If you are reading
this
I love you
If I love you
you
are reading this
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Friday, September 5, 2014
On the current circumstances; disconnected musings on death and love
Aug. 31 11:29pm bedroom
Today I was inspired to write, after a long period of having little inspiration and words turning into smoke before they hit the page.
Today I wrote about ghosts. Subtle bodies and protectors. Living ghosts and haunting. Peace and dwelling. Today I wrote about ghosts.
I found out, about a half hour ago, that Chris passed away in a car accident. My legs went numb and I started shaking. For the short time I knew him, he always had a smile on his face. He always made sure to include me in conversations and games of pong. He loved his friends fiercely and he was loved by his friends equally. My heart is absolutely breaking for his best friends.
The thing that unites the deaths that I have experienced in my life is smiles. Each smile is unique to its own but each smile is strong and bright and beaming. My Great Uncle Tom always had a smile plastered on his round red face and a cigarette in his hand. When I was little I used to think he was Santa Clause in disguise; silly and jolly and ho ho ho. He died from lung cancer.
Anthony always had a smile on his face, with dark hair covering his eyes. Every time I saw him in the hallways of my high school he was always smiling, and often wearing a black under oath hoodie. He died from suicide.
Every time I saw Chris, he was ready to party, dressed with a smile. I don't think I ever saw him unhappy or not having a good time. He would tease Luke and laugh, he would crack jokes, and laugh; he talked through smiles.
He died today.
A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis M.D., Fari Amini, M.D, Richard Lannon, M.D.
"Everything a person is and everything he knows resides in the tangled thicket of his intertwined neurons. These fateful, tiny bridges number in the quadrillions, but they spring from just two sources: DNA and daily life. The genetic code calls some synapses into being, while experience engenders and modifies others."
Sept. 6 1:22am bedroom
But what happens to all that when one dies?
Sept. 1 1:07am Text Message
I know, I know. It's something so incredibly hard to get your mind around. It's something so unfathomable, I don't think it will ever seem real. But you know what is real? All the times you two shared together, all his smiles and laughter and love for his friends. I remember how he always used to mess around with you and poke fun at you and I always thought that's how you can tell how strong your friendship was. You two are brothers. And although he was taken away, that is something that can never ever be taken away from you.
Sept. 6 1:24am bedroom
Love doesn't die with him
Aug. 31 9:03pm bedroom
There is some comfort in ghosts
friendly little shapes when you're not looking
an intuitive ghost busters
Sept. 1:21am Text Message
Floating and sinking - there's so much polarity right now:
disbelief and understanding, wonderful memories and horrible pain, support and love and tearing apart.
Aug. 31 9:08pm bedroom
I look after a little olive of a boy named Oliver and whenever he falls down he says "oh it's just gravity"
Oh it's just gravity - something to blame for mishaps
Oh it's just ghosts - something to blame for us haunting ourselves
Sept. 4 1:07pm Septa train. written on a stray envelope
nostalgia is warm
nose to neck
goodbye goodbye goodbye
see you in the night
You had foreseen it - dreamt it
I believe there are the signs in life, sometimes microscopic, but humans haven't quite figured out how to decipher the clues, the foretelling
Was it a warning or glimpse
subconscious fear actualized
Sept. 6 1:34am bedroom
When we tear apart the petty little bullshits of everyday life the most important thing that is left bloodied and ripped is love - this pulsing steady thing. Does love ever die?
Love doesn't die with him.
comfort in past comfortable comfort in soul sucking conversations that rattle the depths of who we are
Sept. 4 1:09pm Septa train. written on a stray envelope
What ties me to him has always been you. If I hadn't ever knew you, I wouldn't have known him. Seen his smile, heard his laugh.
Does it take a death to be the catalyst for the realization and expression of love.
Does love ever die?
Love doesn't die with the physical body
Love doesn't die with him.
Aug. 31 11:58pm bedroom
I'm worried about his soul.
He loved life so much - what if he wasn't ready to go?
How could he possibly be ready to go?
Sept. 1 8:44 Text Message received
"The problem is that everything I liked he liked. Every song had something with it."
