I wish I didnt have to read the translations of Pablo Neruda. I would rather have been with Jack Kerouac on his journey than to have read his journals. I wonder if Walt Disney ever doubted himself.
November, 2006
29
Nov 06
11.29.06 — 3:17 p.m.
My body is a chamber orchestra attempting to play Wagners Vorspiel to Das Rheingold. I just dont know how to bleed. Forgive me.
27
Nov 06
11.27.06 — 8:27 a.m.
I dont do birthdays. I probably wont remember your middle name. I will always need directions to your house. I cant sit still and eye contact will be an occasional occurrence.
I will however remember all of your little idiosyncrasies, how you smell during the holidays, the way you look in the morning after sleeping in. I wont be able to shake the shift your eyes shape when you are embarrassed, your honest smile, your forced grin, and your awkward contagious laugh.
26
Nov 06
11.26.06 — 9:08 a.m.
Ive always been fascinated with packaging. Presentation is everything. A good aphorism to manufacture intrigue. Advertising. Marketing. Publicity. Life on sale. Supply this demand. Im going out of business because society doesnt understand. It is time for change. I need your help. I cant buy myself.
24
Nov 06
11.24.06 — 8:39 a.m.
Think of it like this. Love carves a hole in your heart. What happens if it doesnt work? You separate. The opening remains, so you install a door to cover that empty space. Slam it shut. Lock it behind you. Move on.
Every relationship has a door and every time you find yourself thinking of a past lover, theyre knocking outside.
If you dont decide to let them in, remember they will always have that spare key.
