they couldn’t live without each other. They fucked. They exchanged fluids. The process of reproduction occurred. A baby gestated inside a mother’s womb. The baby was something they created together and they felt blessed. They got married to fulfill societal norms, to rid baby the displeasure of being deemed a bastard. The mommy and daddy tried to be happy, but mommy was sick of daddy’s little weenie and they started sleeping in different bedrooms. Baby grew up thinking this was normal behavior for two married adults. They never fucked because one baby was already too much of a financial and emotional burden. Maybe mommy’s little monster reminded her too much of daddy. Anyway, mommy needed something to fill her up on the inside. She started fucking someone else, someone different from daddy, but an idiot all the same. Baby had trouble sleeping. He could hear them outside laughing. (He would later grow up to be an insomniac). Baby saw him kiss mommy. He told daddy, but not without making sure that daddy wouldn’t blow mommy’s brains all over the walls. He didn’t want daddy to hurt mommy and then hurt himself. He didn’t want to be left all alone. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be so small and so alone in such a great big world. The thought of it made him cry and cry until he made himself sick. Mommy and daddy got divorced like the majority of couples living in America. Now mommy works too much. She is afraid of losing focus, of getting distracted, of falling into despair. She doesn’t want to think. Daddy tried to stop thinking in other ways. After bearing the impossible burden of adultery, he couldn’t believe that he had to start all over again.
He began to question free will. He took methamphetamine. He stayed awake for days and days and everything was beautiful. He was afraid to fall asleep, afraid that he would miss something, that maybe someone would invade his home and steal his livelihood once again. He enjoyed watching the warm, embryonic pink of the sunrise erase the faint light of the stars. He liked to wonder if his former lover was watching the same marvelous events unfold.
But he couldn’t stay awake forever. He found God in his isolation and God gave him peace. He sleeps in the arms of the Lord, blanketed by the fleece from the lamb of god. He walks in the sweetest, greenest, most beautiful pastures, guided by the soft hand of the almighty shepherd. He isn’t alone anymore. He is awed by the idea that he was never alone in the first place, that all he had to do was reach out his hands and pray.
I am jealous of his serenity.
Sometimes I wish mommy’s plane would crash, that there would be a mechanical failure or some act of pilot error. That way she wouldn’t have to work so hard for a selfish son, that she would never age, that she wouldn’t cry by herself in a hotel room at the sight of her crow’s feet. She is so afraid of getting old. She is beginning to look like my grandmother. I made sure to tell her that I thought she was beautiful in her last mother’s day card.
Do you blame her for her insecurity? Why wouldn’t you want to stay beautiful in this beautiful world?
Sometimes the images my eyes and brain process are so beautiful that it’s disgusting.
I reward myself with food.
Sometimes I miss you.
I take drugs because I’m lonely.
Sometimes I feel bad for other people, but normally I feel bad for myself.
I think about killing myself, but I don’t want to hurt my beautiful mother. She tries very hard for me. She works so much and never takes a break. I spend the money she gives me on chemical distractions. I’m living my life for someone else.
I feel like a selfish piece of shit.
I spent all of my time with you. I regret most of it.
I mostly used you for sex. You’re easy. We both felt better about ourselves when our clothes were off.
Thinking about how sluttish you are makes me horny. I still think about how you let me come inside you. I wonder if you let him do it too.
I’m so glad I didn’t get you pregnant.
Every day I am worried that my mother will die and leave me all alone. I am scared of living with only memories. I am afraid that someday I will lose them and have nothing. Memories of memories.
It’s depressing to be alone, but being with you was worse.
I hope that someday someone will refrain from using me and genuinely want to spend their time with me.
I am scared to death of sleeping alone.
I would feel elated to know that someone was thinking about me.
My heart would pound every time she called. Every time we kissed we would create an infinite spark. That spark would escape from the confines of gravity and drift infinitely through space. It would look like starlight on some other planet.
I am selfish. I want all of you. To me, your spittle is more significant than my sister’s master’s thesis project.
I want everyone to love me.
I know you don’t give a shit, but I’m glad that you read this far.
I feel closer to you. Here, I’ve shared a part of my life with you.
It all seems worth it when you share it with someone.
You have made me thankful.
You should feel humbled because the world would not be the same if one person did not exist.
Photograph: A. Frost, 1988. 2 Years of Age.