|2003-12-19 - 2:16 p.m.
time isn't holding us. time isn't after us.
i slept on my marble floor in a corner near the heater because i have three guests and, finally, i am the provider. i can suffer. the taste of suffering is as familiar as saliva but i am trying to undo this type of wisdom. i am strung along the river. i am anchored from the sternum. i am dream-running and the ground will not move. i am dream-seeing and the landscape will not change. and my breath will not cease. and my shouting will not be heard. and my skin will disappear. i am 78bpm, 45rpm, vinyl-groove-traveling toward self and the needle keeps going back. and the needle keeps going back. buddha, where is my balance. buddha, where is the release. buddha, where is my god. my god! i swore i was all about love. i swore through night i would love without limits. i swore i would revere every sleeping waking throbbing torturous blissful humiliating divine human second. i swore i would create and transcribe. i swore humility. i swore i would laugh and be light. i swore i would offer. i swore i would save. and i swore i would learn to receive. so gimme.
and the needle keeps going back.