"you're just like Mussolini. you just take and take."

and italian, as well.
it's interesting, i think, how different the internet is for me, now that i've lived here for so long, than i think it is for so many people.
i just found out that one friend just got married and a few others spawned. <insert "i'm so happy" sample from skinny puppy's fritter (stella's home) that makes me smile hard when i hear it> so you can understand exactly how i'm feeling now. fuck it. the whole song works.
"song."
right.

all my love to bob and jeff and dan and yargo and allllll of those people you love. damnit. i wish i could heap all the love in the world on you.
as well, all my love to so many of you who i've lost contact with. i think of you often. it's just so hard to figure out how to write my laments in so many different ways.

i always hated harsh stone white in concert. always felt a little too much like the wrong place for it. venues always too WIDE open for it to be right. speakers too 2x4. and you were never "even," you fucking dick. and you certainly never understood yourself.

a few days ago i went to a tea shop with t. and had what would probably be considered a religious experience, if such things exist. "tea shop" seems too loose of a term for it. "place where the wondrous and astounding and quiet and lovely imen is, occasionally, who blesses us with herself and her fine tea" is more correct.
we only had a few hours so we only had 6 or 7 teas with 4 steepings each. they were oolongs and all precious and wonderful and their quality was at the highest standard i've yet experienced.
i was vibrating.
it was fucking sublime.
something about this somehow links to my utter inability for impatience at listening to nirvana.
i considered, in the middle of the tasting, after many wine tastings up north, finding a way to become just my sense of taste alone and foregoing the rest of life altogether because, honestly, who needs the rest of it?
so much trouble for such a tiny little hole.
the 1978 wild hong yin wrecked me. it made me simultaneously want to cry and hug imen and wonder why such beauty has been allowed into my life. what i've done to deserve it. hell, it made me question what i've done to deserve anything at all. i vibrated at the thought of both being alive and being able to taste this tea. i didn't understand why i wanted to cry so suddenly at the 4th steeping. or why i
it frightens me that there might be other things that exist like this. other revelations waiting, suspended in liquid or semi-liquid states, for access and assistance to my brink of destruction. i suppose i can be shaken until my bits fly apart. this is what i prefer, i think.
it would be excellent to be shaken down past my subatoms.

i need to close the door.

this music can't surround me. i want it. i want it more than i want you.
i have headphones, but i hate the headphones. i want it to push me with slow, hard, unrelenting force while the smell of you reverberates in my head.
so much beauty for such a tiny little hole.

i keep thinking about emailing you when i'm driving.
run run run.
"yes i eat cow i am not proud"
"lead the way to my temptation"
these are not coming back to you.
neither am i.

or i am, but only to deliver that ending package so you don't have to come collect anything.
this seems fair to me, as i have nothing for you.
nono - the wild hong yin was a good idea. it was the best idea of the whole year.
i can't see coming up for air from here.
"don't have nothing for you"
want to throw everything against a wall. not for what sticks. for what breaks.
there's no relation to the melvins that i can possibly imagine. i know. there's supposed to be one. you know what? i don't fucking care.
even if i could see it, i wouldn't want to. i would destroy any connection that could possibly be made. my determination is so much stronger than anything you could ever imagine. i'm rocking now, back and forth. and angry. i was at the pharmacy and realized that i'm still angry at you. for allowing me to fight you and determine myself in my self destruction. how could you love me and let me
no one cared enough to do anything but let me gasp on the floor for air.
fuck nirvana.
fuck tool.
fuck bukowski
fuck. burroughs.
fuck air.
i'm not gonna crack.
i'm so ugly.
i promise i won't leave anything for you to clean up.
not a scrap or a strand - wouldn't it be fun?
so many barnacles will be scraped right off. and my wild hong yin will be there with me. in my car, at the end. in my esophagus. like in her hotel room, for
there's no place for you
and you've been waiting for the past three years. waiting. stupidly. passing her. while her body was found.
i shivered the whole night through.
especially after the message you left.
how did i not save that?
especially about the part about the shotgun being missing?
where the cold wind blows
how could you have left?
i taste pickles when i think about it now.
you're an ass. and i hate you.
are you kidding? you got out? and left the rest of us here?
i want to kill you myself.
all back to the same solution.

it all seems so clear. so easy, in your words and motions and world.
there is a wet at the tip of my fingers.

and i would respect you as much if you got out as well. but you won't. so you can go fuck yourself as well as i can.

"i have very bad posture."

"so i
can sigh eternally."
feel the life that's inside of me.
it's nice to forget that i'm here and to think that i'm mostly just the regret of the echos you've left behind
i wonder if you even had any idea that this would still be here, haunting some worthless piece of shit that you never thought twice about. you didn't. i understand now. even five years later. and the pain goes on and on in these guitar chords.
you just knew, didn't you?
you knew not to breathe. so smart. so fucking smart. this place is hell. i've been trying for so long and so hard to see around everything you already knew.
lies lies and you push me into understanding.
thanks. for everything.
eternally in your debt.
drooling and dry-weeping on your non-existent grave.
ALL my love,
-nil