everything just seems like such a long time ago nothing’s changed about how time is fast and i’m still slow
distinguishing real injustice from seeing what isn’t there. physical mental emotional safety. the window of action vs. keeping your cool. doing things your way, only your way vs. keeping pace with the universe
sitting with sadness to know its presence. getting strong vs. getting stuck/powerlessness. being very very scared. patience vs. impatience. knowing that simple problems have simple solutions, not knowing what kind of courage it takes to execute them. remembering to breathe. escape vs. rising above. survival vs. straight freaking out. necessary vs. counterproductive. accepting a feeling you are made to feel vs. avoiding a repeat of the situation.
it feels like i’m somersaulting through space, slowly as if in a dream, in between huge slow moving spheres of pale colors, ideas and reasons so much bigger than i am, and i’m trying to grab hold of them but i can only get a handle on small parts that stick out like legs of piggybanks, and they keep coming and drifting past me, and when i think i can know the nature of one of them, it slips out of my reach, and some don’t have any parts i can hold onto, and i’m always aware of them all the time and i’m trying to run or swim but it’s useless, i can’t determine the direction or the speed of floating, and this place isn’t navigable by any kind of map, and it isn’t navigable alone but i only ever experience it alone, and it is terrifying
the only reason i can’t get out of this place is because i want so much, i want to do something big for people, but i have memories and questions and wounds, and for me this is the only way to get there. it’s the saddest feeling i know
Listening to mojo hand above my basement bedroom thinking this is okay because I love this dj and this shit got me through a bad summer in a dance cuz ur fucking miserable kind of way and anyway, who wants to see a girl mope on camelot’s foyer stairs at a dance party/throw back country club/consider drinking the 40oz bought to pour out for grandpa, dead and gone. I could be adventurous but it ends up reckless and self destructive, fun and trouble look the same to me and I can’t help but fake it til someone gets hurt cuz they believe me. what I should be doing isn’t what I want, what I want isn’t what I need but something else telling me to take what I want and do what I want, then I find there are reasons
And it’s hilarious because we’re all in our 20s and too young, so young to be so sad and someone said to me “I didn’t know life was going to be so long and exhausting” and all I could do was laugh cuz we’re not even close to the end
I think cuddle booty calls would make me a better person
don’t know a good thing
woulda bit you
don’t know a damn thing
When he wrote the days ahead are open fields,
I remembered the meadows,
Wide, wild and shy.
In late, forgotten.
I’ve come to know tall grass,
The loud buzz of dry heat, the language of saws
and breath held in long commas.
I haven’t moved since the flower heads
Bent to drop their faded petals, numbered, whispering to me
To see the dead skin in the dust
A dried snake, paper thin, a silent ghost.
I am waist high in flowers
I miss u like hell
he told us how to not be scared. learn everything about fear and where it comes from and why. that humanity is inevitably in pain. that if you must understand it, the resulting sadness and empathy is colossal and cycles back ad infinitum. and if we are gentle we can handle it right. and i said i don’t know how to be gentle and he said, practice.
Little kids in tshirts playing shitty plastic recorders on the street in the freezing cold, a few coins or nothing in a shoebox, thinking about the Romans how old this city is, how slippery smooth the stones are, how our hostel is near a Main Street of mediocre kebabs an currency exchange booths, how the Main Street looks like a set made in Hollywood, how the city is preserved for tourists
Harriet Jacobs I love you