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shukulata
17 May 2016 @ 01:50 am
Neighbors are having a party.  Neighbors across the street.  I fell asleep for hours and hours in the evening, and woke up near midnight.  It is a strange time to have things to want to do and to want to begin your next work day to get it rolling and over with.  But also knowing you should sleep.

Etc.

I moved the toaster.  I have dishes to wash, bottles and bottles to recycle from people I had over over the weekend, and then have ignored.  My brain is tired.  No not tired, hungry.  Bored.  Not bored.  It is - lacking exercise, it is out of shape.  It could be put to work, like my body, my body growing stronger.  I am feeling stronger and stronger each day, and my brain weaker and weaker until it begins to itch, until it needs to pump again.  I am feeling powerful.  I am feeling restless and disappointed.  I am feeling my mouth on your mouth.  I feel like I was made with such fire.  My expression is my fire and it is strange.

I have so much to do and to see and to read.  I suppose it was good enough to do nearly nothing for a long stretch of time.  I am over you, but my heart still hurts a little.  Always will, because I am a lover.

I have so many mouths to have on my mouth.  But mainly, so many to think about. 
 
 
shukulata
12 February 2016 @ 06:08 pm
that keeps playing through my head lately
is my ex saying "a lot of."
He used to say that instead of "a lot."  We didn't speak English together.  But sometimes he would just say things.  Phrases he had heard in movies or TV series, or elsewhere I don't know.  Sometimes he would say things.  I'm not sure how to decribe this, but I do this too, and I'm doing this now with his saying "a lot of."  Cooking the chicken, going to check on it, just saying "a lot of" while my mind is on something else, for some reason.  The linguistic, mysterious mind.  The present wrapped up in the past wrapped up in the imaginary.  His accent.

I finally ate "read food" today.  I had this chicken in the fridge waiting for me to cook it.  Time slows down greatly in front of black holes, I read last night.  I haven't been reading lately, my love, not like I was just a few weeks ago.  I wanted to know what it feels like for time to slow down.  Would your thoughts slow down.  Would they race just the same.  My grasp on you loosens, my wrists weaken.  They wrap around another in my dreams.  Another year cycles against the last.  I listen to Fairuz.  Time slows down in my apartment.  I'm unable to move through it.  One apartment, like another, like another love, I still know what it's like to bite your neck.
 
 
shukulata
29 January 2016 @ 10:59 pm
my friends.  The world is not right.  Never really has been.  The mantle has shifted, is shifting.  You feel the overshocks in your friends, your lovers, your lost ones.

You will get over it.  I know you will.  It is wild and uncertain, but it is not new.

Are you making the choices you need to make? 
 
 
shukulata
25 January 2016 @ 10:30 pm
has its proper time and place and it is right now in my apartment.  But it's usually not the right time or place.  I have to read a lot, because I want to read a lot, but mainly I need to write tonight because inspiration has come.  Set its talons in etc.

I have stacks of books that are like stacks of art.  If I were to move them it would interrupt the mood in the place, the colors.  It would start to look like a spinster apartment again.  Not that that's far off the mark, but also not like it's on. 
 
 
shukulata
24 January 2016 @ 10:53 pm
I had a terrible headache.  A terrible headache.  I took 3 Advil and they worked and I lay in my bed bummed out staring at things feeling dirty.

Things build up in me and I feel them.  Whether it be mentruation, stress about a project, worries about family, loss of love, mess in the apartment.  I take a walk and have so much sad energy pent up that I feel like if someone stops to talk to me I might barf it all all over them.  But usually I just have a light and noncommittal conversation and scuttle away.

But it's the sad energy I work with and I don't necessarily make sad art with it and mainly I'm sad because I'm not working with it.  Before I would avoid school work by working on chocolate, now that I work as a chocolate maker I have no other excuse to avoid making art.

It was odd I wrote a ditty on Facebook about my lip cyst of last year and perhaps in the same day or just after I bit the area where it was and now it's scarred and hurting.  You can't just move on can you.  Perhaps one of my greatest losses was my Yazid, but mainly when I think of him it's a memory of him laughing or just some sensation he gave me that made me laugh and I am laughing at him.  Mainly, what I'm saying now, is that I miss that he made me laugh.  It was a joy that is gone.

And I could have lived my whole life without a lover making me laugh, and wouldn't have known what it feels like to have it cease.
 