A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis M.D., Fari Amini, M.D, Richard Lannon, M.D.
"In a relationship, one mind revises another; one heart changes its partner. This astounding legacy of our combined status as mammals and neural beings is limbic revision: the power to remodel the emotional parts of the people we love, as our Attractors activate certain limbic pathways, and the brain's inexorable memory mechanism reinforces them.
Who we are and who we become depends, in part on whom we love."
Today I was inspired to write, after a long period of having little inspiration and words turning into smoke before they hit the page.
Today I wrote about ghosts. Subtle bodies and protectors. Living ghosts and haunting. Peace and dwelling. Today I wrote about ghosts.
I found out, about a half hour ago, that Chris passed away in a car accident. My legs went numb and I started shaking. For the short time I knew him, he always had a smile on his face. He always made sure to include me in conversations and games of pong. He loved his friends fiercely and he was loved by his friends equally. My heart is absolutely breaking for his best friends.
The thing that unites the deaths that I have experienced in my life is smiles. Each smile is unique to its own but each smile is strong and bright and beaming. My Great Uncle Tom always had a smile plastered on his round red face and a cigarette in his hand. When I was little I used to think he was Santa Clause in disguise; silly and jolly and ho ho ho. He died from lung cancer.
Anthony always had a smile on his face, with dark hair covering his eyes. Every time I saw him in the hallways of my high school he was always smiling, and often wearing a black under oath hoodie. He died from suicide.
Every time I saw Chris, he was ready to party, dressed with a smile. I don't think I ever saw him unhappy or not having a good time. He would tease Luke and laugh, he would crack jokes, and laugh; he talked through smiles.
He died today.
A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis M.D., Fari Amini, M.D, Richard Lannon, M.D.
"Everything a person is and everything he knows resides in the tangled thicket of his intertwined neurons. These fateful, tiny bridges number in the quadrillions, but they spring from just two sources: DNA and daily life. The genetic code calls some synapses into being, while experience engenders and modifies others."
Sept. 6 1:22am bedroom
But what happens to all that when one dies?
Sept. 1 1:07am Text Message
I know, I know. It's something so incredibly hard to get your mind around. It's something so unfathomable, I don't think it will ever seem real. But you know what is real? All the times you two shared together, all his smiles and laughter and love for his friends. I remember how he always used to mess around with you and poke fun at you and I always thought that's how you can tell how strong your friendship was. You two are brothers. And although he was taken away, that is something that can never ever be taken away from you.
Sept. 6 1:24am bedroom
Aug. 31 9:03pm bedroom
There is some comfort in ghosts
friendly little shapes when you're not looking
an intuitive ghost busters
Sept. 1:21am Text Message
Floating and sinking - there's so much polarity right now:
disbelief and understanding, wonderful memories and horrible pain, support and love and tearing apart.
Aug. 31 9:08pm bedroom
I look after a little olive of a boy named Oliver and whenever he falls down he says "oh it's just gravity"
Oh it's just gravity - something to blame for mishaps
Oh it's just ghosts - something to blame for us haunting ourselves
Sept. 4 1:07pm Septa train. written on a stray envelope
nostalgia is warm
nose to neck
goodbye goodbye goodbye
see you in the night
You had foreseen it - dreamt it
I believe there are the signs in life, sometimes microscopic, but humans haven't quite figured out how to decipher the clues, the foretelling
Was it a warning or glimpse
subconscious fear actualized
Sept. 6 1:34am bedroom
When we tear apart the petty little bullshits of everyday life the most important thing that is left bloodied and ripped is love - this pulsing steady thing. Does love ever die?
Love doesn't die with him.
comfort in past comfortable comfort in soul sucking conversations that rattle the depths of who we are
Sept. 4 1:09pm Septa train. written on a stray envelope
What ties me to him has always been you. If I hadn't ever knew you, I wouldn't have known him. Seen his smile, heard his laugh.
Does it take a death to be the catalyst for the realization and expression of love.
Does love ever die?
Love doesn't die with the physical body
Love doesn't die with him.
Aug. 31 11:58pm bedroom
He loved life so much - what if he wasn't ready to go?
