fuck it

Today all day without cigarettes. Tomorrow will be the same. Not by choice. I'm doing.


Knulp was great. Kelly read it so long ago. Not that long ago, but I feel that things
were very different then. I think I moved into her room right after she finished reading it. Here is an excerpt. I believe it might be Kelly's (for there was a feather near it) and maybe my favorite:


Knulp said: "Every human being has his soul, he can't mix it with any other. Two people can meet, they can talk with one another, they can be close together. But their souls are like flowers, each rooted to its place. One can't go to another, because it would have to break away from its roots, and that it can't do. Flowers send out their scent and their seeds, because they would like to go to each other; but a flower can't do anything to make a seed go to its right place; the wind does that, and the wind comes and goes where it pleases."




I finished this book very quickly. It's a short book, but I grew very accustomed to the language and presentation of this book immediately. It is almost five thirty in the morning. Knulp was a man who traveled his whole life. He fell in love at age 14 and she broke his heart. He assumed that he would never be in love like that again, and protested that he was not to God, nearing the end of his life. God said, "But you loved Lisabeth, and Henrietta, did you not?" God also reminds him of other joys in his life, where he felt it in every bone of his body. Knulp laughs and says, "Yes I suppose you're right" He understands that life would be quite different if even a day of it had been missing.

This makes me think of days I've been having at home, how empty I feel. This strange loneliness that reaches me only when I think of those I'm not around any longer.





You want to be better at living. To feel more of what you want to feel. You can't allow myself to be a pin cushion. My bangs are getting longer, and my legs look it when I sit indian style. One talks of hurt, and how she wishes not to hurt her lover, but she does every single day. All the time, it hurts.
I suppose I'll lock her heart in a dark room, with her inside as well.
Let her miss the days and the easiness of breathing.
Make her regret the carelessness. less ness less ness less ness ness.



Many things were tried today. I hold secrets like small candles. Nobody knows.
I am happy for this. I am happy that I still live life trusting everything and nothing all the time.
I amount to nothing. You hold piles of gold string in my dreams; hold them up to my face and show me how I can't touch it. Tell me why: because you feel too much. You're not real enough(fakeenough)to see things as they are.
"There's no fucking magic. Get the fuck over it."

Get over it. Hmmph. Umm. mmmm. I'd rather be consumed then left alone entirely.