Tuesday, April 25, 2006 (Another Old Post)

the photographs

recovered from the basement are neglected and melting from the heat of your gaze - caustic. You are determined to wash the resin of the images into a pile of colors and non-descript paper shavings. It makes no sense to stare so hard but you do and they die right there, while all the dead people we once knew stare down at us from our lofty memories and condone our actions. I should not take this picture, I should not spend this money. But I do and they die. I do and they die- always always always.

Oh fucka art!

And as if that wasn't enough here I am spilling the habit onto elitist pages for the proper people to soak up and spit out. No he's okay, yes he's not okay- they say, they say. You can't touch this here. This thing I hold like a glowing glass orb above the world is only for my eyes because when you look you ruin. When you look you ruin.

You look You ruin You look
You ruin You look You ruin
You look You ruin You look
You ruin You look You ruin
You look You ruin You look
You ruin You look You ruin

It's okay my mouth is working properly and my eyes gaze at the same stars as anyone else. I just can't believe it could be like this- how can it be like this? How can it be so possible and so hopeless all the time?
























































































































































































































































if you want me
































































































































































































it's too late