it’s an illness,
the love of darkness,
sweet sweet sadness;
of tears, heart wrung
of unfulfilled love, it sung.
she will never bore
she should implore
sweet sweet sadness,
the love of darkness;
she will never break from
the beautiful madness.
I go about the world like I’m not hurt so that maybe my heart will forget its black & blues
Leonard Cohen has been in my company for the past few days now; from cups of tea to bubble baths. He is the first person from the past I would so very want to duet with.
I remember you well, in the Chelsea Hotel
you were talking so brave & so sweet
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
Those were the reasons and that was New York,
we were running for the money and the flesh.
& that was called love for the workers in song
probably still is for those of them left.
Ah, but you got away, didn’t you babe?
You just turned your back on the crowd,
you got away. I never once heard you say,
I need you, I don’t need you,
I need you, I don’t need you
& all of that jiving around.
I remember you well, in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
& clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, “Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music.”
& then you got away, didn’t you babe?
I don’t mean to suggest that I loved you the best,
I can’t keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well, in the Chelsea Hotel,
that’s all, I don’t even think of you that often…
Alone at midnight, I have been outside in what is essentially the wilderness on my yoga mat for nearly 3 hours now. The only friend to come accompany is a melting lustful red candle that coincides with the smell of the velvet trees. Velvet trees, they are, against the eigengrau clouds grazing by. If I were to reach up to touch them, they look as if they would really feel of soft velvet. The moon is so full of life, finally able to radiate through the dusty clouds. Alluringly haunting, but never menacing. Distant thunder resonates throughout the ghostly clouds & lightning surprises them. The awake amongst the trees seem to fall into their slumbers now, everything is quieting to a lull.
A warm summer night in June.
“She was disappearing a little more each day, so thin, so frail, a wisp of smoke. One day she would surely vanish altogether, & there was no way to stop her.”
Grace – not merely my name, but a lifestyle. Afloat far at sea in the night whilst the perfect storm brews is a dream that frequents me. The waves soon turn tumultuous, yet all at arm’s length is calm & I am at peace. Despite the moon’s absence, I see a glow steadily intensifying. I trace its path to find the source to be myself, as an indefatigable beacon of light. The surrounding waves, now treacherous, begin to crash into me; the heavier the waves drag, the brighter my light shines. Grace is who I am, & who I am is this fiery beacon refusing to be extinguished by the perilous waves of life. Frankly, I was born for this.
Although you say you aren’t actively searching for something, it’s clear that you are not satisfied nor happy with what good is front of you whether it be consciously or subconsciously. Go on & explore for I shall never be one to hinder one’s curiosity, but I surely guarantee that I will go on explore on my own & not wait in void. Without water, I am the grains of sand that slip away right between your fingers.
Mankind’s insatiable need to coordinate every phenomenon with an explanation is absolutely exhausting; just being around it drains me. It is as if man needs a reason for every meager thing in order to be alright with our existence. Why is it difficult for many to just let go of the ego, accept all that is around as it comes, & simply feel? Just feel.
I have truly outdone myself in fainaiguer. A professional procrastinator, I am. While I justify this by calling attention to its potentiality of brewing creativity (& ideally, brilliance) under adrenaline, a dear friend further justified my procrastination with under-stimulation. Perhaps he is right & certainly do find its relevance in my responsibilities; I may just not be stimulated enough in excitement for the things I must get done. Honestly, the only thing that gets me through is how there are people in this world who literally face death for these responsibilities I put off. So, for them, I continue forth…