sexoF

Of course she's fine.

Of course I'm not.

Of course she wore her office costume.

Of course her friends adore her.

Of course I'm a redacted memory.

Of course I'm sitting in dust again.

Of course I never mattered to her.

Of course.

Of course.

Lights. Camera. Fraction.

That's the thing about friends.

They're there, and they're not.

You're connected to them either via obligation or desire, both stemming from fulfilling social and emotional requirements in order to be deemed "normal". They set aside the traits in you that they disagree with, you do likewise with them, and you all go out to have the best time that's possible. To collect memories. In hopes that one day they all outweigh the bad memories and their value over time has accrued to a point of priceless bonds.

But what do you do if you're never truly invested? What do you do when you want so badly to be, but you just lack the wires to connect to the current? What do you do when you've been faking the motions for so long that no one even notices?

How do you tell your friends that you have no idea what a real friend is?

Where do you go when everyone you've ever known - from the fundamental foundations of your own parents to the furthest reaches of your emotional capacity, your loves - have all betrayed, lied and abandoned you at some point, and you don't trust a single person?

I'm not here.

I'm never here.

I'm just someone reading a script I've rehearsed a thousand times before I walked onstage. Reading lines to props in the background.

The stage is my home, and the play is exhausting.

But she was my greenroom.

Change Your Mind.

Not For Sale.

"So what is this all about?"

What is what all about.

"This.[points] Why do you do all of this?" [spins finger]

Why do I do... all of me?

"Your long hair. The way you dress down. The beard. Being quiet, like you don't care. Acting like you don't like kids. Acting cynical. Acting like you like being alone. Just... acting." 

[keeps looking up at the stars]

"Is just camouflage to hide among everyone until a girl worth your time tries to tame you?

 Waiting for one to figure you out? So she sees the real you behind this mess 

you're trying to sell everyone that you are?"

[smirks, smokes cigarette]

"I just want you to know, Neil: I don't buy it."

You couldn't afford it.

Will the circle be unbroken.

And I can't help but try to find you

in every new mistake,

only to find that each one I make

leaves me further and further away.

440am

i miss my "good girl."

A Is For Rebel

Wish you were here.

Chain Reaction

All right.

Tomorrow night, November 19th.

Let's do this.

.beep.

hi. you have reached the voicemail of...

i punch the wall and wait for the tone.

beep.

...i just called to say, calling you will never be enough. im drunk at 3am and i still feel you. god, do i feel you. you are the cracks in my tired bones. the whiskey my marrow cant stand. my darling, dont you know, it was easy to love you more than i could ever love myself. now im sitting in this bedroom-turned-confessional, cold turkey since devouring the last drop of you. I just woke up, drenched in sweat from a dream that i was being buried alive, and you were shoveling the words, "i love you but im not ready for forever yet" onto my trembling body, and soiling the hopes that youll ever come back to me. i guess what im trying to say is...

beep. press 3 if youd like to delete this message and record a new one.

...

3.

...i just hope youre happy.

Storybook

Let's run away,

I'll keep you safe.

If you're feeling brave, dear,

I'll let you stay here.

Just be my princess,

I'll be your white knight.

Our kiss will start this

Once upon a time,

If you'll run away.

(She never heard the final version of our song.)

(Because, ironically, she ran away.)

(I wonder how many other white knights she's fucked since.)

(God damn foxes.)

There's a limit.

"I'll just make sure when I wash our clothes that I don't mix the dedicates."

"You... do realize I can wash my own clothes, right?"

"Hold on. You know how to run a washing machine?"

"And a dryer."

"What."

"And fold them and put them away. And I wash, dry and put away dishes, too. And vacuum. And clean. And keep the bathroom in order. And cook if there's a book. I could even sew up that tear in your skirt right there - since it's along the seam."

"Holy crap, Neil... can you hem??"

"Hokay, I'm not gay."

Stonehenge.

sometimes i wonder what my other fox is doing.

and i quickly realize i probably really, really dont.

so ill just continue to write songs instead.

at the park.

where she broke the record.

The Flood.

"I don't think I ever wanted to be 'The man who loves children.' But from the moment they’re born, that baby comes out and you act proud, and excited, hand out cigars. But you don’t feel anything. Especially if you had a difficult childhood. You want to love them but you... don’t. And the fact that you’re faking that feeling makes you wonder if your own father had the same problem.

"Then one day they get older, and you see them do something. And you feel that feeling that you were pretending to have. 

"And it feels like your heart is going to explode."

- Don Draper

Within The Ceaseless Grip of Trying

As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.

Sailors have an expression about the weather: They say the weather is a great bluffer. I suppose the same is true of our human society - things can look dark, and then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man's curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.

Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.

#305

"choke me," she'd say,

her blonde hair matted brown

from the sweat

of summer and sin.

mouths mashed against each others,

my grip closing around her 

perfect,

silk,

white,

pulsing throat,

her eyes suddenly fluttered in rhythm 

with her belly, quivering beneath mine.

the embers smoldered within,

the fire roared,

and we drenched her white sheets in our love.

and in between the tempo of our breaths,

beating in unison against the carnal silence,

she exhaled only a single word.

"more."