Psychosomatic illnesses piling up in my hands. I am looking for my heart and I can barely breathe. Miserable, pressed the flower between two stacks and left it to dry. You meant so much more than I could say. Planning escape routes, contemplating the space between my window and the concrete below.
Read the whole script for Eve Ensler’s other production. Found some lines on assault and emotional ends to means and thought a string of sad yeses. Yes yes yes yes yes. Oh. Fear of intimacy (mustn’t over analyze). Nosebleeds and headaches and a tearing underneath my sternum so I’m calling the doctor from a field of snow saying I’m bleeding, there is so much blood here. Geminis get lost easily, they are fascinated with emotions, and the boy sitting next to me is peeling an orange and –oh!- slicing it through just so with his front teeth. I can smell the juice. How terrible is this, am I. The snow in the field moved and my room was full of slanted rainbows from the window where the sun rained in. Raspberries so strong I could almost taste them, reeling, eyes back, and surrounded by hallucinated bicycles. Liza says, should I be worried. Bitter Boy helps, digs in, pulls me up by my fingertips, Ben says to him, you give good advice, I’m surprised. How was my weekend? How was my week? How was your week? I know, I know, I know. How is anything, ever. Drowning in childhood. Cough syrup and bottles and bottles and bottles of little, white pills. Wallowing. Listening to sad people sing: an opera singer is weeping in the shower below my bedroom.
What was done? Took a shower, did loads of laundry way into the AM. Made piles of taxes, the expected tears, slurped noodles, got lost a little, half-heartedly got out of bed. Smoked handfuls of cigarettes. Stopped eating. Ran around campus holding Bruiser’s hands, did we dance? I think we did. Forgot things that happened, climbed through windows in and out of buildings, sucked hard on red heart lollipops. And kissed a beautiful girl named for victory, with fragile eyelashes and smooth skin- and an umbilical cord leading to a camera flash.
Interviewer: What do you want from life? You told me before that you want to find a woman.
Diego Luna: Definitely! I want to be in love and eat as much as I can!
My heart can’t take the strain. Found Orangette, fell head over heels, stole these beautiful pictures to make me cry. Looked through bouquets of sunflowers, thought of them bending over in the August dusk, and wanted to buy a hundred seed packets, sow their children over the Hudson valley fields. Buchner: We do not have too much pain, we have too little. Because through pain, we arrive at God. We are death, dust, ashes. How should we complain?
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