 
 
shukulata
03 January 2016 @ 07:41 am
like I was in France in 2009 at my host lady's apartment.  When I get these feelings, which are very acute and accurate, I also have a feeling of lost — what if I lose them forever, or of fear — what if one day my mind won't be able to distinguish between reality and memory.

I'm not saying I thought I was there waking up in Besançon on a cold January morning in a little twin bed and having to get ready to catch the bus for language school.  It's just that, something, the air in my apartment, or the way I arranged it last night, or the fact that it is January here and cold as it was there and I have a little twin bed and I have a water boiler register for heat as I had there, etc.  It's just the texture of feeling.  I'm sure you've felt it too.  Not this, but whatever you've felt before.

It's like being in a dream you don't want to let go of.  And I don't want to deteriorate the specificity of the memory.  I just want to be in it, luxuriate awhile.  Part of me also wants to go back, but I know I never can.  Yes, what I really want, is that I want it back, irrationally, honestly, wholly, I want to take back what was mine about feeling alive.  It's probably a main reason why I've gone so frequently back to France.  Because my memories are like pins in my belly, and the pain only goes away when I take them out and go back, or so that's what I think.

But that's life.  I suppose.  Being able to let go.  Let it wash in, let it wash out, like the sea.  And while I can do that, I want so much.  Sometimes I already feel like a ghost, being able to mentally walk through her apartment again, when it's all perfectly intact, the sights, smells, temperatures, when these memories are ghosting me. 
 
 
shukulata
08 December 2015 @ 09:38 pm
I used to waste so much time.  And still do.  But this time was probably the most honest time.  Time sitting and considering and dreaming and longing.  I am sitting and considering in my winter coat, but perhaps not in the most serious way.  The other day I heard someone ask another person which thing was the "least best" in a group of things, and I liked that wording.

What happens when you set your magic away for awhile.  I perhaps had bigger dreams in different ways for this year, but also my present is quite a bit more thrilling than I'd've imagined.  Things are rather staid in my personal life but I am so happy like a little piglet to be working in chocolate.

Sometimes I love falling asleep with my coat on.  Only rarely done but what a comfort.

Sleeping with men made me so very confused.  And then I understood.  But it's just one thing like another.  I don't know any separation anymore.  I only know men's eyes I try to avoid when I feel we might start feeling something for each other.
 
 
shukulata
01 November 2015 @ 07:37 pm
I am not a librarian but I am maybe sexy, at least to at least one person and I probably alarm more.

I want to play another rendition of: my place is such a mess.  I want to play it like: I want to take care of so many things but am so tired.  Oh shit but I have to return that library book I didn't read.

Sometimes when I am very tired and in pain I go home and laugh wickedly on my unmade bed.

Because I haven't gloriously laughed or cried in so long.  Oh god but please at least make me cry until I hiccup myself to sleep tonight.

But there is nothing.  I hold up my hands to let it float away.  Life is a gas that dissipates that pushes out into the least dense and least known spaces until all that's left is an enormous quiet is you lying alone in your bed another day.  No I mean that's what love is.  Everyone I've loved has left me why did I never have any force to keep them here to brush my arm hairs against their arm hairs forever

is never.  All my life has been is either a hungry or sated belly.  All I ever wanted to be was the animal you'd feed and treat sweetly.
 
 
shukulata
01 November 2015 @ 07:16 pm
and, and halawi dates.  I have been pleasantly un-in-love lately.  Pleasantly negligent of my apartment because I have barely been in it lately.  Sleep.

I realized the beauty of some people and how their beauty and my appreciation of it doesn't mean I have to date them because I never will.  I mean there is beauty and there is my appreciation of some men and my wanting to stare at them and I can very happily never date them ever and yet it is still a heartache right.  There are only a few really.  Only one.

I realized how much I hate trying to contribute to a conversation and never being responded to because my contribution is only a way of trying to exist too and show my appreciation of other people.  Talk to me.  Answer me.  Why won't you look at me.  Why won't you answer me.  I must be timid and mute and pretend to not exist pretend to not catch your every word.

Oh god but please don't let it hurt forever. 
 
 
shukulata
16 October 2015 @ 12:16 am
was about how imperfect language is, corrupting a pure existence, imperfect tool to express the truth, mutilating, abstracting, disintegrating, etc.

This is a lonely place.  I don't come here much anymore.  We find other venues to reach our beloveds.  I just wanted to reach out again, once again, once more.  I don't know what to say to the face of silence.  A dusty breath.