How could he possibly be ready to go?
Sept. 1 8:44 Text Message received
"The problem is that everything I liked he liked. Every song had something with it."
A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis M.D., Fari Amini, M.D, Richard Lannon, M.D.
Who we are and who we become depends, in part on whom we love."
Monday, March 31, 2014
Sight (excerpt from "Dendrite")
The human eyeballs are slung within the orbital cavities of the
skull and those well-slung eyeballs see. See that there are
twenty-two transparent jelly-fish inside your vitreous body.
Crystalline. Like the crystal you hang around your neck for
strength every time we collide. The ones in my window that
cast prisms on my pillow. Lay your little head down to rest,
hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a
mockingbird, And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s
gonna buy you a diamond ring. And a looking glass. And a billy
goat. And a cart and bull. And a dog named Rover. And a bunch
of other pointless shit that you can’t use because you’re a baby
and Mama thinks she can buy your love.
Nearly all newborn babies have the blue blue ocean eye - as the
pigment of the iris delivery is backed up because the brown-
paper package got lost in the mail and the iris stork had a
broken left wing, sling. Later, in due time, after birth,
pigmentation will turn brown, hazel, green. And all the baby
blue eyes will sink to the bottom of the ocean. Fish food.
Sensory nerves provide the link between tooth and nail. The
nail in the fourth step of the stair’s floorboard, that eavesdrops
on your whispers and whispers mocking whispers: “glucose coat
my blood vessels, chlorophyl my lashes” But you always run up stairs.
Childhood fear chasing you up, up. If you don’t go fast enough
it will catch you, grip you. Instead, run up and down my central
nervous system twenty times, and don’t you stop until you reach
my cerebral cortex! Place your lightning-bugged mason jar here.
X marks the spot where we repel, where the oil paint meets the
turpentine. Go ahead, thin me. Prune. Prune those neuron
cells; enhanced efficiency. That magic forest of incredible
beauty; luxuriant growth. Plasticity or deforestation?
One cortical neuron will respond to that stimulation. I’ll even
spill my guts, show you the precise topography of the receptor
surface, all the exact somatic sense pathways that resemble a
map of my body’s cortex. Be careful, make haste, there’s a
skull and those well-slung eyeballs see. See that there are
twenty-two transparent jelly-fish inside your vitreous body.
Crystalline. Like the crystal you hang around your neck for
strength every time we collide. The ones in my window that
cast prisms on my pillow. Lay your little head down to rest,
hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a
mockingbird, And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s
gonna buy you a diamond ring. And a looking glass. And a billy
goat. And a cart and bull. And a dog named Rover. And a bunch
of other pointless shit that you can’t use because you’re a baby
and Mama thinks she can buy your love.
Nearly all newborn babies have the blue blue ocean eye - as the
pigment of the iris delivery is backed up because the brown-
paper package got lost in the mail and the iris stork had a
broken left wing, sling. Later, in due time, after birth,
pigmentation will turn brown, hazel, green. And all the baby
blue eyes will sink to the bottom of the ocean. Fish food.
Sensory nerves provide the link between tooth and nail. The
nail in the fourth step of the stair’s floorboard, that eavesdrops
on your whispers and whispers mocking whispers: “glucose coat
my blood vessels, chlorophyl my lashes” But you always run up stairs.
Childhood fear chasing you up, up. If you don’t go fast enough
it will catch you, grip you. Instead, run up and down my central
nervous system twenty times, and don’t you stop until you reach
my cerebral cortex! Place your lightning-bugged mason jar here.
X marks the spot where we repel, where the oil paint meets the
turpentine. Go ahead, thin me. Prune. Prune those neuron
cells; enhanced efficiency. That magic forest of incredible
beauty; luxuriant growth. Plasticity or deforestation?
One cortical neuron will respond to that stimulation. I’ll even
spill my guts, show you the precise topography of the receptor
surface, all the exact somatic sense pathways that resemble a
map of my body’s cortex. Be careful, make haste, there’s a
considerable area of cutaneous surface. Traverse to treasure
chest.
chest.
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