guilty of romance

Prologue:

"Lie down with me, show me no wrong. "


Scene One:

All of life is crying out for attachment to something real. The reason we look for lovers and the reason we look for religion. | Justine, life is only on earth. And all life on earth is calling out for something to connect to. See how beautiful planets are when they align. | It is said that a sentimental person hopes that things will last whereas a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't. Me. You. Earth. Our place in the sum of things. When I think about it that way I guess I'm guilty of romance.

architecture

Cities are the most beautiful works of art. Every other form is constrained within its medium to some extent. Painting is often abstract, its beauty relies too much on the beholder and writing is too contextual. Cities on the other hand pull you in. The notion of the sublime, every street its own art form, every corner a different stroke and stanza. It's overt in its great and towering designs while the cobbled sidewalks and chipped marble lend so much subtlety to it. Art explodes from within - stage productions, sidewalk painters, poets, sculptors all meshing together to create something abundant with life and beauty. The unsaid, which sticks in your throat and sleeps in your brain. Raw and unrefined on every corner of every street, its luminescence visible even from space.

-

And there it is, why privilege grief when beauty is so abundant in this world? From the cracks in architecture to the ink in books, beauty - unabashed, unconfined, uncontrollable beauty in the smallest of everything. You just have to look harder to find it. So my place in this world. Life is only on earth. What strain of beauty can I leave on a universe that will outlive me by a billion years? Maybe when time loops back upon itself we'll all have a second shot to fulfill the dreams we built. I have so much to express, it exudes from every atom in my body and yet I am fraught with self doubt and this sense of lacking. There is a romantic and a cynic fighting for control of my head. But perhaps it takes both to find the measure of a person.

this is a promise with a catch

Last night I lived for years. In the hours I found so many lifetimes, all competing to be privileged. In the morning I woke up older, but everyone is older in the morning. I grew up. Leave the windows open, leave the doors unlatched. I am coming back after all this time away. Though you may seem unfamiliar at first, forgive me for my mind has come unstuck in time.So don't be callous, I'm sure it'll be fine. So many territories, so ready to be sold, so many forests, so many forests. In the middle of the garden there was a cement tomb. Children danced barefoot on top of it, singing songs of love and hate not knowing what their loves would make. There were lovers dressed in flowers and my friends all painted me black and blue. The shoes on my feet sank deep into the river, I couldn't retrieve them without dragging you along. Then when winter rolled in the river got frozen and the babies turned blue. All friends and lovers they melt in a rosy tinted hue.

-

brief lovers make quick beds
but good friends stay long in your head

darlings

       


   So I'm sitting here struggling with something I don't need to get out. But perhaps we kid ourselves when we say that we're able to deal to deal with the situation. Surface verisimilitude is dependent on detail and detail can always mask some form of muted substance underneath. We tell ourselves to be strong and we resist opening up because the world is formed in shards and the glass from which it was cut is sharp and unforgiving. That is why we fill our surfaces with detail and sometimes neglect the person underneath. I feel I am almost losing track of the innate which supposedly resides inside of me. I resist thinking and succumb to my cognitive misery only because it provides a brief respite. But this respite is only temporary, I'm still looking for something. Something I will never fully understand until I find it.

-

softly and wavery:


all the blue roads lead home 
i can't accept that my lover has passed 
i can't accept that my lover came last

charlotte forever

city drowned itself heard like sirens from the shore,

i don't feel it, i don't feel it anymore.

and canyon started getting dark / to trudge back where your car was parked

barefoot intheshallowcreek, i waited for you to speak to me

i can't stay away when everyone i meet they all seem to be asleep,

in the valley where your soul was harked, lined with trees you stripped of bark

only i still hung around, only i still called you mine.

beginners

You forget that the only constant in this life is you.
You forget that you will never need anyone else.

-

There is a beautiful place in Copenhagen called the Tivoli Gardens. I will arise and go now, away from the fucked up hopes and dreams of this world.

"Justine"

-

I was teased by your blouse, spit out by your mouth.