💾 Archived View for thurk.org › blog › 303.gmi captured on 2022-06-11 at 21:08:55. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content

View Raw

More Information

⬅️ Previous capture (2022-03-01)

➡️ Next capture (2023-07-22)

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The curling tendrils from your unshaven nostrils

Topics: relationships, solitude, natascha, emlekkonyv, haiku

2000-12-12

Displacement is unforgiveable. All I can think about is the distance from my love, the lies I tell to make my isolation greater, and a growing emptiness engulfing me. If I lose Vesna, which is a possibility, I think I'll become a hermit. She told me herself that she feels she could never love again -- ie, if we split up, she could never be with anyone else.

She feels like loving solitude, much like me.

This similarity, along with so many others I have with her, is staggeringly dumbfounding. Sad, stupid country music yawdles from speakers near to this dreadful McDonalds next to the Intercontinental Hotel. No phone, no contact, freedom, bliss?

Psychological exile encroaches like an unstoppable horde or plague. I miss Vanja and his steadfast manliness, belief in himself, and all that fucked up jive. Soon, he shall be my roomie. Him, my guitar, and, of course, solitude.

Dancing seems ridiculous to me.

Today's Special Haiku [IMG]

I pen hidden truths

Stiff pages suck at my ink

And leakage threatens

Haiku Quadrology [IMG]

Girls in santa hats

With unapproachable laps

Xmas illusion

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Experiments that

Come on baby, light my fire

Failed too many times

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blue-black blood, red wine

Stumbling, drunken leukocytes

Forget the way home

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I fuck the deaf girl

Lies or truth: to her, the same

From whispering lips

John's Quote [IMG]

Insipid, important, plaintive night at *SMOKE* in NY -- the Upper West Side -- filled with nostalgia and emptiness. This pseudo funk / jazz band plays *cannot read this word* as John, Nataša and I listen, detached but together in a strange synergy that transcends the alienation of another night unhinged.

Unreadable Word [IMG]

By *unhinged*, I mean detached (displaced?) from ever part of our former lives. Except John, of course, who is the status quo at such events -- and even a status quo in my life in general -- a base to **BASE** my ambitious and eccentricities on. Why not? My handwriting, appalling, berieves the enjoyment of this script. Sigh.

Natasha & John Quote [IMG]

tzifur (Martenblog home)

jenju (Thurk.Org home)

@flavigula@sonomu.club

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0